Labor Day weekend has arrived.  Sadly for me, this means that we are at the end of summer.  This weekend signifies the last hoorah before school kicks into full gear, leaves begin to change color, temperatures cool and the time for hunkering down in front of a fire reins over our lives.  In New Hampshire, this hunkering down will last for about 9 months.  Yes.  That’s what I said – 9 MONTHS.  Once Fall arrives we won’t see warm weather until April or more likely June.  It really is a short summer up here.  But that isn’t what this post is about.  This post is about labor, inspired by this last summer weekend holiday:  Labor Day.

“Labor” is defined in many different ways by many different people.   Within the context of the Holiday, it celebrates the security that arose from the struggle of employees to establish fair and equal rights for all workers.  It celebrates the contribution of workers to the economic and social prosperity of our Country.  The labor movement gave rise to the establishment of unions traditionally organized by workers to protect their rights and safety in the workplace. This is why we celebrate the holiday.

For a mother, labor likely conjures up the intense experience of giving birth – something you never forget.  It elicits memories of joy in creating human life together with the typically agonizing physical process of moving that life from the fluid, safety and warmth of a womb and launching them into the world.

For others, labor simply means working to accomplish something – to make something happen – to work toward a goal.  This is what I think of these days when I consider the word labor.  In many ways, we are all laboring toward a goal each and every day – even if we aren’t aware of it.  This has never been more evident to me.  The last few months have involved a fight to take a giant step forward in my life.  Giant at least for me.  The step forward embodies a moment in my life that is more than just the event toward which I am “laboring”.  The event itself is something most of us will do someday – buy a house.  But in my case, it is so much more than just that.  It follows on the heels of another major life event, so it is somewhat of a continuance of my clawing my way into my next act.  It is the first time I have bought a house on my own – my first major expense – one that is solely mine.  Holy shit Batman.

Needless to say, it has been and continues to be quite a ride.  Beginning with a random look at a somewhat needy property, making the uncertain decision to buy it, moving on to the lovely – and I use the term loosely here – and expressly demeaning experience of financing, only to be elated and joyful at closing.   Sadly, this was almost immediately followed by the realization that “Oh right I guess I’m gutting it then”.  And so it goes . . . .

While I imagine that all this labor will end up feeling like a true labor of love, right now it feels not only onerous but uncomfortable in a way that is, at its core, unsettling.

For me, the notion of being uncomfortable, of feeling out of sorts or somehow that I am out of place, elicits the uncertainty of not really knowing where I belong and if I do seem to belong somewhere – where is it and why there?  In most cases, I am able to let life’s many discomforts ebb and flow without much thought.  But there are times – like now – when there isn’t much flow and there is an awful lot of ebb.  This, of course, immediately kicks Karen4 into gear.  Her anxious darting glances around the Table are almost constant – she is keeping a watchful eye out for whatever lies beneath her next step.  If you have been keeping up with the Karens at the Table, you might suspect that this then leads into Karen5, the bitch.   Surely you’ve seen her.  She looks a little like this . . . .She exists because, of course, this is the way to move out of fear and into a stronger more safe place.  Some call it the “fight” part of fight or flight.  I call it being a bitch to anyone brave enough to be in my path,  And you know who you are.  I will apologize right now to all of you.  I really don’t intend to be so dismissive and brash.  It is really just my way of stomping, or more accurately slogging, forward through difficult emotions desperately trying to escape the discomfort.

Here’s the thing that all this rambling has stirred. What I am learning – very slowly – is that this discomfort might just be a good thing, however exhausting it surely can be.  It certainly keeps rearing its ugly head causing me to react in ways that I’m not always proud of.  But maybe there is a larger point to it.  Maybe I have to learn to be comfortable in my discomfort.  Maybe moving through the discomfort is actually bringing me to a better place. 

At the risk of sounding like a “hippie”, maybe being uncomfortable, laboring over something, will lead to a better understanding of who I am and where I’m going.  Maybe it will bring me “higher”.  You know – sort of like Johnathon Livingston Seagull.  All of his struggle and pain allowed him to reach a higher level of being.  Believe me, I am NOT saying that my discomfort is going to launch me into another state of consciousness or that all this will deposit me at the gates of Buddha’s home.  After all, we are talking about discomfort here, not the Force.  But it is true that we learn from our struggles.  All this discomfort and wigging out might be teaching me to be comfortable in the mess and to know that it is temporary and necessary.  I do think that many times I, usually reluctantly, exit the other side in a stronger, more confident place.  One where I can look back, recognize the path I’ve taken and know that all the weeds I’ve had to plow down to reach the other side were there for a reason.   

Now let me just say that recognizing this is one thing.  The more difficult part for me is letting it happen without destroying everything that matters in my path.  I am most definitely guilty of this.  Karen5 can drive even the most patient person away.  She can cause a complete breakdown in the process and any “higher place” will remain elusive.  And boy can she be mean. . . . .

Notwithstanding winner number 5, I think the lesson here for me is to begin to “let go” and trust the process.  I’m pretty sure I’ve said that in one or another of my posts.
But like a Pavlov’s Dog, I guess I have to have this repeatedly shoved at me to allow myself to be comfortable in my discomfort.  To know that whatever the cause, the discomfort is temporary.  In my more lucid and calm moments, I have this vision of myself clawing through the mud in a dark dank forest but ultimately ending up on a white sandy beach.  Maybe that is the image I need to remember.  The struggle, the climb, the discomfort leads to joy and pride.  Embrace it don’t fight it Karen.  And yes I am talking to all of you.

Put another way, staying within your fear and your discomfort will only serve to make you small and stuck.  But if you allow yourself to step out of it you can become strong and step forward into the person you are meant to be.  Let the discomfort help you to bloom.  Big credit here to one of my fierce sisters @Angie Bloom for this little analogy she, possibly unknowingly, spun out today.  Do yourself a favor and check her out.  She has magic up her sleeves.

So, for now, I will try to embrace the discomfort – the labor.   Know that it will pass and keep my eye on the door that opens to that sandy beach just a little bit more with each grinding step.