Grand Significance

Nearly 14 years ago, my husband and I were both taken by surprise when I became unexpectedly pregnant. As a father of two, my husband welcomed this new being, while I freaked out. I don't seem to possess the mother gene, at least not of small children. I practiced poorly on my step-children, and the idea of permanently being identified as a mother disturbed me greatly.

Despite my fear, I intended to learn whatever I was meant to learn from this new stage of my life. Then, fourteen weeks into the pregnancy, I miscarried. This, too, came as a huge surprise, since I was healthy and had already experienced an ultrasound that evidenced all was going well. I'd had a little scare a couple of weeks before, which led to the tests proving all was A-Okay physically, though I continued to freak out emotionally.

It turned out that my pregnancy was atypical. It's a relatively rare condition in which two sperm embed in one egg, and rather than the egg splitting into twins, the being has an extra set of chromosomes. In turn, there may be a heartbeat for a while, but ultimately the fetus is not viable. Here's the tricky thing: this particular brand of pregnancy poses health risks to the host...me. A smattering, from that jumble of cells, even after medically removed from my body, lingered.

I know this because I went for blood tests, week after week, to see if my pregnancy hormone level dropped to zero, as it should have. Since it didn't, those little cells could have started spreading to other parts of my body...brain, lungs, liver, kidney...you know, things I needed...as a kind of cancer. So I received some chemo therapy, and kept up the Dracula routine until things resolved. The whole process took nearly a year. It was exhausting - physically, emotionally, and hell on my relationship with my husband, and yet, I am now so very grateful for this experience, because it woke me up.

I woke up enough to want to know what I'm doing here - to grow in whatever way necessary to feel like I'm here on purpose. If I hadn't had that year of fear, I'm not sure what I'd be doing right now, but I may not be coaching. And since this work of service feeds my soul, I am truly grateful for the gift of that long ago miscarriage and health scare.

At the time, though, when the "all about my health" year came to a close, I wanted to do something that reminded me how totally insignificant I was. Despite all of the focus on me, I knew I wasn't the center of the universe, and I wanted experiential evidence of this fact. My dream was to raft down the Grand Canyon, because, really, how much bigger than me could it get?

With some research, I discovered the cost of rafting the canyon surpassed our meager vacation budget at that time. For a few years, I held the dream, and then I let it go.

Last December, while my husband and I spent the holidays in Ft. Lauderdale, we began talking about what we might do for a summer adventure, since I would not be leading a retreat in Costa Rica (where he's met me post-retreat for the past couple of years). My one request was this: "let's do something different - NOT a beach getaway, but something else - some kind of stretch / adventure." After several badgering conversations, Mark turned to me and said, "What about that Grand Canyon idea you had years ago?"

That did it. I looked up our options, secured our flights, and by early January our rafting trip was booked. Except, when I'd researched all those years ago, websites were not as developed as they are today. As a result, my brain hadn't quite registered that eight days in the Grand Canyon meant - gulp - camping. And, you know, hiking. Things I don't do. True, I've done a bit of hiking. It's not for me. Camping I'd never done, and I'd just committed to 7 nights of it. Good grief! Those torturous aspects may provide a story another time.

About a week before we were set to leave Boston, we received an email from Grand Canyon Whitewater, including a link to a social page exclusively for those participating in our trip. With guides, there were 39 people. By nature, I'm introverted. If someone designed my personal kind of hell, it would include spending a week with 37 strangers. Oh, yay! Well, I'd requested a stretch!

By the second day, I winged up prayers of gratitude for my long-time meditation practices. While my fellow travelers played Frisbee, ate snacks, and got to know one another at our first stop of the day, I found a rock and "sat." I felt SO much more ME afterward. I'm not sure I've ever experienced a meditation so powerfully.

Over the course of the trip, my subsequent meditations deepened, and served me beyond measure. I discovered "hiking time" for others offered ideal "meditation time" for me. A synchronicity I hadn't anticipated.

Over the first half of the excursion, my husband leaned over to me several times and said, "Is it big enough yet?" He remembered my desire to feel insignificant so many years before, and wondered if I'd found the magic moment. "Not yet, but the biggest part is still coming, so we'll see," I replied.

Then, on day six, Ted, our beloved boatman, announced that we'd soon be landing the rafts for folks to hike to Havasu Creek. For those in the know (meaning they'd read about it in a book), this proved the most anticipated hike of the week. The Havasu Creek site features a beautiful aquamarine pool of 75 degree water (a vast difference from the 50 degree temps at the Lee's Ferry entrance), where able hikers could splash and play, reveling in the beauty of nature's palette.

To accomplish this feat, both rafts must first be tied to the shelves of limestone (I think it was limestone) while IN A RAPID, where each person would disembark wearing their life jacket. Of all the stops along the way, none required such precautions as this. Anti-hiker that I am, and in need of some much needed personal space, I hung back with the two men unable to make the journey. While they read and napped, I found my own patch of limestone, with a smattering of shade, and plunged inward.

In this space, with the gorgeous and ancient natural ledges on both sides of the roiling Colorado River, as the sun crept onto my skin and the gentle breeze washed over my face, I knew a truth - contrary to what I'd sought 13 years ago. The extraordinary energies that manifested this spectacular Canyon, created me, too. The same energy that gifted the earth with this beauty, decided a "Joanne-creature" was needed, and I came into being. I am not more or less significant than the Grand Canyon, I am the same. I am meant to be here - for this brief time - with all of my inner rapids and outer fluting (FYI, fluting happens when petite rocks get caught in a small hole and tumble about from the river water, creating stunning hollow tubes over time).

This is true for each of us. If you are here on earth, reading these prose, you, too, are as important and essential to the fabric of the universe as the Grand Canyon. You don't yet need to know - in fact, you may never know - what your purpose is meant to be. Sometimes, that's not your business. However, you are, by virtue of being here, MEANT TO BE. So living ON PURPOSE matters.

Depending upon what your soul signed up for, your service to this world may be far beyond anything your mind can recognize. Being in the unknown in this way, serves your learning - your individual evolution - while simultaneously offering to those around you gifts you cannot perceive. The same is true for me. I may attach to the belief that my purpose includes coaching, but what I now realize is that I don't really have any idea - and that's okay.

If I live my life as though I matter to me - that my feelings matter, that what I want matters, that my boundaries matter, with respect and integrity, that's enough. Whatever manifestations arise from mattering, may be met with the knowledge that I am always where I am meant to be, learning what I'm meant to learn, even when it's hard! Because I am born of the same stuff as the Grand Canyon.

How lucky are we to be so significant? I wonder, if I can keep reminding myself of this lesson, how might my life be different? If you take in that you, too, matter as much as the Grand Canyon - and treat yourself with the same respect and care, how might your life be different? Let's find out!

With love and gratitude,
Joanne Lutz