Here’s a little story from recent travels that I hope lets you know that you, beautiful soul, are unforgettable.
Minnesota Memories
Thanks so much for picking me up.” I say to my little brother, as we disembark from my parents’ Lincoln Navigator. I pull on my single backpack dwarfed in the empty back seat.
The Minnesota sun warms my faded lucky fishing White Sox baseball cap; the temperature too warm for my sweatshirt and yoga pants from the plane ride. I close my eyes and smell the fresh, lake air, a mix of algae, evergreen, and dead fish that always puts a smile on my face; bringing me back to childhood summers in northern Wisconsin.
“Well, there you are.” a familiar voice says, in a relaxed tone. My dad, a retired school teacher with a rekindled love of clarinet and a slight stoop from years of honey-do lists, comes in and gives me an encompassing hug.
As I enter the house, a tall group of bright-eyed bathing-suited children encircle me, reminding me of the time Indiana Jones freed those child-slaves in Temple of Doom.
“Aunt Heidi! Aunt Heidi! Come see what we have for you!” my nieces and nephew all say, taking my hands and pulling me to the front of this lake house mansion.
As we make our way through the house, down the stairs, and towards a giant hot tub, I meet eyes with my two other brothers, my sister-in-law, my mom. I feel loved. Soon, the gift of a tree frog is in my hands, not much bigger than my thumb. I set it free from its hot-tub jail; it hops back to the trees.
The next two days, I fill my calendar with visiting, helping, pilates-ing, fishing, and drives to the bait shop.
11:30pm, two days later, I’m sitting up in my bed, crying and confused.
My head tries to figure out what’s going on. I’m doing all the vacation things. The things I love with the people I love. I know this is waaaay past my bedtime, but it’s more than overtired. I just know it. I look at my phone. Texts from my wife wondering what I’m doing. Asking how I’m feeling. Why I’m not responding.
She’s talking like I forgot about her. I think, in a snarky tone. My breath catches. Wait. Wait. Wait. That’s the word. Forgot.
I went on vacation and forgot myself. I dove in like I was 6, not 46.
The next three days, I find some reflective time to hop back to my own tree: watch the ducks, have a deep conversation with my sister-in-law, write, and wrap my hands around a hot mug of lavender tea.
The SoulJourner Question
A couple questions for you to ponder – what are the daily habits and practices that help you remember who you are, who you want to be? What do you have in your life that might encourage you to zone-out, reinforce automatic habits and old patterns, in other words, forget yourself?
My wish for you today, my friend. That you may wander, that you may love, that you may hop back to your own tree, always remembering that you are one unforgettable soul to be proud of.
with love, light, and laughter,
Heidi Esther
PPS You are unforgettable.
*Yes, I am officially nine years in recovery from codependency. I will never be “recovered”; such is nature of addiction. Oh, yes, codependency (my definition): an enmeshment with other people’s thoughts, feelings, and reactions that elicit self-negating and self-forgetting behaviors such as low-self esteem, control, avoidance, denial, and compliance. Here’s a funny three-part story about my step-dog and how I came to be more aware of my codependency, in case you are curious! And here’s the program that helped me figure out my codependency.
