Today is your due date. Isaiah is "supposed" to be born according to some measuring mechanism that Ob/Gyn's use to predict these things. You have been intensely waiting for his arrival about 5 days now. You've even had some rounds of contractions that turned into nothing. Yesterday you had a burst of energy that might be classified as "nesting syndrome" given that you shopped, cleaned, organized and reorganized things that didn't even need to be touched. You've been craving apple sauce every single day for 4 days in a row. This morning you woke up sluggish and out of sorts, ready to weep at the drop of a hat or at the thought of your spouse. There have been moments lately when you've had some clarity about how bio-chemical this all is. Those tend to be the moments when you feel the most sane, the most "in control" and as if all is right with the world. Something about metacognition that renders peace. But it is increasingly the case that you are not experiencing moments like this, that you are instead having heightened anxiety, that you are experiencing yourself the object of something Larger than yourself instead of the subject of your own choosing. And you, my dear, hate that shit.
Why?
Well I imagine it's because you feel like a fool for being *that* person. That person who preaches faith and surrender and letting go every single day/week to/for others but who struggles to do so herself and then feels all kinds of shame about it. Yep: you're that person, that pastor, that womyn, that mom, that wife, that friend, that hypocrite, that human. Welcome to the club. Welcome to the experience of living.
For some reason, you still manage to sit with the Grand Illusion that you are the master of your destiny. In this case you seem to think you are the master of Isaiah's destiny too. Reality check: not so much. You do everything from reading books about birth to recollecting how Aurora's birth went down to listening to other people's stories about birth--all in an attempt to predict how things are going to be. Here are some of the mental narratives and projections you've conjured up so far in an attempt to stifle your impatience: he'll come when I leave work; he'll come when the moon is full; he'll come on the 19th in honor of my father; he'll come at my next Ob appointment because they'll induce me; he'll come on the due date because it's the due date. Wrong wrong wrong wrong. There's nothing that can take away the mystery of this occasion. And if you want wisdom over worry, you'll invite and flourish in that mystery instead of trying to extinguish it.
Remember on Tuesday how you went to Kellogg Forrest, all by yourself? How you walked slowly and intentionally, like Thich Nhat Hanh teaches, noticing every step? How the trees were fluorescent, and the air was spiritual magic, like Sherwood Forrest meets Eden? The ground at your feet rolled out like a patchwork carpet of red and yellow and orange and brown leaves. With every inhale and exhale, with every extension of your neck to look above and below and all around, you found yourself connecting with this Eternal promise of "what will be will be." Remember how that comforted you? How you went to your favorite tree in that place, the big one that shoots branches out in every single direction, a tree that dares to be huge and bursting in the midst of other trees that are kinda plain and boring? Remember how you uttered a prayer, in the open bosom of that tree's presence, about wanting to trust G-d, about wanting to trust the natural rhythms inside you that connected you to all that beauty surrounding you in that moment? Yeah, remember that.
Remember the Earth.
Remember the trees of Fall, how they let go when it's time and when they do, it's perfectly beautiful.
Remember the words of Luke: "Blessed is she who believed that The Lord would fulfill his promises to her."
Remember that this is mystery and mystery is what makes life worth living.
Oh and remember: sometimes we feel anxiety because we care, a whole lot, about the source of the anxiety, which in this case is your child and J.R.'s child and Aurora's brother and Vivian & Marty's grandson and Susan's nephew. So be gentle with yourself because this makes a whole lot of sense. Anxiety makes sense right now, just don't be ruled by it right now.
Remember what all those wonderful and messed up recovering drunks taught you, that thing that saved your life back in 2001 and continues to save your life every time you choose it: Let go, Let G-d.
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