We took some time off to head to “the lake”—a little piece of property on the banks of Mara, BC.
It’s an area I know well, a part of the world where I spent every summer as a child, playing and growing. A place that held me through many transitions as a young adult.
Have you ever spent so much time in a place that you feel the trees might recognize you upon your return?
I was walking with Brad and Maggie through the area, stopping to eat all the salmonberries and saskatoons that were popping. Saying hello to my eagle friends and checking special shade spots for mushrooms.
He stopped and looked at me… “You have a good eye for finding us treats!”
I laughed, reminded in that moment of the beauty of land stewardship.
When we have the kind of relationship to place that I have here—when we have the ability to witness and be witnessed by the land—it gets intimate. This land and I know each other like good friends. A kind of big friendship where there aren’t many secrets.
We’ve known each other 36 years and counting… this land and I. We’ve seen each other in many seasons.
It was here where lots of my parents' friends had the chance to witness me through many stages of my life, too. One dear friend of theirs is such a cheerleader for my heart-forward work. She often takes the time to acknowledge me from afar via my inbox (and in person when we get to see each other!)—supporting me with her kind and affirming words every time we connect.
We bumped into each other this last visit and had a moment to chat. She shared how much she loves reading my work. How she is so happy for me—that I found something I was so passionate about to offer to the world. It seems you really love birth!
And then, in a kind gesture, she shared that perhaps for a while the outside world perceived that “things were looking hard there for a while,” or perhaps that I had been “lost and struggling to find my way.”
I’ve been sitting with this message on and off since that day. It was such a beautiful reflection because it got me thinking… I’m not sure from the inside if I’d describe my early adult years in the same way. I’d not be who I am today if I hadn’t journeyed through my twenties the way I did.
Not lost, but perhaps longing. An unquenchable thirst for life, authenticity, and community that I felt was lacking in the walls of my life in YYC. The inability to sit still and wait for things to change, I dropped out of university to hitchhike around the globe in search of what I thought was missing from my life…
Endless days and nights spent with powerful women… planting rice with them, sleeping on bamboo mats with them and their children—all of our limbs wrapped around each other for warmth.
Time spent walking and laughing with women, collecting water with and caring for women and their families while they cared for me in return.
Babies napping in hammocks while we sat husking corn. Scrubbing each other’s backs in bathhouses, inspecting each other for lice afterward while we brushed each other’s hair.
Early mornings together, sipping tea and lighting the offerings.
The life I’ve lived so far was not a lost path—it allowed me to fall in love with Life. It was a stepping stone for all the years since to unfold the way they have.
Like a living excavation, my life uncovered before my eyes… all the layers and pathways and next unfoldings laying in wait… yet to be uncovered and dusted to the forefront.
I think in our credential-centered society, we are forced to choose a focus, a specialty, a path.
In her eyes—and most likely the eyes of my parents community—my path has now been selected.
But her words made me wonder… is birth work it for me? Is this my offering to the world until the end of my ‘career’? Have I finally found my passion?
The answer in my bones is a resounding no.
Not because I don’t love this work, but because I sense there is more work to be done. More to be discovered.
The truth is, my love and reverence for birth does not come from a direct passion for birth work...though I do love it so much.
Make it stand out
Whatever it is, the way you tell your story online can make all the difference.
Perhaps this fire that was lit all those years ago comes from a much deeper desire—to live in the authenticity of life itself. To know what it means to be human. To be more in touch with the most primitive and natural parts of our human-ness.
To bear witness to life itself—its mystery and magic—and all of the raw innate initiations and unfoldings that come with simply being alive.
This is it for me.
As I walk among the trees of the lake that has watched me grow all these years, I’m reminded of a survivalist course I took long ago. It debunked the common idea of writing “SOS” as a call for rescue if you’re ever lost in the natural elements. Instead, it recommended using a shape like a triangle.
The reasoning? Straight lines—sharp, angular shapes—are among the least common in nature. The stark lines of a triangle would stand out far more than the soft, curving letters of SOS.
Perhaps this applies to my life, too.
No need to move in a straight, linear direction. No need to make a stark declaration that I have made it to my place of purpose. Perhaps instead, a little closer to nature…a life well built like the soft gentle curves of an ancient boreal rainforest.
