Thanks for pointing me towards your work here. I am chewing on the distinction between longings and call and how sometimes the former can turn into the latter.
I also agree with your observation that grief can bear more joy down the road. It is a suprising dynamic, but sorrow and joy can be so intertwined.
Oh gosh, I am chewing on that right alongside you. Summer is a time for me when so many Longings come to the surface, perhaps because the pace of life is slower and there are so many juicy beautiful things that merit attention. I’m listening in this season for the next step in my Calling like a signal in the noise.
I’m curious to hear more about how this lands for you. Doing grief work is such an interesting Calling because it invites us to go deeper into feelings and experiences that others avoid. But I have found there’s deeper joy there too. When you can cry with people, for example, it’s somehow easier to laugh with them too.
Meredyth, I'm so glad you found your way to it, and looking forward to hearing what it opens up for you! I loved reading some of your recent work as well. Linking to it for others to enjoy! https://meredythpcooper.substack.com/p/what-if-small-is-all
I’ve never considered the difference between a longing and a calling before, Ryan. Thank you for the prompt. I don’t know if I’ll get this right, but I’m happy to explore it with you.
If I am feeling this correctly; if I am understanding the signals of my body… I think that having a child is my longing. It’s what I always imagined for my life. It’s the thing that seems right. Motherhood is portrayed so beautifully in our culture, and I long to feel that; to be a part of it; to belong.
But that has not been my path. I am well into my fourth year of infertility, enduring five miscarriages and, recently, a failed adoption. I’ve worn my soul down to its bones trying to make this longing come true. I’ve been fighting my reality for so long. It’s exhausting. It no longer excites me in the naïve ways it did in the beginning. It feels like clawing my way up the walls of a deep, dark, dirt hole. It feels like at any moment I could lose my grip and land back at the bottom with a thud.
The call, for me, is a spark that cannot be ignored. In my 30s, I was called to climb the 100 highest mountains in New England, twice, including a full round in winter. This calling woke me before dawn on subzero days and propelled me up icy trails, week after week, month after month, year after year, until it was complete. It is partly the reason why I delayed having children. I needed to answer the call first.
Now that my infertility journey is coming to an end, I am considering the call I’ve experienced for the past few years to live on the road. I gave myself a taste of this calling last summer when I spent four months driving to Alaska and back in my camper van. Now as I contemplate childlessness, pursuing the call is back on the table. It energizes me. It excites me. It keeps me up late at night drawing lines on maps and researching campsites.
I think you’re right: the call doesn’t go away until it is fulfilled, whether by us or another (like Tom Waits relinquishing his musical calls to Leonard Cohen, or Liz Gilbert’s brilliant but unrealized book idea being written by Ann Patchett).
Liz, I loved reading your beautiful response to this prompt. It is interesting to note that in both of your embodied experiences, there was a sense of climbing. One was out of a hole; the other was up to a peak. Both can be ways of responding to a Call. But it sounds like what is Calling you here is the sense of excitement about where you are climbing *to.* When I read your response, I thought, hmmm. Climbing out of a hole brings you level with everyone else on the ground. Climbing up to a peak offers you a view that is all your own, and/or shared with those special few who have walked alongside you. What might your differing levels of enthusiasm for each destination show you about your Calling in this moment?
Thanks for pointing me towards your work here. I am chewing on the distinction between longings and call and how sometimes the former can turn into the latter.
I also agree with your observation that grief can bear more joy down the road. It is a suprising dynamic, but sorrow and joy can be so intertwined.
Oh gosh, I am chewing on that right alongside you. Summer is a time for me when so many Longings come to the surface, perhaps because the pace of life is slower and there are so many juicy beautiful things that merit attention. I’m listening in this season for the next step in my Calling like a signal in the noise.
I’m curious to hear more about how this lands for you. Doing grief work is such an interesting Calling because it invites us to go deeper into feelings and experiences that others avoid. But I have found there’s deeper joy there too. When you can cry with people, for example, it’s somehow easier to laugh with them too.
I am so inspired by this distinction and this journaling prompt. I am eager to dive into it next time I open my journal. Thank you!
Meredyth, I'm so glad you found your way to it, and looking forward to hearing what it opens up for you! I loved reading some of your recent work as well. Linking to it for others to enjoy! https://meredythpcooper.substack.com/p/what-if-small-is-all
I’ve never considered the difference between a longing and a calling before, Ryan. Thank you for the prompt. I don’t know if I’ll get this right, but I’m happy to explore it with you.
If I am feeling this correctly; if I am understanding the signals of my body… I think that having a child is my longing. It’s what I always imagined for my life. It’s the thing that seems right. Motherhood is portrayed so beautifully in our culture, and I long to feel that; to be a part of it; to belong.
But that has not been my path. I am well into my fourth year of infertility, enduring five miscarriages and, recently, a failed adoption. I’ve worn my soul down to its bones trying to make this longing come true. I’ve been fighting my reality for so long. It’s exhausting. It no longer excites me in the naïve ways it did in the beginning. It feels like clawing my way up the walls of a deep, dark, dirt hole. It feels like at any moment I could lose my grip and land back at the bottom with a thud.
The call, for me, is a spark that cannot be ignored. In my 30s, I was called to climb the 100 highest mountains in New England, twice, including a full round in winter. This calling woke me before dawn on subzero days and propelled me up icy trails, week after week, month after month, year after year, until it was complete. It is partly the reason why I delayed having children. I needed to answer the call first.
Now that my infertility journey is coming to an end, I am considering the call I’ve experienced for the past few years to live on the road. I gave myself a taste of this calling last summer when I spent four months driving to Alaska and back in my camper van. Now as I contemplate childlessness, pursuing the call is back on the table. It energizes me. It excites me. It keeps me up late at night drawing lines on maps and researching campsites.
I think you’re right: the call doesn’t go away until it is fulfilled, whether by us or another (like Tom Waits relinquishing his musical calls to Leonard Cohen, or Liz Gilbert’s brilliant but unrealized book idea being written by Ann Patchett).
Perhaps I’ll see where it leads?
Liz, I loved reading your beautiful response to this prompt. It is interesting to note that in both of your embodied experiences, there was a sense of climbing. One was out of a hole; the other was up to a peak. Both can be ways of responding to a Call. But it sounds like what is Calling you here is the sense of excitement about where you are climbing *to.* When I read your response, I thought, hmmm. Climbing out of a hole brings you level with everyone else on the ground. Climbing up to a peak offers you a view that is all your own, and/or shared with those special few who have walked alongside you. What might your differing levels of enthusiasm for each destination show you about your Calling in this moment?
What a fascinating observation, Ryan! I’ll have to think about that. Thank you for offering such a lovely contemplation!
Thank you for taking this journaling prompt leap with me so courageously!