The Map is Not the Territory
At the beginning of last year, I felt trapped in my own skin. As I described it to a close friend, I said I literally felt like a caterpillar in a cocoon. I could viscerally feel that I was ready for growth and change, but I had no idea what was needed. Was it my work? My physical location? My relationships? My routines? Nothing immediately jumped out at me as an answer.
And honestly, it kind of sucked. I told my closest people that nothing felt quite right — but nothing was quite wrong, either.
I realized recently that I’ve been on this body acceptance exploration for over ten years now. And I really think exploration is the best way to describe it: path or journey feel too much like something with an end point. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned about body acceptance, it’s that there’s no end point. There’s always more to explore.
When I first started my own tentative, usually resistant explorations with coming to a more peaceful relationship with my body, I really wanted someone to tell me exactly how to do it. Eat this; don’t eat that. Move like this; don’t move like that. Listen to this inner voice; ignore that one. You will see x progress in y weeks. You’ll know you’re done when z happens.
In other words, I wanted a diet. A prescription. Something that I could just phone in.
But there’s no prescription for a relationship with your own body. No one else has ever had this relationship before, so all other people can do is point to signposts and offer some packing tips.
I’m totally not a map person. In fact, I’m notorious in my family for not being able to figure out how to put two shoes back into a box, much less navigating my way via map. I learn to get around by sight and memory: turn by this tree, the pharmacy is on that corner, then the destination is by that bright green building.
Earlier this year when I was feeling so uncomfortable, I didn’t do much. I mean, obviously I complained. I feel like that goes without saying. But I actively resisted fixing the feeling. To say that this is unlike me is probably the biggest understatement ever uttered.
In the past whenever I felt a moment of discomfort, I immediately sought to get rid of it. I’d repress it, deny it, or ignore it. More often, though, I’d act on it. When I wasn’t sure what to do with my work, I’d think, “Why not totally burn it down? Or commit to nineteen more projects?” When I wasn’t sure how to relate to my body, I’d be like, “I need to see these six specialists, read these fifteen books, and buy these thirty five supplements. Tomorrow.” There are so many examples, but they all boil down to this: Feel discomfort. Get rid of it by any means necessary.
Take a moment here and feel your right hand. Notice whatever sensations arise there.
And now, be in your right hand. See what happens when you shift your perspective.
Even if feeling the difference between these two seems impossible right now, I imagine you can sense that a difference does exist. I learned from this Judith Blackstone in her great book Belonging Here, and it has really changed how I relate to my body.
After a lifetime of distancing myself as far as possible from my body, it took me years to be able to feel my right hand, to be able to locate it internally, sense it in space, know what was going on with it. And it took me even more years to be able to inhabit it, to be in it, to live inside my own skin — and even that is very fleeting, not something I can maintain without conscious effort. But it wasn’t possible for me to know what it was like to inhabit my body until I got here, until I listened, and until I let go of an agenda and just focused on cultivating a relationship with myself. Because there’s no way to predict how long any of this takes; it’s agendaless.
Which I hate.
I’m a to-do list gal, a checker offer of all the things, someone who likes a plan. Whenever I’m going somewhere, I have a packing list, know the weather for every day, and have prepared for as many possible contingencies as I can. It stresses me out to no end to just show up and see what happens with minimal preparation.
And yet.
When I felt like something was calling me forward this year, how did I know? I felt the feelings of discomfort (which took me years to be able to recognize and name) and then I took no action beyond feeling (which took me years to be able to tolerate).
I got present with the feelings, I got curious about them, and then I gave them space to breathe. Because there’s a million things I could have done, but listen — I’ve been down that path so. many. times. And sometimes it works! But sometimes I also bulldoze my own life and have many negative consequences.
This time, I decided not to be in bulldozer mode. I just kept listening and waiting. Reminding myself that I am not a problem to be fixed.
A few years ago when my husband, Nic, and I visited Portland, Oregon, for the first time, I could feel in my bones that this was a home for me. There’s really no other way to explain it: I just felt more myself in the nature, in the climate, in the approach to life.
I wanted to move immediately.
I’m sure Nic would be willing to have a long conversation with you about how crazy I’ve driven him over the years constantly wanting to move. This is one of the balancing acts in our relationship that’s really healthy for both of us, even if it drives us both a little batty sometimes: if it were up to me, we’d move every few years. And if it was up to Nic, we’d never move.
So we talked about it and realized the time wasn’t right. We’d actually just moved to another house in Nashville. And our lives weren’t aligned for it; Nic would have to find a new job, and a bunch of other details just weren’t ready. So we let it go (well, I only kind of did, but still).
We visited Oregon again the next year, and again we had a long conversation about moving there. But again, the time wasn’t right. We let it go (well, I only kind of did, but still).
Then around the middle of this year, my inner sense that a change was not just needed but was actively coming intensified. I could deeply feel in my bones that we were being called forward, but I didn’t know to what or to where. So I did what I always do: I talked with Nic about it. And then I did what I never do: I made space. We planned a trip to Portland to explore the possibility of moving because it felt like we were finally ready — financially, but mostly emotionally. Nashville had held us beautifully for one season of our lives, but we were moving into a new season.
So we went, and we looked at houses, and we met up with friends, and we just felt how we felt.
Which was ready.
When we came back home to Nashville, we talked and breathed and went on long walks, which is where we always access our clearest thoughts. And through that, we knew it was time. We made the decision to move across the country, and things fell into place. I know that if we’d forced this move two years ago, the first time the idea arose, that it wouldn’t have been right. I know that from vast experience: I’ve forced many things to happen in my life that later turned out not to be right. And, of course, I wouldn’t undo any of that — it’s all powerful learning and has brought me to this moment. But this time felt like walking through an open door. Which isn’t to say we didn’t encounter any challenges or that it was easy, but rather that it felt aligned.
When we moved here, we looked at a map of the various neighborhoods to get a sense of where we wanted to live. And while that did give us some idea of what was where, it wasn’t until we were driving and walking around in them that we knew what felt right. It’s one thing to look at the map. But it’s another thing to be in the territory.
“The map is not the territory.” I read this quote from Alfred Korzybski a few years ago, and it was one of those moments in life where time seems to stand still. “Yes,” I thought. “Oh my.” Because, of course — looking at a map of Portland isn’t the same as being in the city. Just like having someone tell you the Top 5 Ways to Love Your Body isn’t the same as being in your body, being in relationship with it.
One can point the way, but the other is the way.
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