Life on Life's Terms

I've recently made the decision to leave the small island I've called home for the past nine years.

Nine years of living, growing, and learning more about myself than I could possibly have imagined. A whole chapter of my life in one extraordinary little place.

And now, I'm leaving.

I'm excited about what's ahead. I feel ready. But I'm also grieving what I'm leaving behind. I'm anxious, I'm stressed, and honestly, packing is no fun! I've been thinking about how strange it is that we can feel so many things at once. How something can be right for us and still be painful. How we can be grateful for a chapter of our lives and still know it's time to turn the page.

I've also noticed how quickly the mind wants to interfere.

What if you regret leaving? What if you don't like your new life? What if the best years are behind you?

It's quite the invitation, isn't it?

Come on in. Let's spend the afternoon worrying about a future that hasn't happened yet.

I've used a boxing metaphor with clients for years. When a frightening thought throws a punch, our instinct is often to throw one back.

You're making a mistake.

No, I'm not.

How do you know?

And suddenly we're in the ring, arguing with ourselves, trying to win a fight that has no clear ending. Or perhaps we don't even get a punch in. The thought lands, we believe it, and before we know it, we're spiralling.

Even when we manage to reassure ourselves, we're exhausted. And sometimes, just when we think we've won, another punch comes.

I've been practicing a different approach.

In Aikido, a martial art built around receiving and redirecting force, the idea isn't to overpower an attack but to work with its energy.

I've been wondering what happens when we approach our thoughts that way.

What if you regret leaving?

Maybe I will sometimes.

What if there are things you don't like about your new life?

There almost certainly will be. There were things I didn't love about the life I'm leaving, too.

How do you know this is the right decision?

I don't.

And strangely, there's freedom in that answer.

Not everything is going to be wonderful. Not everything is going to be terrible. I don't have to convince myself of either.

I can simply not know.

I recently heard Mike Tyson speaking about life, and something he said really stayed with me. He was reflecting on how we can't call life beautiful only when things are going our way. Even loss belongs to the experience. The people we loved, the time we shared, the fact that our paths crossed at all. There's beauty in having had those experiences, even when their ending hurts.

And then he said:

"You have to live life on life terms, not on our terms."

I love that.

There's something especially wonderful about hearing it from a boxer, a man who knows a thing or two about taking a punch.

What struck me most was his perspective on loss. That instead of allowing the pain of an ending to overshadow everything that came before it, we might marvel at the fact that we got to experience it at all. That out of all the people and places in this enormous world, our paths crossed. We got to love, to belong, to be changed by something. And even when those experiences end, the beauty of having lived them remains.

Because isn't that what we spend so much of our lives resisting? We want the love without the possibility of loss. The adventure without uncertainty. The beautiful new beginning without having to say goodbye to what came before.

We want to know that if we make the right choices, life will reward us with the right outcomes. But life doesn't make those promises.

We may get exactly what we hoped for, or find ourselves somewhere we never imagined. Beautiful things end, difficult experiences change us, and often we won't understand what any of it meant until much later.

I'm beginning to wonder whether fulfillment has less to do with getting life to cooperate and more to do with how we meet it.

Perhaps accepting life as beautiful doesn't mean pretending that everything feels good. Maybe it means recognizing the value of the whole experience, including the parts we wouldn't have chosen. The love was beautiful, even if losing it hurt. The chapter was worthwhile, even if closing it brings tears.

When my inner critic starts questioning everything, I can spend hours trying to prove that my future will be wonderful. Or I can acknowledge that I don't know, let the uncertainty be there, and return to the life that's actually happening.

I can take a walk, make myself a beautiful meal, or connect with someone I love. Do something ordinary that reminds me I'm alive and participating in my own life.

None of those things guarantee that tomorrow will be easier, but they change how I spend today.

And I wonder how much of our lives are shaped by those seemingly small moments.

Sometimes a thought arrives and an emotion follows. Sometimes the feeling comes first, and the mind rushes in to explain it. Either way, there may be a little opening where we can choose what happens next.

Not always. Sometimes life knocks us flat, and getting back up takes time. But other times, perhaps we have more freedom than we realize.

We don't have to follow every frightening thought to its conclusion. We don't have to solve the future before we're allowed to enjoy the present. And we don't have to turn every difficult feeling into evidence that something has gone wrong.

Maybe the point isn't to become so strong that life can no longer hurt us. Maybe it's to become more willing to experience life fully, knowing that joy and sorrow, beginnings and endings, certainty and mystery all belong here.

I've had nine extraordinary years on this little island. Not nine perfect years. Nine years of living.

And I wouldn't trade the beauty of what I've known just because some of it has been painful to leave behind.

I'm taking that beauty with me.

Maybe the inner critic doesn't need to win.

Maybe it doesn't need to lose either.

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I'd love to know what this brings up for you. Have you ever looked back on something painful and found beauty in having experienced it? Or noticed a time when you stopped fighting what you couldn't know or control? If you feel like sharing, send me a message. I'd love to hear.