If you had told me twenty years ago that I would be happily letting my former husband crash on my living room couch for a week so he could hang out with our son, I would have thought it completely inconceivable. I’ve been working on coming to grips with my divorce for a long, long time and I actually thought I had already purged all the sadness and potential regrets. It turns out though that saying you forgive someone, including yourself, is a very slow process. I feel like I have had every type of emotion possible during the course of our time apart, so I was wholly unprepared for the tears that sprung to my eyes after we hugged and he walked out the front door. Our son drove him to the airport so I had some time alone to process my emotions.
The interesting thing is that this is not the first time I’ve let him crash on my couch to spend time with our son, so the real curiosity is what is it about this time that feels so different? I didn’t suddenly fall back in love with him and I don’t have a secret desire to get back together. No, this is unlike anything I have experienced before. I am different, or rather, I am more different this time.
Way back when we were clashing and choosing to go our separate ways, I have this memory of the moment of no return. It is a now familiar reaction that I tend to express when I am full of rage and defiance and I know that no matter what, I am not going to back down. I knew in my heart that there was no way I could stay married to him and I also knew I would never be the same again. This memory popped back into my head during the past week and I let myself consider for a moment if I did the right thing. What if I had forgiven him and stayed married? Would it have been better for all of us? Would we have been able to survive the actions that were deal breakers for me then and now? People do it all the time, I know they do.
As I let myself consider this, I heard that small voice in my head reminding me of the truth that I knew before I even asked the question. The girl that I was back then would not have become the woman that I am today if I had not made the very hard decision that I made twenty years ago. I am literally not the same person and I mean that both figuratively and literally.
I was 30 years old when I became a mom and a few months after that, I had the opportunity to have laser surgery on my eyes. It was surreal to go from 20/600 to 20/15 within a few days, and the symbolic impact of seeing the world shift from unfocused to crystal clear was not lost on me. It was the ultimate perspective change that we seek in an inversion practice in yoga, but without any of the work. Big changes were moving through my life and I had no interest in stopping them.
Less than a year later, I started the process of becoming the version of me that I am today. When I was married, my name was Nikki. That sounds so strange to me now, and it is even more strange to share my old “secret” name with the world in this way. I changed my name with the help of a group in Canada that specializes in helping people reach their fullest potential through the energy of their name. I chose the name I wanted, but I had to decide on the last name. I could have picked something totally different, but I somehow knew that getting rid of my husband’s last name entirely would be the death blow to our marriage, so I opted for a more balanced spelling of his name instead. Clearly, it didn’t save my marriage, but it did save me, eventually.
For a long time, I kept that part of my history hidden. I worried that it would be difficult for people to accept me as Logynn if they knew I used to be Nikki. Of course my family and oldest friends had the most difficulty in accepting my new name, but a few years later, we moved to a new city and I stopped having to explain any of it. For all of my new friends, I was only Logynn and when they did learn of my former name, they couldn’t even imagine me using it.
When I stood in front of the judge and told her that I wanted my name to reflect balance and wholeness so that I could reach my full potential as a person, I had no idea what I was getting myself into, but on that day, I became Logynn B. Northrhip and said goodbye to Nikki Northrup. I also had no idea that within a little over a year, I would be standing in front of that same judge asking for a divorce. It took a while to shift gears and embrace the changes that were plowing the ground in all directions around me, changes that I instigated warily and then doggedly.
Today, I can spend time with my former husband and our son and relish the fact that we have somehow managed to see the best in each other after all these years. Watching him and our son together has healed this judgement and sadness and despair that I didn’t even know was lingering in my heart. I can honestly say that I love the person I am today and I know without a doubt that I would not be the me that I am today if I hadn’t gone through the fire of all that pain so many years ago. Today is the first day of the new moon in Cancer and according to @moonomens, it “begins a new chapter in our relationship with our past, our family and our emotions.” I feel you new moon, and thank you for being here right when I needed you. My past did indeed prepare me to be blessed.
Up until a year ago, I had never even heard of Conundrum Hot Springs, but once it showed up on my radar, I knew we were meant to be. The best thing about these hot springs is that they are still wild. What I mean by that is that they haven’t been boxed up and commercialized like so many others around Colorado. No, in order to experience Conundrum Hot Springs, one must hike close to 10 miles one way, cross several “bridges” with high water rushing under them and ford at least one river. It is not for everyone and that is precisely why I loved the idea of doing it.
I knew that once we made it to this beautiful place, the solitude and views would make it worth the effort. The allure of being completely isolated and surrounded by mountains and nature had become my favorite addiction since moving back to my birth state. When I first imagined myself hiking to this glorious place, I did not consider any of the real life challenges that I might experience, I just knew that I had to do it. I knew the distance was something I could manage, and the elevation gain was within my reach, but I forgot that starting a hike at 8,800 feet elevation is much different than ending one at that height. I also didn’t consider the challenge of being loaded down with food, clothes, camping gear and snowshoes.
With so many mountains and trails to hike in Colorado, I had put this one on the back burner until a friend of mine got a coveted reservation and asked if I would hike it with her at the end of May. I naively jumped at the opportunity without hesitation. By the time our reservation date was on the horizon, I had already hiked over 40 miles for the month and my achilles tendons were thoroughly pissed off. I had been battling severe achilles tendonitis for over a year, and had finally figured out a way to alleviate the pain through lots of stretching, trigger point work and proper gait. I just hoped that I could maintain this balance after an already full month of hiking.
Our reservation was for Thursday, May 27 so we decided to go up the night before in order to get a good night’s sleep and an early start the next morning. We packed and unpacked our backpacks, attempting to keep the final weight under 30 pounds. The snowshoes seemed like an unnecessary burden, especially when we woke to bluebird skies and no snow in sight. We arrived at the trailhead just as the sun was beginning to light up the sky. There were only three vehicles in the lot and that included my friend’s Jeep. Where were the crowds I wondered silently. If you arrive to a trailhead in the Boulder area at 6:30am, you are lucky to find a parking space. I shrugged it off and we heaved our packs onto our backs and began our adventure. To my dismay, we barely rounded the corner when we hit the first pile of dead pine and aspen trees blocking our path. Undeterred, we gingerly walked through them and marched on.
The aspen were just starting to show the bright green of new leaves and were waving with excitement in the light breeze. A young moose hidden in their trunks stared silently at us as we walked by, a healthy distance from where he stood. We had read that the snow drifts would be bad further up the trail, but aside from giant piles of avalanche debris on our path, the trail and weather helped us forget what lay ahead. It was shocking to see so many rivers of broken trees laid low like dominos on the mountain tops around us. I tried not to think about the unleashed power that caused them.
This was my first backcamping trip since having a partial meniscectomy on my left knee the previous July. My knee had healed beautifully, but having that extra weight strapped to my back made me feel completely unbalanced. When we came to the first of three big river crossings, I was totally unprepared for the fear that washed over me. I felt a ball of anxiety form in the pit of my stomach. The bridge, if you want to call it that, was pretty high, had no rails and consisted of nothing more than two fat logs. It was hard to ignore the water crashing loudly underneath it. While my friend made it halfway across and then laid on her belly superman style for a photo op, I took little bitty granny steps and just tried not to look down. Just thinking about it makes my stomach lurch. We had to cross at least two more like this and they didn’t get any easier with repetition.
As we got further along, it became necessary to strap on the snowshoes for a bit, but then we would hit another avalanche pile and have to take them off again. It became clear that the snowshoes, though necessary, were going to really slow us down. They were also using muscles I hadn’t used in over a year and my hips kept cramping up. Between this and the increasing slushy and slippery snow, our pace dropped steadily. We started to leave the open trail behind and walked deeper into the forest where the snow was piled up in drifts over five feet high. The sunny day had created drifts that were crunchy on top and slushy underneath, the perfect recipe for post-holing.
It is hard to explain just how mentally draining it is to take one trusting step on the snow with success and then to take another step and fall up to your knees in it. Snowshoes are supposed to prevent this, but they didn’t. I started to worry about how this would impact my freshly healed knee. It was very jarring. Every step was different and held uncertainty. Sometimes I would fall onto my hands and knees into a soft spot on the snow; other times, I would fall completely backward like a stranded turtle. About every third fall, I would feel it in my knee. The thought of having to have another surgery or suffer another knee injury had my stomach in knots. I felt like I was going to throw up any minute.
As we slowly made our way through the snow and trees the dread increased. It was as if time had stopped. We kept struggling our way forward, but we weren’t making any real progress. We got to a low river crossing with a single, thin tree in place that didn’t quite reach the other side. This was to be the last big crossing, but by this point, we were physically and emotionally exhausted. Our hiking speed was down to half a mile per hour and we still had several miles to go. There was no way we could cross the river without walking in the ice cold water and getting our feet soaked. We sat on the river bank and considered our options. My friend offered the possibility of turning around and going back. I quickly rejected this option and started crying like a cranky infant. I didn’t know how we were going to have the energy to keep going, but I knew we hadn’t come that far to tuck tail and turn around, at least not on my watch!
For the trip across the cold river, I kept my snowshoes on and dug my trekking poles into the slippery rocks. Once we made it across the river, I kept thinking to myself, “it’s gonna get better; it has to get easier soon”. My friend was of another mindset altogether and her realism about our situation seemed dire. It felt like I was fighting both the elements and her perceived negativity. The forest eclipsed the sun so it seemed later than it actually was. Every so often, my friend would comment on the dangers that we were facing if we didn’t arrive soon. She really started to scare me as she spun a picture of doom that included us freezing to death before we made it to our campsite. I was annoyed but too tired to argue with her. I had to pause after every few steps to rest and it felt like a luxury we could not afford. We were cold, weak and uncomfortably numb.
Eventually, we came across a sign that said the the first campsites were up ahead of us, yet when we reached them, site after site was completely buried under snow. My friend was hiking a little ways ahead of me and would call back every so often that we were getting closer. I couldn’t really hear what she was saying. I was lost in the sound and sloshing rhythm of my snowshoes scraping the snow. The next time I heard her calling to me, there was something new in the sound of her voice. She sounded hopeful, and that gave me a fresh burst of energy. A few more steps and as I turned a corner, the snow was gone. It was like stepping into some sort of garden of Eden. Everywhere I looked was dark brown dirt with bright yellow flowers popping out of it. I was awe-struck. I took off my snowshoes, walked past an abandoned wooden shack and then the springs came into view. Actually, I saw two tents first, and then two men lounging in the springs.
The first clear spot I saw, I dropped anchor. As the reality sunk in that we had just hiked for 10 straight hours through the most rugged and challenging conditions of my life, I started sobbing loudly in relief. I didn’t even care that it wasn’t at our official campsite. I was not about to budge. My friend walked over to the hot springs and spoke to the two men there. I’m not actually sure what they talked about, but the bottom line was that they were friendly and they did not care where we camped.
As soon as we set up camp and laid all our wet things in the sun to dry, we got into the hot springs. The other campers had graciously allowed us to have them to ourselves and it was such a treat. As I stepped gingerly into the warm water the stress of the day dispersed and my body finally relaxed. The water was so clear! I was enchanted with all the bright green and turquoise rocks. It wasn’t deep so I walked along the sandy bottom with my hands as my legs floated out behind me. There were little bubbles streaming up out of the ground in several spots, and that’s where we found the hottest water. To say the view from the springs was spectacular does not do it justice. Looking out over the horizon the rugged trail looked benign. There was no indication of the challenges we had just traversed. None of that mattered anymore though. All I wanted was to savor the bliss, the silence and beauty and let the heat and healing sink into every cell in my body. That is when the speed of time resumed.
Before the sun went behind the mountain, my friend got out to cook her dinner. I lingered and allowed the buoyant water hold me up. I was also topless, but there was no fear or shame because we were utterly alone. It was both liberating and strange all at once. With some prodding from my friend, I reluctantly got out of the water, and started to prepare my own dinner. Even the healing waters of the springs couldn’t undo all the stress in my belly, so I nibbled at my food and finally gave up. I could not find the energy or desire to eat. Once the sun went behind the mountains, we crawled into the tent and let go of everything but sleep.
As is my usual custom, I woke up at 2 a.m. and had to pee. It was really, really cold, but my bladder was not about to let me sleep through the night. As I got out of the tent, the full moon was shining over head. I grabbed my phone, took a few photos and crawled back into my warm sleeping bag. How I wish I had allowed myself to walk the few feet to the hot springs and get in. How amazing it would have been to soak naked under the full moon in the dark silence of the night.
The next morning, it was literally freezing. My wet shoes and shoelaces had frozen solid. I made a mental note to untie wet laces before going to sleep in freezing temps for any future trips. Looking back, I realize I could have just put them in the springs to melt the ice. Not sure why I didn’t think of that until now. Clearly the previous day’s events had zapped my brain cells more than I thought. I could feel a sense of deep dread at the prospect of going back through the snow in snowshoes. My entire body ached. There was no point in hoping for a luxuriously slow morning and a second swim in the heated springs. The cold weather had frozen the slushy snow from the day before, but the untethered sun was already shining and we had precious little time to hike back over the snow before it melted again. We were packed and on our way back down the mountain by 7:30 with barely a wave goodbye to the mystical springs.
The hike back became a moving meditation. I started chanting a mantra to the Hindu god Ganesh, the remover of obstacles. It seemed completely appropriate, and it helped clear my mind. Om Gam Ganapati Namaha. Om Gam Ganapati Namaha. On and on I chanted it, sometimes out loud, sometimes silently. It worked. My achilles never started to hurt and we made it through the snowy forest without the snowshoes. Leaving early proved to be the correct choice.
By this point, we still had seven more miles of solid hiking ahead and the fatigue from the previous day returned. I started thinking of different songs to occupy my mind. It became a sort of game. There was Steady As She Goes, by the Raconteurs, then “Just keep hiking, just keep hiking” a la Dory style from the Disney film Finding Nemo. I knew one verse of “She’ll be coming round the mountain when she comes”, but my friend knew all of them. I swear if anyone had heard us as we headed back down the mountain, they would have thought we were completely mental. We did in fact, finally start running into people heading up. We tried to warn them about what lay ahead, but they, like us, were on a mission and our warnings went unheeded.
We got to the river that almost derailed us the day before and discovered that the snow melt had washed away the thin tree that had been our partial bridge. There was really no choice but to get really comfortable with cold, wet feet again. I didn’t really care because my shoes were still wet from the night before. The water current was strong, but I dug in with my trekking poles and finally made it across. When we emerged from the trees, the sun was beating down on us and the piles of avalanche debris was even harder the second time because we knew they coming. Everything looked so different on the way back. It didn’t even seem like the same trail in some places. We were putting mile after mile between us and the springs when we rounded a familiar looking corner. I was expecting to see the original pile of debris, but to my surprise, a path had recently been cut through it with fresh chain saw marks on the tree trunks flanking us.
As soon as we got to the trailhead sign, we turned off our trackers. We had hiked a total of 20 miles and 2,848 feet of elevation gain. The unexpected detours we made over the debris piles had added to our total. Even though we started an hour later and didn’t have to use our snowshoes, it took the majority of the day to hike back. This was extreme hiking. In fact, it was gut-wrenching, anxiety-fueled hiking, and it was simultaneously the best and worst hike of my entire life.
I wanted to write about this sooner, but it has really taken me months to process it. When something big like this happens, it is easy to talk yourself out of your experience and downplay the hard stuff. Over the summer, I read other reviews from hikers who came after us. They were oblivious to the challenges that we faced because the trail had changed. It was no longer covered by dead trees and snow. It had completely reinvented itself.
Just as the trail changed, I felt changed. I didn’t notice it right away. The shift was subtle, but undeniable. It’s like John Muir once said, “and into the forest I go, to lose my mind and find my soul.” Every hike and quest I complete helps me recover a part of myself and my soul that was suppressed somewhere along the way. And once I return home, I have to decide which pieces to keep and which to release because “returning home is the most difficult part of long-distant hiking. You have grown outside the puzzle and your piece no longer fits.” (Cindy Ross, author and triple crown hiker) The puzzle pieces of my old life are being replaced with new ones colored by every post hole, injury, sunrise and scent of warmed pines, and I can’t wait to see each new piece.
This past Labor Day weekend, I went to a retreat near the Rocky Mountains in Estes Park that has changed me from the ground up. I was there to work and be of service, but as is often the case, I was not immune to the energy of great minds and hearts, powerful speakers, healing services, ancient ceremonies and early morning hikes and sunrises.
I was able to experience a Puja Blessing and Kirtan, an early morning Silent Zen Bell Walking Meditation, a pre-dawn Harmonizing Nature Hike which included a full sage clearing and sunrise grounding and a Thunder Drum Circle in the lineage of the Plains Indians. Aside from the stellar cast of speakers, writers and musicians, I was introduced to over 30 men and women involved in Sound Healing using Tibetan Singing Bowls, some of whom were also Reiki masters, therapists, doctors, fellow rock and crystal hounds and of course, loads and loads of yoga teachers.
With that many different healers under one roof; positive and gut-wrenching change is guaranteed. It was like we all took turns having an emotional meltdown including unstoppable tears that came out of nowhere, stream of conscious journaling, the healing balm of nature and lots of support and hugs.
After a particularly emotional day, I connected with a woman who specializes in past-life regression, and I was all over that one. We did a mini-session that took me back to a life that showed me the “mask” I’ve been hiding behind out of fear of revealing my True Self. I was surrounded with love and support from my deceased loved ones during this process and I can still feel them near me.
The following day found me awake before dawn, hiking up a mountain in the dark with a small group of new friends. I had been given two pieces of beautiful pyrite and told to keep one and give one back to Mother Earth. As I stumbled up, tripping over roots and rocks, I was on a silent mission to be led to the place where I could plant my gift.
After the sun finished its rise, our small group wondered off to explore and connect in our own way. I saw a hidden area with lots of little birds hopping around and chirping, so I went to investigate. I was admiring the intimate relationship between the sun and the mountains when I glanced down and saw a feather on the ground. I knelt down, picked it up and held it to the sun. Just then, I knew this was the perfect place to plant my stone. A silent bond was formed in that moment, with the sun, mountains and my ancestors showing me the way without saying a word.
Once upon a time, I had a typical job that paid the bills. It was close to home, paid decent, and did I mention it was only 3 miles from my home? Notice that I didn’t say it was inspiring or fulfilling in any way. It was a place where I went for 8 hours of my day and tolerated things and people. So when my son was born, the job itself just didn’t have enough pull to draw me away from the little bundle of joy that I helped create. At the time, I had just started exploring Feng Shui and had taken my first week long intensive. Feng Shui was the first glimpse I had of the possibility of doing something that inspires and supports me. Ever since I was a little girl, the one thing that I knew for sure was that I wanted to help people in some way. Little did I know that the journey I had decided to make using Feng Shui would turn my world upside down in ways that I could not know were coming. As I learned more and made changes in my life, shift or Shit as it were, happened!
As is often the case, people can be jealous of our happiness and success, and I have always been very sensitive to the emotional temperature of the people I know and the new ones that I meet. These same friends and family members who say they love us can be threatened by the changes that we make. As they see us making changes that increase our freedom, creativity and passions, they can become uncomfortable. They might even start to ask themselves if the work they are doing fulfills them or gives them the chance to make a difference in this crazy world. And if not, is it possible for them to find work that does? When I was younger, my Mom and I strongly disagreed about this. She insisted that work is work and it is not something that is necessary for us to love. She wasn’t trying to be negative. That was her reality. However, I was appalled and vowed then and there, albeit silently, that I would show her that it is possible. I owe my stubbornness and persistence to my Mom. Hey, I got it honestly at least! But seriously, that is one of the many life-affirming gifts that she gave me, and I am so grateful!
Ever since my initial deep dive into finding my true calling, I have gotten divorced, moved 6 times (with one move being from the concrete, humid hell of Houston to the happy and hippy joyfulness that is Austin), experienced the death of my Father, become a Certified Yoga Instructor and had to learn to live on a much smaller budget than ever before. One way that I have justified my career choice to others who look at my life with envy is that yes, I am doing what I love, but don’t be jealous because I really don’t make that much money ~ and this is the insight that I have had this week. I have been afraid to make more money doing what I love because then people might really hate me or abandon me. I may have time to take a nap in the middle of the day or take a 3 hour lunch with a friend, but on the days when I am working, I am WORKING! I also don’t have health insurance, I am driving a car with over 209,000 miles on it and I pay the minimum on all of my credit cards because that is all I can afford. I don’t get paid holidays or sick days, and the last time I took a vacation, I also gave up my income for the week.
My challenge now is to break through the financial glass ceiling that I created out of fear of losing my friends or creating envy, and continuously replace it with the faith that I am on the right path, that I am following my Divine Purpose and that my true friends are my true friends no matter what! We hold ourselves back, until we don’t any more because once you know something about yourself, you can’t UN-know it. You can ignore it or you can change it, and as usual, I chose change! If something I have shared helps even one other person in some way, then it is totally worth it to me! I am reminded of one of my favorite quotes that fits perfectly here:
“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, ‘Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?’ Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It’s not just in some of us; it’s in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.” – Marianne Williamson, Return to Love: Reflections on the Principles of “A Course in Miracles”