Shedding old skin

Last month, I joined forces with a group of nine women to contribute a chapter to a book called Awaken Feminine: Stories of Emergence, Power & Presence. When the project was first introduced, I thought, “Yeah, I have a few things to say about that; I could write a chapter.”

But as I began the writing process, the monumental nature of the task quickly became clear, and I wasn’t so sure I could deliver what I’d promised. Is it just me? How often do you leap into something before giving it due consideration?

Then, with perfect timing, an ad for a free, five-day online memoir writing summit appeared on my feed. I decided to attend, thinking I’d pick up a few tips and tricks, advice from the pros, some provocative prompts, maybe a fresh take on structure and voice. What luck.

My unexpected takeaway was this poem, shared by Heidi Rose Robbins during her session. As she read it aloud, I knew I wanted to include it here. I was struck by how the poet, Pat Schneider, invites us to slow down and expand our perception, stretching out of the skin that held us together a minute ago to lean into presence, where we can discern what truly matters.

Read it aloud for yourself, and see what you think.

Instructions for the Journey
by Pat Schneider

The self you leave behind
is only a skin you have outgrown.
Don’t grieve for it.
Look to the wet, raw, unfinished
self, the one you are becoming.
The world, too, sheds its skin:
politicians, cataclysms, ordinary days.
It’s easy to lose this tenderly
unfolding moment. Look for it
as if it were the first green blade
after a long winter. Listen for it
as if it were the first clear tone
in a place where dawn is heralded by bells.

And if all that fails,
wash your own dishes.
Rinse them.
Stand in your kitchen at your sink.
Let cold water run between your fingers.
Feel it.

Since leaving my job in the spring, I’ve been wriggling loose from an old, well-worn skin. The rawness of stepping into a new one is palpable. If I’m not careful to stay present - to relish the aliveness of that cold water running between my fingers - I can too easily get lost in the fear and doubt that naturally accompany the unknowns of change.

With invitation,

robin