Healing into Possibility

Sure, my surgery felt like date rape by BBQ utensil. Sure, I made a simple procedure into a Level-5 traumatic event. Sure, I'm walking a little funny these days. But the incredible, off-the-charts relief I feel makes it all worthwhile.

I woke up feeling tentative, not sure what manner of pain and bloody-whatever I'd be faced with. But really, the only challenge of the day was that the massive overnight maxi pad I wore had dislodged and was stuck to my butt. We can handle that.

I spent the day walking by the river with friends. It was beautiful. I was happy, animated and positive. The ideas were flowing, and on my afternoon walk with Drea, a new and exciting project took shape.

Drea and her little family have just moved back from a period of time in the US. They have, literally, $200 to their name. They are staying with friends and family (our turn is next week), trying to get work and keep their 14-month-old daughter happy.

My dear friend is, on the surface anyway, screwed. And even in this state, her only thought is: "How can I serve?"

I've been thinking about this too, as I redefine my life. I want to make my living in a way that benefits the world. Something that contributes to the rising consciousness – the part of the world that is evolving and aware – not the part that buys more stuff to numb out their pain and fear.

This idea I had (which is Top Secret for now) came together gradually. Pieces sticking in my brain from seemingly random conversations and "insignificant" experiences like my having no clue our city went to ten-digit dialing. At the time, I felt like a bit of a moron – how can you not know what's happening in your own city? But, now, I know why.

I had the kind of day that made me feel that Dr. Best didn't just remove abnormal cells. It felt as though she removed my sadness and my poisonous thinking, too. She zapped off this dark cloud of negativity I've been living under. The world felt and looked different. It looked more beautiful, more interesting, more approachable. It all – whatever it was – felt possible.

My friend Renee sent me an excerpt from a book she'd just finished. Here's my favourite part: "I never guessed that a revolution could be so quiet. My heart lifts and fills. At this lovely, shimmering, indeterminate moment in my life, poised in mid-air, the past and the future extend limitlessly before me. And I'm ready to embrace it all."

I got home and there, sitting on the counter, was a book Boyfriend bought last time we were in Portland. We went into Powell's Books, the most massive bookstore I have ever had the pleasure of getting lost in, and he said, "Melanie, I would like to read more. Will you help me choose a book?" I normally head straight for the Woo Woo section, but we thought Business might be a happy medium. He chose Freakonomics. I chose The Art of Possibility. He bought both.

I opened it up.

You know those moments, those days, when everything makes sense and fits together in a kind of Grand Design way that makes you believe in divine order and guidance? It was one of those days, and this book was the cherry on top. All the messages I needed to hear were in there. I ploughed through more than half of it by the time I went to sleep.

I have been struggling and fighting and resisting. I have been living in fear. I have been closed and tight and miserable. But it all brought me here. It was not in vain. It didn't feel good, but it had a purpose and a point.

I keep learning the same lessons over and over.

Let go. Trust the process. Release the fear. Release the judgment and the guilt. Listen. Connect.

If I had a child, I would teach it these things. I would teach it that knowing there is a grand design, a Higher Power and a big, beautiful plan is only one step. The key is to trust it. To release your fear and your illusion of control, and allow the story to unfold. It's already happening. Stay awake.