In the early part of November, I changed my life.

How—as in: how will I and my future be different?—is impossible to fruitfully consider from this near distance. But how—as in: what is the mechanism?—is easy enough. I moved.

For a long time, I have known that a deep need of my body and my heart is to live in solitude, in quiet, near the sea. Much longer that that, I have also known my husband’s care and companionship as a deep commitment and joy of the same heart and body. And (because we live in the society we do) I have also known the realities of finding and shaping a life for myself and with my dearest ones, within the imposed limits of “the economy,” and the much truer limits of how we tend and support each other’s needs.

How does the first live beside the last two? I have no idea. I was—before I began, and maybe it will come again—a little afraid. I’m also curious, and I hope I may find a right path. Here is the whole of the plan for doing that: I moved to the north-central Oregon coast this month. Next month I will move to the Central Coast of my much-loved California. After that, I do not know.

I spent my whole first week trying to draw conclusions. Trying to wrest some wisdom from an experience I have barely begun attending. I’m pleased that I caught myself, because that was going — well, maybe somewhere, but on paths I’ve already worn to dusty ruts. The point right now is to be curious, to be open, to listen for a new path. Not even necessarily to find one. (I mean, I want to, but that’s not a goal, because I can’t control it.) The goal is just to listen.

I didn’t catch myself by myself, of course. As usual, I’d still be lost without the aforementioned husband, the remembered and encountered wisdom of several friends and mentors, and a continuing feast of stars and silences and rainstorms and sunrises.

Why am I writing about this? At first I resisted even telling my friends and colleagues. Not because I wanted to keep it secret, exactly, but because: well, how would I explain it? What words would I use? Wouldn’t the people I wish to like and respect me think I was irresponsible, or flighty, or at the very least, unhappy in my marriage?

Then the opportunity (indeed, the requirement) to tell people started pressing me at every turn, and I chose to understand that as a sign. Anyway, my choices were to tell the truth or deliberately conceal it. I believe in privacy, and I also believe I know when it’s worth the struggle to share a complex truth.

As often before, I have been surprised by human depth. Responses have been mostly curious, serious, kind, and interested. Sometimes resonantly so—I am not alone in wanting to point my life in this direction. So that’s why I’m writing this. That, and the fact that many of the folks who read these periodic dispatches are my friends and family, who may reasonably wish to know what I am up to. Now you know about as much as I do.

It’s about to be Thanksgiving here in the U.S., and as complicated as that holiday is, I’ll enter into the spirit of its best intentions and list my deep gratitudes:

Solitude. Wise friends. Supportive love. My own two feet.

Curiosity. Poetry. Slowness. Silence. Stars.

Surprise.

Sunrise.