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Searching for Peace Amidst Change: My Sabbatical Journey

I am sitting in the sun as I write. I can hear woodpeckers but cannot seem to spot them. There is a light breeze that brings with it the heavy scent of lilacs. It sounds bucolic, though I am in the middle of the city. I am trying to sort out a wide assortment of feelings from a chair in my backyard, which has included me ugly crying in it. I have just completed week two of my sabbatical. 

These early days of my time off have caused both joy and discomfort. I am grateful for the gift that it is to have this sizeable chunk of time off. I feel supported and encouraged. And, right now I am also out-of-sorts. During my last week we held a funeral for a community member named Barry and learned of the death of another, named Phil. Grief upon grief, which I will attend to, except I’m used to grieving over time in the context of our community. I really miss The Dale. Then my daughter Cate moved out. I am excited for her and deeply proud of this step she has taken. This too is true: I really miss being in close proximity to her. 

As I navigate this time, I realize that I am used to the rhythm of rest that I have held for years. This includes Fridays as my Sabbath and August as vacation. When July rolls around I can feel my body anticipating the cessation of work during the dogdays of summer. But this year? Well, I don’t think my body understands exactly what’s going on. A number of people have suggested that I am likely more tired than I realize, which I can hear. Believe me when I say I know having this time is a privilege and I really want to settle into it and the rest it will provide.  

Part of the challenge right now is holding so many seemingly disparate feelings at the same time. I have to remind myself of what I often say to others: two things can be true at once. I can be grateful and sad. I can know there is wisdom in a decision and still find it uncomfortable. I can want to get out of the way and desire to be in the middle of the action. I can long for connection and solitude. Life is not a straight line.  

My counsellor and I talked about a phrase that I might say to myself when I am tipping toward anxiety about my absence from The Dale. I came up with this, “No matter what you do or don’t do, you are beloved.” I close my eyes and turn my head to the sky to say just that. The busyness in my brain begins to slow and my senses are heightened. I think of Barry and Phil in a way that makes me smile. I consider my love and esteem for The Dale Girls. I know that I will see Cate soon. Dion and I get to spend far more time together and he’s helping me ask good questions about this sabbatical. I am experiencing the care of The Dale community in a different way and know that they are also taking care of one another.  

The sun has moved its position. Occasionally a cloud passes over it and I sit in its shadow. A squirrel is digging in a container that I am about to plant some flowers in. Next week Cate and I will be going on an adventure of a trip. I just turned 50. This time is not moving fast. I imagine this means it has more to teach me about being present to the moment. Week three now begins.  

Postscript: Writing is an important part of the way I process, and so I will occasionally share about this sabbatical journey here on my blog. My sabbatical includes a commitment to be intentionally off-line about 98% of the time, and so I look forward to interacting more upon my return in September.         

Posted on by erinnoxford · 6 Comments

A Story: From Scarcity to Abundance

It was my first drop-in day in my new role at what was to become The Dale. I was en route when my phone rang. I glanced down and saw the display: RBC (Royal Bank of Canada). I cringed and decided I should pull over to answer it, knowing that it was likely related to work and our current financial crisis. I was right. I listened as the person on the other end explained that our account was in overdraft, and was I aware? As calmly as I could, I explained that I was just back after a time away, I was now the appropriate person to talk to, and could I have one hour to see if I could sort things out? The reply was yes. 

I hung up, laid my head back and said out loud, is my first day back my last? I took a few deep breaths in and then out. I looked in the back seat of my vehicle at the groceries I had just purchased with my own money for our meal that day. I knew there were people waiting for me and that the food needed to be eaten, and so I thought, whatever might happen tomorrow, TODAY we are going to have drop-in. Give us this day our daily bread. 

Over the next hour two things happened. First, I spoke with a long-time friend and supporter who simply asked, what do you need in order to get through the next three months? I gulped and gave the accurate number. Without skipping a beat, they said: let me e-transfer it. I began to cry to which they matter-of-factly said, “no need to cry, this is something I can do.” Second, I uncovered a bank error, one that took us just into the black. 

When I think about this day, I can still picture the way the light was hitting the lake as I took the call from the bank. I remember the anxiety in the pit of my stomach that turned into a fierce determination to have drop-in. There was a keen sense of needing to live into the now and not yet, a strange and mysterious tension. I wanted to be in the moment, address the issues, and do whatever I could to work for and imagine a future. None of it was easy. All of it was covered in grace. 

I do not take for granted the way scarcity turned to abundance that day. It was provision for all of us, ensuring that our community might continue, at least for the next few months. So many years later, I remain grateful for the experience and how it has informed the way we respond and move through crises (of which there are many). Life didn’t stop being messy that day. It did strengthen some muscles in me though, including being present to what is and identifying the tasks in front of me to do, while igniting my imagination for things to come.