Two weeks ago, when I arrived in Fairfax, California, things felt different. As I’ve grown accustomed to doing, I leaned into the feeling to explore it. I made some intriguing discoveries that remind me, once again, of the power of shifting your perspective.
Unmoored
My first two weeks of nomadic life were steeped in relationships. While the first week was a silent retreat, I was in retreat with 75 other people. Several of them were classmates in my meditation teacher program. The newness of California was balanced with a retreat community. It felt welcome and familiar.
The second week, I stayed with my cousin and his wife. Again, I found so much novelty in Half Moon Bay. There was much to learn as I deepened my relationship with family. And yet, they were family, bringing the comfort and familiarity that family can.
As I arrived in Fairfax, there was a distinctly different feel. My timing was excellent – I arrived on June 12th, a day before the annual Fairfax Festival. I was treated to a parade and two days filled with live music. It was a treat. As I wandered through the festival, exploring shops and listening to music, I recognized that this kind of outing is typically more enjoyable with a friend to share it with. I was in a new town with no friends nearby. A five-week stay is long enough to experience the area, but not long enough to develop new friendships.
I was also dealing with other novelties. I now know that I am decidedly allergic to poison oak, and it’s very common in this area of California. I’m reminded of my early days in New Mexico, when I learned the hard way that you don’t allow yourself to brush up against a cactus the way you would brush up against a tree. The same, obviously, is true of poison oak! On the first Sunday, as I was still getting used to my new space, I inadvertently locked myself out. Each small mishap was another reminder I was adrift.
As I reflected on all that was going on, with curiosity, the word that best described my state was unmoored. I felt adrift as I adapted to a new location, a new time zone, and new rhythms to life, without local friends to provide support. Emotions are often categorized first by valence (positive or negative) and, within that distinction, by energy (high or low). Anger is negative valence, high energy. Chill is positive valence, lower energy. For me, unmoored has a negative valence, with low energy. That didn’t concern me, but it invited curiosity.
Untethered
Over the course of that first week, I had deep connections with four close friends. Some were planned, and some were spontaneous. Some via phone and some via Zoom. Those connections were nourishing and insightful.
Thursday morning, one friend in particular triggered a shift in perspective. As I shared with her how I felt unmoored, she offered a different perspective. I picked up on it before she said anything, as if she’d transmitted it to me psychically, and then her words reinforced what I had already heard. In returning to nomadic life, I made a deliberate choice to be unbound. To be “free.” Not to be tied down to a single location, or a long-term relationship, or a specific way of being.
As we discussed this, I realized I was feeling untethered. Untethered carries the same low energy as unmoored, but it carries a positive valence rather than a negative one. It’s a word I associate with Michael A. Singer, author of books including The Untethered Soul and Living Untethered. His books have inspired me and contributed to my current way of being.
My friend encouraged me to lean into my untethered state and embrace it, especially during Summer, when the days are long and filled with light. It was a powerful shift.
Tethered
As I looked back upon that first week, I recognized how I remain tethered while also untethered. Tethering is a technical term for me. I don’t think of tethering as being tied down, like a tetherball on a pole. Tethering is a deliberate act of recognizing and reinforcing our energetic connection to a being or place. Tethering is not the opposite of untethered. I am tethered and untethered simultaneously.
Those connections with my four friends were a form of tethering – reinforcing my bond with each of them, sending energy through the golden thread that connects us, and receiving energy in return. And I began to think of all the ways I tether. I can share my location on my iPhone with others, and I’ve done so with a handful of friends and family. I added another good friend to that list that week. As a digital nomad who occasionally goes hiking in random remote locations, it seems like a good idea. And there is an energetic connection that forms in that sharing, knowing that when they go to text me, my location shows under my profile photo.
My time in nature is a form of tethering with Mother Earth. Welcoming the energy of the trees and the animals. Even welcoming the energy of poison oak, hopefully from a safe distance. That tethering reminds me that humanity isn’t something superior. We are peers with all other beings on this planet, including plants and animals.
When I was unnesting from Santa Fe, many of my possessions went to a delightful woman I met, Gillian Corcoran. Gillian could be the official spokesperson for tethering. She gave me a signed copy of her children’s book, The Golden Web: A Story About How Love Connects Us. Aunt Zoe teaches Sammy about the invisible golden thread that links all of us to friends and family. We are all tethered.
Grounded and Free
All of this happened two weeks ago. I knew it was meant to be written, but a busy weekend with friends in Nevada City pushed it to Monday, when I understood why the wait mattered.
As I connected with one of my teachers last Monday, I shared my experiences feeling unmoored, untethered, and tethered. We leaned further into this, and in a guided meditation, she encouraged me to connect deeply to the earth through my feet. I felt my roots planting into the earth, grounding and tethering me. And then, with my arms and torso, I embodied my untethered state, swaying in the breeze. The experience was powerful, and I felt my body filled with energy. It gave me an anchor to return to when I want to shift back to this tethered and untethered way of being.
My teacher shared that she had once guided children in “tree meditation.” Similar to what we had just done, she encouraged the children to visualize their feet as roots of a tree, connecting to the earth, while swaying their arms in the breeze like the tree’s branches. She shared how, on one occasion, something clicked for a six-year-old girl. With child-like wonder, she declared:
“The more grounded I am, the easier it is for me to fly!”
I felt chills. The both/and of tethered and untethered coursed through my veins.
Putting It Into Practice
We all pass through unmoored seasons. A move, a loss, a role we’ve outgrown, a freedom we chose that suddenly feels like exposure. The state isn’t the problem. The story we tell about it is. Here are a few ways to shift the valence without forcing the feeling away.
Name your state precisely. Unmoored, untethered, adrift, free, loose, open. These aren’t synonyms. Notice the energy and the valence beneath the word you’re reaching for. Sometimes simply finding a truer word does the work, the way untethered did for me.
Look for the reframe already waiting. The shift from unmoored to untethered didn’t require new circumstances, only a new perspective on the same ones. Ask: what would I call this if I trusted that I’d chosen it?
Find what tethers you, even now. You are never only adrift. Notice the golden threads still humming. A friend, a place, the earth under your feet, a being you feel connected to. Send energy down one of them today and feel what comes back.
Ground to fly. The next time you feel loose in the world, plant your feet like roots and let the rest of you sway. See whether, like a certain six-year-old, you find that the more grounded you are, the easier it is to fly.
Tales of Wanderment
I’ve been in California for four weeks now. In a short time, I’ve learned a lot about what draws me in.
I love the small-town feel of Fairfax. This is the first place I’ve lived where I can walk to the grocery store and shops, without living in the city. It’s delightful to rely on my feet for transportation. I love walking to the grocery store and getting what I need for a few days, rather than loading up for a week.
At the same time, while the town feels small, it’s surrounded by other towns, and there are still a lot of people here. I realize that in Santa Fe, I didn’t actually live in Santa Fe. I lived ten miles out of town, in a spacious community with fewer people.
I spent a weekend in Nevada City visiting friends and was deeply drawn in. I stayed with friends who lived only a mile from town, so I could walk into town, yet their home was nestled in the forest with plenty of space between neighbors. There was a spiritual and energetic vibe to the town that I felt attuned with, and I awoke to the calls of Raven and Hawk. I made a note to consider a return to Nevada City in the future for a longer stay.
I have loved communing with Redwoods. I had never seen one before this month. Pictures do not do them justice, but here is my best attempt. That white speck is my hat, to give you some perspective on the size of these magnificent beings.
You may recall my Scaled Quail couple from Santa Fe. I lamented the fact that they didn’t have babies before I departed. This week, as I parked to visit Roy’s Redwood Preserve, I heard the call of Quails. I could not find them. At the end of my hike, as I began to drive off, I found them across the street. To my delight, I found a whole family, including several baby Quails.
Perhaps the most magical event that day was the Deer. My house is on a hill surrounded by other houses. Outside the frosted bathroom window, I saw a Deer looking in with curiosity. I discovered a mother and her fawn were sheltering in the shade next to the house. I did my best to assure them I meant no harm. They stayed for several hours and were still there when I left for my hike. When I returned three hours later, they were still there, having moved to the other side of the house. I am used to seeing Deer. I’m not used to cohabiting with them.
I am an executive coach and consciousness coach with software executive roots in higher education and EdTech. I coach because I love helping others accelerate their growth as leaders and humans. I frequently write about #management, #leadership, #coaching, #neuroscience, and #arete.
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