A Full Body Smile

Last November, while visiting Spain, I had a sudden and very inconvenient thought: Oh my god, Maggie. Now you’re going to move here.

Nothing had been decided yet. Zero plans were in motion. I hadn’t even said this wish out loud to Chris. But the feeling that it was an inevitability was so clear it almost made me laugh.

Have you ever had the sensation that your body knows something before your mind agrees?

Over the past few years I’ve started trusting something I used to ignore: the signals in my own body.

Circumstances can’t always be controlled. The world is unpredictable. But when it comes time to make a choice, I’ve learned to listen carefully to the quiet internal cues that show up before my brain can fully explain them. My dad taught me this in college when I was trying to make a difficult decision that felt like life and death at the time. He told me to get quiet and imagine I had already made the choice one way. Did it feel good? Was there a sigh of relief? Or did my imagination begin to regret the pretend decision?

Over and over again, when I’ve followed that instinct, it has proven right. It builds trust in yourself.

There are many things in this world I don’t trust. I don’t trust the politics of men. I don’t trust governments to always make wise decisions.

But I do trust my gut when a man is following me in a grocery store. I trust my inner knowing when an adult is acting strange around children. I trusted my instinct when we chose to homeschool our boys. And now I trust the feeling that tells me that a long, beautiful season of my life is meant to transition into its next phase.

Some people are afraid for us as we prepare to move across the ocean. To them it feels risky, uncertain, maybe even a little reckless.

But they aren’t inside this body of mine.

When I close my eyes and imagine what lies ahead, I feel something completely different.

A smile spreads across my face that I can’t contain.

I imagine my boys learning to speak a second language and discovering that they are capable of doing something hard. I imagine them feeling proud of themselves in ways they can’t quite predict yet.

I smile when I think about finding community in a place where everyone starts as a stranger. The possibility of connection excites me. It feels like there is a life already waiting for us there, and we just need to arrive.

I feel a full-body smile when I picture my boys excited to go to school each day, without the background worry of school shootings. I can see myself sitting in a classroom again, learning Spanish. 

I feel lighthearted when I think about having more time with Chris. He will be starting his own business, but we will have hours in the day to get coffee or go on walks like we haven’t had since the arrival of kids.

I picture our boys playing soccer and swimming with friends. I imagine them expanding their understanding of the world—seeing earlier than I did how interconnected everything really is.

We will visit ancient places in Europe, places much older than our still-young country of America.

For a while, we’ll surround ourselves with somewhere a little older, a little steadier, a little wiser.

Our decision is made. The wheels are already turning. I’m sure I’ll have moments of doubt along the way. But at the end of the day, when I close my eyes and listen to my body, this decision feels the same every time.

It feels like a full body smile.