Yields a Winding Yawn

my parents live 123 miles north of me. this is a rather short distance. in college, that distance meant i had privacy. in my early twenties, that distance still meant that i had privacy. in my early thirties, that distance transformed into being close enough to witness my parents aging and to make repairs for all the time i spent longing to belong to some other family. this longing to belong is not because i wasn’t loved or cared for, because indeed i was both loved and cared for very well by my parents and sisters. rather as the self proclaimed black sheep, i wanted to exist with more ease with others. i sought out that community in san diego and it’s home now.

rewind to 2020: suddenly 123 miles might as well have been across the globe as my family decided to minimize contact for a year. i learned that the distance between my parents and me mattered. i missed them. i longed to hug them and to be with them. i also learned that there are other ways to connect and to feel close.

during a quick visit with them today, i was yawning a lot. in somatics, yawning is a sign of the body moving into relaxation. the yawns felt so yummy. i wanted to melt into them. the experience of being with my parents yielded a winding yawn in me and satiated a thirst for belonging that led me wandering for nearly twenty years. mostly, i learned to slow down, discern when you are seeing with clarity and to act. it turns out everything i was running away from looks and feels different with clear seeing.

what lenses are you looking through? how do you know when you are seeing with clarity?