Last year, in February, after we had moved out of the LaLa, and moved into the three-room apartment that I thought would be home for a while, a few things happened to shake up life. The first was that it was the beginning of shared custody with Tin and he caught the flu and so he ended up staying with me since he had gotten sick there. As he slept noisily in his bed, and I organized my bedroom/office, I received an email that one of my two clients had cancelled his contract with me – no warning, no fuss – just done, dead, gone. He was leaving his firm that he helped start after almost three decades.
I had just gotten off my knees thanking everyone – ancestors, God, the Universe – for getting me out of my situation and in a life I could handle. And now, it changed, yet again.
I decided to use it as an opportunity, and I listened to what the world was telling me – it said, follow your soul’s work, go where you are needed, do what you have to do, and the rest will figure itself out.
That was a year and a half ago, and since then the working world has been interesting. I’ve done two major workshops on Transracial Parenting. I’ve worked on my book on parenting and racism, I’ve written my blog, I’ve done social media on transracial parenting.
At the same time that we had settled into our quaint apartment – me sleeping on the couch in my home office, and Tin in his room between us and the front door – a stove and a fridge and a postage stamp backyard -a place to call home – the ugliness began.
My neighbor, a single woman, who worked from home, turned out to be a nightmare – a woman with such bad energy that her anger was leaching through the walls. I should have known when the guy painting my apartment before I moved in warned me she was psycho. I should have known when the landlady said a few comments about her that were disconcerting. But nothing would prepare me for her yelling at me because of my son, or complaining to the landlady that we were making too much noise for her to live there (because Tin played between 5pm and 7:30pm), or her telling the landlords that I owned a dog who I was secretly hiding. The coup de gras with her was when I put a note in her mailbox saying I planned to pull the spent winter vegetables to make way for spring ones in my garden, on my side. She balled up the note and threw it through my window. Perhaps I knew what sort of person I was dealing with when on moving in, I was toting a very large rolled up rug on my shoulder and juggling the front door to get in, while her paramour sat on her stoop watching me. Birds of a feather.
But I came around to being grateful even for her. Because she had made our life there so unbearable that we soon left. I cashed out my retirement and bought the Spirit House, and never looked back.
So today, while a friend was taking me to lunch, and I was telling him that he should expect surprises and miracles and all sorts of things that he had not planned for, the Bitch on Wheels walked in and was seated one table over – my friend and I both felt her negative energy surge and yet, we continued on with our conversation. Then she got up and asked for another table, taking her anger to the other side of the restaurant.
And it was when I returned home, feeling positive, feeling as if everything had worked out the way it should, that I got an email that my other client, the one that had sustained me since last year, had cancelled his contract. He left the firm he has been at for the past decade.
And so begins my new adventure. Some doors are closed. Others are cracked. And I’m standing here in faith that what awaits me is grand, wonderful beyond measure, exciting, adventurous, and worthy.
I still have the paperweight that Steve gave me so many years ago that says “Every wall is a door.”
In the grand scheme of things, I have no doubt this is true.