The Ground We Stand On Is Fertile

Something happened today that made me stop.

Not because I was looking for a sign. Actually, quite the opposite. I've spent enough time over the years looking for answers outside myself. I've learned that sometimes the most important things happen when we stop searching and simply notice what is right in front of us.

A few days ago, I looked out across our property and there she was. A mother duck. And following her were two or three larger ducks, and then this whole little gaggle of tiny babies.

I just stood there watching them. There was something about it that got me. Maybe because I've spent the last three years doing something that, in many ways, looks a little like that.

There has been the mothering. The protecting. The carrying. The creating. The trying to make everything work.

And then there has been me. Learning that I can love people deeply without disappearing inside their needs. That has been one of the biggest lessons of my life.

I used to think caring for everyone else meant putting myself last. I don't believe that anymore. I don't think we have to choose between being there for the people we love and being there for ourselves. I think we can learn to do both.

And maybe that's what the caravan has come to represent for me. We bought it because we are about to have more family around us. More people. More noise. More life. And I love that.

But I also know myself now. I know I need somewhere quiet to retreat to. Somewhere I can close the door, breathe, read, write, sit, or simply do absolutely nothing for a while. Not because I don't want people around me. Because I want to be able to stay with myself while they are. That feels very different.

And then today, driving down the road, a flock of galahs flew directly over the car. Six. Then nine. Then four. Their pink bellies caught the light as they flew overhead and, honestly, I just laughed. Because sometimes life has a funny way of getting your attention.

I don't need to decide exactly what it means. I can simply let it mean something to me. Six felt like family and connection. Nine felt like completion. Four felt like foundations.

And when I put those things together, I couldn't help but think about where I am right now. The book is finished. The website is almost ready. Return to Self has become something far bigger than the idea I first had. And after three years of writing, healing, questioning, remembering and rebuilding, I can feel something changing. I'm not in the cocoon anymore. I'm standing at the edge of something new.

And maybe that's why the ducks caught my attention. They weren't rushing. The mother wasn't trying to drag those babies somewhere faster. They were just moving. From water to land. From land to water. Following what was in front of them. Moving with the day.

There is something I am learning about that. I don't have to hurry this. I've spent enough of my life believing that everything had to happen now. That I had to keep moving. Keep producing. Keep achieving. Keep everyone else okay.

I'm learning that there is another way. I can move with my life instead of constantly trying to outrun it. I can open my home and still protect my peace. I can love people and still belong to myself. I can create something meaningful without having to know exactly where it will lead. I can let the next thing arrive. And perhaps most importantly, I can trust that I don't have to abandon myself to build a life I love.

So tonight, I'm sitting with the image of those ducks. The little ones following behind. The mother leading without forcing. And those ridiculous, beautiful pink galahs flying across the sky.

Maybe it was a sign. Maybe it was simply nature doing what nature does. Maybe it doesn't matter. Because it reminded me of something I already know.

The ground I'm standing on is fertile. And maybe, after everything I've been through, I'm finally learning that it is safe to fly. Not away from myself. With myself.

And that, for me, is what Return to Self really means. Coming home. Not once. But again and again.