The Easel and the Flow

The Easel and The Flow
May 29, 2024

When Lila, TIji, and I got on a plane for the US, two summers ago, I had two goals:

One was to spend three months deeply enjoying my family and my friends, as well as my beloved island cottage.

The second was to sell the cottage.

I had a whole summer to accomplish this and while these two goals possibly seemed mutually exclusive, I have learned better than to agree with the way things look on paper. I wanted both of these things very much and I was trusting that they could co-exist.

It turned out, they would. Beautifully and with Ease.

Which does not mean without work or help.

One of the “work” parts, was to hold several consecutive garage sales to bring my belongings and those of my kids to the smallest amount possible.

I was pretty set on not renting a storage unit so everything I owned would have to either be gifted, sold, or cross the border. Knowing that my house in Mexico had no closet or storage space made me quite focused and committed to the mantra I have taught for decades: “Actively Used OR Deeply Cherished.”

The first garage sale was intense. I decided to start with what would hurt the most. I wanted to rip up the band-aid and get going. Everything else would be easier.

This meant carrying my easel to the sidewalk. And leaving it there, all open to the whole world for someone who wasn’t me to take it away. My Easel, my friend. Both Actively Used AND Cherished. But heavy.

It didn’t take long. A nice woman approached us, asked how much it was. I am pretty sure I let my son answer her and then I watched her carry it away. Tightness in my chest, I reminded myself that it was the right thing to do. No storage unit. Just a few pieces of wood hinged together. Don’t love things that can’t love you back, Laura. Let it go.

For some reason, as I repeated all these good words to myself I reached into the pocket of my overalls. I hadn’t worn them for a couple of years and I was surprised to find a folded piece of paper in there.

Also, a little yellow heart that I didn’t remember having met before.

I tucked the heart back into my pocket and unfolded the paper. The handwriting punched me in the gut. My mom’s handwriting, unmistakable. The same curves that I had read since I was old enough to read, the same ones that wrote notes excusing me from gym class or later on were stretched on letters from “America” to France telling me that she missed me and would I please come visit. My mom’s handwriting, the one that never changed, just as her voice had never changed. Now in the shape of a short grocery list scribbled on one of these cute pieces of paper she liked. This list, I did remember. An hour or so after she had died I had picked it up from her desk drawer and tucked it into my backpack. Maybe I already knew that I wouldn't get many more earthly things to remember her by. How it ended up in my overalls, I don’t know. But I did know right away that the timing, of course, was perfect. A sweet infusion of impermanence, a reminder of yes… letting go. I think she had done a lot of this, eventually the biggest one, and maybe she had come by for a second, the perfect second, to support me.

We had a couple more garage sales in the next few weeks and in the end, we did rent a small storage unit. We still have it and I’m still navigating my opinion about it. It’s ok.

As the leaves began to turn red, Lila, Tiji, and I made our way back to Mexico and soon after, we moved into our house. Eventually, Casa Sama was finished and eventually, I started to paint again. I thought about My Easel. I could have brought it. I could have stored it. I didn’t and that was that.

Then one day I received an email. I wish I had saved it because now I can only paraphrase it and this always feels weird to me.

It was from the lady who had bought My Easel at that first garage sale. She had been reading some of my recent posts and saw that I was painting down here. She wanted to tell me how good it had been for her to have The Easel. How it had kickstarted her art again. She too was painting! She sounded inspired and had generously wanted me to know.

Her words immediately felt important to me. It made sense, it fit perfectly with my understanding of Life and of the world when I’m not caught up in the smallness of fear. I was grateful for her having taken the time to tell me. I was grateful that what was now Her Easel was not sitting in a storage unit, away from where it could do its magic. I was grateful that Life was flowing as it always does when we don't get in its way.

I kept on painting, developing a whole new style, one The Easel had never seen.

In March, I flew back to the States to attend the gathering and unveiling of a collaborative show. WOA. A series of portraits celebrating twelve extraordinary women from the island. The Women of Anacortes. It was a very special evening.

At the end of the evening, as people lingered enjoying talking with each other and also with me, a woman approached me and kindly reminded me that she was the one who had bought Our Easel and who had sent me the email.

She had taken the time to come to my show and she had taken the time to wait to say hello.

There, surrounded by this art, these portraits - which I didn’t even know I could create when I sold The Easel - it was touching and reaffirming and also very sweet to be reminded once more of how The Flow works, of how by letting go we bless others and we bless ourselves.

How we open up to more than we knew we were ready for or capable of.

Today I invite you to trust, and to remember that while things can’t love us back, they can be excellent partners in growing our lives, whether by holding on to them or by letting them go to where they are needed next.

In my bathroom, I now have a little yellow heart.