The fog was as thick as pea soup as I started out for my run. I smiled and got thinking about childhood and my love of fog. One of my favorite things to do when it was foggy was to go out into the pasture or fields that surrounded my childhood home. I would watch, trying to capture or catch the fog only for it to move. I knew that it would move, but I loved the game that I played with fog nonetheless.
I have always been drawn to the magickal side of life. I have loved doorways, transition points, fog, dusk and dawn, edges between the woods and meadows, full moons, rocks and hugging trees.
As I ran, I started to realize that the fog offered something really special for me. Fog holds beautiful space for you to grow in. No one can see you as you flail through your emotions and growth. There, in a thick blanket of protection offered from mother nature, you can feel safe to relax and be vulnerable. Fog doesn’t ask you to know where you are going, in fact it demands that you surrender to the lack of clarity. It demands that you accept the immediate space, you can’t see distance even if you want to. There is comfort in the permission to only focus on the immediate and release the need to see the bigger picture. In this space, you are left with a very small world. Often, that world is just you in the raw form. The longer that I ran, the more I sank into the fog and accepted everything that it was offering me. I was at a transition point in life, betwixt and between, and the permission to make my world small was wildly therapeutic. When I finally surrendered and admitted what I really wanted out of my situation, the fog lifted almost immediately. I thanked the fog for the space that it held for me and finished my run holding onto my newfound clarity.
