This blog post is dedicated to the memory of Dr Keith Blevens—friend, mentor, and colleague. Keith was one of the early psychologists to learn from Sydney Banks. His dedication to sharing the Principles was unmistakable, and I feel deeply grateful to have known such a wonderful human being.

About six months ago, my parents decided it was time to sell the family home and move to a bungalow that would be much better suited to them as they grow older. My initial thought was, that makes sense—they would have so much more time without needing to tend to the wonderful but large garden.

Then I started to get seduced by my thinking about the past and my imagined futures. I found myself thinking about how I was going to feel on moving day, how I would never walk down the garden again, and how Lucia wouldn’t walk hand in hand with her grandma and grandad to put the ducks away. On and on my mind went, spinning all these imagined futures that we would somehow be missing out on.

Then, like a pendulum, my mind would swing back to all the amazing memories made in that house. I have lived there since the age of three—41 years of life within those four walls. I would find myself in tears while driving my daughter to forest school or standing in the supermarket, overcome with grief and sadness.

In January, I got to have the experience of being with Lucia on a beautiful, sunny snow day (the only one we have had this year). We got out my old sled and had so much fun zooming down my parents’ long garden. I remembered doing the same at Lucia’s age, and later with my now adult nieces and nephew. I could feel the emotion, the sadness, the grief and also the love and the gratitude—and I still had a wonderful time with my daughter, even knowing it would be the last time we would do this there.

It didn’t seem to matter what I thought I knew about the nature of the Principles—I was finding it incredibly hard to stay present at times. I could see that I was living in imagined futures and memories of the past, and sometimes that awareness would bring me back to the moment. Other times, I knew I simply needed to sit tight and ride it out.

Then the moving date was set. Each time we visited, the house was in a different stage of being packed up, and slowly our family home became an empty shell. On the day of the move, my sister and two of her children, Dave, Lucia and I, and my uncle all helped my parents with the final clearing. My sister suggested that the original four—my parents, her, and me—go to the bottom of the garden, hold hands, and say goodbye to the beautiful place that had been our family’s hub for nearly all of my life.

As we stood there, no tears came. I listened to my mum speak about the gratitude she felt. I saw the tears in my dad’s eyes and held my sister’s hand. I said goodbye—and thank you. What a privilege it had been to grow up in such a wonderful place.

Then I experienced flash after flash of memories, each arriving with a beautiful feeling—moments I had long forgotten coming back to life, surrounded by the love of my family.

Amazingly, within just a few days, the new house began to feel like a home. We had fun unpacking and creating a new space for my parents. I found myself smiling at the previous six months—so many times I had been certain I knew how awful I was going to feel, how heartbroken I would be, how the new house would never feel like home. It had all looked and felt so real in those moments. Yet, as I am reminded again and again, I am terrible at predicting the future.

I also began to see the perfection of it all—the humanness of the experience—and felt grateful that I had allowed all the feelings to come and go without judgment. On one hand, I could see this as a “first-world problem.” With everything going on in the world, my parents moving house might seem insignificant. But in my life, it felt like a big deal. I am grateful I didn’t dismiss my experience as unworthy of sadness simply because others are facing far more difficult circumstances.

When I first came to this understanding, I thought I had somehow got one over on life—that I would never have to feel uncomfortable emotions again, that I would be immune to the ups and downs. What I have come to see instead is that the experience of it all is what makes a life. It is what helps us find compassion and love—for others and for ourselves.

We are all in this together.

If you would like to spend time with speakers like this in person and hear them share their wisdom and experience in a beautiful setting in Albir, Spain in November each year, you can find tickets here www.thevivaevent.com/registration