Like an angel falling from heaven, the right story has always landed in my lap at the right time. In this moment, the divine threw me The Alchemist. I had read Paulo Coelho’s signature work in my late teens, which is why it still haunted my parent’s bookcase. I was hunting around their house for anything that could help me make sense of who I was, and who I wanted to become in the next six months. The book literally landed at my feet, as though kicked off the shelf.
Message received.
“The secret of life, though, is to fall seven times and to get up eight times.” Seven was my lucky number. Maybe it was time to upgrade to eight. I started a journal of quotes, carefully extracting each sentence like an archeologist excavating newly found treasure. The words hit me so differently this time, a decade down the road. What had been a solid read the first go-around, was unfolding to become an essential guide book into the wilds of parenthood.
“There is only one thing that makes a dream impossible to achieve: the fear of failure.” As mentioned, fear of failure was a familiar dance partner. A real toe stepper indeed. But while I was making my way methodically through The Alchemist, I experienced a profound “aha” moment: Julia Harriet, you are a great learner. My curiosity was the bright orange carrot that could lead me out from this hole of self-doubt.
I drafted myself a loose version of Joseph Campbell’s Hero’s Journey, infusing gems from The Alchemist, and set out to learn what it would take to be somebody’s mom.
Lesson One: Know thyself
Yikes. That sounded scary. Fortunately, I wasn’t the only woman trying to figure herself out. As long as I kept high on wonderment and stayed away from those old perfectionist snares, I would get somewhere new. I would go deeper in. I read, and read, filling up on ideas, strategies, experiences, and questions. I was nurturing my inner garden, as I was growing another human in there. It wasn’t long before I was full, blooming inside and out.
Lesson Two: There’s no beginning or end to this knowing thyself stuff
No matter how many stories I read about other people’s quests of self-discovery, mine would be of my own making. I had to stand up as my own alchemist, transmuting what I had been, into the woman that awaited me. But she wasn’t somewhere out there hoping to be discovered, she was inside me, ready to emerge.
The week before Mirabelle was born, I walked 62 miles. No joke. I walked and walked, talking aloud as though I was on an extended date with myself. This was my pilgrimage of self-discovery across the fertile farmland of the Skagit River valley. For the first time in my life, I fell in love with who I was. Without judgement.
“One is loved because one is loved. No reason is needed for loving.”
Mirabelle was born at 4:24pm. Nothing is like birthing a human being. It required the total enactment and embodiment of Lesson 1. As each contraction sent shock waves through my being, I surrendered. To what I didn’t know. To all that I wasn’t yet and hadn’t become. Embracing this truth helped me bring Mirabelle forth. I didn’t have to be anyone other than who I was in that moment to be a great mom and to birth a baby.
To be myself was enough. I knew myself and I loved myself. Even if I was knocked up and bankrupt.
