Bill and I recently took off for a Sunday drive down New Mexico 337 through the Sandia mountains southeast of Albuquerque. Exploring has been our big entertainment during the pandemic. We packed sandwiches, water, chips and chocolate, a couple of lawn chairs and we carried a hope within us that we would find a shady spot in the 98-degree heat to stop and eat lunch.
We set out fresh in the morning, marveling at the breathtaking high country so close to home and all its sights: fir trees, winding gravel roads off the two lane, mountain meadows cradling tiny towns along the way, some with signs at the outskirts saying “Congested Area” that made us laugh as there wasn’t a car, or even a cow, in sight.
The landscape filled our souls as the hours passed, but eventually our stomachs began to rumble.
“You getting hungry?” I asked Bill. “I’m thinking we should look for a park or at least a shady spot to pull over.”
“Sounds good to me,” he replied as he scanned the landscape. We came upon a road sign pointing to a park 19 miles up a gravel road.
“Too far,” we agreed. Our Prius isn’t the best off-road vehicle.
A few miles further on, another sign pointed to a park, this time a 10-mile drive on gravel.
No, not there either. Our hunger rumblings turned into growls. We had hit high desert where trees were sparse. “Maybe we’ll just have to pull over and eat in the car with the air on” Bill suggested.
I wasn’t sure there would be anything out there, but I replied, “Let’s trust well find the perfect place. Go a little further.”
A mile further down, just outside of a small deserted town, sharp-eyed Bill swerved onto a dirt turnoff. Just beyond some scrubby bushes stood a hand hewn stone gazebo with a beamed roof, open porticos and entrances that invited us to stay a while, sit in the cool shade of its stone shelter and take in the mountain views all around.
We gratefully set up our blue camp chairs under the gazebo roof and savored our cheese sandwiches. Light summer breezes cooled us. We wanted to stay forever. Pink hollyhocks through the porticos, letting us know someone takes care of this magical place. We felt completely cared for ourselves.
In this time of uncertainty, I’ve been thinking about trust. So much of what happens is not dependent on me, what I know or what I can arrange and do. I’ve been a doer all my life, but this time of being home, of not doing so much, has given me pause. No, it’s forced me to consider the balance of being and doing, of how important being where I am is, of how much I can let go of as I trust life.
There is a gazebo around the bend…
Take out your journal and colored markers:
What magic gazebo have you come upon recently?
Where have you been noticing you’re not in charge?
What is working out anyway?
What is working in surprising ways?
Where are you cared for in ways you don’t realize?
Lynn Baskfield guides you through rites of passage* with storytelling, writing, creative expression, ritual, retreats, nature and very centrally, the wisdom of horses. A lifelong horsewoman, she partners with horses to evoke insights and learning that you cannot get by thinking, reading, or talk coaching only. If you work with Lynn and her experiential coaching approach, confidence, joy and creative solutions will emerge naturally as you move forward.
Lynn holds an M.A in Human Development and is a certified life coach, transformational educator and the author of two books. As owner of SpiritDance Coaching, she has been coaching, training, and conducting retreats for individuals and groups since 1997. She also trains and mentors equine guided professionals around the world. www.lynnbaskfield.com
* Adult Rites of Passage: Stepping into Your Big Dream, Career Change, Empty Nest, Moving, Conscious Aging, Facing Chronic or Life-Threatening Illness, Loss and Grief