Last week, my wife Rachel and I traveled to Illinois to visit her family for the Thanksgiving holiday. Our to-do list included visiting the graves of relatives whose funerals could not be attended during Covid, sorting through photos in her parent's attic, and trying the best ice cream in the world—Country Style. I’ve been told this is controversial, and if you’re from The Quad Cities, you might think Whitey’s Ice Cream is better than Country Style, so please forgive me as an outsider, I’m still learning.
When I was at a corporate job, I imagined working for myself would be like working when you want to work and having the luxury of time off when you need it. It’s true to some extent; no one harasses me when I take a break (except myself), and there is no request form to submit, but over the last six years, I’ve developed a schedule that tethers me, and it turns out releasing my grip leaves me feeling ungrounded. I cling to my work to feel useful, and on this trip, we spent a lot of time sitting around and drinking tea.
It was a constant struggle to resist thinking of everything I’m not doing for my business, all the ideas not being brought to life, the pages left unwritten, and even the books left unread. Even with work aside, my mind grabs a hold of other things to ensure I’m making the most of myself. I check in on my kids and then analyze the amount of missing them or not missing them that I experience.
My thoughts can be comically brutal: “How much would a good mother miss her children on Thanksgiving?” My consciousness is like an algorithm of conditioning that short circuits with anxiety. I know it’s okay to have ridiculous thoughts, and I know it’s good to recognize them. It seems that without a clear purpose in my mind, I become steeped in guilt. Guilt for resting, or not resting, for not experiencing enough, even guilt for not having more fun.
I was reminded several times by the spirit world that our purpose is not to do or be one thing. Our purpose is to be ourselves in the moment we are here.
When I ask for help, for clarity, from my guides, they offer, “Let your body move towards love.” When I can do this, I pick up a photo from Rachels's high school graduation and imagine how she felt on that day, I can listen to what’s being said around me and notice myself wanting to share and open up to someone.
When I was in my 30s and my kids were younger (they are now 17 and 19), I was obsessed with the idea of quality time. I needed all the time I spent with them to be quality time, and always felt the minutes accumulating, breathing down the back of my neck. I sat on the floor with them and built Lego sets with any free time I had and squeezed outings into every weekend around my work schedule. If there wasn’t going to be a large quantity of time there was going to be quality. The knowledge that I wasn't spending enough time with them for my heart to feel satisfied never occurred to me.
I read about Gary Chapman's five love languages in the early 2000s when it was a bestseller. The book, and the many articles based on it, explain the five love languages as words of affirmation, receiving gifts, quality time, physical touch, and acts of service. I’ve always felt that these love languages were limiting and strange. Although I will admit to having taken several “love language quizzes,” and my results always show quality time as my love language. Perhaps it had been the deprivation of quality time with myself over the years that left me craving it with others. When we’ve put parts of ourselves away, we crave realness, authenticity, and connection.
I notice in the spiritual community that there is sometimes a hierarchy in conversations. We might imagine that deep conversations are more meaningful or necessary. I hear people say, “I can’t do small talk.” I understand the sentiment, and I used to feel this way. When everything is bottled up, and you’ve recently experienced an awakening talking about the weather can feel stifling.
We don’t want to live in a muggle world anymore, we want to talk about our soul. But so much happens through slow conversations. Hearing about mundane things and exchanging niceties builds trust and companionship. As I’ve been leaning into this more the last few years, I notice that I need a slow conversation. It’s the same with time spent together, sometimes I need the quantity to feel connected.
Magic happens in the space of doing nothing. When we are not on our phones, when we are sharing boring time and space together. We build a sense of comfortability.
Love grows.
By our last day there, my mother-in-law was wrapping me up in a blanket on the couch, tucking it around my toes, and kissing me on the head. I stopped sensoring myself and relaxed. We all cried and hugged when we said goodbye. It takes time to bond and get to know one another, but when we allow ourselves to just be, the quality of our connection builds.
Thanks for being here and sharing your time with me.
Love,
Sheryl
P.S. I’m excited to share with you a new feature of this newsletter. I’m adding an advice column to The Electric Curtain called A Peek Behind the Veil, where you can submit anonymous questions to be answered in the newsletter.
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“Magic happens in the space of doing nothing. When we are not on our phones, when we are sharing boring time and space together. We build a sense of comfortability.
Love grows.”
Beautiful 🥹🥹🥹🥹🎀