… this unremarkable room with the unremarkable view in Middle-of-Nowhere, Michigan, was everything that had ever been written about freedom and possibility.
— Ann Patchett
The idea of expanding your world was first introduced to me three Decembers ago. First, by Jenny Bourn, then Liz Tran. I’ve been thinking about why it was so compelling to me then, why it still is the through line by which I live life now, and I think it is that ‘expanding’ radiates a sense of wonder, discovery, abundance, agency, and possibilities. As we rang in the new year of 2022, a friend and I who connected over the allure of this idea committed to putting this into action, whatever that looks like to us and however its definition continues to change over time. What a wonderful thought in itself, that: expanding your world changes you. Since then, every Sunday at 9pm, or 9pm her time and 1pm mine, two questions are sent into our dedicated group chat:
“What can you do this week to expand your world?”
“How did last week’s plan go?”
Each word, if you think about it, holding so much weight: expand, your, world. From the beginning, I appreciated that this line of thought isn’t about growth or success in the way that is about doing more or earning more or checking more countries off a list. Instead, it drives me to think about what I want to achieve, and how I want to live. Then, when I take the time to plan and reflect on how I want to act on these terms, I am plainly challenged to the true question: Am I willing to do what it takes?
Over time, thinking and living through this course created a foundation for the trite-but-true trio: manifesting, thinking in abundance, and trusting the process. Week in, week out, I set intentions and reflect on what was, sometimes I celebrate, other times I acknowledge falling flat. The gift here is that I am able to remember something for what it is in the moment. Looking inward and looking outward from wherever I may be, unwarped by another thinking in past tense.
So many things expand your world. Some of mine: Quiet reading, listening, and watching. A brief interaction with a stranger. A conversation with a friend—maybe they are sharing something for the first time, or offering their two cents on what I have done, even if something I don’t want to hear. Being warmly received by friends of friends in a foreign place. Going ahead with tennis in the rain; when was the last time you played in the rain? Learning about a family’s history while they convene at the pub. Witnessing a sardine run. Feeling clumsy at a silversmithing workshop. Getting paid for the first time to write, and all the times after that. Working through a thought, even if it takes me way too long, wearing off its veneer and getting to its pith, until something shifts. A reminder from a friend to follow my joy and see where it leads me.
I don’t know if it is coincidence that introducing this practice came at the inception of the most fulfilling year of my life yet. Maybe, I was just ready for it. I was moving away from a traumatic and distressing season of my life, into one that made space for healthier love, self-belief, and courage to live out the life I have long known to want. Discovering what being in the world had to offer, what I had to give. I began travelling alone and living with strangers, learning that I can thrive in the unfamiliar and liminal, trusting others. A weekly reflection from that year reads, a nice thought: everyday feels like a new day. Another, quoting a yoga instructor I met once, we arrive and keep arriving. Sometime then, I read Maybe You Should Talk to Someone,
But part of getting to know yourself is to unknow yourself—to let go of the limiting stories you've told yourself about who you are so that you aren't trapped by them, so you can live your life and not the story you've been telling yourself about your life.
Came last year, a year that I would describe as a long lull. Forced to grapple with the fragility of life, and how everything is only temporary, I am reminded that it is also an eternity. It is, after all, all I have to work with. Through losing my job, the inexplicable sadness of losing a neighbour to suicide, bouts of existential dread, a lot of nothing really, I kept up to this weekly exercise, unearthing and rooting, rooting and unearthing.
Looking back now: I connected with so many new people I wouldn’t otherwise have. I found myself seen in books, You are the person who pulls things apart and figures out how they work instead of simply accepting them. You’re someone who rather have the truth than a convenient lie. I learnt that enough triumphs everything. Still succumbing to comparison, I came to start internalising that other people can make other decisions. This year I was given clear signs that I needed to keep writing, though for the most part too deflated to start, that it would be there for me when I was ready to bare. If you haven’t already worked it out, documenting my life helps me feel like time hasn’t slipped away. I must admit it is comforting in that way.
While I want to be known for my inner world, still what you end up doing is often what counts. From Dolly Alderton’s Ghosts, All of those websites that make you obsess over "who you are" and how to explain it to everyone. You don't need to explain it to everyone all the time! In our day, "who you are" was just the thing that happened when you got out of bed and got on with the day. Most of all, this ritual has given me something I can apply in the everyday. It surely can take a toll, but I think when you can live on your own terms, the trade-offs become well worth it. For now this sees me tending to a life with long-term uncertainty; a constant uprooting as I seek fertile ground. Meanwhile, I’ll keep at expanding my world, for beyond everything it’s given me, it’s made me more attuned to the present, trust my decisions, and simply, see things for what they are. A time machine and a mirror. A peace offering for my mind.