Wherever You Go, There You Are

I recently made a big life transition. I graduated from college and moved from Chicagoland to La-La-Land. Generally, change of any kind is stressful in a big way. I love ordinary days, I love my routines, and I love doing the same things in the same place at the same time day after day. This being the case, I was very nervous about a cross-country move. My family and my health-support network is in California, so moving was ultimately the necessary thing to do, but my expectations for the transition period were, well, grim. I expected my body to rebel and my mind to run a hundred miles a minute as I rushed to pack up my apartment, hop on a plane, and make everything in California just as it was in Chicago. I anxiously awaited moving day, sure that such a stressful period would set me back health-wise. By the time the big day came, I was prepared to be emotionally and physically exhausted for days, maybe weeks, as I transitioned. Funny thing, though. That didn’t happen.

The strength that we can discover within ourselves during difficult periods like this can come as a surprise. The expectation is often much worse, or at least very different from, the thing itself. Interestingly, by now I’ve become so accustomed to taking my life one day at a time for health reasons that I naturally applied this same principle to moving. Yes, it’s a huge change, but it is so clear to me that I only have control in a given moment. I can’t predict what will happen an hour from now, or tomorrow, or next week, in my body or in the external world. And after years of reminding myself whenever I began to spiral that my greatest power is to be present with what is, apparently it’s becoming my modus operandi.

I have of course established many of the same routines here in California, but it hasn’t happened out of fear or control. I’m naturally drawn to certain ways of doing things, and whether I’m in the Midwest or on the West Coast, I do them the same way. I don’t have huge overarching goals or plans, but my daily rituals keep me grounded and remind my body that it is safe in a new environment. As food and cooking are my main rituals, my first morning in L.A. was spent at the grocery store. Filling my shopping cart full of my staples, summer squash, leafy greens, fresh herbs, olive oil, chicken, eggs, and almond butter, gave me a deep sense of comfort. And the thing about California is, it is a mecca for allergen-free foods. I walk into a grocery store, even a small convenience store, and it is pretty much guaranteed there will be multiple exciting creations at my fingertips that I will be able to eat. I’ve already found a loaf of gluten-free, grain-free, dairy-free bread (my first in 2 years!) that fits into my diet, and have been able to introduce the holy grail of Millennial meals: avocado toast. And let me tell you, it’s as good as it looks on Instagram.

Beyond the food offerings, there is something about Southern California that really resonates with me. The sense of openness, peace, and stability in this environment compounds my body’s healing in a way that feels almost magical. I’ve been back and forth to California to visit my family before moving here permanently, and on each visit, there’s been a slight shift in my health, an ease in my body’s digestive functions that I never felt in Chicago. I could attribute this to a variety of factors: the endless days of sun and dry heat, the proximity to my family, the quality of California’s food, or the lack of research papers and readings for classes that I’m no longer enrolled in. I have this feeling it’s because I subconsciously crave an external environment that is reflective of my internal environment, or at least the direction my internal environment is headed in.

A few years ago, as I was reaching the peak of sickness, I preferred crowded, hectic, grungy city spaces. I got a rush from cold, dark weather with days upon days of snow and rain. Which makes sense – my body was cluttered with parasitic microorganisms that were proliferating by the day. Interestingly, the deeper I’ve gone into my healing protocols and the more I’ve cleared my body of such bugs, the more I crave open, quiet, sunny spaces. I avoid large crowds and row after row of tall buildings as much as possible. My body is becoming more spacious, my mind is becoming more spacious, and if my surrounding environment can take on the same characteristics, all the better. It becomes a positive feedback loop of space and lightness begetting space and lightness. My body begins to crave the simplicity of its environment. And it even takes form in what I put on my plate! As much as I like to experiment with cooking, lately I only want my staple meals, simply cooked, exactly as I like them. I don’t want to make my food more complex than it has to be, because it isn’t exactly about the food right now – it’s about the purpose, stability, routine, and simplicity that an uncluttered plate brings to my life. During a transitional period, when many things around me are in constant flux, I keep that which I can control as easy and predictable as possible.

Moving has been an enlightening marker for where I am in my life. Packing up my apartment forced me to declutter and focus on what I really use and need on a day to day basis. It has faced me with reality that the more I pare down, the simpler I keep things, the less stuff I have, the happier I am. All of which is a telling sign that losing my health and slowly regaining it back has taught me that no amount of things or experiences are going to bring me joy. Life doesn’t have to be a constant stream of excitement and stimulation and surprise and adventure. Health is truly wealth, and a deep dive into simplicity, decluttering more and more as I get healthier and healthier, is becoming the greatest adventure of all.

To read more of Anna’s story, please visit Anna’s Corner.

 

 

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