Knowing

Whether it's 20 minutes or 9 months -- when you know, you know. Or something like that.

“We should go away that weekend.”

I’m not sure which one of us suggested it first — the idea that I would leave my job and then immediately leave town. Whoever suggested it doesn’t matter as much as the fact that it was said, by someone, and then — just as quickly — it was done. We were going away.

In a matter of 20 minutes, we’d found an Airbnb: three nights up north, near Crosby, a place we’d been once and loved and wanted to go to again. It was a tiny cabin on a lake, far out of town, with big windows and two chairs perfect for reading in front of them. We booked it. We were going away.

One of the biggest surprises as I continue through my 30s is that I often know what I need. This is a surprise because I spent most of my 20s either unsure of what I needed or knowing what I did but ignoring it — a dirty little combination, a vicious cycle.

What I need, however, is not always readily available on the surface. It can take a while for me to name. I have to ask myself questions as I would a friend (or, if I’m being the most truthful, how I’d talk to a child): “Are you hungry? Do you want music or silence? What’s going on for you right now?” And, most times, even when I’m able to name it (“Ahhh, yes, I need rest! Time to read! An hour alone in the dark!”), it’s not easy for me to give it to myself. Sometimes (re: oftentimes) it takes some gentle prodding, some questioning, some silence, some time to move from a desire to an action — to turn my phone off, to go on a walk outside, to take the brave step and write the resignation letter. But it’s typically there, somewhere deep. The knowing, the confirmation, the voice that says, “This is the right thing for you to do.”

And, believe me, I don’t mean “right” as in black-and-white, right-or-wrong — no, that’s not part of this. “Right” as in what I’m saying that I need, right now. “Right” as in, this is what your body and mind are begging of you to do. That kind of “right.”

And these were two of those right things — the leaving for the cabin getaway and the leaving of my job. One was a quick, instinctual knowing, easily acted upon (“Yes, this cabin has a coffee maker, which credit card should we use?”). The other was very much not (questions, months of wondering, buckets of tears). Yet, both were right.

My right answers found their way to me. The knowing was there, and whether it emerged after 20 minutes or after 9 months, both were important and true and what I needed. And trusting that — well, that’s something important.

Photos by John Hill.

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