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  • Writer's pictureOlga Lehmann, PhD

(Somehow) SHORT STORY. On grace.

Trust the uncertainty of new beginnings, she says. The wise voice within, sneaking into the script of the worrier who also inhabits me.  At times, being a psychologist, or a meditation instructor on the making, doesn’t suffice. Some days, some weeks, and some seasons I find it harder to relax. To breath into the sense of aliveness that trusting life conveys. I play around with my everyday silences to re-discover meaning; and today it stroke me the intensity with which life speaks when I am open to listen. I am traveling tomorrow early in the morning, so my physiotherapist booked me 9.30pm to work my leg before the long flight. There I was, running to catch a bus to her practice as I had kept myself busy between packing, writing e-mails and wonders all around. I then realized I didn’t quite remember in which stop to get off. The first bus didn’t quite take me were I had planned. I thought it would, but it didn’t. It turned left, and headed somewhere else. I got off and crossed the street, and figured out I was getting closer to my destination at least. Had to wait for a while, and a second bus showed up, so I caught it cos I didn’t have another chance. It left me one stop before the clinic, though. Snowy rain. Frozen feet. It was close enough for a ride, and far enough for a walk given the time constraints. I felt into despair and my inner critic was about to get the party started.  Suddenly, a bus I didn’t even know existed appeared around the corner. I asked the bus driver if he was going where I now assumed I was going, and he said no... yet he told me he would go close by. I risked. I checked the time and took the chance. Little did I know that there was actually a new bus stop in front of the clinic, even closer than what I knew it was possible. There I was, right on spot, in perfect timing and without knowing. While crossing the white road, a voice, the voice of the one who knows, reminded me: this is what life wants from you. To keep going. One ride might take you some steps into the direction of your life purpose, even if that ride is not the final destination. A feeling of grace returning within, the inner going to sleep. Wait. The doors of the clinic were closed. I tried to call, but the phone was off. Minus something degrees. Not a visible soul indoors or outdoors. There you go... a panicking voice within whispered, all this hope is bulls... and then a man showed up out of the blues, let me in, without saying a word and left. Right on time, and warm, I found myself when I surrendered. Once the brightness of grace silences my worries, I trust that uncertainty is also a path. The path. The craft of detachment makes me wonder. My assumptions about which vehicles and destinations to reach, vanish as I breath. Tunes of freedom reverberate within. Why to attach my life purpose to an idea? All I need is a clear direction, which I have been blessed with since I was a little child. I am here to support others as they expand their capacity to feel, to be present with what is. What if there is a greater destination for my dreams? The snow breeze dances in the street. I can forget, but I can also remember, once and again, to trust more in that purpose, that inner compass, than in any imagined unfolding of the future. I open myself to the opportunity of a more poetic unfolding ahead for me. The uncertainty of new beginnings stops having an unquieting sense for me. Trondheim, I love you when you snow, and when you don’t, I love you too.

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