2020 has become The End Of The World As We Know It. Or, as preppers say TEOTWAWKI. I have known this time would come, and have had bursts of preparation and panic over the last decade or so. I have contemplated a long litany of potential world ending events, including plague and governmental meltdown. But not both. And not with a madman at the helm creating chaos and pandemonium with the flick of a Tweet.
For as dramatic and apocalyptic as it seems in books and movies, instead it has been slow, insidious, and soul crushing. Starting with isolation from my beloved grandchildren. Two solid months of not seeing them, and missing them every day. Every. Day. But that has been rectified and I am back to seeing them weekly, much to my relief. Honestly, the one constant that had been in all f my End Of The World mental scenarios was that I would find a way to get to my grandchildren to keep them safe. I have always told them (usually when encouraging them to do something scary), "Don't worry, I will keep you safe." And suddenly, they were beyond my reach, at a time when I knew they would know just enough to be frightened. And I was not there. It felt like an epic failure on my part, regardless of the truth of the matter.
Now that the plague is on the uptick, spreading with ever increasing speed, we all seem to have relaxed our guard. The first few months we were on high alert, and now we are just tired. It sure didn't take long. Hell, some people refuse to think it is anything other than a Leftwing media hoax. The USA has become the Leper Colony of the Globe, and still people rail against the small precautions experts say will slow the spread and bring things under control. Selfish assholes. What this has done is really shine a light on just how self-centered so many of my fellow citizens are. Not that I am surprised, At all. In actuality, I have known this. For a long time I have known that there are two basic types of people: Those who despoil, and those who clean up after them. Those who toss garbage along the trail or out the car window, and those of us who follow along and pick it up. Those who put dirty diapers and rotten food in the recycle bin, and those of us who diligently separate all our trash. Now there are those who claim that wearing a small scrap of fabric over their face to slow the spread of a virus is an affront to their freedoms and a vile tyranny, and those of us who willingly and happily wear a mask to protect the vulnerable strangers we come into contact with. Other countries are managing this with little problem. The US is managing it with armed protesters surrounding state capitol buildings and threatening to violently overthrow their leaders, who are just trying to save lives. And these gun toting, Confederate flag waving groups are being met with stoicism from the police, and encouragement from the White House.
This brings up Stage Two of the apocalypse: Black Lives Matter protests. Here we have a group of essentially peaceful protesters who are rising up to confront endemic police brutality and are being called "violent anarchists" and being met with tear gas, pepper spray, rubber bullets, and batons. Which, if you think about it, does go on to prove their point. To escalate the issues, Federal stormtroopers have descended on Portland and upped the ante. They are not wanted, were not asked for, and have been sent in as a political ploy to prove that the country is under attack from anarchists and Antifa. Of course, now there is violence, but the root of it is coming from Feds coming out in combat fatigues, wielding batons, tear gas, and pepper spray, and no compunction of using them to their fullest capabilities against We The People who have gathered to use their First Amendment Right: Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the Freedom of Speech, or of the Press; or the Right of the People peaceably assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of Grievances. "Oh, well what is the difference between this and the people protesting the COVID-19 restrictions?" You may well ask. Let me say this, There is a huge difference between an armed protest demanding the right to spread an infectious disease because it is an inconvenience, and an unarmed protest demanding that police stop killing black men and boys because they may or may not be doing something the police and white people think they should not be doing. HUGE DIFFERENCE.
These recent events have led me to a lot of mental and spiritual vivisection. I have tried to flay myself open to inspection, and to root out inner biases. Yes, we all have them. But we are grown-ass adults who can take responsibility for our actions and not blame it on our upbringing and/or culture. I think that the POC population have been remarkably calm, patient and tolerant. Far more so than the white priviliged who scream at the most minor inconvenience, demand to see the manager, or claim that their civil rights are being abused in one manner or another. You need to stop and look at the history of our country to get a realistic and gut-wrenching view of civil rights suppression. How many peaceful protests and marches over very valid injustices have been met with tear gas, water cannons, attack dogs, rubber bullets, real bullets, batons, tasers, arrests and death? Just within the last few years the list is nigh on endless. I don't know how they have managed to remain so civil and focused. I would have lost my shit and started flinging Molotov cocktails years ago.
Stage Three of the apocalypse actually began 4 years ago, with the presidential election. That was when the rocks were lifted and the hate groups that had hidden in the dark were allowed out into the light with tacit approval from our own administration. "They are some very nice people..." Those of us who thought he would be eliminated from the candidates based solely on his treatment of women. His sexual predator nature that he openly bragged about. The endless accounts of him groping, kissing, and grabbing women against their wishes. The charges of rape and sexual assault. But no, these were swept under the rug and have somehow become normalized. Then he mocked a disabled man, on camera, at a rally. But again, swept under the rug. I could go on and on, listing infractions, lies, and behaviors that should have disqualified him or gotten him sanctioned, reprimanded, and held in check by his own party. But no. Crass behavior and lies are the new normal. This brings me back to a previous point: There are those who despoil, and those who clean up after them. Hopefully, we will soon have a chance to clean up. And when we do, it won't be so toxic that there is no coming back from it. I have to hope.
And so ends the world, not with a bang, but with a whimper.
Monday, July 20, 2020
Tuesday, July 17, 2018
Power of Heart
I've been thinking a lot about Heart these days. My heart, family's heart, friend's heart. There is so much ache, soul searching, loss, and grief rippling through the lives of those I cherish, including myself.
I know part of this is the ongoing stress and anxiety of the current geopolitical wreckage and chaos that swirls about, beyond our control. We, as a whole, are suffering from battle fatigue. I include in this the angry, racist assholes who have recently felt the need and justification to scream their bigotry and hatred to the world. No, I am not going to make excuses for their horrific behavior. But, one of the powers of an empath is to see the world through the eyes of another. I feel that some of this invective spewing hatred comes from a deep sense of futility, helplessness, and struggle brought on by the widening gap between the Haves and the Have-nots. They still believe that the "American Dream" is a reality, a right, and within their reach, if only there wasn't *someone* standing in their way. They need to blame someone for their own failure to reach the level of prosperity that generations before us were able to obtain on a lower income, working class paycheck. They won't see that this has slipped away. They still think this has to be *somebody's fault.* Feel free to fill in the blank of who should be blamed. I don't condone the behavior, or am I making excuses. It is abhorrent, but I can see where their hatred comes from.
That being said, I, and so many that I know and love, are fighting to maintain even the tiniest fingerhold on that fantasy that we should be able to survive and thrive if we have a job, work hard, and don't waste money where it shouldn't be wasted. These days though, wasting money is as simple as maybe picking up a pizza instead of sticking to the grocery budget. Or ordering that $5 book online that you've wanted for years. Or buying new socks and underwear. Gods forbid if you should have a financial emergency like a broken down car. Then you are doomed.
Life is hard and getting harder. The world powers and problems loom over us like a lug-soled leather boot over an ant colony. There is little we can do to calm the gross problems that are affecting us now and will only increase in the next months and years, possibly decades.
This brings me back to Heart. Mine, your's, our's. I protect my heart, as a general rule. But if I love you, I will love you with all my heart. It is all I know how to do. In this day and age I feel that Love for Each Other is the greatest Super Power available. It is what will save us from utter destruction. In the fairly recent past I was told that I have "a Hero's Heart," and that I have a "Heart, strong and true, though loyal to a fault." This from two people who's opinions I do trust, and these comments made me both proud and humble. I am not absolutely sure what it means, except that I do Love with All My Heart. And I understand the power of Love, the power of Heart, the power of Light.
In these, some of our darkest of days, knowing that darker days are likely in our future, we need the Light of strong Hearts to prevent our slipping into the dark abyss. We need the kind of strength that comes from love and loyalty of friends and family. In the end I think it will save us all. Or, if not, at least I know that I will go down fighting.
I know part of this is the ongoing stress and anxiety of the current geopolitical wreckage and chaos that swirls about, beyond our control. We, as a whole, are suffering from battle fatigue. I include in this the angry, racist assholes who have recently felt the need and justification to scream their bigotry and hatred to the world. No, I am not going to make excuses for their horrific behavior. But, one of the powers of an empath is to see the world through the eyes of another. I feel that some of this invective spewing hatred comes from a deep sense of futility, helplessness, and struggle brought on by the widening gap between the Haves and the Have-nots. They still believe that the "American Dream" is a reality, a right, and within their reach, if only there wasn't *someone* standing in their way. They need to blame someone for their own failure to reach the level of prosperity that generations before us were able to obtain on a lower income, working class paycheck. They won't see that this has slipped away. They still think this has to be *somebody's fault.* Feel free to fill in the blank of who should be blamed. I don't condone the behavior, or am I making excuses. It is abhorrent, but I can see where their hatred comes from.
That being said, I, and so many that I know and love, are fighting to maintain even the tiniest fingerhold on that fantasy that we should be able to survive and thrive if we have a job, work hard, and don't waste money where it shouldn't be wasted. These days though, wasting money is as simple as maybe picking up a pizza instead of sticking to the grocery budget. Or ordering that $5 book online that you've wanted for years. Or buying new socks and underwear. Gods forbid if you should have a financial emergency like a broken down car. Then you are doomed.
Life is hard and getting harder. The world powers and problems loom over us like a lug-soled leather boot over an ant colony. There is little we can do to calm the gross problems that are affecting us now and will only increase in the next months and years, possibly decades.
This brings me back to Heart. Mine, your's, our's. I protect my heart, as a general rule. But if I love you, I will love you with all my heart. It is all I know how to do. In this day and age I feel that Love for Each Other is the greatest Super Power available. It is what will save us from utter destruction. In the fairly recent past I was told that I have "a Hero's Heart," and that I have a "Heart, strong and true, though loyal to a fault." This from two people who's opinions I do trust, and these comments made me both proud and humble. I am not absolutely sure what it means, except that I do Love with All My Heart. And I understand the power of Love, the power of Heart, the power of Light.
In these, some of our darkest of days, knowing that darker days are likely in our future, we need the Light of strong Hearts to prevent our slipping into the dark abyss. We need the kind of strength that comes from love and loyalty of friends and family. In the end I think it will save us all. Or, if not, at least I know that I will go down fighting.
Thursday, June 7, 2018
A Drop in The Ocean
It has been so long since I've written. So much happening and yet so much seems to feel like the Hamster on a Wheel. Changing jobs, again. Financially insecure, as usual. Still wondering what do I want to be when I grow up (though I doubt that question will ever be answered to my satisfaction). Happily single, mostly. Raging against the Machine, as always.
In this time of political and social unrest I often feel like my problems are small by comparison. A Drop in the Ocean. But since it is my life the problems loom with the barometric pressure of a thunderstorm. Stepping back and looking at the big picture though, it is easy to see how my problems are intertwined with the problems of the world. The global stresses press down on all of us, creating anxiety and insecurity. We fear where we are going, what our children and grandchildren will be facing if we can't manage to pull back from the brink of causing our own mass extinction.
Stepping back from the global picture, because again, each of us is a mere drop in the ocean if we look too large, there is nothing I can do at this moment to save a beached whale dying from a belly full of plastic. What I can do, on my very small scale is use less plastic, be responsible for my one little drop. I can't stop gun violence in Chicago, but I can practice peace and love in my little drop. I can't change the climate back to pre-industrial purity, but I can use less plastic, plant for pollinators and wildlife, use water sparingly, find alternatives to toxic products. be responsible for my little drop.
I see movements all around the globe of small groups doing one small thing. A grass roots company in Kenya that takes discarded flip-flops that wash up on the beach by the thousands and uses them to create beautiful animal sculptures. Surfers who have designed a machine that skims the ocean collecting garbage. Children who make dolls for other children who need that bit of kindness. Volunteers around the world who help feed and care for those in need. Nothing is an insurmountable problem if you break it down into tiny drops.
In my own life I try to make myself step back from the overwhelming big picture, and break the problems down into drops. Some days it works better than others. There are times that the stress of day to day existence becomes more than I can handle, and I allow myself a breakdown, allow myself to step back from responsibility and reality for a little while. Even then I find my mind starts looking for the avenues of escape, the paths to change, or at least a skinny trail to assess the possibilities of digging myself out of the current dilemma enough to get my head above ground level. Some days all it takes is to go outside and water the plants. Other days it is a monumental effort. But even a small effort is better than despair, better than complacency, and far better than surrendering to what sometimes feels like the inevitable. Few things are inevitable. Small changes can realign the world.
One thing I do know, even if it is just a Drop in the Ocean, a million drops can be a flood. Be the Drop.
In this time of political and social unrest I often feel like my problems are small by comparison. A Drop in the Ocean. But since it is my life the problems loom with the barometric pressure of a thunderstorm. Stepping back and looking at the big picture though, it is easy to see how my problems are intertwined with the problems of the world. The global stresses press down on all of us, creating anxiety and insecurity. We fear where we are going, what our children and grandchildren will be facing if we can't manage to pull back from the brink of causing our own mass extinction.
Stepping back from the global picture, because again, each of us is a mere drop in the ocean if we look too large, there is nothing I can do at this moment to save a beached whale dying from a belly full of plastic. What I can do, on my very small scale is use less plastic, be responsible for my one little drop. I can't stop gun violence in Chicago, but I can practice peace and love in my little drop. I can't change the climate back to pre-industrial purity, but I can use less plastic, plant for pollinators and wildlife, use water sparingly, find alternatives to toxic products. be responsible for my little drop.
I see movements all around the globe of small groups doing one small thing. A grass roots company in Kenya that takes discarded flip-flops that wash up on the beach by the thousands and uses them to create beautiful animal sculptures. Surfers who have designed a machine that skims the ocean collecting garbage. Children who make dolls for other children who need that bit of kindness. Volunteers around the world who help feed and care for those in need. Nothing is an insurmountable problem if you break it down into tiny drops.
In my own life I try to make myself step back from the overwhelming big picture, and break the problems down into drops. Some days it works better than others. There are times that the stress of day to day existence becomes more than I can handle, and I allow myself a breakdown, allow myself to step back from responsibility and reality for a little while. Even then I find my mind starts looking for the avenues of escape, the paths to change, or at least a skinny trail to assess the possibilities of digging myself out of the current dilemma enough to get my head above ground level. Some days all it takes is to go outside and water the plants. Other days it is a monumental effort. But even a small effort is better than despair, better than complacency, and far better than surrendering to what sometimes feels like the inevitable. Few things are inevitable. Small changes can realign the world.
One thing I do know, even if it is just a Drop in the Ocean, a million drops can be a flood. Be the Drop.
Wednesday, February 14, 2018
Where To From Here?
There has been a feeling of impending change lurking over me for far too long. This past year I have tried several paths to change, but each was a dead end. I like to think that this is not failure, but merely a way to learn which path to not take in the future. I have also tried several paths that still have promise, but am not getting any feedback from the feelers I have put out. Now, with my birthday staring me in the face it seems as if the need for change is even more pressing.
I have changed jobs three times in the last 6 months, with another inevitable change looming. A definite record for me. I do not like job insecurity, but it seems as if it has been a way of life for me for the last decade or more. It's not a comfortable feeling. I keep finding myself forced into jobs strictly for financial reasons, no altruism or passion involved. I'm hating that. Now I find myself in a job that I like, but that is too unreliable as far as hours go, and is proving to be a bit too hard on my body. I love that it is physical, but apparently my aging infrastructure is less pleased. So, where to now?
Again, I am being forced to look at the practical: Money and benefits. I need to make a certain amount of money, that is a no-brainer. I also need to regain medical and dental insurance, something that I took for granted forever, until I lost it 3 years ago. It seems that every job that I know I would enjoy comes at low wages, part time, and no benefits. Again, where to now?
I want to go back to school. I can't really afford to, but the desire is strong. What would I study? Now there is the million dollar question. Plagued with the question, "What do I want to be when I grow up?" I know going to school just for the sake of learning would be awesome, but not practical. Figuring out a reason for an education is eluding me. I know what I like to do. I know that none of it would likely make me a decent living, and definitely wouldn't come with insurance or a retirement plan. So here I am, at a time when I should be thinking, "Gee, only 10 years to retirement." Instead, I am pondering ways to keep afloat, keep my creativity, and keep my soul. I'm too old for this shit.
Back to the schooling aspect. Instead of bemoaning no money for tuition, and no desire to rack up student loan debt, I am searching out online classes offered for free. Would it get me to a degree? No. But that has never been the actual goal. It's not a priority. Where it might, just might, get me is on a path to figuring out the aforementioned question, "What do I want to be when I grow up?" Of course, my scholastic leanings are more juvenile than intellectual. I find the older I get the more juvenile my tastes. I want to build things, repair things, make cool stuff out of junk. I want to repair bicycles, weld, fix motorcycles and lawnmowers. I want to get paint spattered, and greasy. Most people don't know it but 20+ years ago I looked into the program for Harley mechanics. I wanted to enroll so badly, but the nearest school was Phoenix, Arizona. With kids at home there was no way I could have relocated for 18 months. I don't know where any of this would take me, but there you have it. I want to be a greasemonkey.
Seriously though. I am formulating a plan. Yes, one that will require the grownup step of getting into the full time with benefits job. But maybe, just maybe, I can figure out how to somehow make it all work. There just isn't enough time in the day for me to do the things that need doing. I get so overwhelmed by all the things, that I do none of the things. I wish I had the financial security of a kid, so I really could focus on what I want to be when I grow up. But, unfortunately, I am the grownup, with the grownup responsibilities, as well as the kid at heart that just wants to know where I am going from here.
I have changed jobs three times in the last 6 months, with another inevitable change looming. A definite record for me. I do not like job insecurity, but it seems as if it has been a way of life for me for the last decade or more. It's not a comfortable feeling. I keep finding myself forced into jobs strictly for financial reasons, no altruism or passion involved. I'm hating that. Now I find myself in a job that I like, but that is too unreliable as far as hours go, and is proving to be a bit too hard on my body. I love that it is physical, but apparently my aging infrastructure is less pleased. So, where to now?
Again, I am being forced to look at the practical: Money and benefits. I need to make a certain amount of money, that is a no-brainer. I also need to regain medical and dental insurance, something that I took for granted forever, until I lost it 3 years ago. It seems that every job that I know I would enjoy comes at low wages, part time, and no benefits. Again, where to now?
I want to go back to school. I can't really afford to, but the desire is strong. What would I study? Now there is the million dollar question. Plagued with the question, "What do I want to be when I grow up?" I know going to school just for the sake of learning would be awesome, but not practical. Figuring out a reason for an education is eluding me. I know what I like to do. I know that none of it would likely make me a decent living, and definitely wouldn't come with insurance or a retirement plan. So here I am, at a time when I should be thinking, "Gee, only 10 years to retirement." Instead, I am pondering ways to keep afloat, keep my creativity, and keep my soul. I'm too old for this shit.
Back to the schooling aspect. Instead of bemoaning no money for tuition, and no desire to rack up student loan debt, I am searching out online classes offered for free. Would it get me to a degree? No. But that has never been the actual goal. It's not a priority. Where it might, just might, get me is on a path to figuring out the aforementioned question, "What do I want to be when I grow up?" Of course, my scholastic leanings are more juvenile than intellectual. I find the older I get the more juvenile my tastes. I want to build things, repair things, make cool stuff out of junk. I want to repair bicycles, weld, fix motorcycles and lawnmowers. I want to get paint spattered, and greasy. Most people don't know it but 20+ years ago I looked into the program for Harley mechanics. I wanted to enroll so badly, but the nearest school was Phoenix, Arizona. With kids at home there was no way I could have relocated for 18 months. I don't know where any of this would take me, but there you have it. I want to be a greasemonkey.
Seriously though. I am formulating a plan. Yes, one that will require the grownup step of getting into the full time with benefits job. But maybe, just maybe, I can figure out how to somehow make it all work. There just isn't enough time in the day for me to do the things that need doing. I get so overwhelmed by all the things, that I do none of the things. I wish I had the financial security of a kid, so I really could focus on what I want to be when I grow up. But, unfortunately, I am the grownup, with the grownup responsibilities, as well as the kid at heart that just wants to know where I am going from here.
Thursday, November 30, 2017
Looking For The Positive
So much going on in the world is massively stressful right now. The news makes my head want to explode: North Korea; Russian hacking; Tax Reform (the rich get richer, the poor get poorer, same shit, different day); the 45th president making cringe-worthy tweets and unscripted remarks on a daily basis; the systematic dismantling of safeguards in our government that protect education, the environment, personal rights; hate crimes on the rise; the continual uncovering of more of the pervasive sexual harassment that has been a staple diet for any woman working in a male dominated workforce; and on and on and on. I won't even get into the aspects of my personal life that are cause for an aneurysm. We are going through tough times.
Today at work, I was so tired. So tired that I started weeping while grooving to "Under Pressure," by Bowie and Freddie Mercury. I wasn't sure if the tears were for the loss of Bowie last year, and Freddie far too soon. Or if I was just tired. Or too stressed by, well, everything. So, being the eternal optimist, I made myself divert my thoughts to search for positives to hold like a flickering light against the darkness. This is where my brain went:
Bro Love. Yeah. I dig that it has become acceptable for men to show love and affection for each other. "Love you, bro," is the new "See you later." And it won't garner snarky comments alluding to someone's sexual preference. Men can hug. Not that awkward one armed, pat on the back, but don't allow any torso contact... or, gods forbid, and incidental bump of hips *gasp*. Guys can give each other solid, affectionate hugs. Bro Love. Bromance. Call it what you will. But as the mother of two grown sons, and a passel of other young men in my tribe, it is a heartwarming thing to see.
Less mortification over bodily functions. Especially inadvertent bodily functions that tend to occur during strenuous athletic endeavors. It is almost a point of pride, when lifting heavy, to say, "Oh my god, I peed myself a little." Honestly, I have always said, "Pee before you lift heavy." (also, "Pee before you put on armor," but that was almost another life). And Google, "why does running make me poop," and you will get a litany of hilariously horrifying tales of rebellious digestive systems. We are finally allowed (mostly) to have our bodies do what bodies do without feeling a life sentence of shame. Okay, kids may not have gotten this message, but at least adult athletes have it figured out.
Next on the list: Internet access to my local library system. This may seem like a simple thing, but to the time crunched who lives in an area where each library branch is relatively small, and not on my direct route home, having access to the county's file index in all its Dewey Decimal glory is fantastic. I can browse to my heart's content in the comfort of my living room, place my choices on hold, designate where I want to pick them up, and ta-da, in a few days I can pick everything up in a matter of a few minutes. Then I am on my merry way. Due date approaching? No problemo. I can log into my account and renew with the click of a mouse. It is truly an amazing luxury.
My fat tire fixie bicycle. I know, I've probably talked this one to death with my friends. But I really love this bike. And you want to know why? The exercise? No (but, I do like the workout). I love this bike because it brings back the joy I used to get on my bike when I was a kid, and when I was a bicycle delivery person in downtown Portland when I was 20. It is pure, unadulterated fun. It makes me grin like an idiot and make derpy faces. I laugh when I plow through puddles. I take it down onto the packed river rock along the bank of the Willamette River. I ride through parks, dodging the root bulged pavement. I ride dirt paths. The wind in my face, pedaling for all I am worth, for no other reason than the sheer joy of it. And I fantasize about doing some epic adventure on this slow, fat tire bike, like ride the Trans-America Trail: from Astoria, Oregon to Yorktown, Virginia. Okay, that would be almost impossible on a single speed bike, but the thought of it is kinda groovy.
I think it is great that more adults are realizing that it is totally cool to color with crayons. I've never turned my back on this particular joy, but a lot of people "grew up."
Blanket Forts. Legos. My dog Hugo. Fun music. There are a hundred things, little things, that I need to remember when the world seems dark and hopeless. Because it is neither, dark nor hopeless.
As Gandalf observed, "Saruman believes it is only great power that can hold evil in check, but that is not what I have found. I found it is the small and everyday deeds of ordinary folk that keep the darkness at bay. Small acts of kindness and love."
Today at work, I was so tired. So tired that I started weeping while grooving to "Under Pressure," by Bowie and Freddie Mercury. I wasn't sure if the tears were for the loss of Bowie last year, and Freddie far too soon. Or if I was just tired. Or too stressed by, well, everything. So, being the eternal optimist, I made myself divert my thoughts to search for positives to hold like a flickering light against the darkness. This is where my brain went:
Bro Love. Yeah. I dig that it has become acceptable for men to show love and affection for each other. "Love you, bro," is the new "See you later." And it won't garner snarky comments alluding to someone's sexual preference. Men can hug. Not that awkward one armed, pat on the back, but don't allow any torso contact... or, gods forbid, and incidental bump of hips *gasp*. Guys can give each other solid, affectionate hugs. Bro Love. Bromance. Call it what you will. But as the mother of two grown sons, and a passel of other young men in my tribe, it is a heartwarming thing to see.
Less mortification over bodily functions. Especially inadvertent bodily functions that tend to occur during strenuous athletic endeavors. It is almost a point of pride, when lifting heavy, to say, "Oh my god, I peed myself a little." Honestly, I have always said, "Pee before you lift heavy." (also, "Pee before you put on armor," but that was almost another life). And Google, "why does running make me poop," and you will get a litany of hilariously horrifying tales of rebellious digestive systems. We are finally allowed (mostly) to have our bodies do what bodies do without feeling a life sentence of shame. Okay, kids may not have gotten this message, but at least adult athletes have it figured out.
Next on the list: Internet access to my local library system. This may seem like a simple thing, but to the time crunched who lives in an area where each library branch is relatively small, and not on my direct route home, having access to the county's file index in all its Dewey Decimal glory is fantastic. I can browse to my heart's content in the comfort of my living room, place my choices on hold, designate where I want to pick them up, and ta-da, in a few days I can pick everything up in a matter of a few minutes. Then I am on my merry way. Due date approaching? No problemo. I can log into my account and renew with the click of a mouse. It is truly an amazing luxury.
My fat tire fixie bicycle. I know, I've probably talked this one to death with my friends. But I really love this bike. And you want to know why? The exercise? No (but, I do like the workout). I love this bike because it brings back the joy I used to get on my bike when I was a kid, and when I was a bicycle delivery person in downtown Portland when I was 20. It is pure, unadulterated fun. It makes me grin like an idiot and make derpy faces. I laugh when I plow through puddles. I take it down onto the packed river rock along the bank of the Willamette River. I ride through parks, dodging the root bulged pavement. I ride dirt paths. The wind in my face, pedaling for all I am worth, for no other reason than the sheer joy of it. And I fantasize about doing some epic adventure on this slow, fat tire bike, like ride the Trans-America Trail: from Astoria, Oregon to Yorktown, Virginia. Okay, that would be almost impossible on a single speed bike, but the thought of it is kinda groovy.
I think it is great that more adults are realizing that it is totally cool to color with crayons. I've never turned my back on this particular joy, but a lot of people "grew up."
Blanket Forts. Legos. My dog Hugo. Fun music. There are a hundred things, little things, that I need to remember when the world seems dark and hopeless. Because it is neither, dark nor hopeless.
As Gandalf observed, "Saruman believes it is only great power that can hold evil in check, but that is not what I have found. I found it is the small and everyday deeds of ordinary folk that keep the darkness at bay. Small acts of kindness and love."
Sunday, November 12, 2017
Searching
As much as I love my solitude, of which there has been little of lately, there are times when I get the strong feeling that I need to belong to something. Be a part of the greater scheme of things, somehow. I know, I am an integral part here and there; my Fire Station, my family, my friends. My life is full. Overly full at times. But nights like tonight, as it is nearing midnight, and I am listening to music that has various emotional triggers for me, I feel alone in the world. Alone with a primal need to find a tribe. Yes, I have my family, and that is more than most people could ever hope for. My loving and loved family that I adore and who adore me. But there is still a need, an ache, a persistent itch to find my place in something that can be physically and emotionally fulfilling on a different level. It is a vague feeling, almost indefinable. I feel it like an itch just under the skin, a buzzing behind my eyelids, a humming in my skull. I don't know what it is, or how to find it.
I know for a few years it was kept at bay with racing events, training, and life in general. But racing is a solitary endeavor, really. Most often I go to events alone, race alone, cross the finish line with no one waiting for me, chat with a few strangers, and then head for home. Yes, it makes me happy, but it isn't what I am looking for. But how do I know what I am looking for when I don't know what I am looking for? Yeah. It is a conundrum.
And it is obvious by the randomness of these ramblings that it is midnight, and it was a long day. I am tired, my eyes are dry and bleery. And I really need to get to sleep. One more song though. Right now it is the instrumental "Jessica" by the Allman Brothers. It is a happy making song, with no melancholy lyrics to make me feel more alone. I will finish up with Dancing in the Moonlight because it always makes me happy. Even though I would love to belong to a group that would happily dance in the moonlight with me, instead of my usual Manic Dance Party for One. Ah well, still rambling and verging on the incoherent now.
I will search, and hopefully find some place where I fit. A tribe. Or not. I admit, it has been a lifelong search that hasn't really had good results. Maybe I will wake up in the morning wondering what the hell was such a big deal. I have my tribe: my family, my Fire Station (my battalion chief admits that the engine is mine now), my friends. I am not alone. But for tonight it is just me and the dog, and music to ward off the melancholy.
I know for a few years it was kept at bay with racing events, training, and life in general. But racing is a solitary endeavor, really. Most often I go to events alone, race alone, cross the finish line with no one waiting for me, chat with a few strangers, and then head for home. Yes, it makes me happy, but it isn't what I am looking for. But how do I know what I am looking for when I don't know what I am looking for? Yeah. It is a conundrum.
And it is obvious by the randomness of these ramblings that it is midnight, and it was a long day. I am tired, my eyes are dry and bleery. And I really need to get to sleep. One more song though. Right now it is the instrumental "Jessica" by the Allman Brothers. It is a happy making song, with no melancholy lyrics to make me feel more alone. I will finish up with Dancing in the Moonlight because it always makes me happy. Even though I would love to belong to a group that would happily dance in the moonlight with me, instead of my usual Manic Dance Party for One. Ah well, still rambling and verging on the incoherent now.
I will search, and hopefully find some place where I fit. A tribe. Or not. I admit, it has been a lifelong search that hasn't really had good results. Maybe I will wake up in the morning wondering what the hell was such a big deal. I have my tribe: my family, my Fire Station (my battalion chief admits that the engine is mine now), my friends. I am not alone. But for tonight it is just me and the dog, and music to ward off the melancholy.
Monday, September 18, 2017
Shift in The Weather
The shift in the weather, though inevitable, and not unexpected, always stirs up something deep inside of me. An unrest. A sense of urgency with a hint of desperation and dread. The first heavy rain of September, heralding the death of Summer. Already I feel an itch of cabin fever, a tickling of stir crazy. And it is only the second day of rain.
I also know that the rain will be over in a day or so, and we will be blessed with dry weather, sunshine, but cooler temps. Again, it is inevitable. Yesterday I put away tools, covered bags of concrete, dug potatoes, and mowed the lawn, all with an eye towards the gathering clouds and my hair whipping in the gusty pre-storm winds. Then the rains came and I came indoors and baked bread. Today I ran in the rain.
And now I sit, pecking away on the keyboard while a tempest presses against the inside of my ribcage. It is a peculiar feeling, one I am all too familiar with. I tried to describe it to my Mom, with dubious success. I feel an inner pressure, maybe I am a human barometer? An inner pressure to be going, doing, chasing, hiking, running, cycling, something, anything, anything other than sitting indoors while the rain beats against the windows. I have the overwhelming need to be doing something. But what that something is eludes me. It is an itch that can't be reached. A hunger that is vague and insatiable. It is too much like the feeling of being faced with overwhelming tasks to the point that you become dysfunctional, and all you can do is drink tea and read a book. I have done some of that today; disappear into the pages of a well written yet slightly vacuous novel with a cup of steaming tea at my elbow. I want to, need to, find tasks, line up my winter projects, litter my living room with bicycle parts and knitting and books and drawings. I need to look ahead and plan on how best to prepare my body for next summer's epic adventures while suppressing tears over adventures not yet managed this summer. I still haven't taken my new gear out for river snorkeling. Though I have gotten in some nice hiking and bike riding these last few weeks.
It is not as if we don't know winter is coming. It comes every year with the inescapability of, well, of the seasons. They do come and go like clockwork. It is not that I dislike rain. I actually enjoy the rain. It is the loss of daylight, the short days and long nights. The darkness. And the cold. I do not like being cold. Cold makes me Sad. Being cold is honestly one of the main triggers for my winter melancholy. Cold makes me Sad. And the cold is coming.
In my usual attempt to head it off at the pass, so to speak, I am planning my battle strategy. Online shopping is my friend, and winter workout gear is on the way. As are books to help stoke the fires of my training. Every year for the last 15 years, come September I know I have to set myself up for training of some sort. In the past, the early years of understanding, it was making sure my gym membership was ready. Now, it is making sure my living room is ready, with the gear that I need. I add gear every year. This year it is sand bags, a heavier kettlebell, and a weighted pack. Much of this with an eye towards more hiking adventures with my big red dog, Hugo. Some with an eye towards regaining my footing in the world of triathlon and trail running.
That is all good and well, but it does nothing for my current state of unrest. The buzzing in my veins, the pressure in my chest, the thoughts ricocheting around inside my skull like so many ping-pong balls. Oh my god, maybe I am having a heart attack?!! No, that would be too easy an explanation. Another all too simple explanation would be that I am losing my mind. Again, too easy. No, maybe this is a primal need to make sure that all the crops are in, the food preserved, firewood stacked, wool spun, leaks filled, and blankets mended so we will survive the dark days warm and fed to emerge like a daffodil in the Spring. Maybe it is that simple, the primal need to be prepared for winter, but feeling like I have fallen short. There are still dry, sunny days ahead. A few, anyway. But the Rains are coming.
I also know that the rain will be over in a day or so, and we will be blessed with dry weather, sunshine, but cooler temps. Again, it is inevitable. Yesterday I put away tools, covered bags of concrete, dug potatoes, and mowed the lawn, all with an eye towards the gathering clouds and my hair whipping in the gusty pre-storm winds. Then the rains came and I came indoors and baked bread. Today I ran in the rain.
And now I sit, pecking away on the keyboard while a tempest presses against the inside of my ribcage. It is a peculiar feeling, one I am all too familiar with. I tried to describe it to my Mom, with dubious success. I feel an inner pressure, maybe I am a human barometer? An inner pressure to be going, doing, chasing, hiking, running, cycling, something, anything, anything other than sitting indoors while the rain beats against the windows. I have the overwhelming need to be doing something. But what that something is eludes me. It is an itch that can't be reached. A hunger that is vague and insatiable. It is too much like the feeling of being faced with overwhelming tasks to the point that you become dysfunctional, and all you can do is drink tea and read a book. I have done some of that today; disappear into the pages of a well written yet slightly vacuous novel with a cup of steaming tea at my elbow. I want to, need to, find tasks, line up my winter projects, litter my living room with bicycle parts and knitting and books and drawings. I need to look ahead and plan on how best to prepare my body for next summer's epic adventures while suppressing tears over adventures not yet managed this summer. I still haven't taken my new gear out for river snorkeling. Though I have gotten in some nice hiking and bike riding these last few weeks.
It is not as if we don't know winter is coming. It comes every year with the inescapability of, well, of the seasons. They do come and go like clockwork. It is not that I dislike rain. I actually enjoy the rain. It is the loss of daylight, the short days and long nights. The darkness. And the cold. I do not like being cold. Cold makes me Sad. Being cold is honestly one of the main triggers for my winter melancholy. Cold makes me Sad. And the cold is coming.
In my usual attempt to head it off at the pass, so to speak, I am planning my battle strategy. Online shopping is my friend, and winter workout gear is on the way. As are books to help stoke the fires of my training. Every year for the last 15 years, come September I know I have to set myself up for training of some sort. In the past, the early years of understanding, it was making sure my gym membership was ready. Now, it is making sure my living room is ready, with the gear that I need. I add gear every year. This year it is sand bags, a heavier kettlebell, and a weighted pack. Much of this with an eye towards more hiking adventures with my big red dog, Hugo. Some with an eye towards regaining my footing in the world of triathlon and trail running.
That is all good and well, but it does nothing for my current state of unrest. The buzzing in my veins, the pressure in my chest, the thoughts ricocheting around inside my skull like so many ping-pong balls. Oh my god, maybe I am having a heart attack?!! No, that would be too easy an explanation. Another all too simple explanation would be that I am losing my mind. Again, too easy. No, maybe this is a primal need to make sure that all the crops are in, the food preserved, firewood stacked, wool spun, leaks filled, and blankets mended so we will survive the dark days warm and fed to emerge like a daffodil in the Spring. Maybe it is that simple, the primal need to be prepared for winter, but feeling like I have fallen short. There are still dry, sunny days ahead. A few, anyway. But the Rains are coming.
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