Category Archives: mental health

Aug1

I’m the CEO of my own company.

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This has been another tough week. I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired. I try to tough it out, but finally succumb to the exhaustion and call the doctor. I went in again yesterday and am back on yet another course of antibiotics. When I am nauseous and in pain I am impatient and…well, let’s just say less than gracious.

Summer has become my least favorite season for several reasons. One reason is too much activity crammed into the 3 months of warm weather. I prefer cooler weather. And less activity. Quieter. That said, I am blessed to live in a beautiful part of the country (and the world) and summer is busy with visitors. Tourists come from all over the world. Friends and family visit from all over the country. Some have cottages nearby, some rent. My darling nephew came up from Cincinnati in June with his three young girls. They stayed with me in my little one bedroom house. I took the sofa and made the 3 girls camp out on the living room floor next to me. That visit was way too short and absolutely magical. I’m still tingling with delight every time I think of it.

But I was well that week, and now I’m not. It happens that most of my peers, family and friends alike, are retired now. I’m working from home. They are on vacation; I am not. And recently a visiting relative was quite insensitive about bringing that up. Bragging actually, about not having to work in his later years. As if I were not as smart, or had done something wrong. I ignored him, considered the source and all that. The next day I offered a bit of help as they were having to move from hotel to cottage, juggling suitcases and food and outdoor gear. They inquired as to the location of a laundromat and I offered to do their laundry while they went out touristing. I was laying low trying to turn this sinus infection around; I might as well make myself useful. My generosity was responded to with another request. Sadly I have to be reminded now and again that most of my family will take a mile if you give them an inch.

But today after cooking myself some breakfast before taking all the pain medication I can safely take at one time, I caught myself feeling sorry for myself. That’s ugly. I crawled back into bed in hopes of the relief that comes only with sleep…and heard a knock on the front door. Someone knocks on my front door about 3 times a year. I do not live on the way to anywhere (on purpose) and the door is up a flight of stairs, after you’ve managed the 45 degree incline of the driveway. I’m perched high on a hill, also on purpose. The views are great, and more importantly, I’m a destination.

At the soft knock I leapt out of bed, excited. My immediate thought was that it might be a delivery of flowers! Several friends and family members know I am in bed sick and having a hard time. But it was just UPS. The box was heavy and he offered to set it inside the door. I have the kindest UPS driver, Brian, who goes above and beyond. And I was grateful. So was the cat, whose food and litter made up the weight of the box. No, that’s not true – the cat takes me for granted, too. As testament to my being a good pet owner.

And as I shuffled stiffly back to bed, I thought of how odd it was that my first thought was a flower delivery. My mother used to send flowers to me. Always pink tulips on my birthday in March. Often when she knew I was feeling down. Just a little cheer.

But she’s been gone 21 years. In those 21 years I have had exactly one flower delivery. It was dropped outside my door just after losing my sweet little beagle Odie 5 years ago. That came from a dear friend, who has also suffered too much loss and grief. She brought an orchid that is still flowering, and tea and chocolates long gone. How very thoughtful. I have received lovely notes and cards and gifts in the mail from friends, and I delight in sending them occasionally. I wish health and finances allowed for much more of that.

Why don’t we do more thoughtful acts of kindness anymore, myself included? I’m healing now, mentally and emotionally at least, from a lifetime of living with narcissists, with brutish men and defensive women. I’ve had to realize that many of my family were not nice people, albeit I understand their pain and dysfunction. I’ve had to see those traits in myself and work to overcome them. Most importantly, I’ve learned to enjoy my own company. I’m the CEO.

I did lose my patience yesterday. I was short with a dear friend and ornery with my son. All via text, while waiting in an hour long line at the pharmacy. I’m disappointed with myself. I compromised my integrity. Integrity doesn’t allow you to justify bad behavior based on your own needs. I hope I learned something and can do better in the future. My friend and my son were both quite magnanimous about it. My son texted back, “Your feelings are valid. No need for guilt. I love you and I’m grateful for you.” Sometimes words are even better than flowers.

Jul28

Don’t beam me up, Scotty

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Yesterday’s post seemed a bit preachy about what I don’t want. I beg your patience. What I DO want, and have always wanted, is freedom. Peace of mind. That’s my measurement from here on out for the rest of this incarnation, which I hope will be many more years. As Mimi would say, “good Lord willin’ and the crick don’t rise.” Do I need more exercise to pull that off? I certainly do. So thank you to my dear, dear friends and family who do continue to entice me out to share in activities. I have to pick and choose wisely right now as I am still recovering from a debilitating, albeit invisible, disease. Thank you for not giving up on me.

This delicate balance I seek to find this summer includes what feels like a huge psychological shift. Now in my 7th decade I seem to be just discovering what freedom means – specifically, to think freely. To dig down into the depths of my true being and find out what it is that I really want. Who I truly am. To stop using life energy to flail against what I don’t want. To stop protesting, to stop feeling put upon and pulled at by those around me.

Two or three nights ago now I woke, as I always do, between 3 and 4 a.m. I “heard” the voice in my head, seemingly out of nowhere, stating very clearly: “THERE IS NOTHING AGAINST YOU HERE.” Intuitively I knew that by HERE it meant, in life, on earth, for all time. There is nothing against me. There never has been. And as my old mentor Jack Boland would have said, “therefore, as night follows day…” that means that everything is FOR me.

This concept may take a minute or lifetime for me to grok. I’ll have to get back to you on this…this is what I mean when I say, “on the road to enlightenment, I’m taking the local.” I mean to get it with every cell of my being. Don’t rush me.

Please indulge this idea with me: what if everything is for you? Another long time mentor is Rob Bell. Young as he is, he is onto something. Several years ago I went to listen to him speak in his home town of Grand Rapids, Michigan. He left the evangelical mega church he was pastor of because they wouldn’t let him teach enlightenment. There’s something I might do if you asked – I’d go to hear him speak again. He leads you out – out of the restriction of your personality into your natural state of freedom. He gets it, or as he says, there is no exit strategy here. “This is not an evacuation theology…”

It’s true that I don’t want to go anywhere with you. Because I want to be nowhere with you, as in nowhere = now here.

Jul27

you shall not pass

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Today I feel about 150 years old. It’s summer time here in Michigan, in the little beach town where I live. I’m less than a mile from the beach, and just a mile or two from the national park, Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore. It is magnificently beautiful. And…what is that new buzz phrase? Um…overtouristed. But many relatives and friends come this time of year to visit, because – let’s be honest – it’s a bear in the winter.

So this morning relatives staying in a nearby resort called and suggested we meet at the beach. I hesitated…but I said okay. Not a resounding yes, but okay. We are old. We are in our seventies. WHO goes to the beach in their 70’s? Turns out, people from Florida. They are READY! Wow. They have the fancy beach chairs in the spiffy carrying bag and the cooler with the sparkling water and the big umbrella with the spike that goes in the sand…I didn’t even know these things existed until this morning. I’m as ready for a day at the beach as I am for the slopes in January. Which is to say: not.

Time for true confessions. I’m an indoorsey kinda gal. Nature terrifies me. Never mind the ticks are trying to kill me, it’s HUMID PEOPLE!!! The sun is so bright. Is that really necessary?! There are people everywhere. Bugs. Poison ivy. Alewives. Eeeewwwwww….it’s mighty uncomfortable for starters. And it stinks. I just don’t get it.

Humans invented air conditioning for a reason. Do you have any little IDEA?! how COMFORTABLE my BED IS?! Why would I ever want to go to a beach?!

I don’t belong here. I am a city girl. Born and raised in the suburbs of Detroit. And I loved it there. The architecture is some of the best in the country. The Detroit Institute of Arts is truly one of the premiere museums in the world. Before I could drive I used to skip school and hitchhike downtown to spend the day in the museum. Or on the 13th floor of the J.L. Hudson building, the furniture floor, moving from vignette to vignette, imagining how I would change the room if it were mine. In junior high and high school I worked downtown for Saks and walked the tunnel under Second Avenue to the Fisher Building for lunch and a manicure. I was in my element.

But life had other plans for me. For reasons I won’t bore you with today, I moved to my “2nd home,” up north, when my son was young. So he grew up here, and he loves it here. And so, here we are. And I do love it here, too. I probably would not choose this rural location if I were deciding today, but I’m here now. In an ideal outdoor playground. They call it Pure Michigan for a reason.

So off I go to meet people at the beach. We didn’t go to any of several close beaches, we drove to an isolated beach miles down a dirt road through the woods, attempting to avoid the crowds. At the mouth of the path from the road’s end down to the water stood a wooden board announcing that you must have a park pass to continue. I had not realized before that this was within the boundaries of the National Park. I don’t have a pass. But I can scan the Q-code with my smarter-than-me phone and buy one online. Except I can’t. It requires you register an account using your email. Okay. But then connect to the purchase app via email. Well, no. I don’t have email on my phone! It’s on my computer at home – WHERE I SHOULD HAVE STAYED. And does the park let you buy a day pass? No. Pay as a guest? No. It seems to me that nothing is user friendly for we old folks who are electronically disadvantaged. And fear federal prison.

Anyway, I’m back home now. I am never going to leave again. I do not want to meet you at the beach. I do not want to go for a hike. Outdoors is overrated. Neither do I want to go to a crowded concert venue, or a movie theater, a loud bar, or the symphony. Been there, enjoyed that. Decades and decades and…decades of that. I’m tired. I like to remind my friends that not all of us here are on vacation.

You are aware, I trust, that they make fabrics now that feel like bunny fur? You can buy slippers and you can also wrap yourself up in it’s goodness in the form of a blanket. And stay warm. In your icy, air-conditioned room with a QUEEN SIZED bed, and a tv with a REMOTE!

Jul20

let’s talk Lyme…

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It was two years ago this month when I was frightfully ill and diagnosed with Lyme disease. What an ordeal. My life would never be the same. I’m remembering it because I am under the weather. Again. And terribly discouraged. It’s the Lyme. Still. It has gotten better these past two years, but it has never gone away; the doctors tell me it likely never will. They tell me I will always test positive. I have recently been told that I will likely loose my teeth due to rapid bone loss. Related? Yes.

This busy summer week in the middle of July I have had to cancel plans with friends more than once. I have neglected housework, garden, my cat, grocery shopping and self care in lieu of survival mode, meaning bed or sofa time. Feet elevated. My joints are swollen and painful and I’m running a fever. I’m clumsy, tripping over my own feet. Have a headache. But the real issue keeping me from leaving the house is the Bell’s palsy. Specifically, my right eye. The right side of my face feels like your funny bone when you hit it – painfully tingly. I was accidentally clocked in the jaw once years ago and nearly passed out. It feels like that. The irritated facial nerve causes my eye to swell and be bloodshot. I could go out with a patch or dark glasses, but the sensitivity to light is stabbing.

I’ve been taken down (but not out, at least not yet) by a tiny insect. These things are not to be toyed with. This time two years ago I was definitely dying, and fast. The 4th of July was a Sunday. I remember it well, because I woke with a big dark welt on the back of my leg. Being 70, I thought it prudent to go to the ER and make sure it wasn’t a blood clot. They did an ultrasound and determined, no, not a clot. Maybe a spider bite, or some skin irritant from the garden. They sent me home with a script for an antibiotic. I wouldn’t fill it. By Monday morning I was too sick to drive to the pharmacy. I was overtaken by the worst “flu” I’d ever had.

By Wednesday or Thursday night I was in trouble. I couldn’t keep any food or liquid down, I was disoriented. I didn’t know what day it was. I had not slept because of pain; I paced the floor instead. I called my primary care physician who insisted (over the phone) that I had Covid, despite testing negative. Apparently the home tests were not to be trusted. Wait it out I was advised. Whatever you do, don’t come here, and don’t go to the ER. Take Tylenol. Clearly I had not described this pain accurately.

Sunday morning, eight days in, I woke with half of my face paralyzed. Afraid I had suffered a stroke during the night, I got my son to take me back to the ER. He would have to help me dress, carry me to the car and set me in, and get a wheelchair at the ER door to transport me inside. I couldn’t stand let alone walk.

In that week since I first visited the same ER with the same doctors I had lost 20 pounds. My ribs were showing. I could barely speak. Sure enough, I was severely dehydrated and my potassium levels were dangerously low (who knew this was a thing?) The brilliant ER physician admitted he didn’t have a clue what was going on, and called in another doctor for an opinion. Fifteen minutes later my (NEW beloved!) doctor walked in, asked me if I’d had a skin breakout in the past week, took a look at the records of my previous visit, looked at me and said, “You’ve got Lyme.”

He told me it would take a few days for test results to confirm that, and meanwhile they were admitting me. I burst into tears. I had a chance now. He literally saved my life. Later I would learn that I was his 3rd Lyme diagnosis that week. The first two were unrelated young children, rushed into the ER by panicked parents when they woke unable to move their legs. Now, you should know, this is a tiny hospital in a village of 1,000 people, with an inpatient capacity of 6 beds. Talk about lucky.

You probably know someone with Lyme. A good friend has a daughter-in-law who has been struggling with it more than fifteen of her 30+ years. My son was bitten a few months after I was and had the distinct bullseye rash. He suffered the same symptoms, albeit somewhat less severe, and still has chronic pain and fatigue. I don’t have to convince anyone that this is a serious problem of epidemic levels here in the midwest U.S.

But it is not – I repeat, not – being properly addressed. Most doctors will tell you that 10 days on Doxycycline and you are cured! Know anyone cured? Me neither. I will tell you that the most help I received was from acupuncture treatments. An opthalmologist recommended sewing my eye shut – permanently. No thank you. I still have perfect vision in that eye. It always feels like it has a wad of cotton in it, but I CAN SEE.

Believe me when I say that I am enormously grateful that I have fared as well as I have with this. Many people contract Lyme and never know what has caused their chronic illness. It steals your quality of life silently and invisibly, and you are just as likely as not to never be taken seriously by a physician. I was diagnosed early and treated aggressively with days of IV antibiotics and antivirals. Not to mention the anti-nausea and pain meds I received that allowed me to s l o w l y recover. Had it not transpired that way, I am certain I wouldn’t be here today.

There is ground breaking treatment available in some of the most progressive clinics in the world, but it is not covered by insurance. Most of the treatment is not – if you can convince a doctor that you need treatment at all. There are hundreds of videos available by people from all walks of life. Many famous and wealthy people have documented their own battles, and told of the years and millions they spent to get well. I don’t believe I’m an alarmist – but this is alarming. Please educate yourself and your loved ones, and push for help if you are suffering. Never settle for medical gaslighting. If you have Lyme, your life is at stake.

Jul16

Road Trip!

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Years before GPS existed I drove from my home in Traverse City, Michigan to stay with friends in San Fransisco. You know, I went to the AAA office and picked up my maps and itinerary. As I was getting close, I called for directions through the maze of suburbs to their home. They instructed me to meet them at a restaurant at the highway exit. It would be easier to follow them back. We came from 3 different directions and met for dinner. As we were leaving the restaurant one friend said, “oh, I have to stop at the hardware. I need an adapter to plug 2 phones into the same phone jack.” I reached into my purse and pulled one out. “Like this? Will this work?” After the laughter died down, they said, “who are you – Mary Poppins?!”

Yes. I am the real Mary Poppins. I’m magic. When you live just a tiny bit more curious than scared, life works like that. Synchronicities abound. Daily. I have more stories like that than you have time for. Thousands. In many ways it seems I have lived a charmed life. Not an easy life, but a natural life, in accordance with the laws of nature. When I can stay out of my own way, that is…

So while we are on this subject of enlightenment (…wait. what?) let’s listen to another hour long video. I promise not to make a habit of it, but these 2 are important. Because honestly, last Sunday’s video with Liz Gilbert and this one with Kyle Cease will get us free. I WANT FREE.

When I was in high school my Mom taught me to spell guru: G-U-R-U, saying that I would never need one. But I do love these two teachers. They are readily available any hour of the day if you have access to a streaming device and internet service. Here Kyle Cease describes the life experience of our culture, across generations to today. Listen all the way through to get all the gifts – to find why you are my Mom.

Because being free now sure would feel good. That’s a joke…now and free are the same thing. Do you think I’m funny? Well, jump in, let’s get on the road to enlightenment. And we will stay in our lane, I promise. We’re taking the local…

Kyle’s 12 Principles: 1) You are loved; 2) God hears you; 3) You are love; 4) You are free now; 5) You are safe; 6) You are worthy; 7) You are abundant; 8) You are magic; 9) Others forget they are loved; 10) It’s always passing; 11) Everything is perfect; 12) You are light.

Jul14

burn, baby, burn

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Freedom is our promised birthright. Freedom. What does that even mean? I can’t speak for you. For me it means enlightenment – a lofty, etherial sounding concept – which is exactly the same thing as mental health.

My entire 70+ years I have been in a personal battle for my mental well being. Against the insanity, the slavery, of trying to live up to so many expectations. Yours. My own. My father’s, my mother’s, my loved ones, my teachers, the adults I looked to for guidance. Religious leaders, spiritual counselors, co-workers, employers, the creditors and people I owe money (phew!)…the list goes on. And on.

When will I be enough? When will my debts be paid? Well, I’m here to tell you. This oppression stops today. Say it with me: “All my debts are paid, both seen and unseen.” ALL MY DEBTS ARE PAID. I have an eternal flame in my soul and from today forward, I am throwing anything on the fire that tugs at holding me back from absolute freedom and well-being. If you feel that I owe you anything at all, monetarily or physically or emotionally, write it off now. Stop looking for me to come through for you. It’s not going to happen. I’m spent. And I am forgiving myself TODAY.

Does this mean I won’t be paying my bills? Of course not. It isn’t a negation of any responsibility. If anything, it’s stepping up for it. Does this mean you can’t count on me to keep our agreements? Of course you can; our agreements are just that. But I will behave with integrity because I can, not because I should. No more shoulding on myself. As Liz Gilbert says here, she’s done being the orderly in her family’s mental institution. I am announcing my retirement. Consider this my two minute notice.

For church today, let’s listen to Liz Gilbert. She’s figured it out ahead of us, and it might save your life. It’s an hour long video and I highly recommend you find the time any way you can. Especially if you are tired, owe money, have a stack of paperwork or emails waiting in your inbox, feel the least bit obligated anywhere. I am telling you truly – you cannot afford to wait. You can thank me later, but you don’t owe me a thing. I free you to show up in my life any way you choose.

“In my defenselessness my safety lies.” – ACIM

Jul5

can you come out to play?

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Yesterday I confessed the sadness I am suffering through right now. I am grieving. And it doesn’t seem to ever completely leave me. I guess that is the truth of grief. It peels away in layers. It’s the onion of life. The brief visit with my former husband, less than 90 minutes over an awful breakfast at a greasy spoon, really triggered me. The triggers remind me that there is still hurt hiding deep in the bone and sinew, needing to be coaxed out and witnessed through the eyes of love until it flows out with the tears. With MERCY. Oh, mercy.

My adulthood has been rife with the grief of loss and dysfunction. I remember going to see a therapist after a breakup in my late twenties. The counselor told me not to come back until I had been to a few ACOA meetings (Adult Children Of Alcoholics.) So I found a meeting to attend in a local church. I remember the first time I went vividly. It changed my life. I walked in timidly and picked up the handout on the seat. And read the first line: Adult children of alcoholics guess at what normal behavior looks like. Well shit.

At that point in time I was already divorced from one alcoholic. Today at the age of 70 I am still dealing with the effects of alcoholism, despite the fact that I don’t drink – and I always will be. It’s affected every aspect of my families’ mental and physical health.

But yesterday was an especially difficult day for me because of the memories raised by Tuesday morning’s visit. I am acutely lonely. I say acutely because I am chronically lonely, and I suspect most of us are. We all feel like we are missing something much of our waking hours and throughout our dreams. Because we are missing something. We are missing the connection of truly being seen, of being witnessed within the nurturing boundary of acceptance, of mercy. So when I say acutely lonely, I just mean I am consciously remembering people and events and actively feeling the loss. As in crying my eyes out all day. If we’ve gotta feel it to heal it, bring it on.

I was actually missing a friend of 20 years who I went no contact with around the same time my marriage was ending. Both she and my husband were alcoholics who were unwilling to face their demons and I was sick (literally) and tired of cleaning up their messes. So it happens that I practiced going no contact decades before it was a thing. Before anybody talked about it. And I have been on the other side of that, of course. Had people I thought were the best of friends cancel me, block me, refuse to talk. I can be a mean, ornery mother. Usually it’s because I see that beloved putting up with abuse and I speak up, out of turn, in a state of rage. I was born with an internal Justice switch. I am ugly when it gets flipped. There is no weapon on earth that’s a match for my vocabulary or fortitude when my psyche declares war. And then I behave poorly, if it is with the best of intentions. You might like having me in your corner…if only I would wait to be asked…

I had a dear friend come to me in earnest seeking advise about whether or not to force their spouse into therapy. Exasperated when faced with her codependency yet again, and after decades of gentle coaching, I lost my shit. I told her that her husband did not need a therapist – he needed an exorcist. And I believe that to this day. But she dropped our friendship like a hot potato. That has happened more than once I must confess. It doesn’t mean I don’t grieve the loss. Codependency rears it’s ugly head in many ways on a daily basis. It’s a monster of an addiction to wrestle. Believe me, I get it. But I am not playing with it. I am serious when I say that it will kill you. It is a far more dangerous dis-ease than cancer will ever be.

In many ways, it seems the older I get the less I know. But what I do know, I know for sure. Denial would be futile. I’m not playing anymore. Life is not a game. No one is getting out of here alive. Your death may or may not be negotiable, in terms of the timing or the method – that is one of those things I do not know. The quality of your life experience is knowable. That is the ONLY THING you have any control over. And as I was told almost 50 years ago by my therapist Jo – the quality of your life experience is directly determined by YOUR ABILITY TO COMMUNICATE. And you can tell the truth or you can lie. There is no gray area in between. I am never going to lie to you because I’m afraid of losing you. It’s a compromise that inevitably injures us both. Codependency is straightforward. It’s an attempt at denial. It’s a self betrayal. AND IT IS A SET UP. It is a flagrant criminal act against the laws of nature and your soul will not tolerate it. Not for one minute.

Dear God how I would love to have a friend or friends nearby to do stuff with. How I miss going to the garden center early in the morning for our annuals, sitting in shallow water in our foldable beach chairs, laughing on the sofa with popcorn and a movie, meeting halfway for coffee. And decorating our homes together. You bring me a new picture you happened across at a garage sale and I’ll get out the hammer. I’ll come help you pack for that move and bring lunch. May the exchange ever even itself along as our mutual interests deepen.

I absolutely treasure the friends I have now. They are far more present mentally and emotionally, but they are not available physically. They are still working full time or no longer live nearby. This often happens with age, after retirement. The husband wants to move to a warmer climate; the adult children need us more than we imagined they would. Health concerns take precedent; finances are different. The balance of life has become trickier and harder to manage. No one is to blame for my current loneliness. I moved 2 hours south after the divorce to make a fresh start, and five years later moved back north to a resort town on the edge of nowhere. I missed my son. It’s beautiful here. And remote. That has it’s advantages (it’s not in the “drop by zone” for one thing) and disadvantages.

But today is a good day. I am far more curious than scared. There is a new paradigm coming into awareness, and it brings exciting energy. I am healing. You are healing. Our culture, our mutual reality, is healing. I am ever expanding and becoming more and more willing to live from my cracked-open heart. Can you come out to play?

Jul4

Happy Independence Day, Hero

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Any chance you might have an issue with authority? If so, I’m just sure we can be friends. To say I am resistant to suggestion would be an understatement, and yet I am constantly seeking advise, input, more input, ideas, opinions and help from any number of sources.

My dearest friends will attest that I directly – and regularly – say to them, “Tell me what to do.” They think I’m funny. They have known me long enough to know that telling me what to do is futile. Even when I ask, there’s maybe a 30% chance of follow through. Maybe.

Now let us not confuse my fierce independence with any remote understanding of healthy boundaries. Those close to me have also seen me make absolutely stupid decisions just for the sake of being contrary. What can I say? Growing up is hard to do…

Just this week I had a bit of a tete-a-tete with my past. My ex called and wanted to talk. This would generally send me into a tailspin of anxiety. What was he up to?

We met a few days later for breakfast. It was quite pleasant. He is 17 years older than me and has had some serious health challenges. So, he is face to face with his own mortality. That is humbling. But it was just a few hours later that he called again. Strange. This time he barked at me to pull up a website on my computer. He wanted me to look at a car for sale. He had asked about my Jeep at breakfast. The previous time we met for a “catch up” the Jeep had limped into the restaurant parking lot squealing and lurching. It’s the old car I had from our marriage, now 13 years dissolved. It’s on it’s last leg before the scrap heap and I’ve been trying to figure out how I will afford to replace it.

When he asked about it I had quipped, “It’s running well. It’s about time to think about looking for a car.” Ever-so nonchalant. Pardon me, but I’ve had more than 30 years with him to learn to generalize my answers. I give out very little information. It’s not so much a conversation as an interrogation, or a relationship as a transaction. He is never without an agenda.

Sure enough, several hours later and he’s found me a car. Mind you, we had not discussed anything about my looking for a car. No details were asked for or volunteered, no direct inquiries, no interest feigned. This was entirely based on his assumptions. He found me a car. Another Jeep (I had not been considering buying another Jeep. For one thing, I can barely climb in and out of this one anymore.)

This is how that second phone call went: “Hi. What’s up?” I was taken by surprise. “Get to your computer! Look at this website!” I had no idea what this was about until my laptop had booted up and I asked for the website name. It was a car dealership. “Look at this Jeep! If you’re interested I could go drive that for you tomorrow.” As if I don’t drive…or he has any mechanical prowess. But I do forget sometimes how utterly incompetent I am. He sounded like he was on speed (what is in those Manhattans?) He desperately needs a project, and he needs it to be me.

Wait. What? S L O W the heck down…why are you directing me to look at a car? Well…he could “help me” buy that. Sadly, I’ve also got 30+ years experience knowing that this is going to be a long, convoluted process that will somehow end up costing me sleep, peace of mind, money, and self respect. I graciously declined. I have learned a little over the decades. For better or worse, I have learned to be my own hero.

I thanked him for his concern and generosity. I don’t want to generate any animosity. I’m careful not to invite the repercussions of his wrath. I am struggling with my health also, but unlike my ex, I am also struggling financially. There was no room for partnership in that marriage, nor fairness in the divorce. I receive spousal support (the new word for alimony) which is a small fraction of his income and 90% of mine. Less than law would allow, but as much as I was willing to fight for. I wanted out intact. Okay, that’s not true – I wanted out alive. It was too late for intact.

My former husband is not a bad man. He is charming, highly intelligent and extremely like-able. There are many wonderful things about him, and I wish I knew how to have him in my life. He is what is known as a vulnerable narcissist. He would do anything to help. It’s just gonna have a few little almost invisible strings attached…kinda like walking into a spiderweb. Sticky.

Now with the hard-earned wisdom of distance, all of this simply makes me enormously sad. We are both alone in our old age. But I know my true value. Not only will he never know mine; he will never know his own. We are all so very fragile. As Maira is inclined to notice, we are all striving, and we are all heroic.

Jun28

we all have to find our way…

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In my efforts of late to get myself organized and live more simply, I’ve been cleaning out old notebooks. I came across a journal entry from years ago explaining polychronic time. I just this week discovered that many cultures around the world, especially indigenous cultures, still practice polychronic time. Here in our western society, and the (eh-hmmm) more advanced cultures, we live according to monochronic time.

Anthropologists tell us that cultures such as the Inuits of Alaska, that use polychronic time, tend to value relationships over schedules. They understand that time is unpredictable. For instance, they might go to work according to the tides, so their schedule changes regularly. The scientific term chronemics is used to describe how time is perceived; it’s considered a sub-genre in the study of nonverbal communication.

This is fascinating to me. Let’s just say that I have always had a loosey-goosey relationship with time. Oh – I mean fluid…yeah – that’s the word I’m looking for. Full disclosure, I often time travel while my body is sleeping, but I’ve had it happen during meditation, and even during bodywork sessions. I don’t know how it happens, don’t know why, don’t care. I visit other countries, even other planets, telepathically communicate with other species. Do we all do this as children and I’ve just never outgrown it? No idea. I do know, sure as I am sitting at the keyboard writing this today, that time and gravity are the same thing. Or intricately interdependent. Blur the limitations of one and you blur the limitations of both. Time and space are false concepts we were indoctrinated with here in this cult where we temporarily reside. Don’t let anyone convince you otherwise.

It was a psychologist I was seeing in my 30’s who taught me the difference between this phenomena and fantasy. Because I will close my eyes in one place and time and open them in another, fully present, all 5 senses fully intact. It took years of practice not to panic when this happened, so that I could stay with the experience and not jolt myself back. The first thing I learned was to look down at my hands and focus on my breath. This allowed for a few seconds at least to listen, smell, maybe look around if I felt it was safe to do so, and try to grasp the situation I was in. This was precluded, of course, by the belief that it must be happening for a reason. I had slipped into another time and space for a reason, somehow to be of service there, even if for a few seconds. Now I trust it. It might be something as seemingly innocuous as speaking the right sentence, something the stranger I was with may not have known to say. I never know.

Most of the time this experience is random and happens to me. Every once in awhile I can initiate it for my own intent, usually because I want to gather information when I know a loved one is in trouble. Or locate a lost pet. A few times I’ve had close friends ask me about some concern of theirs and I managed to make it work. I saw Elisabeth Smart in an underground bunker this way and assured my distraught friend that she was alive, and, that she would be recognized on the street by a passerby one day soon. I once located a missing man who had drowned, tangled in a pile of junk at the bottom of a lake, stuck in the torn webbing of an old lawn chair. He asked me not to disclose his location; he preferred not to be found. I’ve woken early after spending the night in a city during an earthquake. I knew I was in Asia by looking at the people around me, and so turned the news on the television to discover an earthquake had hit Kobe, Japan during the night. Apparently I’d volunteered as a rescue worker.

This shit happens to me all the time. If I say I’m tired, believe me; I worked all night. It used to freak me out. As a young child I’d run screaming to my parents, thinking I was dying. I must have been a fun kid. I remember the first time I saw the television show Quantum Leap, first feeling validated and relieved that other people were having these experiences also, and then thinking, no, they didn’t get that right. I certainly had no sidekick or homing device (other than my body.)

But I’ve gone off on a tangent here. The point, if there is one, is that time has never made sense to me. All through my working life I barely managed to keep to a schedule. I will probably never know if any of this serves any kind of useful purpose, but I am 100% certain that the reality we know through our five senses is but the tip of the iceberg. Our existence is so much larger and richer than what this obvious, or gross, reality would have us believe.

I’ve long revered the teacher Carolyn Myss, who says that “intuition is organic divinity – God in your blood and bones.” I know this is true. And decades ago, when she first published Anatomy of the Spirit, she inadvertently taught me an invaluable tool for protecting myself: “I command my spirit into my body in full at this time.” It’s all I’ve ever needed. Well, that and the Lord’s Prayer. I learned that in high school from reading the Gnostic Gospels. Christ predicates it in the Sermon on the Mount by telling us it’s the only prayer we will ever need, and I accepted that as truth with a capital T. It has served me in some some mighty scary encounters.

So where does this leave us today? It leaves me thinking about art, creativity, imagination, the intuitive workings of life. I’ve always joked, “all’s fair in love, war, and art.” That pretty much covers everything. Art is any thought, word, or action that is expansive or constructive. Art is alchemy.

Artists are natural alchemists, and time and space are their mediums. We think it’s paint or paper or metal or film, but those are merely convenient materials at hand. Artists instinctively know that we are eternal beings of light and vibrating energy. The wizard Maurice Sendak knew. By the way – he never wrote a children’s book in his life. He says he wouldn’t know how. That statement alone opens a continuous hallway of portals to explore…

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Jun26

Fortune Sides With She Who Dares

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Decades ago I bought a cheap cuff at a sidewalk fair. I simply loved the inscription: Fortune Sides With She Who Dares. The inside of the bracelet also has an inscription: I Will Make My Optimism Come True.

This thing is made of some cheap alloy and is worn thin, tarnished and bent out of shape. I treasure it. I will make my optimism come true, it says. Long before the concept of “toxic positivity” came into being I was busy re-inventing myself for the umpteenth time. Turns out, it’s a way of life. As they say, it beats the alternative. But I’ve never been toxically positive. Those who know me will attest that I’m barely positive at all. I lean towards the cynical view of life, but really only in the short term. I am eternally optimistic. And only ever momentarily deterred.

My seventh decade is proving a daunting challenge. Perhaps most of my generation have this in common. We grew up with a lot of cultural expectations about what our old age would look like and those are all proving to be untrue. Health concerns aside, my retirement income doesn’t cut it any more. Retirement was great while it lasted; it’s no longer practical. For starters, the appliances are mocking me. The dishwasher’s heating element is burnt out (a metaphor?) and last night’s lightning turned the clothes dryer into R2D2. It’s blinking frenetically and won’t quit talking jibberish.

So I am having to learn new skills. The work I did to support myself in the past isn’t a viable option as I can no longer spend hours on my feet. I’m learning technical skills now and looking forward to expanding my earning potential, reinventing myself still and again. My lifelong curiosity serves me well. And I do have some wisdom to share, and hopefully a modicum of inspiration.

My Mother was the epitome of optimism and determination. On those days when I can barely get out of bed, or I’m really feeling down and defeated, I remember to “channel my inner Doris…” She never lost her sense of humor. Upon hearing us children complain she would often quip drolly, “other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, how was the play?” She was a master of perspective.

I have lost small fortunes in my life. I have joked when people asked me what I do for a living, “I’m a career researcher…” while wishing I had stuck with something, anything, been more consistent and made wiser investments. Exercised my intellect more and emotions less, perhaps loved myself a little more. I suppose if I’m paying attention, I fall in and out of love with myself a dozen times a day. In truth, I’ve never understood the tenet “love yourself.” That sounds rather airy-fairy to me. But I do know how to love my life. If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times: you just have to be a fraction more curious than scared. Some days a fraction is all I can muster.

So by measure of risk taking, I can only say that I wish I’d done more of that – taken bigger risks on myself. Trusted myself more deeply, invested in my own creativity. I wish I’d learned earlier that boundaries are the property lines by which we proclaim ownership of ourselves and keep out the thieves who would steal our souls.

Georgia O’Keeffe said “I’ve been absolutely terrified every moment of my life, and I never let it keep me from a single thing that I wanted to do.” She Who Dares. Turns out there are a lot of people in this boat with me. We will show up every day – making our optimism come true. How will YOU show up brave today?

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