Birthday Measures

Every year before my birthday, like clockwork, I get sad.

It's not because I'm getting older.

It's more looking at what I've accomplished, and then reevaluating what's really important to me. And if I'm closer to bringing that to fruition.  Existential stuff.

I hadn't noticed the effect of this pattern until my friend was talking about his birthday parties (which precede my birthday by a week)

I'd been voluntarily grounding myself before my birthday, feeling sad.

It's funny that I tend to be so measureful about time and accomplishment. 

I've never said 'You only go around once.' 

If I did, I would feel guilty watching Bravo docudramas. 

I do believe down time is underrated

My next birthday is near. 

But this year I was hip to the pattern. Since I saw it coming I could anticipate and avoid the voluntary grounding.

I was among the living. And I went to my friend's birthday party. 

Instead of holing up, I was showing up.

Instead of feeling paralyzed about the past and the future, I hung out in the present.

The measureful sad was still there but it wasn't the only focus.  I simply folded it up and packed it into my purse before I went out - one piece but not the whole picture.

String of Lights

March 11 was a strange day. I knew there was supposed to be some big astrological shift taking place that day. But I didn't think it would be so violent.
I couldn't comprehend the magnitude of an 8.9 earthquake and that buildings were still standing. Gratefully Japan has their shit together for earthquakes.
As I got ready to drive to my morning meeting, I heard tsunami warnings for San Francisco. I double-checked my route to the client site. Yes, I should be fine.

I have a serious fear of earthquakes.
As I got ready to go, my mind was pulsating between  the mundane (I should get an apple for the drive, I should make sure to dust the cat hair off my power cord) and the worst case scenario (what if Japan is just the kickoff earthquake and tsunami and the Hayward Fault is going to really rip it up next?)


* * *
But you know what? Nothing happened here.
I drove to my meeting, I met the client. It went well.
It was a sunny day. I ate my apple.
I listened to good music on the way back.
The threat of tsunami passed.
Mundane won.
Not to say there was no damage anywhere. Japan had been ravaged. Some coastal areas were a bit battered.
But since I was okay, it was my responsibility to LIVE and be GRATEFUL.

I went to dinner with great friends. We went to a fancy southern joint. The orange velvet chairs made me happy. The food oozed love. The big fancy doors were so graceful. We could afford this spendy dinner. It was an embarrassment of riches and I wanted to absorb it all.

The next few days as the nuclear reactor situation became grim, my anxiety returned.
Because of my rabid earthquake fear, I deliberately chose not to view any images from the quake or tsunami, as I didn't want to stock that image larder.
But I paid attention to the nuclear reactor news and the radiation.
I just felt so sad, like we really screwed the earth this time.

A friend and I went to visit the redwoods in the hills. Huge sequoias. This park always makes me feel better, like I'm hanging around wiser (calmer) beings than myself. I had to be REALLY QUIET to hear any wisdom, but it was there. And there was even more deep below the roots. After a couple of hours with the sequoias, I felt like things would be okay.

* * *
For the next several days, this pattern kept repeating.


Devastating sadness about all the broken hearts in Japan.

And THEN the unfurling list that I, the safe and living person could be grateful for: I knew that another rain storm was coming so I was able to cut down the danger branches.  I am healthy enough to do that!  I am inside my house while it's raining and I'm dry!  It's a scary storm but everything is fine! I have a house!

Whenever I felt sad, I could always go to my dog for the classic cheer-up, the dog mind-meld.

This seriously works.

* * *

I don't have any words of wisdom. I don't want to lose the sense of compassion over time. 

All I can say is how it's felt: like a lot of darkness with some fabulously brilliant bright spots. Like a string of lights.

Traffic Jam Between the Heart and Head

What were my patterns that I wanted to change? I had to be crafty here, because when I asked myself this question, my brain had some go-to answers. 

However, the instantaneous, gut 'knowing' I've experienced during yoga has expanded my catalog of data points.

Twists are especially good for squeezing out epiphanies.

So when a friend suggested I get some special bodywork done with the  intent of removing blocks, it made sense to me.  It wasn't as woo-woo as I'd hoped - just talking and then some massage. I mostly felt softer but didn't feel like I 'heard' anything new.

It just made me aware of my throat. 

My throat felt aggro. 

After that, my relaxation remained though occasionally my throat would start to sizzle on the sides. 

So I started to observe what started the sizzling.

Some examples:

Bikram instructors who wanted me to do poses that my body knew weren't right to do. 

As well as meeting demands set by others. 

Not that either one of these should make me homicidal. They were just symptoms that I didn't feel like I had enough authority in my life. 

Ohhhh. 

All the Single Ladies - No Coats or Pillows

On a sunny winter day a new friend came over and we worked in the yard. As we excavated three months' worth of weeds, we talked about relationship stuff and she asked questions that unearthed some hibernating assumptions inside me. 

Honestly, I had sorta given up on meeting a romantic someone. She and I discussed the unnaturalness of online dating but that really, that was the best way to meet men who were also looking to connect.

My friend was so kind and complimentary that after awhile, I started to wonder why I hadn't again attempted online dating sooner. Besides the timing was good. I'd recently gone to an event where they'd taken pictures. And I now had the...

Full of confidence and optimism, I created an online profile....

...added my best picture ever

...and in the first week

....got pretty much no responses.

I find that in situations where I feel rejected, dejected and like a complete loser the best thing to do is to compare myself unfavorably.

So I thought of my friend who had recently tried online dating and found success in a week.

After a week in the match.com sahara, I gave up.

{Ed. note: The pictures reenacting this week - sitting on the couch eating Chicken in a Biskit crackers, then lying on the couch recovering from said crackers were too depressing to include.}

I know there's a formula to find your person. Online dating? Friends of friends? Leaving your house? All of the above? I just don't know how to crack it.

Within a few days, I began to recover. I realized it's not a black-and-white proposition: just because I'm single doesn't mean my existence has less meaning. 

The best way to describe it is this: being by myself is like sleeping without a pillow. I still have a cozy bed, but having a pillow would add a bit more cushion, comfort. 

One of my close friends is single and says all the time that she's okay being single; she loves her life. She is also my only friend that won't live anywhere that she needs to own a coat. However, she happens to love Chicago but the no-coat rule eliminates the possibility of her living there.

This reminded me, for a long time, whenever I'd stay as a guest at someone else's house, I'd always refuse a pillow: "Oh no, I don't like them. I'm really okay without one."

* * *

If I was Carrie Bradshaw (which I am gladly not and I'm sorry I have to invoke her name but I am apparently channeling her), I would say 'Are we single ladies because we have learned to live without coats and pillows?'

This post is also syndicated on blogher.com. 

The Stuff of Life (part 2 of 2)

Click here for The Stuff of Life (part 1 of 2)

As I got older, my relationship with my dad followed a pretty typical trajectory.

We saw each other pretty regularly, but our stubbornness and different opinions about how to live our lives remained.

Then as my dad got older, his health began to deteriorate.

He was in and out of the hospital. 

Finally, his wife called and told me that the doctor had determined the cause of his latest sickness was a tear in his heart. It was a risky surgery and my dad didn't want to do it. 

The doctor was going to send him home and set up hospice.

I drove down to Portland, knowing this could be goodbye.

***

My dad was in surprisingly good spirits. He was happy that my aunt and uncle drove over to see him, and that he was surrounded by family. 

It made me happy to do little things for him. He was frail and not eating much, so I was happy to bring him pumpkin shakes from Burgerville and that he would drink them. It felt like my special job.

Shake on Monday

But on Wednesday when he didn't want the shake, I put it in the fridge. I noticed he hadn't touched the shake from the day Tuesday, or finished Monday's. He was getting worse.

My brother and I dealt with our grief the best way we knew how. 

A hidden gift was the time I got to spend with my dad. Now I understood the lollygag. We'd just sit there, sometimes talking, sometimes holding hands, me usually crying.  His heart was so open. It was a new phase of our relationship.

On his last day, dad told the hospice nurse he was ready to go. She said it was pretty unusual that he would say that in front of us. It was a privilege that we were there up until his last breath, as heartbreaking as it was to see him go. 

***

In the days after my dad died, the richness he left became more apparent as we told friends and family and they shared their memories. 

***

We all agreed unanimously about the spot to spread Dad's ashes.

It was in Oysterville. You can smell it before you arrive.

It felt like the richest, most fertile spot along the peninsula.

Dad would have loved it.

My dad's wife, her daughter, my brother, his wife and their two daughters all joined in.

The fast moving water and the windswept blue sky felt like vibrant life, still moving. The mounds of oyster shells gave off their fecund smell while they waited to host the next generation. 

The Stuff of Life (part 1 of 2)

After my dad died, my family gathered on the Washington Coast to spread his ashes.
We only had general ideas so we drove around to feel out the right location.

Too marshy at this spot. Only my brother and my dad's wife even got out of the car here.

* * * 

Growing up, we joked that I must belong to a different family.

My family was always late. I have many memories of waiting until it was a reasonable time to leave for school.

So when I could, I'd latch onto the other family, living next door.

Which was great, because my family was on a completely different schedule.

When we took a family road trip to Montana for my great grandmother's birthday, I spent about half the trip  riding with my cousins because they were traveling on a timetable. 

My family wanted to stop and check out ghost towns, have picnics, experience the countryside. 

There is a whole subset of family vacation photos taken while I was traveling with my cousins

 I wanted to leave on time, I didn't want to lollygag.

At Halloween, we couldn't ever buy costumes.

My dad always designed our homemade costumes.  

I wanted things tidy, inconspicuous and normal. 

I wanted to live in a suburb, eat at McDonald's in 15 minutes and have parents that watched 'Happy Days'.

My parents, and in particular my dad, had strong ideas about how we were going to live: we were building our own houses, living communally with another family in a rural, conservative town, we were weird and didn't even have a TV for four years.

My parents were preventing me from Living My Best Life....

--- to be continued...

Look out 2011

Reflecting on my year, this drawing blog has ranked high on the 'What's Good' column.

Because I'm working on another drawing post, I'm channeling my pictures there. So now I must try to use my words. I have so much heartfelt gratitude for those of you who have encouraged, read, commented on, talked to me about and shared these drawings. I've loved doing the drawing but your responses and feedback really turn it into something vital.

New post -- part one of two -- coming this week.
thank you all
Eileen