This week, I've spent a lot of time dealing with unexpected financial bombshells, some from faceless entities far away, some motivated by personal animosity very close to home, and no, I don't mean spouse or family. I've listened to rusty-hinged grating rude voices on the phone, experienced sophisticated manipulative behavior and general nastiness.
The lightbulb moment today was that the most recent assault propelled me into a place where I didn't crumble or fight. The person was a complete stranger who seemed to take in instantaneous disliking to me. She has that right. I don't need everyone to love or like me, because the ones that do are plenty. In any event, after 10 minutes or so of pointless friction, I thanked the person for her time and stayed true to what I thought was the right course of action. If I had not been in that uncomfortable place, I would not have found the strong, gentle core inside. Thank you, teacher.
Friday, January 11, 2013
Tuesday, October 2, 2012
Krakatoa and the Cloudburst
When the cloud is ready to burst, or when the fault line has been developing pressure and is ready to shift, the changes happen quickly. Accumulated energy can be kept in check only so long. As the two sides of the fault line strain in opposition, we can pinch the boulders together and try to hold back the earthquake, but it will not be denied indefinitely. When it lets go, all hell breaks loose as though it only just happened this very moment. Not so. It has been happening for a very long time.
There is a series of gradual collapses. Each one a revelation and an invitation to grow and change. Each one is also an invitation to denial and avoidance. Maybe there is a fight, or an outside stressor, or the straw that makes the camel really lose their shit. Again. Then there is soothing. Apology. Retreat. Negotiation. The cycle begins again.
Then one day, Krakatoa is not content to huff and puff, but needs to explode and sink beneath the waves. There is an orgasm of destruction. Finality.
That day came for me this summer. After so many rehearsals, it was show time. I had extreme stage fright that was only overcome by the Krakatoan energy of the day. Shaking mad. Grief stricken. Aware. After a long sleepless night, I said what I had to say. What I had not been able to say previously. I walked away afterward, feeling the death and the liberation.
The unsticking was sudden and I am not the same. I've done things that I never could have seen myself doing. I've scarred myself and others. Smoke and leaning timbers. Craters. Hurts that will last a life time. Absence. Loss. A mountain gone. How can a mountain just be gone?
There's also the cloudburst. One morning in early August, I woke up a changed person. Sweetness, joy. Rain inside me. A warm deluge of relief, sadness, exuberance, awareness that we aren't destined to stay stuck even if it's messy, sharp certainty of big change where there had only been vague dread of things staying in the same stagnant swamp forever.
The cloudburst makes things turn green and move toward the sun. It feels very good to be alive.
There is a series of gradual collapses. Each one a revelation and an invitation to grow and change. Each one is also an invitation to denial and avoidance. Maybe there is a fight, or an outside stressor, or the straw that makes the camel really lose their shit. Again. Then there is soothing. Apology. Retreat. Negotiation. The cycle begins again.
Then one day, Krakatoa is not content to huff and puff, but needs to explode and sink beneath the waves. There is an orgasm of destruction. Finality.
That day came for me this summer. After so many rehearsals, it was show time. I had extreme stage fright that was only overcome by the Krakatoan energy of the day. Shaking mad. Grief stricken. Aware. After a long sleepless night, I said what I had to say. What I had not been able to say previously. I walked away afterward, feeling the death and the liberation.
The unsticking was sudden and I am not the same. I've done things that I never could have seen myself doing. I've scarred myself and others. Smoke and leaning timbers. Craters. Hurts that will last a life time. Absence. Loss. A mountain gone. How can a mountain just be gone?
There's also the cloudburst. One morning in early August, I woke up a changed person. Sweetness, joy. Rain inside me. A warm deluge of relief, sadness, exuberance, awareness that we aren't destined to stay stuck even if it's messy, sharp certainty of big change where there had only been vague dread of things staying in the same stagnant swamp forever.
The cloudburst makes things turn green and move toward the sun. It feels very good to be alive.
Sunday, July 22, 2012
Walking the Ridgepole
Anne Shirley didn't make it across, probably because either she let the pressure of the dare distract her, or because L.M. Montgomery needed the precocious redhead to wise up and stop exhausting everyone with her hyjinx for a little while, or because the plot needed an exciting event to drive the next chapter.
Anne was trying to walk across the ridgepole of her friend's shed and took a tumble.
The last few days when I've not been working aboard Close Enough, I've been fixing and painting the outside of my house. It costs next to nothing and helps ease that feeling that I'm just backsliding on everything and running the old place into the ground. All my front windows and doors are now filled, sealed and brilliant white instead of looking abandoned.
The most challenging project was to fix up my chimney enclosure. That was a choice between ripping the whole business off and rebuilding- not an option due to money and time constraints- or rehabilitation of what's already there. The problem was that the chimney was finished in something one slight degree more durable than corrugated cardboard. Not very rugged or weatherproof, and boy after 8 or 10 years, the thing looked pretty sorry.
Getting back and forth required climbing up two ladders and traversing the ridge line. At first I crawled and frog-hopped my way across, occasionally being sharply aware of how hot a roof can get on a July afternoon. Since my shoes were much better suited to such contact than my inner thighs, I tried walking across the ridge pole. Gradually it became routine and much more comfortable.
The inner resistance was not actually fear, but entrenched expectations. Fictional redheaded youths are not supposed to walk ridgepoles, much less a 49 year old carrying a bucket of paint, a mortgage and responsibility for 3 kids.
6 months ago I would not have discovered how good my balance is because I was mentally stuck.
Embedded and hence invisible doubts are hard to get past. Unless you're burning your legs on searing hot asphalt, and instead choose to concentrate and enjoy the adventure of the ridgepole walk.
Anne was trying to walk across the ridgepole of her friend's shed and took a tumble.
The last few days when I've not been working aboard Close Enough, I've been fixing and painting the outside of my house. It costs next to nothing and helps ease that feeling that I'm just backsliding on everything and running the old place into the ground. All my front windows and doors are now filled, sealed and brilliant white instead of looking abandoned.
The most challenging project was to fix up my chimney enclosure. That was a choice between ripping the whole business off and rebuilding- not an option due to money and time constraints- or rehabilitation of what's already there. The problem was that the chimney was finished in something one slight degree more durable than corrugated cardboard. Not very rugged or weatherproof, and boy after 8 or 10 years, the thing looked pretty sorry.
Getting back and forth required climbing up two ladders and traversing the ridge line. At first I crawled and frog-hopped my way across, occasionally being sharply aware of how hot a roof can get on a July afternoon. Since my shoes were much better suited to such contact than my inner thighs, I tried walking across the ridge pole. Gradually it became routine and much more comfortable.
The inner resistance was not actually fear, but entrenched expectations. Fictional redheaded youths are not supposed to walk ridgepoles, much less a 49 year old carrying a bucket of paint, a mortgage and responsibility for 3 kids.
6 months ago I would not have discovered how good my balance is because I was mentally stuck.
Embedded and hence invisible doubts are hard to get past. Unless you're burning your legs on searing hot asphalt, and instead choose to concentrate and enjoy the adventure of the ridgepole walk.
Friday, July 13, 2012
Here I Am
Two days ago, my law degree took me to a different place than I could possibly have foreseen in school. It was a storage area inside the Matinicus Town Office. As many hours as I'd put in at the office, this space was a place I'd never ventured in before.
The building previously served as the island's one room school. I found myself moving old doors, lumber and some broken chair pieces to get at books. Not just any books. Books of about 2 feet by 3 feet containing elegantly handwritten records of property taxes.
My mission was to try and figure out what happened to approximately half the shares in 22 acres of shorefront and beach property here on the island. There is litigation among some of the other owners. Matinicus has three areas where shore and harbor property is owned in shares rather than physical boundaries. These shares have been passed down and subdivided from the original European settlers of the island. Ownership gets convoluted. One parcel is expressed at something like 57/90th's of 250/450th's.
I am uniquely privileged to be using my law degree this way.
Two days later, after some early morning negotiation on a case, I'm standing at the south end of the island, listening to bird gossip, placid surf and the southwest breeze through the grass. Three monarch butterflies stand in the milkweed.
As much hell as I've been through, or put myself and family through, I am recognizing how special my situation is. I had it as a zero sum game in my mind- if I get this out-of-the-box lifestyle, I have to endure financial chaos and suffering. Not so.
Popping the bubble of the zero sum game, the self-limitations, the self-punishment is a good thing. Somewhere along the way, without intending or seeing it at the time, I broke out of the shell. The shell was that of mid level civil servant afraid of my shadow, unable to be myself, weak, unfulfilled. Now I captain a boat, have a fascinating slate of cases and can finally start to deal with the financial piece. I am not unusually intelligent, good looking, rich or courageous. I just am here. I like it.
The building previously served as the island's one room school. I found myself moving old doors, lumber and some broken chair pieces to get at books. Not just any books. Books of about 2 feet by 3 feet containing elegantly handwritten records of property taxes.
My mission was to try and figure out what happened to approximately half the shares in 22 acres of shorefront and beach property here on the island. There is litigation among some of the other owners. Matinicus has three areas where shore and harbor property is owned in shares rather than physical boundaries. These shares have been passed down and subdivided from the original European settlers of the island. Ownership gets convoluted. One parcel is expressed at something like 57/90th's of 250/450th's.
I am uniquely privileged to be using my law degree this way.
Two days later, after some early morning negotiation on a case, I'm standing at the south end of the island, listening to bird gossip, placid surf and the southwest breeze through the grass. Three monarch butterflies stand in the milkweed.
As much hell as I've been through, or put myself and family through, I am recognizing how special my situation is. I had it as a zero sum game in my mind- if I get this out-of-the-box lifestyle, I have to endure financial chaos and suffering. Not so.
Popping the bubble of the zero sum game, the self-limitations, the self-punishment is a good thing. Somewhere along the way, without intending or seeing it at the time, I broke out of the shell. The shell was that of mid level civil servant afraid of my shadow, unable to be myself, weak, unfulfilled. Now I captain a boat, have a fascinating slate of cases and can finally start to deal with the financial piece. I am not unusually intelligent, good looking, rich or courageous. I just am here. I like it.
Thursday, June 21, 2012
Stained Glass Window Moments
Through the hardest times I've experienced, in the midst of chaotic avalanches of financial and personal collapse, there have been cracks in the cold stone wall of misery. Important cracks. Empty moments of light and pointless relief and happiness. Certainty about who I am and what I'm doing. Dazzlement at the ocean and gratitude that I work there.
One morning started particularly wretchedly. The weather on that dazzling ocean where I work on this day was cold, windy and rainy. Then the oil leak in the boat turned into a gusher, surrounding Close Enough with a giant oil slick. I envisioned calling the bank and telling them where the boat was and that the keys were in it. I envisioned being many thousands further into the hole at a time when I'm broke, inexperienced and desperate.
I limped into the harbor, had help locating the engine problem, called for a part and surrendered to several days of down time when I absolutely could not afford it.
Later, I sat in a meeting and was given a piece of paying work. I then took a torn in half piece of scrap paper and wrote down a list of these kinds of projects I'd had come in recently and very much by coincidence. The sun came in through the stained glass window in my soul as I realized that rotten weather and boat down time had suddenly transformed into several very productive days laid out before me.
It took a long couple of months to get used to living alone or as a single parent, to get the house back to something liveable instead of a cold, dirty bunch of sockets where belongings and family had been. Money troubles accelerated instead of abating as I had hoped. I was very lonely. I felt ashamed.
After spending this past week reeling from the latest financial body shocks, coming up with a plan and beginning to execute, after three strenuous days on the boat, after an early morning of finances and health care coverage bureaucracy, I stopped and listened and absorbed another stained glass window moment. My son and his friend were quietly playing on the back deck. We'd just gotten back from the harbor where they mucked about in the skiff and played in the water. My middle girl is off with a friend. Summer is here. I'm getting back into activities with the kids where they can enjoy and be enriched by this unique environment. I take my daughter's friend and her Dad on a ride aboard Close Enough and see the big grins that remind me why I'm here.
I haven't scored the big financial prize or fixed all the leaks in my personal ship of state. I have had a few moments where the light shines in and reassures and relieves. To me that is just as much of a prize. Those moments aren't just here and gone. They stay with me.
One morning started particularly wretchedly. The weather on that dazzling ocean where I work on this day was cold, windy and rainy. Then the oil leak in the boat turned into a gusher, surrounding Close Enough with a giant oil slick. I envisioned calling the bank and telling them where the boat was and that the keys were in it. I envisioned being many thousands further into the hole at a time when I'm broke, inexperienced and desperate.
I limped into the harbor, had help locating the engine problem, called for a part and surrendered to several days of down time when I absolutely could not afford it.
Later, I sat in a meeting and was given a piece of paying work. I then took a torn in half piece of scrap paper and wrote down a list of these kinds of projects I'd had come in recently and very much by coincidence. The sun came in through the stained glass window in my soul as I realized that rotten weather and boat down time had suddenly transformed into several very productive days laid out before me.
It took a long couple of months to get used to living alone or as a single parent, to get the house back to something liveable instead of a cold, dirty bunch of sockets where belongings and family had been. Money troubles accelerated instead of abating as I had hoped. I was very lonely. I felt ashamed.
After spending this past week reeling from the latest financial body shocks, coming up with a plan and beginning to execute, after three strenuous days on the boat, after an early morning of finances and health care coverage bureaucracy, I stopped and listened and absorbed another stained glass window moment. My son and his friend were quietly playing on the back deck. We'd just gotten back from the harbor where they mucked about in the skiff and played in the water. My middle girl is off with a friend. Summer is here. I'm getting back into activities with the kids where they can enjoy and be enriched by this unique environment. I take my daughter's friend and her Dad on a ride aboard Close Enough and see the big grins that remind me why I'm here.
I haven't scored the big financial prize or fixed all the leaks in my personal ship of state. I have had a few moments where the light shines in and reassures and relieves. To me that is just as much of a prize. Those moments aren't just here and gone. They stay with me.
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
Why My Life is Cool As-Is
It's foggy today and yesterday I finished a three day hauling cycle aboard the Close Enough. My body rests and I shift to freelance legal work. After a few hours on phone and computer, I hop on my bike, pick up mail and, for an exercise break, ride down to the town dock to watch the ferry arrive and say some hellos. My mail is tucked in the front carrier I made out of a bait bag and trap hoop.
With all the fear and personal uncertainty, the lonesome hours, the financial pressure, getting on the bike is, again, a liberation. Leg muscles go. Fog flies by. Life is groovy.
Update at lunch time: I am having crabmeat I caught, rhubarb my kids harvested in the yard, red kelp from the boat and eggs from North Haven. Only thing from far away is the kale.
With all the fear and personal uncertainty, the lonesome hours, the financial pressure, getting on the bike is, again, a liberation. Leg muscles go. Fog flies by. Life is groovy.
Update at lunch time: I am having crabmeat I caught, rhubarb my kids harvested in the yard, red kelp from the boat and eggs from North Haven. Only thing from far away is the kale.
Monday, May 21, 2012
Good Days
There cannot be anything sweeter than apple blossoms on an old tree in a back yard with Penobscot Bay surf in the distance and kid laughter closer by. 3 consecutive days of blissful weather here on the island have brought productive time on the boat, and rest and rejuvenation with my two younger kids. It was magical to see this place through their eyes with its hiding places, giant elephant ear rhubarb leaves, hammock, green grass and soft early summer air. Our future here is precarious. Our present is magic.
Then today I get a little sniff of what the money may be like when the lobsters show up. It is flat calm with dazzling sunshine. I'm running the boat, hauling gear, making all the moves more fluidly, doing things that are still new in that I didn't start doing this when I was 14, yet the work settles in a little every day.
Yep. Still stuck. Financial realities are painful to confront. Not sure what I'll be doing or where I'll be living in the longer term, but today, I am a fisherman, and it is good. There is even a respectable paycheck.
Then today I get a little sniff of what the money may be like when the lobsters show up. It is flat calm with dazzling sunshine. I'm running the boat, hauling gear, making all the moves more fluidly, doing things that are still new in that I didn't start doing this when I was 14, yet the work settles in a little every day.
Yep. Still stuck. Financial realities are painful to confront. Not sure what I'll be doing or where I'll be living in the longer term, but today, I am a fisherman, and it is good. There is even a respectable paycheck.
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