Thursday, February 7, 2019

What pregnancy has taught me about sexism

Here are a few things that have been historically true for me:
  • I've felt misunderstood and that I misunderstood others. I constantly ask Kevin to translate humans to me.
  • I was ambivalent about having children. Sometimes, I really wanted to. Sometimes, I saw that I could create a rich life with the freedom, time, and money that I could reserve for myself and my projects. I've known you can have a full life with or without children and I wasn't entirely sure which path was for me.
Then I became pregnant.

I was kind of stunned by how quickly my interactions with others changed.

One of the first things I noticed is that suddenly I was visible to people with whom prior I had felt largely invisible. Meaning, these people were newly interested in me. They were curious and attentive.

It made me super mad.

Because it showed me that they had the capacity for interest and engagement all along. They just hadn't offered it to me.

Prior, I thought maybe they weren't capable. They were just defective. Now that I knew better... and knew that I was acceptable because I was pregnant?! Oh no no.

To be generous, (and this is largely Kevin's voice) some people are perfectly nice and this is simply a recognizable experience. They might not have known access points to connect with me prior but now I'm entering into pregnancy-land and they know that so here is common ground. Okay. I get that. I didn't quite know what an inside club it was (and in all honesty, not loving that) but I can get that. Pregnancy is a far more all-encompassing experience that I previously realized.

But other people aren't that kind-hearted. They simply don't know what to do with a woman who isn't having children. They don't know how to relate to her and worse, they don't even try.

And that makes me boil.

Most of my closest relationships are with women who do not have children for a myriad of reasons. They are rich, full relationships with such interesting people. I mean, I guess more amazing people for me, but also, what in the actual fuck. Kevin is not treated differently now that we're expecting a child. He was given the benefit of the doubt of others interest and curiosity whether or not he was a parent.

Not so for women.

But I didn't know. Because prior to this I had never had kids. No point of comparison.

So, it started there. Incredulous acknowledgment that I had more access to people and community due to my breeding. 

Then. The pampered pregnant princess.

Dear lord.

Okay, granted, pregnancy can be a LOT! And it changes day to day. During the first trimester, I was often tired and nauseous. I was really grateful for kind folks who pulled up a chair for me to sit down or offered me ice water (has had to be ice water, since conception). It has been nice that so many people understand that this is a big experience and are kind about it.

There are also people who feel like now is the time to spoil you. And baby you.

I don't like spoiling in general. Humans, babies, vegetables. Not really my favorite. It does no one any favors. I couldn't quite put my finger on what was so annoying about this indulgence trend until I realized it's because once the baby arrives I'm invisible again. I think this is why some people get addicted to being pregnant-- it's the one time they're treated with some kindness and attention.

What fucking bullshit.

I don't need to be coddled or spoiled right now. Normal respect, consideration, and kindness are perfect. The same I'd hope to offer anyone else whether they're a grown-up, child, elder, pregnant person, etc. Like, just baseline humanity. Across the board.

Then, the babying. Some spaces dedicated to maternity are really into treating pregnant women like they are the babies. It's super weird. Like, baby talk. Indulgence. So... I am pregnant. But I'm still a grown ass person. I just want the information, oe maternity clothes, or whatever the thing is. I don't need to be coddled. I just need communication.

Obviously weird.

Then there's the, "enjoy the spoiling/special treatment now...!" because the implied message is, my life will end when the baby arrives. How nice!

My life will obviously radically change. In ways I can't currently predict. But seriously?!

Another implication (and reality) is that once the baby arrives I don't matter so much. I gestated and carried the kid. Delivered. Now, the kid is the star and the Mom is not a thought. 

Here's the thing: I'm pretty into this kid right now, and they haven't arrived yet. I have a feeling I'll be pretty into them when they're on this side too. And I think I will be really grateful for all the other people who are also invested in this baby and attentive to them. 

And, I will remain a whole human who deserves as much consideration and attention as anyone else. As Kevin. As the baby. As every other human.

That's the bottom line: baseline humanity is offered to some. I had no idea how incredibly mutable that baseline was applied to women. Overzealously. Not at all. Ebbing and flowing in a complete and utter mind fuck.

I love being pregnant. I am so excited for my baby to arrive. And I would fucking love it if I could consistently be treated as a human, before, during, after, and even if I hadn't gone down this particular life path.

Friday, November 16, 2018

Gossiping and oversharing as means of coping

Recently, I've been watching my tendencies to gossip or share information that serves no constructive purpose. I get that impulse to text a third party something along the lines of, "can you believe what she just did?!"

And I'm pausing.

If I'm sending that text to really understand why someone acted as they did in order to better align my own responses, I send the text. That's constructive. It's useful. I'm trying to understand a dynamic between me and another person with help. I'm trying to make sure how I engage with the dynamic serves me and aligns with my integrity.

But sometimes, that's not the reason.

I'm sending the text because I want a witness.

I asked myself why? What purpose does it serve? Generally, folks don't even believe something they didn't see in the flesh, so it's not even like I'm gathering so many allies. I'm really just gossiping.

But I realized it makes me feel safer. I want more people watching. I want more people protecting me.

But they can't really. They don't really know what behavior I deem threatening. We all have our own gauges for what we find acceptable or not.

And honestly, most of us aren't really paying all that close attention.

I'm responsible for what behavior I find safe and appropriate and what lies outside those boundaries.

As I'm writing, I'm realizing there are two issues. This first one, laid out above, is externalizing safety. I think other people are responsible for me feeling safe and seen. So I'll gossip to try to assure my own safety-- though it's a truly flawed method! So flawed that I'm finally walking myself out of that pattern.

The second is a byproduct of gaslighting. Oversharing. I sat this morning thinking about when I've divulged on social media or this blog something deeply personal. I do that less these days. It's not that I'm so highly evolved or mature. Not a bit! It's that I'm working with the material of my own life differently.

For me, oversharing, or working out unresolved personal issues publicly was related to learning to trust myself. Like so many people, I've dealt with decades of gaslighting in really pivotal relationships. Being gaslit completely undermines a person's ability to trust their own perceptions. It was utterly destabilizing and lead me into bouts of depression. A big way that I've learned to stabilize myself is by recognizing my own internal cues about what I think is appropriate, what's comfortable for me, what behavior and energy I'm aligned with, and what I'm not. Not questioning myself or trying to talk myself into another way. Just recognizing and honoring what's true for me.

When I couldn't do that, didn't yet have the skill set, I overshared. I wanted the material to be public so I could get other opinions on what it all meant. I brought other people into my interior to try to make sense of it because I was used to my interior being pillaged for other purposes. I overshared because I didn't know what I thought of my own experience. I sorted it out on spaces like this.

I have a journal now.

I'm laughing as I write this because sometimes it feels less satisfactory than the dopamine hit of getting an affirmation from a reader. And I do think it's important that we tell our stories publicly. I still wholeheartedly believe in that. It's how we make our lives into art and take away the charges others have placed on certain events.

It's a matter of discernment.

I sort it out in my journal. Once sorted, I figure out if I'm ready to make it into art.

It's a quieter and more solitary practice, but then again, that's sort of my life these days. Simpler. Quieter. Much more room. I did it intentionally.

Wednesday, October 3, 2018

Lyme: An Epilogue

I shared on this blog that earlier this summer I had Lyme disease. I'm good now.

Thank you so much for checking in on me and asking and caring!

I actually was good pretty early on. About 2 days into antibiotics (in mid-June) the fevers cleared and with them the brain fog lifted. I was tired for a bit as my body had been through a lot, but that lifted within days as well. Since late June, I've been living my normal life. Doing the yoga. Spinning on the bikes. Running in the streets. Hiking in the woods.

I finished the 3-week course of amoxicillin in early July. During the course of antibiotics, I was diligent about probiotics and a diet that would hopefully support my gut health. Off the antibiotics, I switched into high gear to restore my gut. Like, kombucha and bone broth daily kind of high gear.

I felt good but wanted to make sure I was doing everything that I could to support my interior.

Two weeks after the antibiotics concluded I was tested again for Lyme disease. The results were somewhat muddy-- Lyme is a weird disease. I was referred to an infectious disease specialist.

The infectious disease specialist at Cooper, Dr. Pedroza, was wonderful. She took a lot of time examining my blood work and explaining bizarro Lyme disease and how this applied to me. Dr. Pedroza was careful to say that I received "adequate care." She was pleased that I was tested and treated so quickly, but wished I had been treated with doxycycline as opposed to amoxicillin. I don't know why I was given the antibiotic that I was, but I can only guess that Lyme literacy is new to many. It was a good thing that I was tested so quickly. Perhaps, physicians are still learning the best defense to mount against this disease. Dr. Pedroza said I had a "very clean case" of Lyme, meaning it's very obvious that I had it, it seems that it was caught quickly (at my estimated timeline of treatment beginning 12 days after infection), and my body mounted a strong defense. At my request, she took more blood to test for coinfections.

Everyone at Cooper was really wonderful. Like, a strikingly good experience.

Afterward, I received a call with my results. I tested negative for all coinfections. It's very clear that I had Lyme disease, however, my body mounted a really strong defense. I now have a lot of antibodies against the Lyme. In other words, I'm good now.

I could still be reinfected as could anyone. I still need to watch out for ticks and for the tell-tale disease symptoms: a ring, rashes, fevers.

But I'm recovered.

I learned a lot in this episode. When a parasite got me, I became very clear about how much of my own energy that I leaked out. I saw where I prioritized obligations I made to other people over my own needs, where I took requests people made of me as my priority, and at my own expense. I saw how even my diet was more concerned with factors other than my own health. I started shifting all of that.

In every instance, when a request is made of me, when I have a choice, I'm learning to feel into my body. Generally, I feel somewhere a response. Either a softening of "yes, this is good," or a tightening of "the answer is no." I often don't even know why, but the more that I'm acting on the information of my body, the more I feel healthy, and often, down the line, I get confirmation of my original gut reflex.

In other words, I'm finally factoring myself in. When I released too much of myself to others it created this pendulum extreme where I would then also find myself taking what wasn't mine-- attitudes, expectations, resources, and more. The more I'm getting clear on my own needs, the more I'm learning to meet them.

I finally feel like my own advocate. At 37 years old. Jesus. As I act on the reflexive information of my body, my body is quicker to provide me with insight and direction. I know my own inner compass. It's the only place I can act from. It's the only place that I should act from. (And, thankfully, I have really good accountability partners in my life so if I ever get really off-the-mark they're there to help me reflect. So far, my body is very honest.)

This summer, I made it my business to learn how to take care of myself. I get enough sleep, I'm eating in a way that works for me currently, I'm moving, I'm staying inspired. When stressors come up that throw me off balance, I treat myself like I would my best friend on a bad day. I get still and ask, "what makes me feel good? what helps?" And instead of my past patterns of questioning that, considering it an indulgence, doubting that I had the right to simply take a day to care for myself, I go in. And I go in hard. I don't just do the one thing I think might feel help, I do EVERYTHING I can think of. I throw every idea I have at repairing myself, even when my mood has lifted hours earlier. I treat myself like my best friend, who is doing OK, but could still be cared for thoroughly and joyfully.

Weird side note: now that I am a priority to myself, depression is not the issue it once was. To me, depression felt like a sinking into a void. I couldn't get an anchor, I couldn't get my feet under me. I didn't know where I was. I didn't know what was happening. I didn't know what to do. I didn't know my worth.

I know depression functions in a multitude of ways, but I'm discovering that for me, when I keep myself prioritized and clear, I know where I am. I know how I am. I know what I need. I know what's right for me. I know what isn't. I can advocate on my own behalf. I can soothe myself when I encounter something destabilizing.

That means that every other relationship that I have is out of choice. It's not out of resolving a past issue or out of a need for someone else to pick me up. I can pick myself up. Those in my inner circle are there simply because I love them. I enjoy them. If I need care from them, I can ask for it, but I also know that I can ask myself.

Lyme sucked. Twelve days of high fevers, the craziest body aches that I ever experienced, and the fear I felt around not being able to regain my energy (until I was in treatment) totally blew. And, the experience taught me so much.

I'm really trying to learn at less of a cost. I think I'm getting there. But, anyway, thank you Lyme. Thanks to my time with you, I'm factoring myself in. The relationship that I've developed with myself is beautiful and such a solid way to move through the world.

Wednesday, August 22, 2018

Patreon Post: Ethical Consumption, doing it wrong, enjoying it all

I am really enjoying the collaborations I'm finding with Patreon donors! A sweet friend just became a patron at the dollar amount that gives her the chance to direct my blogging. She had a great suggestion. Here's what she wrote:

We've talked about this a little here and there before but I'd love to hear more about your opinions on this, especially given your permaculture/yogi background :) How do you manage to make ethical decisions while being a "normal" (that's a separate blog post, ha!) person in the world? How do you manage being a busy person and a creature of first world comforts while still treating the earth and people and animals kindly, without driving yourself crazy? I'll give an example of my thought process. I try to avoid plastic usage as much as possible -- we all know that's nearly impossible to do 100% of the time, but I feel good about my efforts. But sometimes I'm busy, and I buy something on Amazon instead of going to the store. Ok, so now I'm using fossil fuels to get me my stuff, more than driving to the store, and it comes with extra cardboard and plastic bubbles. BUT... but... in doing so, postal workers have jobs, Amazon people have jobs, BUTTTTTT I'm also helping fuel a major corporation instead of a local business, and it goes down and around the rabbit hole. So obviously all of this stuff is personal, right? I mean, everyone has their own line they will or won't cross. But maybe you could put out some of your musings about how you make (or suggest others come to) a decision about that line or maybe you know of some non-negotiables that are so significant, I shouldn't (or should) be worrying about my Amazon purchases. 

I love this and have so many thoughts on it. And I appreciate the clarity on "normal." I'm by no stretch "normal," don't know what that is, and also don't aspire to it. I am working towards integrated.

Wanting to feel integrated with my surroundings first prompted me to try to be better informed about how we coexist with our planet, animals, and one another. Those findings propelled me into activism. I was so incredulous about the realities of First World consumption, irate at human right's abuses, and terrified by my perception of the apathy or lack of information around me. I think those feelings are good and important. Anger is related to passion and we need that force to create change. The current organization of things is obviously not working and unsustainable. I don't know if many people are simply uninformed (that's feeling less and less likely) or apathetic. I don't actually think it's either. I think apathy is connected to feeling helpless. A lot of people feel like there's nothing they can do so they don't look at something upsetting over which they feel powerless. And I think many of us distract ourselves. Continuously. Because it feels taxing and demanding to take a sober look at ourselves and participation in our environment.

I am so impressed by each of us who have taken the powerful step towards being self-aware about our participation in our environment. It's brave and big. And will be accompanied by a host of emotions that can drive intimacy with the planet and productive fuel towards righting wrongs.

I think this is first and this is already intrinsic in my friend's invitation to this post. Caring is huge. Caring is everything.

And now we get into where caring can go awry.

I've totally done the thing where I tried to think about the impact of every little thing that I did. I was a bike commuter. I grew a lot of my own food and bought the rest at farmer's markets. I tried to only buy thrift shop clothes. I used that terrible grey hippie laundry detergent purchased from some co-op. I tried to deny myself items with a bigger travel range, like coffee, bananas, sugar, and avocados. I had to be vegan. I lived in a cooperative house. I went to lots of demonstrations.

I was constantly vigilant for my own lack and given my attention, always finding it. My actions to minimize harm around me were emotionally linked to my own unresolved feelings around how I had been harmed. If I stepped on an insect, even accidentally, it felt a lot like the times I had been in environments that weren't safe for me. I felt like I was the abuser, the perpetrator.

My own past codependent-trauma-survivor patterns morphed into the field of being "good" and "right." 

Now, I'm not saying this is the case with most people and certainly not behind the prompt of this post. But, the context informs where I live today in relationship to harm reduction.

I was pretty convinced I would crack the code and be "right." I would start growing my own cotton and making my own clothes. No one would be harmed by my existence. I would be pure and a shining example of why everyone else is wrong.

A few years ago, Kevin and I were wandering through Manayunk and we found a Tibetan shop. We went in to look at the books and prayer flags. We got into a pretty extensive conversation with the Tibetan proprietor. His responses continually surprised me. I thought he would say we were right for being vegan at the time. Instead, when Kevin said he was a landscaper, the man shared a prayer for the insects who would inevitably be caught up in his actions. He said he ate meat. He killed bugs (I got the sense it was usually inadvertently). He thanked everyone he affected.

This idea planted a seed for me that I've explored since. This man seemed very connected to the world he inhabits and as though he was not trying to minimize his impact. He acknowledged and thanked those who make sacrifices for him.

I explored this idea a bit more fully when it came up for me healing from Lyme disease. An infection linked to a parasite felt powerfully intertwined with so much of the untangling work I've done over the years to make sure I'm not participating in codependent dynamics, to get clear on my own desires and needs, and be a joyful advocate for myself. I saw how much I tried to minimize what I wanted because I didn't think I deserved it. If others are suffering, shouldn't I as well? 

The thing is, I have suffered. And I probably will again. And I'm not trying to compare my suffering to anyone else's. There's no need and that's a dark rabbit hole. 

And, I don't think I need to suffer to be entitled to joy. I think joy is our birthright. 

I've come to shift my perspective on how to "do all the things." I still think being a bike commuter is fantastic. What I loved most about it is that I felt free. I felt the air, I saw animals, I felt my body. It was truly a joy. It's fantastic that bike commuting has all these environmental benefits. I think most things that put us in greatest contact with our inner world and the environment surrounding us have the same effect. And I think we should reach for joy.

Kevin and I have lost some steam with growing our own food, but a lot of the trees, vines, and bushes we planted are establishing, maturing, and bearing fruit whether we neglect them or not. They're luring us back to get ourselves in order and grow more food. We'll get there. In the meantime, I do buy a lot of my seasonal food at farmer's markets. Because it tastes better and feels better in my body.

I 100% drink coffee, with sugar, and eat bananas, avocados, and other foods that are shipped from far off distances. And I think it's well within reason that within my lifetime I will no longer have access to those foods. I am really grateful for them now. 

I am no longer interested in minimizing my presence in the world. This does not mean that I'm in the market for a hummer. I think it's incredibly important to stay aware of our impact in the world. And I absolutely make choices to try to support the good. Our house has a composting toilet for chrissakes. And honestly, part of that is because we live in a part of Pennsauken with crap plumbing. We've saved a ton of money by not having to do a major pipe repair and instead having a composting toilet. Opportunism! Fringe environmental benefits!

We don't use a dryer. We line dry our clothing. I'm sure there's an environmental bonus there but at this point, I've come to enjoy the ritual of going outside to hang my clothes. My cats figure-eight around my ankles. I get outside when I might have been otherwise slumping in front of the laptop.

We hand wash our dishes. I think we're actually in the wrong here, in terms of water consumption. I hear different things but I'm pretty sure I've heard that many say a dishwasher uses less water than hand washing. Very well could be true. In our case, there's a wide window over the sink. On the ledge, I have small statues of Lakshmi, Sarasvati, and Hanuman, along with some stones and palo santo. While I'm washing dishes, I look at the deities, the stones, the tiles on the backsplash, and the trees outside. I like it. It's calming. I feel water and suds. I get my plates and dishes clean(ish). It's a quieting meditation.

So I might be wrong there. But my life has a little more softening in it due to the dirty dishes.

The part I feel the most legit guilt around is my iPhone. Smartphones are 1,000% devils. I know there's slave labor involved in making it. I know that mining the materials is brutal to the environment. I know there's no good way to recycle them back once we made them a phone. I have a tendency towards being addicted to all the functions of my phone. I do work on managing that because, in all truth, I also love that I can go on a road trip and GPS the whole time. I love that I can find a coffee shop in some booney town in the mountains of Appalachia. I love that I can order things and read things and talk to my friends, no matter where I am. So, in truth, I also appreciate the technology. And I think it's largely unsustainable and it seems highly likely that in my lifetime it will no longer be available. At which time, I will remember it fondly, read more books, and use maps. If I have access to vehicles that can move me that far.

What informs my decision making is that I am an intrinsic part of the world. I will affect it. I will at times cause harm. I have been harmed. I am in an ecosystem of joy and trouble. I'm interested in being a very full participant. When I have the choice, I try to opt ethically. If I can get a book from a big box distributor or a small purveyor, I go small. And there's joy in that. I've encountered so many great conversations from the guy who has spent decades in the dusty bookshop amassing stories. The ethical choice often involves greater presence and experience in the world. I want to be guided by that-- how I can take up space, with as much mutual benefit as possible. I want to be here fully. Which means I leave a trail of destruction in my wake. I also have been in the wake of other's destruction. It's both.

There is no way to get it right. What we're left with instead is an invitation to experience.

Monday, August 6, 2018

It will not work out

As he does, Kevin told me about a podcast he recently heard. This was an interview with a truck driver who wouldn't listen to the radio or allow himself any distractions while he crisscrossed the country. He wanted to befriend his own mind. Thoughts and identifications flitted through his mind, as they do all of us, and he let it play out to see if he could ever move beyond.

One day, he thought, "It will never work out."

As soon as he had the thought, he became enlightened. His idea of enlightenment is that he no longer saw himself as a fixed person; i.e. my name is so-and-so, I am this person's son, and this person's neighbor, and this is what I do, this is how I am, and this is what I like and dislike. Instead, he became a being. A becoming.

There's nothing to resolve. He realized there's no way to better himself through a move, job, or relationship. There's nothing to better.

He realized he'll never reach the apex where the past traumas resolve, mutual understanding abounds, and we all look back with satisfaction.

Or, to the degree that happens, it's as others grieve us.

Resolution is death.

As long as we're living, we're in the creative phase. Creation doesn't end. Creation creates.

It will never work out freed him from striving.

These are hard concepts to write and communicate about because most of us apply the ideas to our own circumstances. We think about that one kid who has no ambition and sleeps on his Mom's couch. I'm not trying to say that kid is enlightened. I don't even know if Kevin's podcast subject is. No striving is not equivalent to not acting. Not acting, copping out, sleeping away your life on other people's energy, are actions. Absolving ourselves of responsibility is an action. I don't understand this message to advise dropping out.

We can act. And know we're acting to act. To be in the thing. To do it. To have the experience.

But don't expect much.

We could act out the greatest level of ambition imaginable, play the biggest concerts, go for the highest promotion, and do it for the joy of the experience. Why else? The accolades are fleeting. Identifying with those acts only leads to heartbreak when they inevitably shift and change form. But the experience is the thing.

It's the only thing.

Right now feels incredibly unpredictable and unclear. Just about everyone I know is putting one foot in front of the other despite heartbreak and fear. I wonder if we can relieve ourselves of the pressure of thinking that we're going anywhere. We're here. And right now it feels dense and weird. And at other points, we have other experiences. Nothing is wrong and it's also not right. It just is.

A friend of mine is grieving on instagram by sharing heartbreaking modern art pieces. It's heart-wrenching and beautiful in exactly the same moment. I'm overwhelmed by her ability to tap into what she needs to allow grief to move through her. I'm looking at these paintings and understanding them more fully. One next to the other paint a journey of centuries and places where humans suffered. Put one foot in front of the other. Didn't fix it. Didn't make it right. But lived it out.

This will not work out. And this is everything.

Sunday, August 5, 2018

Boredom Medicine

Tonight, I'm allowing something that too often I avoid: being bored. I thought about a movie. I scrolled on Facebook. I started glancing at my bookshelf for titles I hadn't yet read. Then it hit me: I'm bored.

And I smiled.

This doesn't generally happen.

I don't generally allow this to happen.

I'm as adept as anyone at packing my minutes with tasks. My attention is consistently spoken for. When I remember boredom, remember it's space and promise, everything changes. When I allow my eyes to dart, looking for their next point of focus, my mind to soften, my fingers to drum... I remember. I remember aimless nights as a teenager when I discovered the pack of JD Salinger novels. Or the Rolling Stones catalog. Or made endless mix tapes. And then wrote some stories. I remember zines. I remember the trouble I get into when I don't schedule what I'm going to get into.

Tonight, I got into my bookshelf.

Next week, Kevin and I are hitting the road. To me, this feels like a big trip. It's domestic, to places new-to-me, and significant to my lineage. More on that later.

A trip means books. Kevin and I travel well together because we know one of the greatest treats of a vacation is ample reading. A week generally means at least 4 books each. I prefer books set in our destination, or somewhat related. It keeps with the mood, sometimes inspires a side trip, or at least an otherwise unlikely plant identification or meal choice.

We're headed south, deep south, which means great literature. Somehow, my shelves aren't teeming with the southern classics at the moment but there's enough. I have a Ron Rash novel I've been meaning to get to. This should be good timing. I haven't picked up Flannery O'Connor since I was a teenager, and she meant a great deal to me. She's in the stack.

And then there's the medicine book. I don't know how else to describe it but it's the book I take that I know won't be the page-turner, it won't be my first pick, and if anything, I may only glance at it. It's the medicine. If I find myself with a new perspective I'm struggling to integrate or I feel I'm finally in a place to hear the message, I pick it up. In Crestone, Colorado, it was Women Who Run With Wolves. In the Catskills, it was Yoko Ono's Grapefruit. In Portugal, Leonard Cohen's poetry. Sometimes it's a mystic or a poet. I take a voice who I often long to hear. In reality, it usually feels like a voice whispers to me from the shelf, and says you'll be able to hear. You will be ready.

I'll be in some cabins. I'll have some time. Nights accompanied by crickets stretch the longest. I tend to pass them wandering in and out of books. Bored. Waiting. Magic.

Monday, June 25, 2018

Between river wandering in Vermont and New Hampshire

Last Monday, I taught yoga, did some laundry, and came home to Kevin's mountain climbing gear strewn throughout our living room. Kevin was returning from a weekend of mountain climbing with three of his friends in New Hampshire. I was just back from scouting yoga retreats with Christie in Maine. Kevin did a full day of landscaping and taught a yoga class. Somewhere in the night, he woke up stupidly early and repacked. Well, Kevin repacked. Plenty of loose books and clothes wound up throughout the car without the home of a bag.

Early Tuesday we began our return to the northlands. A more westerly route than my trip to coastal Maine, we drove through western Massachusetts before finding ourselves in the greenest Vermont mountains completely out of cell or wifi range.

We compared notes. Kevin told me stories of grown men climbing in mountains and how quickly that descends into bathroom humor. I shared my collection of adventures with Christie in Maine. 

When I contracted Lyme disease, Kevin became my advocate. Twelve days of fever felt like they burned out my decision-making capacity. I was just tired and overwhelmed. In our 16 years together, we've cared for one another when sick. This was different. We changed patterns. We started to figure out some lines about when we seek care-- when we wait it out. We're learning what feels like care to one another and adjusting our behaviors to meet those needs.

It made us feel close. A new level of intimacy. Which, long-term relationships afford. 

It felt strange to set off on separate adventures. Additionally, because radical shifts were occurring in the lives of people really close to us. Some, dealing with their own health crises. Others, unexpectedly finding relief and reunion. Kevin and I had kept close tabs on one another, calling as much as signals permitted, but we still had the details to supply as we drove into Vermont.

We pulled off in Sharon, Vermont, a small town of maybe two country stores and a handful of other shops by the New Hampshire border. Snaking along the White River, we pulled up the mountain to a dirt road that took us to an off-the-grid cabin. The planks smelled of cedar. We put a block of ice in the tray of the cooler to keep our food and climbed the ladder to the little sleeping loft with a big open window to the trees beyond. The outhouse was a little ways along the path and the camp shower fed by cisterns of water stored by the door. At night, we lit candles and put flashlights on our chests to illuminate our novels. Quiet. Green. 

Kevin realized we were near South Royalton, a town he visited years ago during a speaking engagement at Vermont Law School. Best part is that this town is the aerial shot in the opening credits of the Gilmore Girls! It's the model for Stars Hollow!

We passed two evenings in South Royalton, listening to bands in the bandstand and eating in the local restaurants. We could get a signal here to check back in on our loved ones at home as they navigated these life-changing events. 

Our cabin in Sharon was near trails that wound up the mountain to scenic views or down to the big flat boulders shaping the river. Nearby, a brook formed several pools good for dipping. The forest floor was coated in ferns. The light was dappled as the thick forest trees interrupted the hot sun.

We were also near Joseph Smith's birthplace. Given that Kevin loves anyone zealous enough to form a religion and also gets excited about history, which Mormonism has certainly shaped, we had to go. The birthplace and the commemoration were beautiful and peaceful. A bus had unloaded its fill of white, largely blonde, college-aged Mormons. They each found their own spot along the hill or tucked away on benches to read the Bible, Book of Mormon, and fill out worksheets. We wandered through the friendly white kids to the Mormon markers. 

Hanover, New Hampshire was only 20 minutes down the road so we headed their twice. My brother graduated from Dartmouth and Kevin's grandfather did his MBA there in one of the country's first low-residency programs. We sat by the beautiful campus and ate at some of the restaurants in town. Signals remained erratic so some friendly wait staff gave us a tip on a nearby swimming hole.

Down the road, Mink Brook, quiet and tree-lined. An afternoon of novels, yoga, dipping in the cool water, and some Wim Hof breathing.

I kept looking up and feeling the peace of no signal, my rhythm tuned to daylight, and that growing inner quiet. My grandmother grew up in a world that was closer to my few days in an off-the-grid cabin. The world is smaller. Less access. More attention to what's in front of you. It's a two-generation experiment to live the way I'm accustomed. 

I found myself navigating some of the pressures of my life better than I often do. I tried to assess what changed, what was I doing that worked? I realized that in the fits and spurts of cell and wifi access the attention I gave the challenges was circumscribed. I paid attention, offered what I could, and then moved on. The rest of the world-- its ferns and rivers-- took up more room. As we made our way home, I weighed that balance. I'm trying to stay with it. Be with what matters. Stay in the world.