When I moved back to Anchorage a year and a half ago, a wise friend suggested that I write a note about why I was making the move, what I felt I had been missing, why being back here was what I wanted, needed, at that time. She said I should write it while the feelings were fresh so that I could read it two years later, when the restlessness kicked in again.
Her comment felt a bit biting, suggestive. Two years—how dare you choose a number that happens to be just greater than my longest tenure at a job, or my longest romantic relationship! Of course I won’t get restless, I’m an adult who definitely considered the consequences of this giant relocation! Of course I didn’t make the decision lightly, of course I’ll remember how it felt to uproot my life yet again, sell most of my belongings, say goodbye to the best apartment I’d ever known, to my best friends who were also my neighbors, to my little community only a few miles away from my childhood home!
Of course I’ll remember all that.
But something in me knew this friend had a point. So on my 33rd birthday, freshly relocated back north, I sat down and wrote a few thoughts to my future self.
I’m not supposed to open that note until 2023.1 But once I remembered it existed, of course I opened it. My rules are to break as I wish.
The contents are less important than the reason I was told to write it—the sense that, once I’m settled again in a new place and the place is no longer new, I’ll get the urge to leave.
Thankfully that hasn’t happened yet. Moving is exhausting, and I like my life. I like this being my home, the place where I bought a house2 and made a commitment to a job and feel a strong sense of community. Don’t worry everyone, I’m not moving.
Instead, what I’ve felt recently is intense wanderlust—a desire to fill the remaining “empty” days on my calendar with new travel and new experiences.
This seems partially related to the fact that fall is a popular time to leave Alaska. It’s depressing up here, losing so much light each day. And before the snow falls, there’s no redeeming winter activities or moon reflecting off the white. A lot of my friends have been bouncing around the globe over the past month: to Europe, Northern Africa, California, the east coast. Seeing their photos and hearing their stories, I found myself feeling jealous, or envious—I always mix up the two. The point is, I realized that I too want to travel, to have an exciting trip on the horizon. To be making the most of my days.
The sense of urgency feels different now. Part of it may be the collective thaw of the pandemic shutdown—I know I’m not the only one who feels a bit awakened, slightly more energetic and outward-focused than I have over the past few years. And for me, and some of my peers as well, the sense of urgency is also relative: this may be the last time we have such untethered freedom. No children, flexible work schedules. Who knows how long it might last.
After chatting with these far-flung friends I looked at my calendar and realized that I had about two weeks of free time at the end of November that so far contained only tentative Thanksgiving plans. Is this my opportunity? I wondered. Should I book a trip somewhere I’ve never been, see if I can get a friend to join but otherwise wander free? Is this my journey unfolding? My time to seize the day…?
I began to obsessively search flights to places I’d been curious to visit: Dublin! Buenos Aires! Kona! Asheville! Toronto! I sent a few feelers out to friends who might be convinced to take a last-minute trip, or people who lived abroad and who I wanted to visit. But as it happens sometimes in life, the plan just wasn’t clicking. As an intuitive person, I felt blocked.
Recently I’ve been thinking about some advice I heard: if you feel confused or unsure about what to do, the best thing is to do nothing. Don’t take action until it’s clear; sit in the discomfort of not knowing, accept it, and eventually your answer will emerge.
I believe this kind of stuff, this intuitive magic, and am no longer embarrassed by it. In my decision-making process, logic only goes so far. At a certain point I have to trust my feelings, my sense for what’s the next right thing to do.
A lot of the language I use comes from authors whose work has influenced me: Glennon Doyle,3 Sarah Faith Gottesdiener, Martha Beck, Lisa Olivera, Jenna Wortham, to name a few... I encourage you to read them if energetic hygiene and connecting with intuition is your jam. Also send me recs yourself! I’m always curious.
In a recent post, Sarah Faith Gottesdiener addresses the difference between anxiety and intuition. She begins with:
Intuition is an inner, sure knowing.
It is a clear, simple, message. It is an instinct toward or away.
It is confident — it doesn’t have to convince you, and often it won’t give you whys or hows.
Your intuition will always tell you what.
Intuition doesn’t have baggage, or self-consciousness attached to it.
Intuition doesn’t question if it’s making the wrong choice, or if it’s going to offend someone.
Intuition just is.
I believe Glennon Doyle expresses it as connecting to a voice deep within herself, her calm quiet place. Like the elephant metaphor for religions, different people use different words to describe what is ultimately the same thing: a sense of peace, of knowing, that comes from somewhere other than just your brain.
I’ve spent a lot of the past half-decade learning to reconnect with my intuition. I’ve felt it in big moments, that certainty of seeing the next step to take. It very clearly directed me to move back here, to make this place my home. I’ve felt the certainty, even when it went against what my logic brain might say. But what I know as a lawyer is, the logic brain can always argue both sides. To paraphrase Martha Beck: the way to make decisions is not by coming to consensus but, instead, by coming to your senses.
As I’ve experienced recently, it’s frustrating to sit in the intuitive fog, the state of unknowing. It can be so frustrating that some people spend a lifetime avoiding it: as a reformed avoider, I know what it’s like to ping-pong between different plans, to react instead of act. To try to please others, ask for everyone's opinions, come to “consensus” instead of, you got it, my senses. I know how painful it is to not have an answer, and how tempting to want someone else to make a decision for you. But is it really more painful than giving up agency, letting others determine all the steps you take?4 No, not for me at least. As I'm sure someone (maybe an actor misreading a revolutionary war line? Or a depressive corporations student?) once said, give me agency, or give me death!
So I guess the point of this essay, if that’s even an appropriate characterization,5 is that I have some down time at the end of November and am figuring out what to do with it. Wow! What a real life non-problem. And wow, here I go again using (bad) humor to avoid being vulnerable. That's therapy in action, folks.
I find it hard to sit in the unknowing, to wait for my intuition to kick in. I know it gets better with practice, and with the right tools and structure. But I also know that sometimes frankly it just sucks.
Oh well, that’s life. So here I am, sitting. Sitting, and also researching the shit out of, or more like half-researching and then abandoning, as is my wont, many hypothetical future vacations. Feel free to join in on this voyeuristic endeavor. Is anyone else feeling wanderlust? Anyone else have some free time coming up that they don’t know what to do with? Realistically, I’ll be here in my cozy little spot, enjoying the home life. But hey, maybe intuition will strike at the right moment and transport me to the beach, or to a soggy pub in Galway. Paradise!!!
Okay, off to play more online cribbage. This sitting thing is going great, thanks for asking.
Cheers,
Julia
The document title is, in fact, “OPEN IN 2023 - LETTER TO SELF.”
Townhouse condo, if we’re being specific. And we always are.
Yes, that’s Abby Wambach’s wife.
For some cult (and dare I say religion) devotees, I guess the answer is yes.
This is an inside joke between me and a former supervisor who will 100% never read this newsletter. You’re welcome.
I love cribbage too! How do you play online? Plus, may I suggest exploring canyon country in Utah or the hills of North Carolina? The Roses would love to see you ❤️
It was brave of you to follow your friend’s advice and to write down your feelings. I think some of your wanderlust may be genetic! ✈️ 🏔 🤗