Alex, I love the cadence of this piece...the way the looseness comes alive in your writing and in the reminding us all that the sense of being unmoored is ours for the asking/taking any time. Meaning that we can step out of our Identities, our Solidness, and be more present to the fluidity of noticing how we can and most often do feel two states of being at the same time. Stepping outside our routines can open us in such simple ways. I know how much I stay in my comfort zone of familiar routines. Thanks for the reminder to choose something new more often.
“The sense of being unmoored is ours for the asking.” I love the way you put that! There’s something almost mischievous about it, like we can loosen our grip a little on purpose. I notice how often I forget that and wait for life to do it for me.
Yes exactly. We so often wait for life to do it for us— when the more aware we become, the more we realize how much of our life’s experiences are in our own hands.
It comes without permission. Those we give permission to are not the same. Thank you for this kind of remembering. I remember times of being unmoored, not by permission but by force of circumstances. That same feeling of being cut loose and untethered. The not knowing, and in my case, not caring, what would come next. Always love your work. Love, Virg
You named something I keep circling too, that “not knowing” is one thing, but “not caring what would come next” is something else entirely. There’s a strange mercy in that, maybe. Not ease, exactly, but a moment where the usual bargaining drops away. Thank you for putting words to that distinction.
I love this essay. It is poignant, with the theme of being unmoored so beautifully and insightfully discussed. I love the following: "You do not have to have survived something to deserve the aliveness that comes from being loose in your own life."
You deserve the aliveness that you felt, are feeling, and continuing to feel.
I am so saddened that your parents had you leave your home. What an unmooring, for sure. I try not to be judgemental, but as I read about this traumatic moment of time for you, I can't help but think that parents who turn their kid out of the house just because of the kid's sexual orientation are wrong. It's wrong not to accept a kid for what he/she is.
What you went through was horrible. I do admire your resilience and, despite, your going through being in that truck accident and divorce -- definitely some of life's hardships -- you managed to not only live, but to explore and understand what being alive really means.Bravo.
Beth, this means a lot. Thank you for reading with such tenderness.
I really appreciate you naming the wrongness of what happened. There is a kind of witness that does not need to dramatize anything, but also refuses to make it smaller than it was. That feels like what you are offering here, and I receive it! Thank you, thank you, and thank you.
And I love that you pulled out the line about deserving aliveness. That feels like one of the quieter truths I am still learning how to live. Not aliveness as proof that the pain is over, or that I have become some polished, triumphant version of myself. Just aliveness as something that can exist right alongside the ache. Sometimes that feels like the most honest miracle.
Ooof to the "No voiceover." That is THE thing I treasure most about being away from the daily grind of the life at home. I love how you captured the both/and of it. How we can miss the "right lighting" in our kitchen and also land right in the unmoored unknown of being away.
This means so much, thank you. I keep thinking about what you said about treasuring the “No voiceover” part of being away. I feel that too. There is something almost absurdly tender about realizing how loud the daily grind is only once it has finally stopped talking.
Alex, your ability to be real and vulnerable in your essays is admirable. I've never really thought about grief as an unmooring. but it is. Life as we know it abruptly changes and there we are hanging out over a great chasm.
Thank you for being you and sharing bits of your journey with us. It prompts me to do some reflecting and that is a good thing, even if it doesn't entirely feel that way at the time.
Thank you, Nancy. This means a lot. I think part of why I write these pieces is because reflection often arrives sideways for me, through a sentence, a memory, a hotel room, a cup of bad coffee that somehow becomes emotionally relevant against everyone’s wishes. I’m touched that the piece opened something reflective for you too.
I realize you don’t need one but I’m sending you this motherly hug anyway. It’s probably the selfish part of myself, yet it feels instinctive to me. I just want you to know that the “unmooring” you felt and experienced in life had nothing to do with any fault of yours. One was from the insecurity of others and the other from the accident universe. Today’s “unmooring” is your own act of bravery in exploring parts of the world unrecognizable to your recognizable. I know you know these things yourself I don’t need to say them for you… only for myself so I can express how much your writing touches my soul. I am so proud to know you. Your life has been far from easy perhaps not as hard as some others but hard enough to have impacted the core of who you are. Your willingness to share your most vulnerable parts is extraordinary and you explain all of it so very well. My heart aches for what you have been through, perhaps it is my empathy because I too have had this similar type “unmooring” and can visualize yours. Yet, at the same time you show us a positive within the negative. Not many people have your ability to do that. It is why I seek out your written words and am so very grateful you bring them into existence. Especially in this upside down world we are all living in. Alex calling you a friend is a privilege I will never regret. I am so glad you had a chance to explore something new and just a bit different than what you are used to. A time on your own that allowed your free spirit to peek out! Please accept my urge to send you this motherly virtual hug so you can feel appreciated for exactly who you are! Thank you for sharing and the lessons, Alex…always.
Kathy, this touched me deeply. Thank you for taking the time to write it with such care.
I smiled at the “motherly hug,” and I receive it. Truly. There is something very healing about being met with that kind of instinctive tenderness, especially around the parts of the story that still feel young in me.
And what you said about today’s unmooring being my own act of bravery really lands. I hadn’t quite thought of it that way, but yes, maybe part of the beauty of this trip was that I got to be unmoored without being abandoned. I got to be displaced without being exiled. That distinction feels small until it feels enormous.
Thank you for seeing that, and for reflecting it back so generously.
This is a brilliant article. I have known being unmoored involuntarily and traumatically, and being unmoored by choice and pleasurably via holiday travel. I had never registered that the nervous system is showing up in the same way for both. Fascinating. I look forward to regular little unmoorings from my daily routine, and bigger unmoorings by travelling abroad when I can. I think it wakes you up to life, you always learn things, you find unexpected joy, and you savour the return to familiarity with appreciation when you come home. I have just subscribed to you and look forward to reading more. Thankyou.
I’m struck by what you said about unexpected joy. That feels like one of the gifts of being unmoored by choice, doesn’t it? We step out of the known world, however briefly, and life gets a little room to surprise us. I’m curious, do your “little unmoorings” tend to be changes in place, changes in routine, or something more inward?
Hi, and thankyou for your reply. I think unexpected joy is one of the purposes of deliberate unmoorings, along with freshly piqued curiosity, healthy discomfort and newly opened eyes to the world around. My little unmoorings are because I live with chronic illness so am not always well enough for big adventures like travel. I live a very small, restricted life in terms of where I can go and what I can do, so I try to do little unmoorings for one main aim: variety. They are all of the above. It means I vary which cafe I visit, and which drink I order. If housebound, I change which room I'm sitting in, for a different view. Inwardly, I might use music to introduce different feelings. One walk I do most days, but each day I try to notice different plants, make up stories about the houses I pass. It's about survival of my soul really, because it needs more stimulation than my health allows, so I have to work extra hard to find any little unmooring where I can to feed it. Sorry, long answer! Does any of that resonate?
❤️. At the end of this lovely piece , you say if you thought of someone, send it to them… it’s me… the piece was for me, to find and send to myself….travelling through grief, unmoored, finding rest, solitude, restlessness, peace and hope, all at once. Thanks. Blessings. Go well.
Bernadette, thank you. There’s something so human in what you wrote, finding rest and restlessness in the same breath. I know that pairing well. My inner life often has the vibe of a peaceful retreat being run by a raccoon with a clipboard. So yes, all at once feels very true.
"UNMOORING- refers to the act of releasing a vessel from its moorings or anchorage to prepare for sailing. It also describes the figurative process of freeing, loosening, or detaching something from its foundations or connections. Common synonyms include releasing, casting off, untying, detaching, freeing, and unleashing."
I really like this word better than previous words I've been using trying to describe this season I'm in. Working on announcing a really big decision that will further unmoor me, and it seems to be stirring up every emotion I've ever possessed.
Thank you for sharing your life experiences through this captivating essay that transported me to an Amsterdam hotel room, overlooking a canal...then back to my hometown walking to middle school and smelling this one particular home's fabric softener through their exterior dryer vent, and thinking how warm and comforting that home must be. Moms who use fabric softener surely show affection, tenderness and love to their children without them having to earn it. The mom who lives in this home probably protects her children first and foremost.
Now I find myself sitting with my morning coffee and thinking more deeply than I had intended this morning.
Sunny, this comment really lands. Thank you for writing it with such openness.
I want to gently add something to the word “unmooring” here. It didn't quite make it into the essay, but I've been reflecting on it since. Sometimes we think of it as being cast off from safety, and of course it can feel that way, especially when a big decision is stirring up every emotion in the archives. But unmooring can also be the moment before a vessel moves toward water it was built to meet.
That does not erase the grief. It does not make the announcing easy. It does not tell the younger self, longing outside the warm house, to hurry up and be brave. But maybe it lets all of those parts belong to the same crossing.
I’m wishing you a kind crossing, Sunny. One with enough tenderness along the way.
If I may say, this is one of your best essays. I felt every word with you, and the vivid details of your bathrobe that someone else washed, the bad hotel coffee, the Dutch instructions, the light filtering in - all of it really brought home the imagery of a place.
And the fact that you incorporated this place into another place at another point in time was really brilliant. This is some of your best writing. I don't know how it happened, but it's phenomenal.
When you return to that painful part of your life when you were exiled from home and family, I always think of how deeply I admire you in so many ways, for so many reasons. From the first instant you shared about your homelessness in your guest post for my publication over a year ago, to the present day, I see something unraveling in you that is, as you say here, both unmoored and alive.
Sometimes I think being unmoored is an open doorway into being more fully alive. That's been my experience.
This was my favorite excerpt: "And yet the looseness itself, the particular quality of being unmoored from my routine and my dogs and my person and the angle of light in my own kitchen, feels almost identical to a looseness I did not choose, twice, years ago now. Once when a semi-truck hit me and I could not find the word for spoon for three weeks."
I have a close friend whose aphasia is the result of direct radiation to her brain in order to destroy a brain tumor, and I have witnessed the painstaking ways she tries to find common, simple words. So what you wrote about not having the word for spoon accessed that part of my heart that has seen how painful this can be.
The brain is such a fascinating but strange organ.
Jeannie, this means so much. Thank you for reading with such attention and heart.
The way you described the piece, one place incorporated into another place at another point in time, helps me see my own writing more clearly. I think memory often works that way for me. A present room opens a trapdoor into an older one. A hotel bathrobe, a bad cup of coffee, a certain kind of light, and suddenly I’m back inside a different looseness, one I did not choose.
Your admiration is tender to receive, especially around the homelessness piece and everything that has unfolded since then. I don’t always feel brave when I write about those things. Often I feel exposed, then slightly nauseated, then hungry. Very glamorous process. 😂 But I do feel devoted to telling the truth in a way that lets life stay in the room too.
And the aphasia connection, my heart. Please know how much I appreciate you sharing that. The brain really is strange and fascinating, and losing words can feel like losing little pieces of the path back to yourself.
Another good lesson, well-written and it kept me reading as you explained unmooring as a taste and dulling of being alive. Perhaps travel and self-induced unmoorings like that are ways to vaccinate ourselves to be alive and present from the mundane.
Alex, this made me think of times I felt/was unmoored and how I do all I can to stay moored in my life right now. The experience is indeed disturbing to my nervous system. It doesn't feel dull and sharp, but it does feel like terror - not full throttle, but turned up. Thanks for reminding us that's it's normal for the nervous system to react when we're unmoored.
Alex, I love the cadence of this piece...the way the looseness comes alive in your writing and in the reminding us all that the sense of being unmoored is ours for the asking/taking any time. Meaning that we can step out of our Identities, our Solidness, and be more present to the fluidity of noticing how we can and most often do feel two states of being at the same time. Stepping outside our routines can open us in such simple ways. I know how much I stay in my comfort zone of familiar routines. Thanks for the reminder to choose something new more often.
“The sense of being unmoored is ours for the asking.” I love the way you put that! There’s something almost mischievous about it, like we can loosen our grip a little on purpose. I notice how often I forget that and wait for life to do it for me.
Yes exactly. We so often wait for life to do it for us— when the more aware we become, the more we realize how much of our life’s experiences are in our own hands.
It comes without permission. Those we give permission to are not the same. Thank you for this kind of remembering. I remember times of being unmoored, not by permission but by force of circumstances. That same feeling of being cut loose and untethered. The not knowing, and in my case, not caring, what would come next. Always love your work. Love, Virg
You named something I keep circling too, that “not knowing” is one thing, but “not caring what would come next” is something else entirely. There’s a strange mercy in that, maybe. Not ease, exactly, but a moment where the usual bargaining drops away. Thank you for putting words to that distinction.
Hi Alex,
I love this essay. It is poignant, with the theme of being unmoored so beautifully and insightfully discussed. I love the following: "You do not have to have survived something to deserve the aliveness that comes from being loose in your own life."
You deserve the aliveness that you felt, are feeling, and continuing to feel.
I am so saddened that your parents had you leave your home. What an unmooring, for sure. I try not to be judgemental, but as I read about this traumatic moment of time for you, I can't help but think that parents who turn their kid out of the house just because of the kid's sexual orientation are wrong. It's wrong not to accept a kid for what he/she is.
What you went through was horrible. I do admire your resilience and, despite, your going through being in that truck accident and divorce -- definitely some of life's hardships -- you managed to not only live, but to explore and understand what being alive really means.Bravo.
Beth, this means a lot. Thank you for reading with such tenderness.
I really appreciate you naming the wrongness of what happened. There is a kind of witness that does not need to dramatize anything, but also refuses to make it smaller than it was. That feels like what you are offering here, and I receive it! Thank you, thank you, and thank you.
And I love that you pulled out the line about deserving aliveness. That feels like one of the quieter truths I am still learning how to live. Not aliveness as proof that the pain is over, or that I have become some polished, triumphant version of myself. Just aliveness as something that can exist right alongside the ache. Sometimes that feels like the most honest miracle.
I love your writing. Your words - they are alive.
Ooof to the "No voiceover." That is THE thing I treasure most about being away from the daily grind of the life at home. I love how you captured the both/and of it. How we can miss the "right lighting" in our kitchen and also land right in the unmoored unknown of being away.
And how grief is the undercurrent, often.
This means so much, thank you. I keep thinking about what you said about treasuring the “No voiceover” part of being away. I feel that too. There is something almost absurdly tender about realizing how loud the daily grind is only once it has finally stopped talking.
Alex, your ability to be real and vulnerable in your essays is admirable. I've never really thought about grief as an unmooring. but it is. Life as we know it abruptly changes and there we are hanging out over a great chasm.
Thank you for being you and sharing bits of your journey with us. It prompts me to do some reflecting and that is a good thing, even if it doesn't entirely feel that way at the time.
Thank you, Nancy. This means a lot. I think part of why I write these pieces is because reflection often arrives sideways for me, through a sentence, a memory, a hotel room, a cup of bad coffee that somehow becomes emotionally relevant against everyone’s wishes. I’m touched that the piece opened something reflective for you too.
I realize you don’t need one but I’m sending you this motherly hug anyway. It’s probably the selfish part of myself, yet it feels instinctive to me. I just want you to know that the “unmooring” you felt and experienced in life had nothing to do with any fault of yours. One was from the insecurity of others and the other from the accident universe. Today’s “unmooring” is your own act of bravery in exploring parts of the world unrecognizable to your recognizable. I know you know these things yourself I don’t need to say them for you… only for myself so I can express how much your writing touches my soul. I am so proud to know you. Your life has been far from easy perhaps not as hard as some others but hard enough to have impacted the core of who you are. Your willingness to share your most vulnerable parts is extraordinary and you explain all of it so very well. My heart aches for what you have been through, perhaps it is my empathy because I too have had this similar type “unmooring” and can visualize yours. Yet, at the same time you show us a positive within the negative. Not many people have your ability to do that. It is why I seek out your written words and am so very grateful you bring them into existence. Especially in this upside down world we are all living in. Alex calling you a friend is a privilege I will never regret. I am so glad you had a chance to explore something new and just a bit different than what you are used to. A time on your own that allowed your free spirit to peek out! Please accept my urge to send you this motherly virtual hug so you can feel appreciated for exactly who you are! Thank you for sharing and the lessons, Alex…always.
Kathy, this touched me deeply. Thank you for taking the time to write it with such care.
I smiled at the “motherly hug,” and I receive it. Truly. There is something very healing about being met with that kind of instinctive tenderness, especially around the parts of the story that still feel young in me.
And what you said about today’s unmooring being my own act of bravery really lands. I hadn’t quite thought of it that way, but yes, maybe part of the beauty of this trip was that I got to be unmoored without being abandoned. I got to be displaced without being exiled. That distinction feels small until it feels enormous.
Thank you for seeing that, and for reflecting it back so generously.
This is a brilliant article. I have known being unmoored involuntarily and traumatically, and being unmoored by choice and pleasurably via holiday travel. I had never registered that the nervous system is showing up in the same way for both. Fascinating. I look forward to regular little unmoorings from my daily routine, and bigger unmoorings by travelling abroad when I can. I think it wakes you up to life, you always learn things, you find unexpected joy, and you savour the return to familiarity with appreciation when you come home. I have just subscribed to you and look forward to reading more. Thankyou.
Hi Aniela. And welcome!
I’m struck by what you said about unexpected joy. That feels like one of the gifts of being unmoored by choice, doesn’t it? We step out of the known world, however briefly, and life gets a little room to surprise us. I’m curious, do your “little unmoorings” tend to be changes in place, changes in routine, or something more inward?
Hi, and thankyou for your reply. I think unexpected joy is one of the purposes of deliberate unmoorings, along with freshly piqued curiosity, healthy discomfort and newly opened eyes to the world around. My little unmoorings are because I live with chronic illness so am not always well enough for big adventures like travel. I live a very small, restricted life in terms of where I can go and what I can do, so I try to do little unmoorings for one main aim: variety. They are all of the above. It means I vary which cafe I visit, and which drink I order. If housebound, I change which room I'm sitting in, for a different view. Inwardly, I might use music to introduce different feelings. One walk I do most days, but each day I try to notice different plants, make up stories about the houses I pass. It's about survival of my soul really, because it needs more stimulation than my health allows, so I have to work extra hard to find any little unmooring where I can to feed it. Sorry, long answer! Does any of that resonate?
❤️. At the end of this lovely piece , you say if you thought of someone, send it to them… it’s me… the piece was for me, to find and send to myself….travelling through grief, unmoored, finding rest, solitude, restlessness, peace and hope, all at once. Thanks. Blessings. Go well.
Bernadette, thank you. There’s something so human in what you wrote, finding rest and restlessness in the same breath. I know that pairing well. My inner life often has the vibe of a peaceful retreat being run by a raccoon with a clipboard. So yes, all at once feels very true.
"UNMOORING- refers to the act of releasing a vessel from its moorings or anchorage to prepare for sailing. It also describes the figurative process of freeing, loosening, or detaching something from its foundations or connections. Common synonyms include releasing, casting off, untying, detaching, freeing, and unleashing."
I really like this word better than previous words I've been using trying to describe this season I'm in. Working on announcing a really big decision that will further unmoor me, and it seems to be stirring up every emotion I've ever possessed.
Thank you for sharing your life experiences through this captivating essay that transported me to an Amsterdam hotel room, overlooking a canal...then back to my hometown walking to middle school and smelling this one particular home's fabric softener through their exterior dryer vent, and thinking how warm and comforting that home must be. Moms who use fabric softener surely show affection, tenderness and love to their children without them having to earn it. The mom who lives in this home probably protects her children first and foremost.
Now I find myself sitting with my morning coffee and thinking more deeply than I had intended this morning.
🫂 ☕ 💭❤️🩹
Sunny, this comment really lands. Thank you for writing it with such openness.
I want to gently add something to the word “unmooring” here. It didn't quite make it into the essay, but I've been reflecting on it since. Sometimes we think of it as being cast off from safety, and of course it can feel that way, especially when a big decision is stirring up every emotion in the archives. But unmooring can also be the moment before a vessel moves toward water it was built to meet.
That does not erase the grief. It does not make the announcing easy. It does not tell the younger self, longing outside the warm house, to hurry up and be brave. But maybe it lets all of those parts belong to the same crossing.
I’m wishing you a kind crossing, Sunny. One with enough tenderness along the way.
Alex,
If I may say, this is one of your best essays. I felt every word with you, and the vivid details of your bathrobe that someone else washed, the bad hotel coffee, the Dutch instructions, the light filtering in - all of it really brought home the imagery of a place.
And the fact that you incorporated this place into another place at another point in time was really brilliant. This is some of your best writing. I don't know how it happened, but it's phenomenal.
When you return to that painful part of your life when you were exiled from home and family, I always think of how deeply I admire you in so many ways, for so many reasons. From the first instant you shared about your homelessness in your guest post for my publication over a year ago, to the present day, I see something unraveling in you that is, as you say here, both unmoored and alive.
Sometimes I think being unmoored is an open doorway into being more fully alive. That's been my experience.
This was my favorite excerpt: "And yet the looseness itself, the particular quality of being unmoored from my routine and my dogs and my person and the angle of light in my own kitchen, feels almost identical to a looseness I did not choose, twice, years ago now. Once when a semi-truck hit me and I could not find the word for spoon for three weeks."
I have a close friend whose aphasia is the result of direct radiation to her brain in order to destroy a brain tumor, and I have witnessed the painstaking ways she tries to find common, simple words. So what you wrote about not having the word for spoon accessed that part of my heart that has seen how painful this can be.
The brain is such a fascinating but strange organ.
I wish you safe, smooth travels home, Alex!
Jeannie, this means so much. Thank you for reading with such attention and heart.
The way you described the piece, one place incorporated into another place at another point in time, helps me see my own writing more clearly. I think memory often works that way for me. A present room opens a trapdoor into an older one. A hotel bathrobe, a bad cup of coffee, a certain kind of light, and suddenly I’m back inside a different looseness, one I did not choose.
Your admiration is tender to receive, especially around the homelessness piece and everything that has unfolded since then. I don’t always feel brave when I write about those things. Often I feel exposed, then slightly nauseated, then hungry. Very glamorous process. 😂 But I do feel devoted to telling the truth in a way that lets life stay in the room too.
And the aphasia connection, my heart. Please know how much I appreciate you sharing that. The brain really is strange and fascinating, and losing words can feel like losing little pieces of the path back to yourself.
Thank you, Jeannie. For all of it.
What a gift this exchange has been, Alex!
Another good lesson, well-written and it kept me reading as you explained unmooring as a taste and dulling of being alive. Perhaps travel and self-induced unmoorings like that are ways to vaccinate ourselves to be alive and present from the mundane.
Alex, this made me think of times I felt/was unmoored and how I do all I can to stay moored in my life right now. The experience is indeed disturbing to my nervous system. It doesn't feel dull and sharp, but it does feel like terror - not full throttle, but turned up. Thanks for reminding us that's it's normal for the nervous system to react when we're unmoored.