Tag: experience

Frozen Moss and Other New Experiences

I recently spent a silly amount of time walking around on the frozen moss in my front yard. It makes the kind of satisfying crunch sound that you usually only get from really high-end granola. You can feel it radiating up through the soles of your shoes. And the light sparkles off it like diamonds. These are experiences I missed out on in Florida. (Even if we had had moss there, it would rarely have frozen.)

That got me thinking about other experiences I’m having for the first time in my 50’s that most residents of the Pacific Northwest, at least here in Seattle, probably take for granted. For example:

  • It feels funny to go to the beach and walk on rocks instead of sand. It feels even funnier to know that the water will most likely be way too cold to swim in, even in the height of summer.
  • Speaking of rocks, there are large ones. Everywhere.
  • And people protest here. A lot. Most people in Florida can’t be bothered. It’s too freakin’ hot, and they’re too freakin’ old.
  • Now that I’m familiar with the mountain ranges, I can use them to orient myself. I have a constant sense of which direction on the compass I’m facing at any given time, even at high noon.
  • For the first time in my life I can state my liberal views and feel fairly certain I’m in the majority, rather than anticipate being looked upon in horror or disdain. I do not miss being the only liberal turd in a conservative punch bowl.
  • I’ve been here over two years now, and I’ve never seen a single person, not one, doing the car boogie. I do it all the time. Here, I get funny looks. What’s wrong with you people?
  • Here you can approach the edge of a lake without worrying about being attacked by an alligator. What a concept.
  • I had no idea how wonderfully caramel and salt go together until I got here.
  • I had never shopped at a Trader Joe’s until I got here. Now I’m addicted.
  • I had never driven in snow. I didn’t even know that de-icer existed.
  • I thought I knew what cherries were supposed to taste like. What a poor, deprived fool I was!
  • I’m seeing birds I’d never seen before.
  • People not only turn on their car’s lights when they’re in a funeral procession, they also flash their hazard lights. Because EVERYBODY here drives with their car lights on. Always.
  • Here, salmon is relatively affordable. I could count the number of times I’d eaten it on one hand prior to coming to Seattle.
  • There are prejudices against groups I didn’t even know existed. That’s a strange concept. It makes you realize how ridiculous prejudice is.
  • Almost everyone I meet here actually reads books. I thought I was the only one who did that.

You just have no idea how insular your life is until you experience the otherness of someplace else. I sometimes feel like a foreigner in my own country. It’s very exciting. I highly recommend it.

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Outgrowing

As a child, one of the hardest things for me was the experience of outgrowing things that I loved. Favorite sweaters. Child-sized furniture. Extremely sugary foods. Certain rides at the state fair. The kid’s menu at Howard Johnson’s.

No one likes change. And if I loved something, I couldn’t understand why I couldn’t love it forever. It fit me before. Why doesn’t it fit me now?

I actually still have one sweatshirt from elementary school. It’s hard for me to believe I was ever that small. I kept it sort of as a frame of reference. But if I had kept all my clothing and toys from childhood, my life would be full of wasted space. That would be tragic indeed.

Time marches on. And it seems that outgrowing things doesn’t stop even when you are fully grown. It’s just that the things you outgrow become more complex. Friendships. Philosophies. Political systems. Jobs. Vices. Groups.

There’s a certain rise and decay that formulates the circle of life. Just ask the Greeks and the Romans. Things and people and beliefs are solid for a time, but eventually they crumble to dust and are replaced by something else.

Recently I was kicked out of a group and for a hot second, there, it felt like the end of the world to me. A friend of mine suggested I keep attending anyway. They meet in a public place, after all. But I don’t want to do that. There are still many people I love there, and I don’t want to create tension and awkwardness for them. The wonderful feeling I got from being a part of that group is gone. There’s no resuscitating that. There’s a cancer at the core of the experience for which there is no cure.

And lo and behold, I am already discovering that the absence of that group is providing me with other intriguing opportunities. I’m already filling that time with other experiences, and meeting other people. Decay makes way for growth. The shit of life fertilizes the fruit.

I feel as though the country as a whole is experiencing this. Our government and our attitudes toward it are in a state of flux. It’s rather unsettling, trying to maintain one’s balance on these shifting sands. We resist the change and we mourn, but we will also be motivated to work toward bigger and better change, and from that, new and exciting things will surely flow.

The next time you sense that you are outgrowing something, remind yourself that you are just a tiny part of a much larger plane of existence. As Max Ehrmann once said, “No doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.”

universe

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Complacency

When someone gets hurt on a drawbridge and it’s determined that it’s the bridgetender’s fault, you’d think it would be a newbie who was at the controls. But no. It’s almost always an operator who has been on the job for many years.

If anything, someone new to the job tends to be hypervigilant. When you’re training someone, you can feel that person’s nervous energy radiating throughout the room. Newbies are like coiled springs. I’ve never tested this theory, but I’m fairly certain that if I were to walk up behind a new operator and say, “BOO!” that person would be clinging to the ceiling like a cartoon cat.

If you make it past your second day, you’re usually a keeper. You’ve seen how quiet and isolated it can be, and yet you’ve come back, so you can handle it. You’ve also seen how important it is that safety be your top priority, and you’ve chosen to take that responsibility on board. Welcome to the trenches!

After a while, you’ll start to relax. You’ll get the hang of things. You’ll know where things are. You’ll have experienced a few bridge malfunctions, and you and the bridge will have survived. You’ll get familiar with every creak and groan that your bridge makes, and what each one means. This is a good thing.

But now your real challenge begins. From here on out, you have to constantly battle complacency. Don’t get lazy. Laziness in this context can equal death. A little voice inside your head might start saying, “Why bother walking across the room to check that blind spot? No one is ever standing in that blind spot.” Or maybe you’ll start rushing from one step to the next. A bridge console should be played like Clair de Lune, not like the Minute Waltz.

You may not even realize you’re floating down that lazy river of complacency. I suspect it happens in increments. You slack off a tiny little bit, and it’s almost unnoticeable. And then a year later, you slack off even more. Before you know it, you’ve developed some really bad habits.

But on this job, laziness can kill someone. And the one time that you assume that no one is standing in that blind spot will be the one time that someone is standing in that blind spot. The bridge Gods can be cruel that way.

So every day when I come to work, I remind myself that what I do is important. Most people don’t even know I’m here, but I have their lives in my hands. That’s a heavy responsibility, and one I take very seriously.

And every day when I leave work in one piece, and no one who has crossed over or under my bridge has been harmed in any way, I give thanks. The biggest thanks I give is to myself for not having gotten complacent, and for never having forgotten why I’m here.

complacency
Avoid that lazy river of complacency.

Shame, in Retrospect

I know a few people who are embarrassed about the way they lived in the past. Conservatives who once were hippies (Personally, I don’t see the shame in being a hippy, but to each his own), peace activists who served in times of war, survivors of multiple marriages, former cult members who have since come to their senses… all have decided that they have reason to squirm when people ask them their story.

Hearing this always makes me feel profoundly sad. First of all, even if you feel you made mistakes years ago, the fact is that you’re a product of your mistakes as well as your triumphs. You wouldn’t be who you are today if not for all your past experiences, so even if they might make you uncomfortable, they still have value.

Second, by not being open and honest about your past history, you are missing out on some valuable teaching moments. I have learned a lot of wonderful life lessons by hearing people’s stories. “Well, I’ll never do that,” is a valid and worthy conclusion to draw. (So is, “Man, you used to be so cool! What happened?”)

How wonderful to learn from a mistake that you yourself don’t have to expend the energy to make! Even more wonderful to learn by example that you can change and evolve into something you never would have anticipated.

So if you feel you’ve erred, make amends if you can, serve your time if you must, and turn yourself in if justice needs doing, but don’t waste time with regrets. Don’t go through life wearing a cone of shame. Own it. Share it with others. That’s the best way to give your life significance.

shame

I Am Not Who I Was Yesterday

It’s been an eventful week. I won’t bore you with the details. Suffice it to say that it has served to remind me that we are all the sum total of our unique life experiences. That being the case, since we experience life every single day, that means that we are each slightly different than we were the day before.  The onion has another layer. What a concept.

 I find this idea rather comforting. To me, it means that with each new day comes another opportunity to get things right. It allows me to look at the world with fresh eyes, and make new choices. If there’s something about myself that I want to change, I can tackle that thing from a slightly different trajectory.  If there’s something I want to strengthen or reinforce, here’s another chance to do so.

Each day we burst forth from our chrysalis and spread our wings as a brand new butterfly. As my late boyfriend used to say, “You have been given a perfectly good day. What are you going to do with it?” That saying is even more poignant now that he is gone.

 Never take your fresh starts for granted, people. Each and every one is precious.

Butterfly

Filling in the Blanks

I’ve been thinking a lot about how often I color my world with details that are not based on fact. It’s like my head is filled up with bee pollen, and if you aren’t already thickly coated with the stuff, I’ll be happy to sprinkle some all over you. Nature abhors a vacuum, and so do I.

If someone isn’t an open book like I am, I’ll create an entire narrative about them. I’ll imagine they’re like me. Liberal. Intelligent. Curious about life. And then I buy into that to the extent that if I find out they’re conservative, stupid, and completely apathetic, I’m actually shocked and disappointed.

I also draw conclusions based on my own past experiences, completely overlooking the fact that their experiences, and therefore their actions, are bound to be different than my own. I like to cross all my T’s and dot all my I’s, and I have a tendency to try to do that for others as well. But how can I be sure that T wasn’t supposed to be an L?

I need to work on keeping my fantasy world separate from the facts. I need to stop barging in and trying to complete everyone else’s story. I need to learn to embrace the blanks. Maybe then they’ll fill themselves.

Or maybe not. That’s okay, too.

[Image credit: accelerateddevelopment.ca]
[Image credit: accelerateddevelopment.ca]

The Book in You

I find humans to be fascinating creatures. No two are completely alike, even if they’re identical twins. Each one is shaped by different life experience. Every single one dresses differently, looks unique, reacts to things in his or her own special way. To paraphrase Forrest Gump, people are like boxes of chocolate. You never know what you’re gonna get.

I have a theory that if I’m finding someone to be boring, either they have an overactive sense of privacy, or I’m not being properly inquisitive. I’m convinced that everyone has at least one story within them. In that way people seem like gifts to me, just waiting to be unwrapped.

More than once in my life I’ve discovered that I had been working closely with someone who had quite an amazing private life, but that fact was only revealed to me after they had left the job or passed away. After getting over the shock of the information, I’m usually left with a sense of profound disappointment and a boatload of unanswered questions. I’ve always had a hard time accepting the fact that not everything is my business.

Writers should be grateful that their talent isn’t universal, or the world would be inundated with autobiographies and they’d be out of a job. But having a story and being able to tell it are two very different things. Then again, I have to remind myself that not everyone wants to tell their story. That’s so foreign to my nature as to be incomprehensible. I suppose that’s why I’m a blogger.

your-story

“Friends Make the Best Lovers.”

A friend of mine, in her late 70’s, said that to me the other day. My first inward reaction was shock. I mean… she’s old. She shouldn’t be thinking like that!

But the older I get, the more I realize what a crazy notion that is. Why do we think that age turns one into some sort of sexually sterile creature? Even if we become isolated and untouched, that does not negate the fact that, simply by dint of life experience, we have been around the block a time or two. We have memories. We have triumphs and regrets. We are still biological beings.

I strongly suspect that the things I will find most frustrating about aging won’t be the aches and pains, but will be the fact that I’ll most likely be taken less and less seriously, to the point of becoming nearly invisible to most people. That’s a shame, because I’d like to think that I’m rather fun to be around. The slower you walk, the more life seems to pass you by, if you let it.

But don’t forget that for every year someone lives, they’ve accumulated more history. Of course they’ll have stories to tell. And some of them might just be bawdy. I certainly hope so.

friends

[Image credit: twtrland.com]

The Fine Art of Begging

Recently I racked up $9,000.00 in debt by moving 3100 miles across country to start my life over after a series of setbacks that, frankly, are becoming too boring to even discuss. Everybody has problems, right? But a friend suggested I do a crowdfunding campaign through the Indiegogo website to help me get my head above water. I set a goal of 5k for my two month campaign, never really expecting to get a response.

The campaign ended just the other day, and much to my shock and awe I did reach 50 percent of my goal. But even more valuable than the money was all that I learned from the experience, about myself and about others. I never realized what a ride it would be until I hopped on.

First of all, as one might expect, it’s kind of humiliating to have to beg for money. Essentially, you are telling the entire world, “I can’t do this on my own.” No one likes to admit that.

Second, you spend a great deal of time dealing with the complex issue that a certain percentage of people are bound to assume that you are asking for something that you don’t really deserve because you’re lazy or you’re a scammer. There’s really no simple way to protest your innocence. “I am not a crook” didn’t work for Nixon, and it wouldn’t have worked for me, either.

And then, at least for me, there was a nagging feeling that maybe it was true. Maybe I didn’t really deserve help. I can think of at least a billion people who are worse off than I will ever be. Who do I think I am? What makes me so special? Those are really uncomfortable questions to have to wrestle with.

The moment the campaign was launched, the vultures started circling. “For just $200.00, I can make your campaign go viral!” “Sign up for tips on how to increase your visibility.” These e-mails made me really uncomfortable. It was like my financial desperation had somehow become a business opportunity. For me, this wasn’t business. This was my life.

Also, I got some really weird reactions from distant family members. One even told me that what I was doing was inappropriate and an embarrassment to the family. Wow. Several of them still aren’t speaking to me, and the irony is, none of them helped out, even emotionally, and I never expected that they would. They had never stepped up before, so it would have surprised me if they did now.

But the amazing thing, the thing that still brings tears of gratitude to my eyes, are the people who did step up. Many of them, I know for a fact, are struggling themselves, and they were often the most generous. Then there were the people from my distant past, many of whom I hadn’t had contact with in decades, who supported me without hesitation. And total strangers who said, “I’ve been where you are. Here. Good luck.” Some people said, “I wish I could contribute, but I have no money to give. But I wanted you to know that I heard your story and I’m pulling for you.” Even those who just shared a link to my campaign on their Facebook pages hold a special place in my heart.

I am humbled by everyone who supported me emotionally as well as financially. The memories of that will be more precious than gold long after this debt is nothing but a bad memory. And some day when I’m able, I plan to pay this generosity forward. That’s a promise.

It is when you have to bare your soul and humble yourself way beyond your comfort zone that you truly discover who your friends are, and that the world is a generous place, indeed. What a gift.

gratitude-printable

 

Comfort Zones

As much as I love to travel and explore and experience new things, I have to admit that I thrive on routine. I like to know what’s coming next. I enjoy just going through the motions without having to think or plan. There’s a reason it’s called a comfort zone. It’s quite comfortable indeed.

I’m currently in a unique position where I don’t have any routine established. It doesn’t help that my work schedule is so varied and insane right now that it would be hard to create one. But when I get the chance I will be making a routine from scratch. What an opportunity!

I have already decided that whenever the weather is nice I’ll spend as much time as possible outdoors, because nice weather is rather rare in this neck of the woods, so I should enjoy it while I can. On those days when I get off work in the early afternoon I have been eating my dinner in the back yard while watching the dogs play. More of that, please.

And I’m trying to eat healthier, and now that I have a tub I plan to take long baths regularly. I sort of look at these things as gifts that I give to myself. I’ve earned that much.

I got myself a hummingbird feeder in the hopes that they would establish a routine as well, but the little guys have yet to discover it. New routines apparently take time to take hold, even in nature. But they sure do feel good when they’re in place.

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