On Friday afternoon I had an appointment in Lake Stevens for craniosacral work to help me recover from Gamma Knife, the dentist, and the snotty, snotty flu-like cold. It had been less than 24 hours since discovering the massive change I would need to make to my style of living, and I was still throbbing in the aftermath of the blow. I sobbed out various hurts to Debbie as she worked, and after an hour and a half of highly skilled labor on her part, and a draining of my emotional tanks, I felt like a new (albeit rag-doll) person. I really got my money's worth--a newly crucial goal in all my transactions.
Taya arrived out in the office as Debbie's next client went back to the massage room, and we sat to chat about my upcoming treatment plan and the state of my life. I've known Taya for several years now, and as she's got about 20 years on me, she often sees situations in a different light.
I told her about my new awareness of the loss of utter financial freedom, and that I was still smarting a bit from the loss of my Gorilla Tape blindfold, and she interrupted me.
"Don't beat yourself up," she said. "You have not ripped a blindfold off; you've just looked up."
"You were living really in the moment before," she went on. "You weren't sure you were going to live long enough to need to save your money, so you spent it. Now you are sure."
Now I AM sure.
I ruminated on that.
Here's what I think: I am not SURE that I am going to live long enough to need a huge amount of money, but I EXPECT to live a long time. Cancer doesn't loom over my existence anymore; it snaps annoyingly around my ankles, occasionally tripping me up, but mostly just being one of those things that makes us human and alive. We don't live in a snapshot of perfection; we live in a process.
Full moons and eclipses are believed to spike the influence of celestial energy on earthly circumstances. The effects we humans feel are accentuated by an open awareness and an eagerness to feel them. This is an awareness that I have been encouraging, with my tarot and my I Ching, my astrology newsletter and my meditation. I was not surprised, therefore, by the depths of my despair on Thursday evening, as that night we experienced an eclipsed full moon. But depths of despair are balanced by heights of hope, and the Universe works in mysterious ways.
Ian and I decided, about six weeks ago, that Orcas Home needed a truck rather than a 4-Runner. I had tarted up my car at Elephant Super Carwash and gone shopping at Toyota of Seattle for a Tacoma, with a list of things I wanted, including various paint colors and other optionals. Well, over that day, I decided that what I really wanted was BLUE first, and other things second. Of all the hundreds of pick-up options available in the region, it turned out there was only one that would work for me. There was not a single 2013 blue Tacoma left, anywhere, even as far away as Montana. "No problem," I said. "I'll wait. It'll come at the right time."
"They're changing the colors for 2014," I was warned by the sales manager.
"Is there going to be a blue?" I asked. There was. So. I'll wait.
The 2014s began trickling in late in September, in the standard, boring colors of the auto industry as a whole. Black, white, silver. Yawn. I wasn't paying much attention. They weren't my truck.
Well. I had just published Just Starting Out, mourning my awareness-change, and not ten minutes later, when I was racing around trying to leave for Lake Stevens (late), my cell phone rang. It was my salesperson from Toyota of Seattle, saying my Tacoma had just rolled off the trailer into their yard, and it was beautiful. "It's a Double Cab, and it's gorgeous! You were right to wait!"
"Sorry," I said, "I wanted the Access Cab. The Double is too big."
"Oh! That's right," said Shay, deflating. "Well, they're starting to come in, at any rate. I'll call you soon."
I shifted back into high leaving-the-house gear, slapped a sandwich together, filled my water bottle, made sure the checkbook was in my purse, collected Spackle and his leash. My phone rang again, a peal of insistent whinnying making me jump.
"Hello," I said, breathless, my heart racing.
"I found your truck," said Shay. "It's in Centralia, and we're trading the Double Cab. How soon can you be in?"
The Ship of Life crested the wave and started racing exhilaratingly down the other side, and I felt a burble of laughter at the preposterousness of it all (because I had no fear or doubt--I was going to buy this truck).
"I'm on my way out the door right now, late for an appointment in Lake Stevens. How late are you there tonight?"
"I can be here until nine. How about coming in at seven?"
"Great! See you then!"
Because I'd wanted this specific truck, because I'd kept in touch (I sent Shay an actual paper note thanking him for taking the time with me after my first visit), they knew I was serious and they'd initiated the trade before I'd signed any papers--something car dealerships don't do. And so, soon after Ian and I arrived at Toyota, before getting a trade-in value on the 4-Runner, before getting a credit report, before discussing just how much this new Tacoma was going to put us out, before they even looked at our licenses, I was driving up 99, putting Newblue through her paces. She felt absolutely right, and she's gorgeous.
A Toyota Tacoma is probably the best value for money one can get in a mid-sized pickup, and she's going to be with me for a long time.