Hugs, Rainbows and the Human Spirit

“We need four hugs a day for survival. We need eight hugs a day for maintenance. And we need twelve hugs a day for growth.” Virginia Satir

My childhood home was a perfect breeding ground for anxiety. The grown-ups had so much to worry about! Furthermore, they warned me away from a myriad of dangers on a daily basis. I was stewed in angst, which, when combined with my own innate shyness, was a recipe for half a lifetime of therapy.

There was no greater master of the fear-based method of child rearing than my grandmother. Nanny, our in-house matriarch, God love her, was always ready with an admonition, or to pontificate upon reasons to mistrust the world.

When the rest of the family flocked to the New York World’s Fair to join the droves of visitors, Nanny stayed home, reminding us that she could see it on the television. When neighbors arrived for a friendly chat, she would later scowl that she “wanted nothing to do with them.” And – my personal favorite – when you tried to take her photograph, she would put a dishtowel in front of her face.

What I didn’t realize then was that she wasn’t the poster child for crotchetiness, she was a woman ahead of her time. Avoiding the neighbors and public gatherings? Social distancing. Dishcloth in front of her face? Early face mask.

Fortunately I am but a fraction of the anxious child I once was. Sorry, Nanny, I enjoy my neighbors. World’s fair? I travel the world. Fear of the camera? I pose.

It probably would have been easier for Nanny to adjust to self-isolation than for most of us.

The Washington Post published an article headed: Coronavirus is harming the mental health of tens of millions of people in U.S., new poll finds. In her quote above, Virginia Satir, the “mother” of family therapy, comments on the importance of human connection to our mental health. I am among the fortunate ones who shares my life with a partner and can still receive her prescribed dose of human contact, but those who live alone are not even getting the survival dose.

This quarantine is meant to protect us from a physical threat, a virus. To protect our health. Our physical health is endangered, and while isolation is not a cure, it it a protective measure. However, what is best for our physical well being is in this case a huge stress on our emotional well being. In many ways.

We can’t socialize, can’t go to the gym, can’t be with our children, grandchildren or other loved ones at a time when our anxiety is heightened. We are limited in our movements, perhaps completely alone. Or we are spending way too much time with one or a few co-habitants. Some are trying to work and care for their children at the same time. Others have lost their jobs. Perhaps financial disaster looms around the corner.

And life is on hold: vacations cancelled, weddings and funerals postponed. Whatever we were looking forward to is now uncertain. News of countless deaths and inadequate supplies is chilling.

This is tough. People report increased alcohol use, overeating, high levels of stress and worry, feeling out of control. Domestic violence is reported on the rise.

And nobody is getting enough hugs.

Still, I have been inspired by the inventive resourcefulness that people are applying toward keeping their spirits up. A woman in my neighborhood set up a table on a street with a water view, with tablecloth, candles, etc. and had a virtual lunch with her colleagues. My friend Mary posted that she is getting dressed up for dinner, jewelry and all. “Rainbow Trails” are popping up in towns around the world, to provide connection, community, and hope. People place rainbows in their windows or on their homes so that community children can go on a rainbow hunt. Pet adoptions are up. (A snuggly pet provides immune and nervous system benefits similar to human contact.) We are creating ways to conduct online Easter egg hunts and Seder dinners.

We are finding a silver lining, and learning that when life is whittled down to essentials, we can survive, even thrive on far less than we imagined. Indeed, as The Little Prince concluded, “It is only with the heart that one can see rightly. What is essential is invisible to the eye.”

That is the human spirit. Where would we be without each other? It appears we don’t have to find out. We still have each other.

Current Events

ISOLATION (Photo by Josh Hild on Pexels.com)

Greetings from afar and within!  My blog has been dormant for three years, although to me it just felt like a friend I hadn’t seen in a while but certainly would again.

Now, during this time of isolation and reflection, it seems the right time to reconnect. I am starting here, today. Later I may update my page: a facelift, maybe a new name. But for today I want to dive in and get the juices flowing, start expressing some of the thoughts that have been swimming around in my mind during this challenging time. 

My guess is that many of us have been going through a similar process as the coronavirus pandemic has slowed much of life to a grinding halt. My intent here is to give voice to some of the thoughts I have been having, some of comfort, some of humor, some philosophical, as we all face this challenge apart yet together.

Guilty confession: I have never been great at keeping up with the news. I am aware that this puts me very much in the minority in our world, where the news media is practically one of the major food groups. I am not saying that I have been oblivious to the goings on in the world. I maintain a steady awareness and I certainly know when something major is going on. But I have realized over the years that the blow by blow bombardment of the news media was harmful to me. I didn’t glue myself to the TV after the 9/11 bombings but the image of the toppling tower remains imbedded in my mind. I try to protect myself.

To be honest I think my news avoidance started around 7th grade, when we were required to bring “current events” articles to class. It wasn’t my favorite class then, even though now I think how quaint our news clippings from the Jersey Journal would seem to me now.

I’ve always been more drawn to the human interest side of things. But in adulthood I put on my big girl pants and tuned into NPR whenever I was driving places, which was often in rural Vermont. During Desert Storm it became obvious that what I was hearing was more projection and speculation than news, and that those theoretical musings raised anxiety. It happens a lot on every news channel….projections about elections, viruses, the weather…..and what occurred to me was that speculation is not news. And I made a choice, which instinctively was a choice that is advisable to anyone coping with anxiety: to steer clear of the what-ifs and try to stay in the moment.

This is not to say that in the case of this pandemic, speculation and projection are not incredibly useful in the scientific realm. But many people are dwelling now in the world of “what-if”. And that is not a happy place.

In a more recent effort at keeping those big girl pants on, about six months ago I subscribed to a daily email offered by CNN called 5 Things. They email you every morning with a summary of the five most important news items of the last day, with links to allow you to read further. This seemed like a good idea to keep news-phobic me informed, and I found I liked their presentation, which was tempered with intelligent humor.

So for months, reading 5 Things has been a part of my morning routine. It always opened with  a headline, followed by the line, “…..Here’s what else you need to know to get up to speed and out the door.” One morning this week I woke up thinking….they need to change that blurb because most people aren’t going out the door these days…. Sure enough, when I opened up my email, I discovered that, indeed, they had changed that blurb. Since March 24th they have revised it to, “Here’s what else you need to know to get up to speed and on with your day.”

A clever but simple revision. But still, I am finding that if I read all five things before breakfast, the last thing I feel prepared to do is get on with my day. I just want to crawl back into bed. So I read a little at a time, and space it between more nourishing activities.

Anxiety is high. Unlike me, some people feel that staying glued to the latest reports is a coping mechanism. But in my opinion, information is only one aspect of a balanced diet. Many people have recently remarked that they feel the need to stop dwelling on the news and put their devices down. That may be a good first step. The next step is to find those other ways to nourish your spirit in a time when spirit is in short supply.

My next entry will focus on exactly that.©

From the Ashes

Hello again, dear readers of A Very Small Nest. I have not entered a blog post in five months! But I am rising from the ashes, so to speak. In the months after the presidential election, we entered a self-imposed cocoon. Now, I am ready to write again. It is time to continue in a different way. Different because, if things go according to our plan, we will not be nomads much longer. The search for a “real” home has commenced!

Over two years ago we sold our house, culled our belongings and put what we wanted to keep in storage, then set out to be wanderers for a spell. Exactly two years ago plus one day, we departed from our old driveway for the last time (Facebook reminded me of this yesterday, so it must be so.)

We have developed a special relationship with our storage unit. Its address is in the memory of my phone’s GPS, and the key to the unit is always in our glove compartment. We visit it when we need clothes for the change of seasons, when we are given, or acquire, something that we can’t use right away, and just to switch things up. Even Casa Blanca is now parked at the storage facility, until our next trip or until we have a driveway again, whichever comes first.

Our interactions with the storage unit, though, are limited to the very front part, though the unit is thirty feet deep. Rear of the first several feet, everything is blocked in and out of reach. We haven’t interacted with any of that for two years! Who knows what lurks there? We only recall snatches of what we kept. When we look at potential houses, sometimes we say to each other, “Honey, did we keep that sideboard from the dining room?” Or, “Did we get rid of that blonde desk?” or “How about that blue lamp?”

Yes, the storage unit will be full of surprises when we finally empty it. I expect to be surprised not only by what we have, but by what we thought we had but have no longer. And then there is the question of how two long years of benign neglect have impacted our things. Will everything be as we remember it? Probably not.

Guilty confession: my brother’s ashes are in there somewhere.

They sat on a shelf in our house for 9 years after his death, waiting for his survivors to be inspired with a proper final resting place. When we moved out of the house, there was little to do other than store the ashes with everything else. (I’m reverent enough that I didn’t consider selling them in our big yard sale or donating them to the charity thrift store.)

Lest you think us heartless, we did have a gathering in his memory shortly after his death, during which participants each scattered a handful of his ashes into San Francisco Bay at his favorite fishing pier. But that left us with a huge box of um….. remaining remains…. that neither my sister or myself had a clue where to keep, or scatter, or put.

The existence of Richie’s ashes probably would not have crossed my mind again until we uncovered them – if it were not for two recent events: Charlie’s mother’s decision to send her husband’s ashes into space, and a recent stay at an Airbnb in Cambridge, Massachusetts for Theo’s graduation.

More about space travel for the deceased later. First, the Airbnb: An apartment on an unassuming and quiet street in Cambridge. The owners lived in the attached unit, and our rental unit was a clean if somewhat quirkily outfitted apartment. I was amused to see some Christmas decorations still on display in May, and a couple of framed but starkly unfinished amateur paintings hung on the wall. Who frames an unfinished painting?

Then, when I spent some time in the front sitting room, my eye was drawn to a bookcase shelf  that seemed to display…..was that an urn of ashes? Yes, it was. Similar to my brother’s final container in size and shape, but draped with a colorful scarf and a pendant sporting the initial “C”.  Beside it was a tiny photo in a frame that stated, simply, “Dad.”

This was all quite sweet, but it jarred me to think it was on display in a home that was now inhabited by a stream of strangers. Why hadn’t the owners removed it to a more personal and suitable location? And wasn’t it more than a little bit morbid to display such an item in guest lodgings?

Perhaps it is not my place to judge, I who have stored my brother in an impersonal and somewhat harsh environment. But I have to admit (and I am not a particularly squeamish person): the ashes on a shelf at the Airbnb kind of creeped me out. It just wasn’t right. Either put “Dad” somewhere where his loved ones will smile at his memory or somewhere he wanted to be. I’ve been trying for years to figure out where that would be for my brother.

Which brings me to Charlie’s Dad. The only instructions he left were, “Don’t put me in the ocean,” which was interesting because he spent his career on the water. And, when their only instructions are what NOT to do, those left behind have to figure out what TO do.

But this we knew: he was a lifelong fan of the space program. And of flight in general. To quote his family, the only two vessels he never actually flew were a hot air balloon and a spaceship. And so his dear wife decided to honor those two unmet dreams for him, even if posthumously. There’s a company that arranges to send a capsule of a loved one’s remains out into orbit on a satellite. It’s complicated and costly, involving an arrangement between the private company and NASA. The families of the “passengers” (may they rest in peace) are welcome at the launching.  I may very well be blogging about this event in the future. Stay tuned.

Only a small bit of one’s ashes are able to be accommodated, so the rest are disposed of at Cape Kennedy,  as a part of the package, with some additional fanfare. Understand, this is a group funeral of sorts, which has some macabre connotations in my twisted mind.

All of this makes me think. It is only fair that we leave clear instructions for our loved ones about how we would like our earthly remains to be dispensed. Lest we end up on a shelf in an Airbnb or, worse, a storage unit in Blackwood, NJ.

I’m not sure I deeply care what happens to my body after the breath of life has left it. But it you do, please don’t leave it in the hands of somebody like me. Make your wishes known while you have the chance!

Also: There may be a balloon ride in my future if my mother-in-law decides to go on a last outing with her husband before he is shipped to the launch pad. This terrifies me. So, If anything happens, make note: I have no interest in space flight. And, I agree with my father-in-law: the ocean sounds cold and harsh to me as a final resting place.

Beyond that, I still need to think on it. Let me first find a place to live out my days on this side of mortality.©

 

 

 

E Pluribus Unum

“Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me:
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”
Emma Lazarus

I didn’t grow up a very patriotic child. I was confused by the contradictions in my life.  At Catholic school, we obediently pledged allegiance and sang in our sing-song voices of the “Land of the Pilgrim’s Pride”.  Then, at home, I watched my much older siblings being swept up in the hippie movement with its slant against blind patriotism. They sang, “This land is your land.” My reaction was to take a more passive role, choosing neutrality over activism. In truth, I was caught between two worlds. I wanted to be the “good” child: school was where I thrived, after all. But I looked up to my brother and sister, and longed to join their causes.

If there was anything I believed about my country as I was growing up, however, it was the above quote and its passionate sentiment. One of the most important and special aspects of my country was its welcoming arms to immigrants. This I saw with my own eyes. This I could understand, because it resonated in my own family and the families of my friends. My mother’s family was from the Ukraine. My paternal grandmother still spoke the German of her parents, and my surname, given by my paternal grandfather, hailing from Ireland, was Kane.  My little working class neighborhood in Jersey City was home to my friends Susan Calabrese (Italian) and Paul Zukowsky (Polish). I had classmates who were African American and Puerto Rican. Lady Liberty stood proudly not far from where we lived and learned. So when they taught us that America was a melting pot, I understood this in my bones and in my blood. It made me happy, and yes, proud to be an American. E Pluribus Unum, it said on my coins: “Out of Many, One.”

Eventually, we realized that we should NOT promote the concept of the melting pot. The word “melting” implied a degree of assimilation that caused people to discard their ethnic traditions in favor of a blander American culture. Sadly, my husband Charlie’s grandfather gave up his Italian newspaper after little Charlie innocently asked him, “Can’t you read English, Grandpa?”  The reason was simple: first generation Americans fervently wanted to blend in, and rejected their old ways in their eagerness to become American. Only later, with hindsight, did we realize that this was not necessary. Or no longer necessary, because our society had reached a point at which cultural differences were not a threat, but a rich part of a beautiful tapestry being woven by the people.

So: out of many, not one, bland culture, but, indeed, one country. A country with a wealth of diversity and traditions, a multi-colored collage of individuals sharing the rights and freedoms our constitution bestows. Intoxicating stuff, really.

Not being a Pollyanna, I realize that problems have long persisted and prejudice and xenophobia remain insidious toxins. In spite of that, we have as a country been evolving in the right direction overall. Consider the fact that we just had a black president for eight years!

Until now. While I deeply believed that our open door to the “huddled masses” was a powerful part of our country’s identity that would never be rejected, it now appears that I was wrong.

Just days after the first Syrian refugees arrived here in Rutland, Vermont (a little family of four who came here for a better life for their small children), the entire refugee program is threatened to be discontinued due to Trump’s aggressive anti-immigration policies: treating all people of Muslim descent like criminals, and building walls between borders. This is not the America that made me proud. Are we becoming a place that people will flee from, rather than flee to?

Unfortunately, “reasoning” with the POTUS will get us nowhere. He is not a reasonable man. That is why last Saturday I joined the millions of protestors around the world to raise my voice against Trump. It was this formerly neutral child’s first protest march, and it was a powerful inspiration to stand next to my daughter and son among so many beautiful voices and spirits.

Tomorrow, I will join a group of protestors in Rutland, Vermont, to stand up and fight for the Syrian refugee program.

We cannot watch in helpless outrage as the very fabric of our country is unraveled.©

Boston Commons January 21, 2017

A Dark Day

“The victor will never be asked if he told the truth.” Hitler

A new day always dawns, even when your heart is heavy. And so the relentless march of time has carried us to this day, a day when a great deal will be lost. We are losing a president who, with his family, occupied the office with quiet dignity. He will be replaced by a man who belittles others, disregards longstanding ethical standards, ignores the law, and promotes values that are contrary to the very fabric of our constitution. A man whose primary motivation appears to be self-aggrandizement at any cost.

This is what we’ve come to; this is where we are.

What troubles me most is that so many people do not recognize the danger here. It goes even further. DT’s supporters have chosen to turn a blind eye to his OUTRAGEOUS behaviors: His lies, followed by denial of the lies even when faced with concrete proof. His flagrant treatment of women as sex objects. His derogatory comments toward minorities and the disabled. His refusal to follow the most basic guidelines of courtesy and civility. His tantrums when he doesn’t get his way.

In a society that has over recent years had its consciousness raised about bullying, we have elected ourselves a bully.

What does it look like to have a bully run a country? You don’t have to look far into the past to see a similar progression of events in neighboring Europe. Like DT, Adolf Hitler was voted into power at a time when the citizens of his country were disillusioned by the status quo. They were living with economic hardship and their hopes were diminished. They were ready to embrace someone who made grand promises, and to ignore the hollowness behind those promises. They were ready (and willing) to find someone to blame for their predicament, and to direct their anger there. And that anger grew into hatred, and that hatred became a murderous rage. Such a rage that 6 million were demeaned, abused beyond belief, and ultimately killed.
Don’t be mistaken! This was possible because the masses believed in a man who, like DT, convinced them that he would use the power with which they endowed him to improve their lives. A man, who like DT, had no regard for the truth, and equal disregard for humanitarian values. And whose popularity thrived despite those facts.

This frightens me, and what frightens me even more is the fact that so many people are not frightened of the damage this man can do.

I know that fear was, in fact, a significant element in this election. Fear of the changes that have taken place in our lifetime, that culminated in having a black president, gay marriage, and an overall diminishment of white privilege. Funny, the very changes that brought me the most joy in recent years are the things that our electorate masses fear. We truly live in a country divided.

After the election, it was very tempting to run away for good. We have a community of friends on Isla Mujeres. We are fortunate enough to have the means to make that happen. But in a big way, this would feel like jumping ship. I don’t want to be like a rat. Our children have to live with this, and it would feel like turning my back on them.

One of the most jarring realizations the election brought me was that the misogyny in our country is even more entrenched than the racism. If ten years ago you had asked me to predict what we would have first, a black president or a woman president, I would have guessed wrong. As a white woman, I resided in that cloud of privilege as well, though I hate to admit it.

I have had to rethink some assumptions. Watching how Hillary was demonized was sobering, and seeing DT’s behavior toward women normalized is sickening. I refuse to normalize what is happening before my eyes. Tomorrow I will attend the Women’s March in Boston with my gay son and my lesbian daughter. This is a small thing I can do. Writing this is another.

And – who knows? – maybe we will live on Isla for just part of the year, to bolster morale for the fight.©

Finding My Voice

 

January 2017

For the last year and seven months, I have been documenting our journey and my reflections along the way. Now our traveling has come to a lull. We think in terms of months, rather than days or weeks. It has become difficult to keep blogging, because there is less new material, as I have mentioned before.

Now, it is time for my writing to take a different turn.

In November, while we were enjoying our stay on the Jersey shore in the town of Ventnor, DT was elected by a minority of voters to be the first Un-President of the United States. I deeply fear that this may be catastrophic for our country and its citizens. This turn of events has divided our people, and instilled fear in many. We have yet to see what will happen when this racist, misogynistic, and dangerous man takes office, but many of us understand that the potential damage is great. Others maintain that we are being “sore losers,” and that this is just another election. I actually wish this were true!

Over the past month and a half I have been quietly witnessing the emotional accusations being flung back and forth over this issue. I have never been a very “political” person. I have always harbored the strong belief that any attempt to change the minds of those whose views oppose one’s own is futile. I have never intended this platform to be a political one, but I have recently been struggling with this. Why?

Because there are too many similarities between DT and other grandiose, despotic, fascist, and ultimately destructive leaders of the past. I do not see this political climate as just another election which a republican won. Donald Trump is dangerous, because of his personality. He does not represent the best interests of our citizens, but of a very narrow subgroup. He is impulsive, vindictive, lacking empathy, entitled, and has no regard for the law or the truth.

My conclusion is that I cannot quietly watch this happen without speaking out. I am going to start with this forum. I know that I have readers who will disagree, perhaps be offended by my views. But this is a place where I can practice having a voice, which is what I need to do to feel better personally, and also what I feel I need to do for my country.

I see many of the values that DT promotes as evil. (The way he treats women, people different from himself, the weak or disenfranchised.) I recognize that he has power.

Simply put: Evil + Power = Dangerous.

There are better places to turn for astute political discourse. I will be writing as one citizen, from my heart, with my particular humanistic/psychological slant. If this offends you, I apologize. Of course you can choose to close the page and turn your back on my viewpoint. But I urge you to stay, and to consider my perspective. We all need to do this, on both sides. We need to understand.

I cannot help but think that some of the voters who cast their vote for DT must also see that his personality, which he brings with him to this esteemed position, is a serious handicap. Some must have voted out of their sense of disenfranchisement, and/or their disenchantment with the status quo, and chosen to overlook the more sinister aspects to his persona. I know that I need to understand their disillusionment, for our divisiveness is a second layer of danger. If we are fighting amongst ourselves, we are easier to conquer.

On Friday evening, I sat around a dinner table with five dear friends, and the discussion was, to me, concerning. This was the first time that the six of us were all together since the election. I knew we would talk about what one member referred to as “he who shall remain unnamed,” borrowing from literature. But I was unprepared for the level of lassitude that my friends displayed. None of them agreed with my belief that we must take an active stand against what is happening. I understand this. I am 60 years old. and when I woke up on the morning of November 9th, I felt as if I had aged 20 years overnight. That feeling hasn’t gone away.

But we have a lot to lose. Everything, really. Our rights, our freedoms, newly won or longstanding.

And so I am exercising my longstanding right to freedom of speech. Do you remember the McCarthy era?

I was reminded of McCarthy on Sunday evening when Meryl Streep made her passionate and eloquent statement as she accepted her Golden Globe award. Do you realize that this was an act of bravery? Senator McCarthy was in office from 1947 to 1957. And he was a senator where Trump is President. Don’t fool yourself into thinking this couldn’t happen again. Meryl Streep is brave.

I want to end with the quote that Streep ended with, a quote that resonated with me deeply. She quoted Carrie Fisher, who once said to her, “Take your broken heart, make it into art.”

My heart is broken, not only by the outcome of the election, but by they way our country is now divided, and even by the passivity I am witnessing among some of my peers. It was Carrie’s words that inspired me to get up this morning and write. They will become my mantra for 2017.©

 

The Light Within Us

Today marks two weeks since we arrived in Vermont. It has snowed about seven times…..not heavy snowfalls, but enough so you know that it has snowed again, and everything is kept clean and pretty. I wanted snow, a fact which people keep reminding me, as in “You wanted this,” implying, “Don”t you dare complain!”

I am not complaining. If I had to get up and go to work in the morning, I would admittedly whine about it. I don’t like driving in it! But in spite of more terrifying experiences driving in icy weather than I care to remember, I have never stopped loving the snow.

So here we are, ‘reverse snowbirds’, spending the winter in Vermont! Charlie is being a fantastic sport about it. He doesn’t like the cold, he says, but he seems to be getting into it. He couldn’t wait to get the fireplace in this house up and running, since Virginia, our friend and gracious housesitting host, had never used it.

We have taken a lot of walks, and it never ceases to amaze me how much better it feels to live in the cold when you make sure to get outside. When you are dressed for it, it is usually not uncomfortable, with the exception of when there is a frigid wind. When  I get out in the cold, I end up walking further and longer than I originally planned, because it feels so damn good. Because I feel good……alive, strong, invincible. Invigorated.

And is there anything better than returning to your cozy house after such a walk,  bringing the positive energy back with you, feeling jazzed up by the fact that you didn’t let a little weather defeat you?

While if you stay inside all the time, the cold seems more formidable, more threatening. The thought of going out in it becomes ever more daunting. You must rise above it.

People love to complain about the weather. The heat….the cold….the rain….the snow. Perhaps this is because the weather is one thing in life over which we have absolutely no control. We like to have control, so it bothers us that we have to acquiesce to the weather. And thus we complain. We COMPLAIN.

What if we admitted that we were powerless over the weather, and focused on acceptance and making the best of it?

We have friends, Graeme and Karen, who live in Saskatchewan, Canada, where they  have a very cold, very long winter. Take a look at Graeme’s wood pile! These are people who have come to terms with their place on the planet, with it’s beauty as well as its demands.

Woodpile, courtesy of Graeme Wesson

In all fairness and for the sake of full disclosure, I must admit that we actually met Graeme and Karen on Isla Mujeres. Like us, they have taken to spending long stretches of their winter in the tropics. But by no means is it for the entire winter. They had their first huge snowstorm early in October this year, but they won’t go to Mexico until mid-February. And then, when they return in April, they will still face snow, and several weeks of winter weather.

They are amazing.

From the years that I have lived in Vermont, I have a bit of that pioneering spirit in me. I guess it is something that either you have, or you don’t. The cold makes me feel very alive. It awakens something in me that just is not stirred in the warm weather, and brings a clarity of vision, a razor sharp awareness, to my being. It makes me grateful.

Tonight the temperature is predicted to be -5 Fahrenheit, much colder with the wind chill. It can be a little scary when it gets that cold out. You don’t want your furnace to break or your car battery to freeze. I remember, back when I lived in Vermont full time, going out once at night during a sub-zero deep freeze. I was walking on the street feeling the snow squeak under my feet, and I thought the very strange and chilling thought that in such weather, if you wanted to murder someone, you could simply lock them outside.

But mostly, when I take a walk in the evening, I see the glow of warmth from inside the houses pouring out through windows onto the quiet snow. I see flickering Christmas tree lights through translucent curtains. I see smoke curling out of chimneys against the winter clouds. I see black silhouettes of trees against the purple twilit sky. And all of this makes my heart overflow with the ache and pride of being human.

I recall that when I was a child in northern New Jersey, winter was a joyful feast for the senses. Sledding, ice skating, hot cocoa. All the holiday lights. Perhaps those childhood roots are what still make winter a joyful time for me. And I think this common history is the reason that Charlie can rally by the fire and share in my joy.

All four seasons are lovely, and each has its beauty. But winter holds the most magic. It is not magical that we find the light in the darkness, each and every year? Is it not magical that many of us still keep a tradition of cutting down a live evergreen, dragging it into our home, and whimsically decorating it? And is it not magical that still we sing, make love, bake cookies, and care for one another through the deep cold winter? We don’t just survive. We make the best of it.©

 

All Is Not Lost

A month by the sea. November. We are staying in a little cottage in Ventnor, New Jersey just a block and a half from the ocean. I looked forward to this, because I like the seaside in the fall. Few people, deserted beaches, fresh cool air to breathe. The first week was exactly as we expected. Relaxing, envigorating, peaceful.

But in the weeks that we have been anticipating this, I did not factor in Election Day. Because, as it turned out, the 2016 election really changed our mood.

Many people have been weighing in on the subject, and while I have followed these sentiments, I have been loathe to add my two cents, for a number of reasons. In all fairness, I have been speechless. The proverbial cat has my tongue.

But here I am. I want to talk here about how I feel, because I have a great deal of appreciation for my readers, and because this seems like the right place to find my missing voice.

To start, I would like to address some of the reasons that I have been loathe to chime in on the ranting that I have witnessed on Social Media.

First of all, what do I know? I am not a political commentator. My opinions and fears are subjective. I don’t want to add to the hysteria by making dire predictions.

Secondly, I have family members on both sides of the divide. I have felt hurt and betrayed on a deep level by some comments that I have read by family members. I have no interest in perpetuating that cycle. I’m working hard enough on not impulsively pushing the “unfriend” button.

Thirdly, I fear the divisiveness as much as I fear the new administration. There is a movement involving wearing safety pins to establish a network of “safe people” out in the world. It seems innocuous enough. But doesn’t it contribute to the sense of “us and them,” and therefore to a feeling of not being safe? Where does this end?

We have to be careful not to be co-creators in a collapse of civility.

How do we move forward, now that the election is over? How do we live in a country so deeply emotionally and politically divided?

I think it is important to take a breath. Take ten breaths. I know there is a great deal at stake for those of us who treasure our freedoms, our diversity, the tenets on which this country was built. But, as important as it is to be proactive and ready to take a stand where required, it is also important to remain level headed. Hysteria will get us nowhere.

It is important to have integrity, and that starts with living with integrity. Be the change.

Yes, I feel afraid. But fear itself is indeed a thing to fear. And so I remind myself, with each breath, that in this moment I am safe. My family is safe. It is so important not to catastrophise. Anxiety feeds anxiety. So breathe.

I am not saying to bury your head in the sand. But, please do this: Take care of yourself. Stay informed. Practice loving-kindness.

As ever, it is important to be the best people we can be. That means maintaining the values we hold highest.

What are those for me? Love. Fairness. Dignity. Honesty. Respect. For all people, regardless of color, gender, religion, sexual preference, citizenship, and yes, political party. As was said during the campaign, go high, not low.

I address this to everyone who cares to hear. Perhaps you are happy with the outcome of the election. Remember, half of us are grieving, and half of us are rejoicing. No matter. No matter which hat you wear, the basic human decencies haven’t changed. Don’t go low.

What has helped me most has been to make even more of an effort to be kind to strangers. It is amazing to me how good it can feel to offer someone a kind word, a smile, or a hand when you don’t “have to”. It fills me with hope. Does this sound petty? It is not. It is healing.

If you are grieving: I want to share something important to remember. (As a grief counselor, I know a little about this.)

We all have heard about the phases of grief. Denial, bargaining, anger, depression, acceptance. Many people have felt these emotions at random moments as a result of this election. Not because a candidate lost, but because we feel a loss of what we counted on in this country: a sense of being held by the tenets that guarantee our rights and freedoms. A fear that those can be lost if the people in power disregard them.

One caveat: I have often seen grieving people misdirect the anger they feel as a result of their loss. We look for something to attach to the anger, and often that is an unassuming family member or friend who says the wrong thing, or doesn’t call. And so the anger that accompanies grief can damage relationships, adding to the loss and isolation the bereaved is already experiencing.

The challenge is to be angry, and yet not to misdirect it. Channel it effectively rather than allowing it to fester or infect your personal life. Or our society.

There has indeed been a rise in hateful, prejudicial acts. It is as if the dark side of human nature has been set free. We read about it daily on social media and hear about it in the news.

Bad news travels fast and sells well. It is important to remember that. Because if we react to these reports with decisiveness and hatred, the chasm grows deeper and the stakes grow higher.

I am not saying to turn a blind eye toward these incidents. We should take a stand and express our dissension at every turn. However, it is important to remember that these are still the actions of a minority.

All is not lost. At this moment I believe this to be true. If we take the high road, it will remain so. We can each only do our part.©

 

Winding Down

Seventeen months ago I began this blog, full of expectation as we began a long-awaited adventure. We were in the process of packing our belongings for storage and becoming nomads for a time. As I wrote, I wondered how the journey would change me. Who would I be without the anchoring identity provided by a place in the world, the roles I played in life, and the structure that had evolved around it all?

Our original plan was to travel the perimeter of the United States in our little RV, Casa Blanca. The first leg would be the Eastern seaboard. Because we had a commitment in Florida (my mother-in-law’s 80th birthday party), we would cover the southern part first, and later in the summer do the Northeastern coast.

Best made plans. The very first day out, we experienced the inevitability of change, when a dramatic storm flooded our world right before our eyes. Amazed, we waited in the driveway from which we would soon depart for the last time. As the rain finally let up, we navigated though the deep creek that had recently been our street. Shortly thereafter, our vehicle began to misfire. Some wires had gotten wet. The next day (somewhere in Delaware) we learned that since the needed parts weren’t readily available, Casa Blanca would be unable to get us to the party in time. We made the drive to Florida in a rental car, feeling more than a little deflated from the anticlimactic start to our journey. Still, the family gathering was wonderful, and we were off to a good start. We retrieved Casa Blanca, and eventually completed the Northeast through a long and glorious summer. By November, we were ready to retire Casa for the winter and head for Isla Mujeres, Mexico. We would continue our drive around the states in the spring, or so we thought.

While in Mexico, though, we changed some of our plans. Maybe it was the water, the heat, or a combination of the two. Somewhat impulsively we decided that summer would not find us on the road, but in the skies. We booked flights to Bali and Europe, which, if you have been following this blog, is old news.

Admittedly, I have some mild regrets about not completing our journey around the US. I still don’t regret our changes in plans. What a gift it was to be able to be flexible and see and do so much! Not following our original plans was an important step. It freed us in a way that we couldn’t anticipate.

Why am I rehashing this now? Since winding down from our whirlwind summer adventures, we are slowing down. Coincidentally, I am blogging less and less. While we will not be settled into a new home before Christmas 2016 as we once thought, we are thinking more about the future. Increasingly, we find ourselves looking forward to the day when we will have a place of our own. Aside from our camper, we have slept in multiple hotels, rented spaces, and as guests in the homes of countless friends and family members. Even as I celebrate the achievement of having become unencumbered, a sense of being displaced has been its companion.

We are slowing down. We spent almost two months in New Jersey after returning from Europe. Now we are back on Isla Mujeres for a three-week visit before spending the winter in Vermont. Winter is a good time for ideas to incubate, and we hope to make some wise decisions about our future during that time. Certainly the cold winter will be conducive to decisions about nesting, just as the Mexican “winter” gave us permission to make loco decisions about new adventures.

My last two blog entries have felt different to me, as I have shifted internally from wanting to focus on my geographical meandering to reflecting more on my inner journey. When I completed my last entry, Full Circle, I felt that if this blog were a book, I had just written the last chapter. In spite of this feeling, I didn’t decide anything. I’m learning to let things percolate.

So here I am. I have missed writing more frequently, missed the responses I get, and the feelings of connection they bring. You can’t begin to imagine how meaningful your comments are. Please keep them coming! I’m not sure where my reflections will bring me now that we are slowing down. Maybe my blog will become boring –  I’m hoping not. I’m expecting that being still may be even more insightful than moving. Sitting to write helps me focus on what the lessons are.

Speaking of lessons, I want to end with a story, a true story about something that happened here on Isla Mujeres late yesterday morning. We were driving down the road along the ocean in our golf cart, on the way to hunt for sea glass. Just another day in paradise. Charlie looked out over the water and saw a vulnerable little boat tossing about the waves. As it came closer to shore, we could see that it was inhabited by about fifteen people. A crowd was gathering, because, as we had surmised, it was a boatload of Cuban refugees and it was about to land on the shore right in front of us.

Cuba is ninety miles from Isla, and it is a well-known fact that refugee boats arrive here with some regularity. If the refugees are lucky, they disappear into the fabric of the island. But we had never seen this with our own eyes. As the crowd gathered, I felt sick to my stomach. A police officer had arrived and was radioing for backup. Onlookers had their phones out and were taking videos and photos, as these desperate and defenseless people were carried on the waves directly toward the sands before us.

I could only imagine how fervently these people must have wanted to escape their country to endure crossing the sea in a small boat with a plastic tarp for a sail. They wanted freedom, but as the police gathered it looked as it they were going to be captured. I didn’t want to watch, but it was happening so fast that I didn’t really have  a choice. The boat scraped the sand and the Cubans were scrambling in all directions. Some got away, others were caught. At least one officer had a weapon drawn. It was surreal.

I don’t know what happened to those who were apprehended. Perhaps they were treated with dignity, perhaps not. I only know that this saddened me deeply. Here I am, reflecting on creating the next chapter of my life, on building a new home. I have never known the hardship behind the drama that played out before me. I was going to look for sea glass!

Instead, the sea brought me an indelible image of human suffering, the fear of cruelty side by side with the hope of liberation. The refugees can no longer be seen. Some went with the police, and I hope others found shelter. The little boat still sits on the shore.

Life is never as simple as a stroll through paradise. We must remember this, and most importantly, we must remember to maintain our humanity and compassion above all. I appreciate any reminders that my concerns are miniscule in this cosmos. ©

Full Circle

George Shaw: No One is a Nobody

When we were in London last month, I spent a few precious hours in the National Museum of Art, while Charlie was roaming the Churchill War Museum. While I always relish a chance to view the work of masters, I was most taken by a special exhibit by a contemporary English painter named George Shaw. The exhibit was called My Back to Nature. While we usually think of “back to nature” as a refocusing on the natural world, Shaw was also referring to the way that, in our current society, we turn our backs on nature, and the paintings were powerful depictions of scenes from the woods showing vestiges of careless human presence. An old discarded mattress, a blue vinyl tarp, beer cans. A tree carved with the name, Max.

The paintings were striking on their own, and I wondered about the man who had created them. In a tiny room adjacent to the exhibit, they were running a video about the exhibit and the artist, which only served to intrigue me further. George Shaw was not only a talented visual artist, but an eloquent man. What he said about his work, and how he said it, elevated my appreciation of what I had seen.

Yesterday I did a web-search on Shaw, to learn more about this man and the art to which I was so drawn. One article was based on an interview and was written completely in his words. One statement Shaw made had a powerful impact on me:
I get perturbed by people who have meaningful epiphanies in expensive places – who go to India, Goa, New Zealand, watch a glorious sunset to find themselves. If you can’t find yourself in your own backyard, you’re not going to find yourself in the Serengeti, are you?

If you’ve been reading this blog, you can understand that this comment would hit home for me. We left our own backyard over a year ago, to loosen ourselves from the constrictive force that a house full of possessions can become. I reflected then that while “things” can provide us with a sense of identity, they can also become a kind of prison. It was not that I expected to find an epiphany in places like Bali, but rather that I wanted to face the challenge of knowing who I was without an address, possessions, and a calendar to both define and limit me.

After almost 15 months, Charlie and I have begun the tough discussion about where and how to live in one place again. If our plans fall into place, by the time it has been two years since we left our old address we will have a new one. We both feel ready for that new phase of our lives. Although we will always consider travel one of the most enriching aspects of our lives, we want a place to call home.

While there is a lot of wisdom in artist Shaw’s words about finding oneself in one’s own backyard, I am glad we loosened ourselves from those bonds for a long while. I’ve learned a lot about myself, and made some wonderful new friends. Some things I learned were surprising. For one, I never stopped keeping a calendar, in spite of my expectations. We had planes to catch, friends and family to see, birthdays to remember (or forget). I guess as long as we have days, weeks, months, and years, and things we want to do with others, a calendar is a necessary evil. One of those things that, if you didn’t have, you’d re-invent.

I also (guilty confession) still have possessions. I’ve snuck new purchases (and rocks) into our storage unit, objects that will help me to remember this time of exploration. Like carving one’s name in a tree says, “I was here!” – bringing home a souvenir…a seashell…a feather…a stone…reminds me that I was really there. Still, it was a useful exercise to purge, and one that will inform my future approach to nesting. I will keep things, but I will keep less. I want to have more freedom, but from a secure base.

Two weeks ago, while visiting my daughter Eva in Vermont, I had the pleasure of seeing three old friends, each separately, in the course of 12 hours. This happened unexpectedly – I had not set out to make this day “old friends day”. I saw Virginia in the morning, at her home, where we will house-sit this winter if she doesn’t find a buyer. I then saw my friend Larina, to whom I had reached out with a question. We had a brief visit and chatted while she fed her horse before she ran off to work. Later, Eva and I went for dinner and Suzy was at the restaurant. Each reunion was heart-warming and sustaining.

Even though I had not seen any of them for a few years, these women are important to me. When I was living in Vermont and raising my family, they each were a part of my support system. I was creating that secure base for my own family, but needed my connections with an extended tribe to feel nourished and able to do the hard work of living well. Our small worlds ripple out to touch other small worlds, and so we are a part of a larger circle. Somehow I understand that better than I ever have.

The past few weeks have been difficult for me. When I wrote my previous entry, A La Famiglia, I explained my struggle with having loved ones in many places and needing to choose a home base. Many people reached out to me with comfort and understanding, and their own wisdom. I loved that. But I have continued to feel my way through this inner conflict, and it has been hard.

This morning, after reading about George Shaw and sleeping on it, I awoke thinking about atonement. At first there may not appear to be a connection, but there is. We talk about “finding ourselves,” but without others, who are we? For our relationships to be authentic and deep, we have to face the fact that sometimes we hurt each other. My attachments are my life’s blood. That secure base only remains secure if we houseclean, that is, we mend our relationships.

If I go to Bali to find myself, is it not like what happens when a tree falls down in the woods and nobody is there to hear it? It is only when I come home and greet my loved ones that what has been awakened in my heart through travel reaches full expression.

When we were much younger, and with little children, my above-mentioned friend Larina had to undergo open heart surgery. While taking my morning walk today, I found myself thinking about that long-ago time. She must have been so frightened, facing such a serious surgery while her children were so young and she had so much life yet to live. While I was supportive on the surface, I don’t think I realized how alone she must have felt. I could have been a better friend, and the next time I see her I will tell her. I know she will shrug it off, as we all can do when someone apologizes, but I think she deserves acknowledgement of how hard that must have been and how alone she must have felt. I want to carve my name in the tree of her life: to tell her: I was there…even though I could have been a better friend, I recognize that now and I want to acknowledge it.

The concepts taught in recovery of taking inventory and making amends are life lessons from which we could all benefit. But how difficult a task that is. How many layers there are to go through to truly “take inventory”.  I’m not even convinced it is possible!

Yet my memory about what happened with Larina gives me hope. Our hearts are awakened, not only by geographical travel, but simply by traveling through life. When Larina faced her surgery, maybe I was a little too numbed-out by my own challenges to be fully awake to hers. My journey through life has awakened in me more compassion, and the desire to share what I have gleaned.

Our lives are small things, tiny grains of sand in the cosmos. But inside of each of us, our lives ARE the cosmos. Like those ripples that become a full circle, our lives matter, but only when we touch other lives and let the circle grow.

I realize now that whether I am visiting Mayan ruins, a Balinese temple, or my own backyard doesn’t matter. What matters is that I am inside the circle, not outside of it. I was there, I am here. I am home.©