Crying on the Plane

I remember when I would be on the plane ride home from some privileged and marvelous adventure, and cry. I didn’t want to go back to my life. It had nothing to offer me except stress, anxiety, overwhelm, and of course the ironic clincher: the paycheck that meant I could take these trips.

‘Is this really life?’ I’d wonder in desperation within the spiraling corridors of my mind. Spending my days feeling like a deflated trampled balloon, living for these 10 days of reprieve?

I didn’t understand why I felt trapped in this life that checked all the boxes, or why when I was driving down the Garden State Parkway I’d get this urge to keep going, a voice like a hush in the breeze through my window…"I want to be free.” I didn’t recognize that voice as the longing of my soul, a soul that was being cut off. Between the constant chatter of my mind and the external forces squeezing any individuality and rebellion out of me by reminding me that I’m only worthy when I’m producing, that my value is based on how many digits are on my paycheck or the car I drive or relationship norms I follow, and other status quo bullshit.

Gifted the luxury of space from the bullshit some of the fog I was standing in would become translucent. I couldn’t necessarily see the truth of the systems I was being chewed up and spit out by, but ten days in a new environment, broken out of auto pilot routines with refreshed sounds, smells, people - it was like a delicious stretch after a too long binge sesh on the couch. In that space there would be teeny tiny prickles of who I could maybe be - a glimpse of possibility. My mind would allow in the potential of something different within the gaps of the familiar chatter. Could I lead a different life…? Just the breadcrumbs of possibility were enough to get me inspired, walking through the streets of Katmandu sure that I would come home and change my life.

There are many reasons I didn’t come home, quit my job and extricate from the choke hold of the systems, but namely, I didn’t know what the fuck else to do. That was the hardest part of it all. I wanted something so different so bad, but I was trapped in a stupor that was keeping me numb and ultimately, paralyzed. I would layer story after story leading myself into dead ends, ruminating on every limiting belief I had about myself:

“what makes you think you could do that - you’re not special.”

“you’re not [creative, talented, smart, successful etc.] enough.”

“you won’t make it, you’ll go broke, you’ll lose everything…”

“no one will respect you if you do that.”

and so on and so forth until I’d be so exhausted I’d be left with Limiting Beliefs 50 pts; Possibilities 0. I learned to trust these stories, because they were all I knew. It didn’t matter that I was a ticking time bomb, I hadn’t blown yet. My stories were keeping me safe. Truth be told, this was the right choice for me at the time. It turns out I needed a LOT of support - internal and external - to start entering the labyrinth of myself, and I just didn’t have it back then.

Resources came in the form of a dedicated yoga practice complete with meditation, inspiring authors (thanks Brene Brown), new and empowering relationships, Qoya, and various healers and energy workers. I’ve been shedding layers of bullshit for years and collecting more resources along the way. As I emerge from the stupor and continue to thaw from my numbness era, I’m constantly tending the intricacies and nuances of being Kerrie. Something I learned about Kerrie? The corporate world was NOT for her, nor were most conventional tracts. She was here to be a healer - for herself, and one day, the world (I’m coming for you fucked up systems).

Ready for some irony? That whole being afraid of not knowing what to do if I left my job? Not only do I not have life figured out, but everyday seems to become more of a mystery. However, it’s not scary because I’m not suffocating or paralyzed, I’m in alignment. Letting go of security (aka control) was scary, but now it’s where the magick gets in.

I’ve broken free from a life that I dreamed of letting go of by breaking out of the cycles that kept me trapped. I get to have safety, support, resource - three essential ingredients in breaking free from the spells of our personal histories, family and ancestral trauma, and systems built on power and greed that cause harm. It’s cool that I get to remember myself, it’s a privilege that I can, and it’s a blessing that I always look forward to the plane ride home.