I was in a car accident this morning. Just driving back from yoga, thinking about going to one of my favorite brunch places for coffee and eggs, when all of a sudden there was a green Subaru Forester where my open road should be. I remember the moments right before our cars collided: the second you realize the inevitable, that there's nothing you can do to avoid this accident, the tiniest edge of regret that you didn't see this coming. My life didn't flash before my eyes, in fact I had more of an "oh crap" reaction than an "I'm gonna die" one. And nobody was seriously injured, not me, not the driver of the other car or his passenger girlfriend or even the little puppy she'd held on her lap as our two cars took a bite out of each other's front ends. So that's a good thing, everyone is okay.
For my part I'm dealing with some bumps and bruises, a swollen knee from where it hit the dash, a wide painful section of my chest where the seatbelt held me back from flying through the windshield. Physically, that's it. Mentally is a whole other thing. I'm of course dealing with the shock and trauma that comes from being in an accident, but I'm finding that other things are being dredged up as well. For instance, right now I find myself nursing a little ball of anger emblazoned with the name of the driver in the other car. He certainly didn't mean to hit me and is probably just as worked up about the whole situation right now as I am. He can't undo it. There's really nothing he can possibly do to make it right, and still I'm angry at him. Maybe that's why. Maybe I'm angry at him because it can't be undone, can't be made right. Maybe I'm angry because it's just not fair. Because it's not, but then what in life is? Which is another interesting wrinkle in this story because I find that in addition to my anger for this young gentleman, anger is bubbling up over other things, things that happened long ago, that were also unfair and also can't be helped. Things that can never be made better. I find myself overwhelmingly pissed at every remotely crappy thing that has ever happened in my life. Every cutting remark, every moment I have felt ignored, every pointed look is kindling for this internal fire. The teacher who pulled me aside as a little girl and told me I should go home and lose weight, the boy who told me he didn't want to go with me to the homecoming dance because he was waiting for someone better to ask him, every struggle I ever had with my parents or my brother or my ex or my former boss or anyone is another crumpled up newspaper on the roaring blaze.
That Forester seems to have knocked loose whatever stopper was containing this anger and it seems to me that it's a far healthier thing to let it burn for a while than to cork it back up. I'll check back in when things have calmed down, but right now I'm just mad as hell.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Dreaming of sunny shores...
I've been reading nothing but children's books for the past month and it's got me talking funny. So you will understand when I say that last week was a dreadful, beastly thing. I had to go into work at 3 am for a few days, two hours earlier than my usual 5, and the lack of sleep really took a toll on me. Every little bit of everything last week was harder than it needed to be, more challenge by a mile than I actually needed. The upside is that this week, now that I've caught up on some sleep and am back to my normal schedule, has been a veritable piece of cake so far. One thing that helps is that I've been dreaming about Hawaii...
Remember Costa Rica? Remember my angst about not being able to do what I wanted on that trip and my fear that I wouldn't be able to have a good time since my knee was making walking kind of a struggle? Well I've been thinking and thinking about it over the past months and eventually I realized that I wasn't really looking forward to my trip at all, in fact if I hadn't already bought my ticket I would have scrapped the trip altogether. Instead I just decided to change venues and go to Hawaii. There's a ten day meditation retreat happening in Pahoa on the big island when I'm there and I plan to participate. So lately I've been doing a lot of planning and thinking about that trip.
Ten days is a LOT of meditating, and kind of a daunting task, especially when you know that it's also ten days of "noble silence", meaning no talking, no hand gestures, no communicating with the other workshop participants in any way. They also tell you not to bring books, cell phones, journals or any other distractions, which makes sense in that you're going there to focus, but having no distractions at all is kind of a scary thought. What if I'm entirely bored for ten days? What if I am bad at meditating and/or a distraction and everyone hates me? I can't even go hide in my tent and wait out the ten days while reading a good book!
As scary as that is, that's also part of what excites me about the retreat. How often in life do you get a chance to just focus, to not worry about any number of other responsibilities you have, to just work out your own business without distracting yourself with the internet or a book or a conversation with someone else? Not very often, that's what. So I'm looking forward to the challenge of it all. I'm interested to see who I am when I don't have to be anybody. And of course I'm excited to go to Hawaii, though I am the last in my family to see it (oh, how I hate being last!)
I'm going to have a few days after the end of the retreat to see what I can of Hawaii. At first I was thinking I'd go to a fancy resort, rest, relax, and get a fancy massage, but something about that didn't feel quite right. Then I started researching things I could possibly do or see on the big island and it turns out there are some lovely sights on the southern end, where my retreat will be. So I decided to rent a car for those last few days and get a feel for Pahoa, a much more rural, less touristy town than Kona, where the resort was. I'm very excited about this...it feels like much more of a good fit for me. More autonomy, fewer tourists, volcanoes (!) and peaceful black sand beaches. Yes please. :)
Remember Costa Rica? Remember my angst about not being able to do what I wanted on that trip and my fear that I wouldn't be able to have a good time since my knee was making walking kind of a struggle? Well I've been thinking and thinking about it over the past months and eventually I realized that I wasn't really looking forward to my trip at all, in fact if I hadn't already bought my ticket I would have scrapped the trip altogether. Instead I just decided to change venues and go to Hawaii. There's a ten day meditation retreat happening in Pahoa on the big island when I'm there and I plan to participate. So lately I've been doing a lot of planning and thinking about that trip.
Ten days is a LOT of meditating, and kind of a daunting task, especially when you know that it's also ten days of "noble silence", meaning no talking, no hand gestures, no communicating with the other workshop participants in any way. They also tell you not to bring books, cell phones, journals or any other distractions, which makes sense in that you're going there to focus, but having no distractions at all is kind of a scary thought. What if I'm entirely bored for ten days? What if I am bad at meditating and/or a distraction and everyone hates me? I can't even go hide in my tent and wait out the ten days while reading a good book!
As scary as that is, that's also part of what excites me about the retreat. How often in life do you get a chance to just focus, to not worry about any number of other responsibilities you have, to just work out your own business without distracting yourself with the internet or a book or a conversation with someone else? Not very often, that's what. So I'm looking forward to the challenge of it all. I'm interested to see who I am when I don't have to be anybody. And of course I'm excited to go to Hawaii, though I am the last in my family to see it (oh, how I hate being last!)
I'm going to have a few days after the end of the retreat to see what I can of Hawaii. At first I was thinking I'd go to a fancy resort, rest, relax, and get a fancy massage, but something about that didn't feel quite right. Then I started researching things I could possibly do or see on the big island and it turns out there are some lovely sights on the southern end, where my retreat will be. So I decided to rent a car for those last few days and get a feel for Pahoa, a much more rural, less touristy town than Kona, where the resort was. I'm very excited about this...it feels like much more of a good fit for me. More autonomy, fewer tourists, volcanoes (!) and peaceful black sand beaches. Yes please. :)
Friday, January 14, 2011
Learning to sail my ship
My life has been packed of late, mostly with very good things. My days are a mix of work, homework and Write Around Portland that, if only I had a little more time for sleeping, would be near perfect. Making the move was a fantastic decision and the house is working out very very well so far. WAP has been a hoot, especially since I just took a workshop, so now I'm getting a behind-the-scenes view. It's amazing how much planning and forethought goes into the workshop sessions and how many things one needs to keep track of and remember when facilitating. This weekend marks one of our last sessions, when we'll each get a chance to attempt facilitation and see what works and what doesn't. I've chosen a poem to distribute to the group, to initiate a discussion and get them thinking about the writing element I'm aiming for:
So sad. But beautiful too, in its own way. I'm taking a poetry class at Marylhurst and I'm becoming a real sap for the stuff. It makes me weepy, some of it. So far I'm doing pretty well in the class despite having no real poetry background or aptitude. I'm a little nervous about an assignment I turned in this week, though. We were to interpret a poem by Marianne Moore called "The Fish", and the interpretation I came up with doesn't seem to be shared by anyone else in the world, or at least on the internet. I suppose there's something to be said about art being open to different interpretations, but I do so enjoy being simply correct instead of having one of many valid opinions (or being way off in left field). I suppose I'll adjust.
Children's Lit is another fun class. We're reading Little Women these first two weeks and, though I'm pretty sure I read it once when I was a girl, reading it now offers a vastly different perspective. My adult cynicism makes it hard to entirely buy into Alcott's portrayal of these four angelic girls but it is sometimes nice to read about people who are largely polite and good to each other. Poor Beth. :(
Remember that entry I wrote last summer about my visit to Marylhurst where I met with my advisor and finally felt like I was in the right place and was so excited? It's real. Every time I step out of my car on campus I feel it, the belonging thing that I've not felt in many (if any) other places. My one on-campus class and two online classes are all filled with students who genuinely want to be there, who don't think trying is for chumps, who aren't just doing the minimum to get the grades and get on with it but who actually want to learn. It's almost like I'm living in my own version of Little Women's ideal universe of earnest nicety. I have to say it's not bad. Not bad at all.
Eating AloneI've pulled the last of the year's young onions.
The garden is bare now. The ground is cold,
brown and old. What is left of the day flames
in the maples at the corner of my
eye. I turn, a cardinal vanishes.
By the cellar door, I wash the onions,
then drink from the icy metal spigot.
Once, years back, I walked beside my father
among the windfall pears. I can't recall
our words. We may have strolled in silence. But
I still see him bend that way-left hand braced
on knee, creaky-to lift and hold to my
eye a rotten pear. In it, a hornet
spun crazily, glazed in slow, glistening juice.
It was my father I saw this morning
waving to me from the trees. I almost
called to him, until I came close enough
to see the shovel, leaning where I had
left it, in the flickering, deep green shade.
White rice steaming, almost done. Sweet green peas
fried in onions. Shrimp braised in sesame
oil and garlic. And my own loneliness.
What more could I, a young man, want.
Li-Young Lee
So sad. But beautiful too, in its own way. I'm taking a poetry class at Marylhurst and I'm becoming a real sap for the stuff. It makes me weepy, some of it. So far I'm doing pretty well in the class despite having no real poetry background or aptitude. I'm a little nervous about an assignment I turned in this week, though. We were to interpret a poem by Marianne Moore called "The Fish", and the interpretation I came up with doesn't seem to be shared by anyone else in the world, or at least on the internet. I suppose there's something to be said about art being open to different interpretations, but I do so enjoy being simply correct instead of having one of many valid opinions (or being way off in left field). I suppose I'll adjust.
Children's Lit is another fun class. We're reading Little Women these first two weeks and, though I'm pretty sure I read it once when I was a girl, reading it now offers a vastly different perspective. My adult cynicism makes it hard to entirely buy into Alcott's portrayal of these four angelic girls but it is sometimes nice to read about people who are largely polite and good to each other. Poor Beth. :(
Remember that entry I wrote last summer about my visit to Marylhurst where I met with my advisor and finally felt like I was in the right place and was so excited? It's real. Every time I step out of my car on campus I feel it, the belonging thing that I've not felt in many (if any) other places. My one on-campus class and two online classes are all filled with students who genuinely want to be there, who don't think trying is for chumps, who aren't just doing the minimum to get the grades and get on with it but who actually want to learn. It's almost like I'm living in my own version of Little Women's ideal universe of earnest nicety. I have to say it's not bad. Not bad at all.
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