millimeters

I'm nearly to the end of a book entitled The Snow Leopard by Peter Matthiessen. It chronicles his expedition through a remote region of the Himalayas (maybe that's redundant?) with a fellow scientist. He also goes into detail about his concurrent spiritual/meditative journey. Highly recommended for anyone interested in eastern religions, presence, and nature. I've gotten a little bogged down in some of the history (true confessions: I've skipped about three pages because I just couldn't handle the dry facts and the change in pace). Right now I'm reading about his descent back to civilization, which isn't going very well. Mood swings and culture shock that have shaken the equanimity he built during the expedition's stay at a remote monastery village high in the mountains. There's a sense of futility that I can relate to. The throw your hands in the air why bother kind where you try to so hard to build a skill (like patience), and then when the shit hits the fan, you react in the knee-jerk way you always have. It makes you question the point of trying, but maybe the explosions get a little smaller or they take more kindling to provoke. I'm sure there's some incremental change that is just too hard to sense when you're in the throes of reacting while simultaneously feeling like a failure. The more I learn about therapy (both giving and receiving), the more I realize that change happens in the increments. You can't hold out for some sudden transformation because it doesn't work that way. Movement happens when you keep showing up in whatever little way you can manage. Sometimes I use the analogy of filling a sink: it will happen even if you're just adding one drop at a time. Granted, you have to make sure the plug fits, but that's a whole other metaphor. And now for the other exercise of the day:

i stood in the rain
listening to the chorus
of puddles filling

//

that burned bridge may not
be the only way to cross;
build another one

picture: a bridge in Portland, OR (sorry, can't remember which one), October 2011, cross-processed slide film, Canon Tlb 

meandering

My dad's side of the family consists of a lot of talkers, which is ironic given the austerity with which he communicates (although there is a common goof streak between brothers). Maybe he gave up trying with a house full of gabbers? While I was in NC last week, I saw two uncles that I haven't seen in about ten years and they spoke in equal volume, but very different content. One could talk of nothing but medical problems and ways in which the world is out to get him. The other (pictured), touched on a broad range of topics from pedophiles in the Catholic church to stacking firewood for his grouchy mother-in-law to the benefits of Obama (who knew). Sometimes I wonder what I would be like if my family hadn't left the rural part of central NC where I was born. Would I have found my way to the same interests? or would I spend my time griping about the price of pork boston butts at the Food Lion while I tamp down Donald Trump signs in my front yard?

Anyway, I realized while I was down there just how much time my brother and I used to spend outdoors. I thought my love for nature was somewhat recent (say the last 10 years or so), but the more I think about it, the more I can see that it's been there all along. Catching lightning bugs at dusk. Wandering down to the creek behind my grandmother's house. Sneaking off to the park when we were supposed to stay put until our mom got home. Fishing for hours on end at our aunt's lake house. Getting eaten alive by mosquitoes at our other aunt's house because we refused to come inside until the last possible minute. Playing catch in the back yard until it got so dark someone would get hit by the ball (usually me). There's no point to this list except to say that I cannot wait until the weather warms up so I can while away as much time as possible outside with comfortable digits. In the meantime, we leave for the other side of the equator in 8 days, where we will hopefully get more than our fill of the great outdoors. This incohesive post was brought to you by feeling distracted by the amount of planning still left despite the ridiculous amount I've already done! Now for the haiku:

i prefer the sound
of rustling leaves over the
chatter in my head

picture: my dad's second oldest brother who lives in the mountains of NC, February 2016, film, Leica M6

naval gazing

I'm tending to the animal farm alone this evening. You wouldn't think feeding two cats, walking a dog, and doing the dishes would take all that long, but it adds up. It's nights like this when I wonder why push the streak? Why not just finish that episode of friday night lights (for the second time), muddle through the necessities, and go to bed? You might be wondering the same thing given the high quality of this writing! There's something energizing and challenging about doing something for a month. It's uncomfortable, and it requires sacrifice, but the end is within spitting distance. Committing to something for a year requires more endurance and reliance on muscle memory, much like all those marathons we've run. It also requires fighting off the who-really-cares-about-this and the what-good-is-this-anyway feeling and all the other doubts that come along with doing a thing without being able to hold the benefits in your hand. I can totally see why people give up on all kinds of goals. Lucky for me, I'm too stubborn and compulsive, which is not to say I'm above giving up (and sometimes quitting is necessary). But for now, I'm still sending this jumble of words out there. Here's a short version of our walk this morning:

piles of steaming mulch
that smelled of earthy citrus almost
made up for cold toes

picture: the dog house slash laundry line for the caretakers of our jungle house airbnb, Ilha Grande, Brazil, September 2009, cross-processed slide film, Agfa Optima (can you spot the sleeping dog?) 

circling the runway

All of my writing/thinking time has been consumed by trip planning today, so keep those expectations nice and low. We're trying to cobble together a trip to Australia, New Zealand, and Tasmania, which we've been thinking about for months, but neither of us can manage to fight our various anxieties to buy the plane tickets (charrow = money, mine = flying over the ocean for hours on end). BUT neither of these fears is likely to go away in the years to come and we have no way of knowing other factors (family health being of primary concern). Charrow is always worried about money, and I can't foresee a time when flying 15 hours over open water is going to make me warm and fuzzy. May as well go now while there are no other creatures to care for.

Unrelated: tonight we couldn't get a mason jar lid off (just the top, not the ring closure), and it suddenly occurred to me that the bottle opener lip of the can opener might work better than trying to poke a knife underneath an impossibly tight seal. It popped open with no effort whatsoever. Can I tell you how many times I've hurt my fingernails trying to accomplish the same feat? How did that not occur to me sooner? Ever have those moments when you realize the simple solution has been sitting in the drawer right in front of you? And now in short form:

poke and pry in vain
trying everything until
pop! goes the brain cells

picture: Charrow on our hike up a short stretch of the Buckeye Trail off the PCH, northern CA, June 2014, film, Canon Tlb 

a matter of taste

According to my doctor, whom I can no longer see because our insurance company went out of business and she doesn't take our new insurance (not bitter), I should only drink decaf coffee or preferably none at all. There's some reflux/swallowing situation and a persnickety stomach that she thinks would be better served without the extra acidity and irritation of caffeine. I refused to comply for awhile on the basis that I barely drink coffee compared to most people - 8 oz a day with breakfast. Then I tried half-caff with little noticeable improvement. So I finally gave up and went full decaf during the week and had "real" coffee on the weekends because I just can't bring myself to drink decaf all the time. It's not about the caffeine. I noticed no difference in functioning or energy level, and I get irritated when people whine about how they need caffeine when what they really need is sleep and water (Self-righteous, party of one). If they made decaf that tasted the way the other coffee we drink tastes, I would happily switch over. The problem is I LOVE the coffee we drink. My partner has worked in specialty coffee (think non-starbucks/smaller companies with high quality beans roasted at a medium profile and respectable sourcing ethics) for over ten years. I worked in a specialty shop for about 3.5 years. I have developed a serious weakness for fancy coffee (and a disdain for people who drink corner store motor fuel just to get their fix, sorry to any fiending readers willing to drink anything). Coffee is also a part of my morning trifecta of happiness, which involves a breakfast that I've been obsessed with for about 5 years (the exact same breakfast every day, if at all humanly possibly) and reading a book while I eat.

When I went on my summer music pilgrimage, I switched to regular coffee for the purposes of sharing the excess from my french press (just try sharing decaf and see how many scornful looks and wrinkled noses come your way). I planned on sharing for two reasons: I knew from experience that people were going to scoff at my coffee-making paraphernalia (hand grinder, scale) so sharing was a way to reduce the mockery, and it was a damn good excuse to not drink decaf. Ever since the trip, I've had difficulty making the switch back to my ascetic decaf ways, which causes guilt and reflux. I worry that I'm causing permanent damage or somehow creating the conditions for the dreaded C word by damaging tissues or whatever. This is the problem with health-related decisions. They all involve what are called "intertemporal choices," which is when the choice you make now will affect the possibilities available later. Put another way, it's the choice between the cost/benefit of something now vs. the cost/benefit of something in the future. Like going to bed. The perceived cost of turning off that movie now outweighs the future benefit of feeling rested in the morning. Or drinking less alcohol. The perceived benefit of having that last beer vs the future cost of being more hung over. Or the perceived cost of drinking decaf vs. the benefit of better digestive health. Blah blah blah. Basically I'm feeling whiny and guilty and irritated that I have a sensitive body when other people treat theirs like complete shit and don't appear to suffer any consequences. Moving on to our short form for the day:

measured and consumed
with care, I can't give up the
highlight of my day

picture: the window of a coffeeshop whose name I can't remember, NYC, August 2011, film, Canon Tlb 

peer pressure

New Years makes me grumpy. Maybe it's the loss of sleep (we didn't even stay up until midnight!) or the excessive amounts of homemade pizza I ate or the annoying amount of trash in the park leftover from fireworks or the champagne bottles discarded by people who attended said fireworks. Could also be the gray cold day. Or the pressure to make New Year's Eve special, which ultimately ends with disappointment. My partner is really good at letting go of that pressure to crank up the volume on NYE, but I'm not quite there. Objectively, we had a very laid back and enjoyable time with friends' making the aforementioned pizza with their 3-year-old. We walked there. We didn't have to get dressed up or yell over loud music or pretend to give a sh*t about making conversation with people we barely know. Subjectively, I went to bed at 11:15 feeling lame even though I detest the kinds of activities deemed "exciting" by most people's standards. Yet another instance where I really need to choose my choice. Today, despite my crankiness, has been nice enough. How can I complain when I got to read a book and attend to some much needed house cleaning? Why get all fussy about a night that amounts to a cultural phenomenon? Need to work on this. In the meantime, here is the last hour in short form:

with tired burning eyes
and heavy lids, I read while
cats lounge on my limbs

only the essentials

There's a concept in a guided meditation by Dr. Ann Webster* that I've been interested in lately. She advises listeners to only keep the tension that they feel is necessary and to let go of the rest. I'd never heard anyone give permission to maintain tension. If you think about it though, we need a certain amount of tension to function, whether that tension comes in the physical form (musculoskeletal requirements to move) or emotional (healthy conflict that leads to better relationships or stress that precipitates action, etc). I've started to take note of where the excess tension is in my life. There's a ton of physical tension. Holding my muscles more rigidly than necessary during a run, scrunching at the trunk while I sit on the couch, clenching my jaw, the list goes on. Then there's the surplus of interpersonal and emotional strain. The anxiety spin. The blame game. The second guessing. The preemptive moaning and groaning about whatever X person is going to say or do in Y situation. On and on I could go, but there are homemade pizzas to be made and banjos to be practiced. I've decided that keeping this blog rolling is a tension that I should hold on to. It's stressful, and frankly, kind of aggravating, and it's unclear who's even out there. But I have to remind myself that I'm not doing it for you (sorry). I'm doing it for me as a way to play around with words and images and get outside the hum-drum everyday box to gain perspective. So my NEW goal is to post a haiku a day for the next year. This might be easier said than done if we take a trip that mucks around with internet access, but we will see how close I can get. In the meantime, here are the last additions to the December project:

some days I muddle
through the process wondering
what's the point of this?

//

without it you flop
and wobble, but only keep
the tension you need

//

do you need that vice
grip to avoid danger or
can you let it go?


*I first encountered Dr. Webster when I attended a mind/body conference held at Harvard Medical School. I recommend her guided meditations. I feel like I can focus better with the help of someone's voice.

picture: clothesline during sunset after a torrential downpour, near Kennett Square, PA, July 2013, film, Canon Tlb 

find your meaning

I've recently become obsessed with spotting the statue of liberty on my train rides to/from Manhattan. It started on a particularly difficult day about a month ago. Another bout of professional inadequacy roared through my brain, and for some reason I had a moment on the train when I realized that I had gone from living on a military base in the piedmont of NC as a small child to an adult living in the chaos of NYC, riding the train across the Manhattan bridge to my job as a therapist, living with my partner, and taking care of other living beings. I don't know, something about the distance between those two states of being hit me as an accomplishment, even though I know that there's a bias wrapped up in the conclusion. Am I somehow more "accomplished" than the people who never stray 10 miles from home? No, but for me it feels important to realize that I have taken certain kinds of risks and am living a life that is proof of the ability to do hard things. I also have a ton of privilege and opportunity that makes my challenges a walk in the park compared to others, but it's important to hold both ideas and not dismiss one's accomplishments. Something about the raised arm of the statue of liberty triggered this thought process, and I'm sure there's some contentious back story that throws stones through my vision of it as a symbol for strength. It feels cheesy, and I'm embarrassed to admit it, but I'm also happy to have a trigger for helpful thoughts that keep me from getting too caught up in my failure narrative.

rattling over
the bridge, her arm extends through
fog, a reminder

//

walking along 6th
idly texting when a damn
pigeon grazed my phone

(yes, that really happened)

picture: fog rolling through the NC mountains, somewhere between Warren Wilson College and Boone, July 2013, film, Canon Tlb (because I don't really have a picture of the statue of liberty or one looking the correct direction down the east river) 

tonic

This evening I listened to Mary Oliver's interview from the On Being podcast while I made a batch of my breakfast "bread" (a.k.a. almond honey cake/bread thing that is hard to classify but is amazing with coffee). What an incredible person she is. I've started about 5 sentences and trashed them all because I can't capture the way the podcast made me feel. The closest I can get is that feeling I associate with the resolving note of a song, the tonic or "home note," as it's often referred to. It's the one that feels round and whole and like you've finally collapsed into your chair after an exhausting run up and down the stairs. She made so many seemingly simple but incredibly powerful observations. Knowing very little about her other than the weight of her name, I'm excited to learn that the natural world plays such a major role in Oliver's work. A quick google search reveals that me not knowing about her naturalism is sort of like not knowing that Oprah had a talk show. Oh well, at least I'm here now. And here are today's not-very-related haikus about running on a day when it feels harder than I want it to:

I imagine each
person having their best run
to get through my own

//

the cascade of leaves
glinted in the sun as I
hoped for it to end*

*more about this conflict in a future post

picture: a rangy tree at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden, May 2012 (?), film, Canon Tlb 

what's your jam?

Not a single day goes by without some sort of music, whether it's coming from my own hands or filtered through my music box (otherwise known as an ipod because I still haven't put music on my phone). Supposably*, there are people out there who just don't care for music, much like there are people who don't like chocolate (sorry friend I know who doesn't like chocolate - if you ever get around to reading this you will find out that I still think you're a weirdo). I'm not sure what I would do without either, but especially music because I use it in so many ways. There's wallowing, cheering up, slowing down, speeding up, connecting with others, getting away from others, concentrating, distraction, feeling creative, and stepping outside the uptight box I live in, which can sometimes creep back into the making of music and really ruin what should be a good time.

In old-time music, musicians gather in what are called "jams," which result in music that is of the moment. There is no sheet music and there's no one way to play a song. There are agreed upon melodies and basic structures/conventions to be followed, otherwise it would be chaos, but for the most part, it is a collective creation that comes out of whoever is in the jam at any given moment. It's incredible, and I had no idea it existed before attending the Swannanoa Gathering, an old time music camp near Asheville, NC. It's also my personal kryptonite because everyone has a role and unless the jam is large, it is hard to hide. My ear isn't sophisticated enough to pick up a tune I don't know right away, whether it's the melody or the chord changes, and there will always be tunes I don't know. I'm working on it, although I'm still too chicken to work on it with other people. For now, I'll leave you with some old-time pictures and a few haikus (2 old-time specific and 1 universal):

fiddle bows, tapping

toes, banjos running away,

searching for the groove.

// 

circle round, sit tight

banjo on the left, guitar

to the right. now jam.

//

whatever you want

to feel, you just have to choose

the tune for the mood

example of a small jam, taken at Clifftop, a music festival in West Virginia, July 2015, film, Canon Tlb

another jam circle in the background, taken at Swannanoa, July 2014, film, Canon Tlb 

a friend's cd release party at Clifftop, West Virginia, July 2015, film, Canon Tlb 

*supposably = not a typo. inside joke for whoever gets it!

top picture: two Australian friends I met at Swannanoa playing tunes on the steps of Warren Wilson College, July 2015, film, Canon Tlb 

blender

I've spent a lot of energy trying to blend in over the years. I think that's part of what makes this blog such a fraught space: there's no other voice to pattern myself after or to drown me out. Hence my long-standing pattern of emerging and retreating, which happens both here and in every day relationships. We all do it to some extent. Standing out can feel dangerous. Hell, sometimes it IS dangerous, especially when you toe the gender line in a world where people lash out at individuals that don't fit neatly into socially constructed boxes. But most of the time, I am not in that kind of danger. I simply have trouble being seen, even in what some would consider the safest of environments. And now for the short version(s) of what goes on behind the scenes:

straighten your dunce cap
so when thoughts bubble you can
put a lid on them

//

laugh when they laugh and
follow the leader so well
no one knows you're there

//

turn questions around
laugh, scoff, dodge, retreat into
your silent corner

And here's a gratuitous mountain picture to return us all to the peaceful place (assuming you like mountains).

both pictures: hiking somewhere in the woods near Berryville, VA, 2011, cross-processed slide film 

Moving on up

Another year, another apartment. That's right: for the third year in a row, we are moving during the holiday season. On Friday, we will move from the 2nd floor to the 4th floor of our current building. Yes, another intrabuilding move! which makes 2 in 5 years. Clearly we do not like change and will try our damnedest to stay as close to "home" as possible.

I've been toying with the idea of doing one of those "year in review" posts, which I imagine is just a sneaky way to avoid the pile of empty boxes in the corner. Real time update: I tried to write the review, but I got as far as April before I realized I do not have the blogging stamina for that kind of exercise. I got about 5 hours of sleep thanks to the combination of an enjoyable New Year's Eve party, an exercise-hungry dog, and off-leash hours that end at 9am. I can't muster the energy needed for such an excavation, but I can give you a few highlights.

1. I already revealed this, but it counts as a huge adjustment, so let's say it again: we got a dog! a young, energetic, cat-crazed tank of a dog that has introduced major amounts of guilt and joy into life.

2. I survived the first semester of my mental health counseling master's program. There's no accompanying picture because you can't capture the insanity wrapped up in such an endeavor. Let's just say the workload was WAY more intense than I expected, and the class participation proved to be exhausting, but ultimately gratifying.

3. We ran two half marathons. The Annapolis half in May with my mom and the Hamptons half in September with a couple of friends from Brooklyn. Running over huge bridges is one of my favorite things to do, and the half marathon is a great distance.

4. We ran the Philadelphia Marathon for the 3rd year in a row. I won't share our actual time because pace is a touchy subject in my book, but I will say that since our first marathon we have shaved off over an hour from our total finish time. I still can't believe we run marathons because at one point in my life I expected to be relegated to the world of biking and swimming forever. The picture is near the halfway point of the race, at which point I always wonder why in the world we decided to run the whole distance.

5. I went to what I like to call "banjo camp" at Warren Wilson College, which is near Asheville, NC. It was a week of musical highs and introverted lows because of the cafeteria style eating arrangements and the social atmosphere. At every single meal, I forced myself to sit with new people or to find people that I'd already met. This may sound like nothing to some of you, but for me it was a collossal effort, which proved to be totally worth it because I made some great friends. I also got a chance to visit an old friend that I hadn't seen in almost 7 years by taking a circuitious route to VA beach on my way down to the mountains of NC. It was worth every extra mile.

6. Charrow took me to see Steve Martin and the Steep Canyon Rangers at Town Hall in NYC. It was one of the best concerts I've ever attended. It fell on the heels of reading Steve Martin's autobiography, so I felt like we were BFF's for the whole show.

7. I turned 33, and I realized that I should only plan nature-based events for my birthday. Charrow traipsed around Manhattan with me like the supportive and good-natured person that she is, but I had a lackluster day that left me feeling aggravated, overfed, and exhausted. Next year: a hike!

8. I spent an inordinate amount of time posting pictures to Instagram, which is something I resisted for a loooong time. There are way too many pet pictures and mr. Pear cameos, but I don't care because it makes me happy.

9. We took a short, but fun-filled trip to visit friends in PA that involved chickens, friendly neighbors, and many, many walks in the woods with the dogs.

10. I became an aunt! And then promptly had absolutely no time to visit my new niece, but I stalk her on the internets, and I try not to think about how I'm not around to make sure her first word is "poop."



11. I stopped procrastinating. Who knew that was even possible? But I managed to work on every assignment I had throughout the week instead of pulling all-nighters or waiting until the absolute last minute. It was a strange and liberating experience, and I realized that I don't need the pressure of timing to do well.

It's not comprehensive by a long shot, but those are the events of 2013 that stick out in my addled mind. Now it's time to get lost in the box menagerie for awhile.

where do the hours go?

When we were in Brazil last fall, we had very few responsibilities. Pretty much all we had to do was eat*, sleep, wash a few dishes, try not to get sunburned on endless hikes or gobbled up by prowling mosquitoes in the night, and amuse our 1 year old companion.  On the surface, it seemed like a lot of people on the island were in the same boat (that pun was so unintentional, but I'm leaving it in because I can't help myself).  This sign at the center of the nearby village was a hot spot for socializing and doing what looked like a whole lot of nothing. I'm sure the people on the island all have obligations and worries of their own, but their constant loitering contributed to my overinflated sense of leisure.

Fast forward about 8 months, and I can barely remember what it felt like to have nothing to do for hours on end. We've been in constant motion since we left for our Brazilian adventure. Yes, everyone is busy. New York is overflwoing with doers. So many opportunities!  So much to do!  I know people that pick up extra hours at work because they're just not sure what to do with free time, but I can't say that I have ever had that problem. I know people that make plans almost every night of the week, but if I have plans 2 days in a row, I feel like my routines (and the resulting functionality of our household) crumble and it takes days to get things back on track.

What I've been trying to do lately is reframe my idea of "free" time because in my head it seems like it should be protracted hours in which I have to figure out what I want to do with myself. But that just isn't happening right now, and won't for the foreseeable future. So I've had to chunk down and try to appreciate increments as small as 15 minutes. Some days I dive right in and spend those 15 minutes practicing my banjo or scanning film negatives or (gasp) writing a blog post.  But a lot of days, I spend those 15 minutes sitting on the couch, resentful and bemoaning how little time I have.  Before I know it, my free time is up, and I have to go finish the dishes or walk the dog or feed the cats or pack my lunch for the next day or this, or that.

And what about friendships?  You can't nurture a relationship with scraps of time, and forget about making new ones.  Well, I guess you can if go virtual, but what I'm craving is 3 dimensional face time.  I used to spend entire weekends visiting friends on a regular basis. Granted, I was single, hated my job, was apathetic toward my living situation, and did not own a dog. But there has to be a way to make time for people, right?

I've been a variety pack of contradictions lately: lonely and craving a network, too possessive of time to use it on anything besides zoning out at home, and too married to routines that make me feel functional to break the cycle. There's no pat resolution to this post. I merely wanted to use a few minutes of my newfound weekend (no more working on weekends!) to share what's been on my mind for awhile.


*Eating was not actually as small a feat as I'm making it in this sentence. To buy groceries, we had to hike 20 minutes down into the village and then hike back up the side of the hill (I don't think it really counts as a mountain, but it was pretty steep in places) with all of our groceries in tow.

get out there

I often see the same older Asian man walking in Prospect Park.  He carries a cane and contends with a robotic hitch in his stride.  Last week I went running on a wretched winter day.  At the beginning of my loop around the park, I saw this walking man (not to be confused with crazy walking guy whom I will save for another post).  I was surprised to find my cane-toting acquaintance out on such an unpleasant day, but there he was: hugging the far edge of the drive, bent into the wind, making steady progress.

Some days he carries his cane high off the ground and some days he leans on it for support, but more often than not, he's out there.  Motoring along.