Listening for Home

Discernment in Troubled Times

Hello Friends!

For those who are new to this newsletter, I’m ten months into my Year of Spiritual Thinking Project and in the midst of navigating a move from the home I thought would be my last one, the one I’d live in until I leave this existence, to a place where my heart and lungs will be happier and healthier.

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Americans are a moving culture

In 2007, the US Census Bureau used data from the American Community Survey to calculate that the average person in this country will move 11.7 times in their lifetime. (Note that 2007 is the latest year for which these particular data are available.)

That’s an average, not a predictor of how much each of us will move in our lifetimes. Some of us stay in place our whole lives, some like me have moved more than we would like, for a variety of reasons ranging from changes in our family situations to job and career changes, and from natural disasters like Hurricane Helene and wildfire to personal preference.

It’s January, and I’m moving from Cody back to Colorado—what could go wrong? Black ice, blizzard conditions, closed roads—winter in Wyoming!

Whatever the reason, a decision as huge as moving can be paralyzing. How do we decide where and when to go (assuming we can choose, that is)?

Sue Kusch

of Fifteen Years and Counting commented on my post that she has been thinking about where to go when she has to leave her beloved home and garden:

As someone entwined with place and home, I share your sorrow. The journey of aging is never easy.

True words.

Listening Within: A Simple Exercise in Discernment

If circumstances are forcing you to move, or to make another momentous decision, how do you know where to look? What to choose?

In my experience, logic and those “top ten whatever” articles are of limited use. We are individuals and so are our requirements.

Here’s a simple way to listen to both head and heart that is useful in making all sorts of decisions:

Set a timer for three minutes and list as many positive things about where you live now as you can think of in that time. Those things you love could be aspects of your house or characteristics of the place—nearby family or easy hiking trails—or less concrete qualities like the way the light slants through the clouds on winter days.

At the end of three minutes, without looking over your first list, set the timer for another three minutes and list as many negative things as you can, which again could be very concrete or very abstract. List each as it comes up, without judgement.

Then, read each list out loud and as you do, “listen” for which qualities evoke a strong response in your body. Circle or highlight those qualities from both the positive list and the negative one. Just those that you hear or feel a visceral response.

Articulating the Aspects of Home

Take four or five of those strong positives and four or five negatives and jot down some notes (or speak a voice memo) about what makes them important. Do you begin to hear clarity about what you value and don’t value about home and place?

Spend time writing or talking about each positive and each negative. What do they each tell you? Be as specific as you can, and again, listen within as a barometer of how close you are coming to your inner truths about what matters most to you. The narrative you are creating can guide you through the myriad of choices and the plurality of practical considerations.

Big sagebrush spangled with hoarfrost

What I Learned

As I was thinking about where I might move, I did the listening exercise first, and then I listed the most important practical stuff that came up:

• reasonably priced housing (as defined by my budget)

• good medical care and facilities within easy reach

• within the Rocky Mountain West

• not in or near a large metropolitan area

• easy access to nearby wild

• at least a few friends to jump-start community

• lower than 6,000 feet elevation

And then I closed my eyes and let myself dream for a few minutes. I asked myself, What does home feel like, sound like, smell like?

• the air smells like big sagebrush

• I hear sandhill crane calls

• water rushes nearby

• cottonwood leaves rustle

• sunshine warms my skin

• stars freckle the night sky

• frost crisps the air

Mapping Home

Next I mapped out the intersection of those two lists. Where did they overlap? That narrowed my search considerably. The Rocky Mountain West is a very big region: over a thousand miles top to bottom and several hundred miles wide. That’s a lot of territory.

But if you look at rural towns with reasonably priced housing, the possibilities narrow considerably. Add in water rushing nearby and sandhill cranes calling, and the search narrows farther. Elevation, not in or near a major metropolitan area, and the presence of some friends for community further refine the search area.

Once I mapped the overlap area of my practical and dream lists, I looked at the short-list of towns, and picked the two that most attracted me: Cody, Wyoming, the place I have called home since grade school, and Montrose, Colorado, between the San Juan Mountains and the red-rock country, where I lived for a short time a couple of years ago.

I would visit both and listen to my heart—the literal one beating in my chest, and the metaphorical one that is always wiser than I expect.

Storm King Mountain rises over the Uncompahgre River Valley with the south edge of Montrose and my new neighborhood in mid-photo.

Recognizing Home

After all that, I knew as soon as I drove over Cerro Summit and saw the Uncompahgre Plateau on the western horizon, and the river valley spreading out below me with Montrose sprawling across it: home.

That night, listening to the voice of the river tumbling along below the cabin where I was staying at the edge of town, I dreamed of cranes’ throbbing calls and smelled the resin-infused pungency of big sagebrush.

The next day, I found a house. Waiting for me. My Santa Fe house went under contract before I even drove back. If I wanted clarity about my choice, there it was. Practically instantly.

After a month of pure insanity tending two real estate contracts and packing, on October 24th I will aim Rojita, my little truck, toward Montrose, laden with everything I need for a month of cabin life until I can move into my new house, and head home. Again. Wish me luck. :)

Blessings to you all!