Blissed out

For the last month, I have worked on airplanes and in airports, and I have met with and taught people in three countries. I have packed and unpacked and repacked my suitcases. I have slept on guest beds, kids’ beds, sofa beds and hotel beds. I have pulled wheeled bags on planes, trains, subways. I have walked other people’s dogs, petted kangaroos, dandled other people’s children on my knee.

This week, that (mostly) came to an end (for a little while). (Ok, so I’m going to Auckland on Monday, but that hardly counts.) Tuesday I was back from Christchurch and off to work where people seemed to actually notice that I had been gone. I got welcome back hugs in the hall; I got lunch dates in the elevator. My boss and I met and talked for a fantastic two hours without even getting to the agenda I had prepared. I sat at my desk chair at the office and looked out the window at the views of lovely rainy Wellington and felt settled and cheerful.

On Wednesday I began my resolution to build my network of fantastic southern colleagues, and I met with a really interesting bunch of consultants who are forming a community of practice I jokingly call “HM and the transformers” (HM is the fellow who convened the meeting). We sat in a conference room and talked about resonance and building love into organisations and breaking down the barriers that get in our way—like the barriers between home self and work self, between leader and follower. It was a lovely meeting of the minds and hearts and we were six people from three different countries (none of them New Zealand) who had come to this place at this time to have this conversation. We have just begun to think about how we’re going to stay connected, but no one is starting to think about whether we’d like to stay connected—that’s clear. Afterwards, I got on the train and watched the sun sinking towards the sea and came home to Rob and the dog and the kids and soon after J who came over to play with the kids in Spanish as he does every week. And there was laughing and tongue twisters in Spanish and singing and playing and joy.

And yesterday and today I’ve stayed at home, clearing out more than 500 email messages in my inbox (I hope CC doesn’t read that—she’d be so horrified!). I’ve created a to do list of things that I have been too busy for weeks to even write down that I might do when I was less busy—and I have checked lots of those things off. I’ve talked with my dad and my mom and friends from the US. I have padded around my house in wool socks and cashmere sweaters. I have walked on the beach. And walked on the beach again.

Today I got my haircut in the village, taking Aidan and his friend along to sit in the massage chairs and generally make nuisances of themselves. Carla, who is fantastic, gave me a lovely haircut and we had a beautiful time catching up. Then the boys and I walked home along the beach, the early autumn sun setting behind the south island, bringing it close enough to touch. We laughed and joked our way along the beach, running in spirals and like airplanes, and my breath caught at the beauty of two little boys dancing on the edge of a sea stained sunset red. Magnificent. I still remember the first time I walked on this beach, now 13 months ago. Do people really live here, I wondered? Is this really what someone’s life feels like?

Our house here is too small, and to remedy that we’ve been wanting to turn the garage into a room we might actually live in. D, the “chippy” (read= carpenter) from across the street actually built the garage and the addition here in the back, as it turned out, and a month ago assured us he could have the doors and stain and all matched perfectly. This week, several weeks ahead of schedule, he’s come back to transform the garage from a place that holds a car into a place that will hold our family. Our house is getting bigger, almost without effort, and now there are new views we haven’t had before—of the back porch from the French doors that open front and back in that room—of the hills you can see only from that part of our property. Life feels like that suddenly, too—expansive and with new rooms and new vistas it didn’t have before. Tomorrow the last of the borrowed furniture (which we’ve been storing while B & D finish their renovation project) will be returned, and we’ll roll out the big carpet and celebrate Rob’s birthday in the new space. We’ll find our way into this new room that never existed before, that is part of this place and also part of us, because we’ve created something new here. We’ll think about growing opportunities, new chances, and old lives and new lives moving together to be bigger and more lovely than they were before. And then we’ll walk on the beach. People really live here.

(p.s. While we're talking about bliss, click here for a New Yorker piece that makes me laugh out loud every time I read it. I hope you have a blissful day, too.)