On the Edge of the Roof

When I turned 45, I was divorced for a second time, single parenting two teen girls, dealing with painful gut issues, my back was chronically inflamed and painful, and I wondered if this is what the second half of my life would look like. I was failing, flailing and anxious. I was living in Hawaii and preparing to move to Colorado to give my girls and I a fresh start. This story starts I was 49 and living in New Jersey.

On the edge of the roof

of a half-baked house,

dug in a hill, 

surrounded by trees.

A chance reckoning

in the space of birds.

The promise of years

of mindfulness

rolled away heavy stones

molded by rage.

My past released, 

now filled with Grace.

This is when the second half dawned.

It all began with a partially built house that looked like an abandoned castle. The top of the 10-foot concrete block and rock walls were made to hold the steel beams that would someday support an earth roof. The walls looked like the battlements of a fortress. You could see the tall oaks, maples, beech, and hickory trees on the other side of the house through the big openings made for windows. 

Ten years later, when this structure had a sloped roof planted with wildflowers and medicinal plants, I was able, while meditating, to reconcile with rage and regret that had plagued me much of my life. During those first 10 years of homesteading in the woods of New Jersey, I became grounded in the strength and determination to find new energy, clarity, and purpose after a life dominated by abuse and trauma. Immersed in the rawness of nature, I came to the conclusion that getting older didn’t have to be a series of unfortunate events. Our pasts, or society's projections of what getting older looks like, are not a slippery slope that determines how the second half of our life will play out. 

My third husband, Jim, designed Underhill to be built into the side of a hill. All the rocks in its walls, except for a few small ones collected during our travels, came from this piece of land. The Underhill sloped earth-covered roof is unique. It pushes the boundaries of typical roofs, and took years of methodical planning. Some of the rooms have an underground feeling and others are majestical with high wooden ceilings.

Underhill is located on Wildcat Ridge, a nature preserve in the hills of New Jersey, about a 45-minute drive from New York City.  It is a perfectly located haven for someone like Jim, an actor who works in TV and at regional theaters all around the country, who needs to be accessible to “The City” for auditions.

On weekends when he wasn’t rehearsing or performing, Jim was laying concrete blocks and rocks in mortar. The first time that I came to visit him from Colorado, where I was living when we met, he taught me how to build stone walls with him. It was early fall, the beginning of our relationship, and it all felt romantic and fun. It still does 14 years later. The trees were tall and colorful, leaning into the land that he had cleared to build his dream home. I have never minded working outside and working hard, though I can never keep up with Jim. He can work on the same task for hours in the humid heat or frigid cold.  

The second time I came out to visit him he bought me a Carhartt construction winter jacket. Even though I usually dress in fake fur and fancy boots in the winter, I enjoyed the novelty of the jacket; I was oblivious to years of hard work ahead. The best use of that coat is for working outside in the winter. 

My life has had a lot of adventures. This doesn’t mean that it only has been a life of grace. I’ve had obstacles to overcome that I wouldn’t wish on anyone—abuse, addictions, divorces, debt—and these are the easy ones to name. Putting these mere emotionally draining issues aside, deep inside, my life, like many others, has been a quest of uncovering my truth and trusting in Grace. 

For me, Grace is a line of connection to the Divine Creator, the Energy that binds us all. A sense of knowingness even when I don’t know, a sense that my hand is being held, and that I am being carried during times in which I have lost belief. It is a song with a hauntingly beautiful melody that wakes up my heart. It can come in an unexpected visit from a fawn, or in seeing a bunny hopping across the path, taking a bite of a meal that delights my palate, witnessing a client who is lost in the energy of a yoga pose, waking from deep relaxation, getting a hug from one of my daughters, seeing the beam of the sunrise through the trees, feeling my husband’s arms around me.

We all have our own slants in life, those slippery slopes that bring us near our edge. We know that they are there. They come in the form of a person or environment that catches us off guard even when we feel that we are awake and alert. All of a sudden, we are sliding toward the edge of an all too familiar chasm that is hard to escape. An emotional black hole draws us to challenges that seem beyond the help of even God. Sometimes we catch ourselves before we fall in, hurting ourselves or others. Sometimes it is only Grace that braces us from our peril. I bow in gratitude for the times that I have been pulled away from the edge by some unseen force—let’s call it Grace—and given a third chance to get it right.

I’m now 61 and we are still building Underhill and although I still have challenges, I am more content than ever. May the blessings of Grace illuminate us now and forevermore.

​​​​Nancy Candea is an author and internationally known yoga therapist who helps women make peace with their past, find self-acceptance, and step wholeheartedly into their purpose. Now the director of The Women’s Resource Sanctuary, and a retreat leader, she is helping women in the second half of life to gain self-acceptance and confidence, reconcile with their past, and live a wholehearted, healthy, purpose-filled life. You can also find Nancy, a mother of two adult daughters and grandmother, sitting near a creek, making baskets, and helping her husband build their earth roof stone home in the woods. Find out more about NancyCandea.com.