A plate of broccoli, two airpods and an old deck chair. I scoot myself and a small table into the sun, press play on my audiobook and close my eyes. I've been a travel PT and living in this new, vibrant home for one week. I have meal prepped and found my yoga-home, learned my way to work and back without my maps and have avoided finding my favorite coffee shop just yet because it's still NoSpendFeb. Glennon Doyle's Untamed plays (on 1.15 speed, because I'm always in a rush) while I let the sun penetrate my eyelids.
Doyle is speaking of her sister who went through a divorce and stayed in her basement while she got her feet underneath her. Doyle writes about her sister's cave of protection, a place of refuge that she would spend her nights in. Two decorations: one cross, and a sign that said:
"For I know the plans I have for you, plans to give you hope and a future." Jeremiah 29:11
My cave of protection was my last apartment. Though I did unpack a few photos and pack the pantry full of food, it was a stop along the way. My friend called the space "grounding" and that's what it was, somewhere to land gently after a turbulent departure. It was safe, bright and calm. I sunk into the worn leather couch the day I arrived, and again when I sprained my ankle, and then for a week when I had Covid. I returned to the couch each time I folded my laundry and then again when I folded all my clothes into boxes to send home.
I stood under the waterfall shower and cried (softly, the acoustics were...too good) and cheerfully after a good day/night/workout. I jumped into bed, I fell into bed, I made my bed every single day. I washed the same dish 50 times because I had a favorite coffee mug, even if my options were all the exact same black mug.
I knew I wasn't staying for long, but it was a safe space to land.
Doyle's sister, one day, emerged from her basement room and never went back into her cave. She wrote that her sister came out of her cocoon and, as it goes, became a butterfly. She found purpose, happiness, safety, love and wouldn't have been able to had it not been for that safe resting place.
My phone dinged and I blinked my eyes open, letting the sunspots recede from the center of my gaze I looked under the lanai. A sign in front of me blinked back as I focused my eyes. Hanging on the outdoor wall of my new, albeit temporary abode was a sign that read:
"For I know the plans I have for you, plans to give you hope and a future." Jeremiah 29:11