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The home of my ancestors
This article is cross-posted from my weekly newsletter, The Sunday Soother, a newsletter about clarity, intention, and useful tips for creating more meaning in your life that goes out every Sunday morning. Subscribe here. I am also a coach who works with sensitive people so they can stop second-guessing, make decisions confidently and live the life they’ve always dreamed of. You can learn more about working with me here.
My grandparents asked something of me in a dream recently.
Happy Sunday, Soothers. Two weeks before my grandmother died, she showed up in a dream with my grandfather, and my father’s parents, too. All four of my grandparents, in the fuzzy, dappled sunlight of my night travels, wanting to show me something.
They met me in front of my childhood home in Washington, D.C., the front lawn and bushes lush and almost overgrown. I remember being guided by them to a path I’d never noticed before in the side of the yard, dangled with vines and a little wooden sign pointing the way.
I walked down that side path into the backyard, and there, with their assistance, suddenly an entire second home was revealed to me, one that had been sitting there in the far corner of the backyard the entire time, covered by greenery and leaves, emerging from a fog as if I was looking through a portal…
