Talk about a dream, try and make it real...

Wayne White - one of my favorite artists

I have missed writing very much. I also miss art, and being creative, and being around creative people. When my dog died I thought I would blaze out off of this mountain and out of the cabin so fast I'd be just a grease stain on the driveway - but here I sit, more attached to a home base than I thought I would be. When I really thought deeply about moving I just couldn't figure out where to go. I really feel Austin is no longer an option, so I thought about exploring Alaska or Detroit or someplace that gets real winter. My heart wants to move back to NYC, but I'm just too cheap to spend that much on rent. And then there is the thing I haven't mentioned that I always mention:

just moving one town over was never gonna cut it for me

the place that I have romanticized and idealized to the point where nothing else really mattered. I have just thinly participated in my life since I've not been on a deployment cycle. Sure I have had moments of sheer connection and bliss, mostly while on trips, but the last four and a half years have been what I can almost call a complete bust as far as creating a life off Ice. I mean, I really tried, but my heart wasn't into it. I was holding out. Holding out until I could go back. And I had a feeling it wouldn't be easy to get back - and it wasn't. Calls and e-mails to everyone I could find in my e-mail folder. Persistent without being desperate & then I got a nibble: South Pole alternate winter-over something or other. So I said YES YES YES and have pq'd for that. And then I started thinking how frustrating it was to have just an alt contract and how I knew myself and that I would wait around and put my life on hold again waiting for the call, and felt the familiar old frustration. Oh well, it was something, and I was plugged in to the system again so I was grateful.

I was walking around the forest behind my cabin pondering if I'd done everything I could to get back. A hunch drove me back to my computer where I made a phone call that ended up snagging me a McMurdo summer contract this main body. So, I am going back to the Ice :-). Possibly for a whole year!

Pluto

People keep asking me if I'm excited. And I say "yes" but they seem to not believe me...and now I realize that I am more relieved than excited. Relieved that the waiting for 5 years was not for nothing..that I really can trust that the thing I talk about all the time IS the thing that I really want. Some people seem confused that I really want this, like I'm fooling myself, and they look at me like this is some childish desire and why the heck would I want to go someplace like that. I just tell myself thank gawd they feel that way or the competition for jobs would be even stiffer. There have been some fantastic things borne from my stateside stint: a Bikram yoga practice that is an unexpected source of camaraderie, a knitting hobby that is as delightful and delicious as I can ever remember anything being, and the point of it all - that I got to hold my cheek on my little dog's chest to feel his tiny heart stop beating. I'm starting to think that Fergus is why I haven't sold the cabin yet, because this is the the last house we shared together and he spent his last two years here. I wouldn't have bought it if it were just me. I am sure I will start reminiscing about this cabin, this mountain, this State as soon as I get to LAX. I am enjoying living here knowing that I don't have to be here full time. Springsteen wrote so many songs about the long dark road stretched out in front of you that made your heart quicken and the desire to run away and to find a new place, and as soon as that felt stale to keep moving onward into the unknown and to just keep that spark alive, and trust that it would lead you to your own freedom. I see that it was good to have stricture and confinement - it taught me to be patient and to be satisfied with simple things. I think I could be satisfied with yoga and knitting and working seasonally at the ski resort, but life has thrown me another great big adventure and I must go.

Undog

 "forlornness" or "the blogger's perfect sky" or "outside Bar Harbor"

Two back to back trips inducing increasingly mucho joy could only mean one thing when I got back to my cabin on the mountain: crash into the black hole of nothing going on. The annual painting workshop in Taos (this was my 15th year) was heady and amazing as usual - and I had my pod of nurturing friends to ease me through the grief of letting go of the new dog. I decided with the help of some very wise friends that now is not the time for me to be taking on a 15 year commitment to an animal - and with the stroke of a pen I converted my ownership status back into foster parent and quickly he was happily embedded in a more stimulating home than I had: a big sprawling house, giant yard, cats and dogs to play with and love from two humans. I felt like I cut my heart out and handed it over when we did the doggie hand off in a grocery store parking lot in the pouring rain. I watched him settle into his new mom's arms and her look of pure joy and knew it was the right thing, and now that I'm back after a whirlwind month of Taos, Boston, Canada I see that the choice to be a free spirit came at a high price, and that I've skated pretty free from this for most of my life, having had the feeling that I was "having it all." I changed my mind, and that was extraordinarily difficult to come to terms with: when I fell in love with the dog I was like most people who fall in love, gaga & blind to reality - and the reality is I didn't have this perfect second loving home for him like I did with Fergus. I would have had to kennel him every time I went somewhere and the Ice would have been given up forever. I just couldn't do it. It was the best decision for both of us, as his new family sends me updates and photos that show how happy he is.

Confederation Bridge, Prince Edward Island, Canada

Hopefully my six months of dog obsession has abated and I can focus on what to do with the rest of my life. I would spend it all on a cruise ship if I could. People make fun of me for traveling this way, but it can be as luscious and introspective and bizarre as any other mode - one brushes up against oneself to see the entitled pettiness, as well as the graciousness of humans in general; if one is hardwired like myself to crave being in places one has never been in before, it can be an expensive habit, and even though I seem to travel a bit more than most unretired people, I seem to have also formed a nest in my cabin. A nest but not a rut; always a hand on the back doorknob (which a therapist once commented was the way I handled most things in my life). My favorite parts of travel are hanging out in airports, the travel to and from the airports, the finding of the hotel or stateroom, and all the stuff that leads up to getting there. And once I've gotten there it's time to go again - like a whole little birth/death/rebirth cycle everytime. This time I got to add in a train ride, use my French from high school, and talk more baudy than I thought humanly possible with knitters. I made so many friends. Everything gets dropped - being on the beam for me means being gone from everything familiar.

call first, to see how big the bandwidth is

So, as adventurous as I like to come off seeming I have turned into quite a sedentary person while I'm consumed with a knitting project (which is most of the time). So after 10 days of raucous living from Boston to Quebec I was ready for some super fast and free wifi. I hauled my gigantic suitcase up 4 flights of Victorian stairs (I always request top floor for fear of hearing footsteps overhead), settled into the moldy bed, and got out my laptop for some serious internets time. When it only loaded one e-mail per minute, no pictures and definitely no streaming of shows I went into the four stages of grief, surrendered, and wandered around Montreal for a night and a day. When it was time to fly home I went to the airport six hours early so I could bask in super cold a/c (Montreal was sweltering!). Fun stuff happened on this trip: I spent hours in a coal mine in Sydney, Nova Scotia, and went to a mill where I watched yarn being spun from dog hair. I tried to get in some hiking but it was more like walking. I do miss having someone pushing me to be more physical on trips. There is no greater luxury than getting to travel on one's own terms, but sometimes the world has terms of its own and like my old guru used to say, "nature always wins." My big example of that is I try to travel only to cold places, and they are always in a freakish heatwave, as was the case on this trip too.

I have undogged myself, and with that my last tether is gone to this mountain, this gorgeous yet dull as dirt state, this unabomber-esque cabin in the woods lifestyle. I am ready to move, but not quite sure where I am moving to...hopefully will come together soon.

Frankie

It felt as natural as breathing air to bring Frankie into my life (or Figaro, as he was named at the shelter). I had been happily fostering different types of anxious/shy dogs since my first one was homed. The first one was the hardest, and then it became easier. I always dreaded the whining/crying drive up to my cabin from the shelter thinking "why am I getting another one!" but it felt so good to be able to ease the stressed creature from cage to soft warm bed. I had gotten the hang of it. I was in no risk of keeping one - my plans hadn't changed from my trajectory to go back to the Ice. Then this little silky coal-black chihuahua/dachsund mix came into my life and we were giddy...he was perfect, an angel. He was so adorably cute I had potential adopters right away, and I met the first couple the next day with him in a Goodwill parking lot (now, if someone would have told me this is what my life would have looked like 5 years ago while I was barreling through Western Antarctica in the first tractor traverse to Pine Island Glacier I would have cried. My life had become increasingly badass for 7 years straight; my life had become BIG, and I would never go back to small again. I had no idea how small it would become). They were elderly (the dog was 3 yrs old) and I had an "off" vibe about them, but since they were retired and home all day we decided to let them adopt him. I had him for a few more days before I dropped him off at the shelter to be neutered in the morning and to be picked up by his new home in the afternoon. I was sobbing when I turned Figaro over to the shelter...I was babbling about how he deserved the best home and I hope he was going to get it. A couple of days later I picked up another foster and was busy with her as she was a handful. For the week that I had my last foster I fantasized about a dog like little Figaro coming into my life when I was ready for another dog (which I kind of thought would be in another year or so) - I kept telling people "I just fostered the perfect dog and if I ever meet another one like that I'm gonna keep him" - so my last foster bit someone so I had to take her back to the shelter for bite quarantine. While I was e-mailing back and forth with the foster coordinator about the logistics of picking up another foster while dropping of the current one she wrote "Figaro's adopters returned him to the shelter. If you want to take him again until he gets a new home you can do that!" I was beside myself with glee - I raced to the shelter so I could see that little angel again - his tail was thumping on the kennel when he realized it was me picking him up. I got him home and we just fell into our fun routine of cuddling, long walks and playing with squeaker toys (gak, sounds like I'm dating a dog)...I had the first potential adopter contact me and I wrote her back to arrange a time to meet, knowing that I could not give away this dog a second time (she never wrote back). I had first dibs as a foster parent, so I let myself have 4 or 5 days to really contemplate it, knowing fully well that I was going to have eat some major humble pie after all the kvetching I did about feeling "trapped" with Fergus. There was no decision to be made. He came back to me. He was mine.

I felt I had to write letters to the people who had listened to me complain about my non-Ice life..about the fact that I could find no meaning or purpose in stateside life. And a lot of that is still true: I am very isolated in my cabin on the mountain. I have a yoga family and practice that I love, but I spend most of my time knitting in my cabin alone. I wasn't interested in seeing bands or art or much in town as the drive was so long. And even though I was "free" without a dog, it didn't feel like freedom - it felt like...nothing...like I was unmoored and uncentered. I had travel plans and they did not thrill me. I had plans to go back to the Ice and that did not thrill me either. The only thing that thrilled me was this little black dog. I still may need to move off of this mountain to be closer to civilization. I still want to go back to the Ice. All the great things I did in my life I did while I had a dog. And what I didn't realize is how lost and alone and sad I would be without one. I just don't have enough things to fill my time. I need something to take care of and I didn't know that until after Fergus was gone. I just went through all my photos of the last 10 years or so of Fergus. He is held closely to my side in almost every one of them. We were a team...a fused unit of Marsha & Fergus. After communing with those photos for a while it all made sense to me: of course I need a dog for a companion, a companionship I took for granted because I had it for so long. Frankie (formerly Figaro) came back to me. Who could return a dog like this back to a shelter. I haven't second guessed myself like I thought I would. It just felt like the most obvious right thing to do.

adoption day!

My Dog Problem

We waited for the snow, and it finally came...and in true PNW style it got rained on & melted away after springlike conditions. I got 8 long days of 12 hour shifts in, with a bunch of overtime (at minimal wage) and it was so necessary for me to have to report to a job after months of waiting. Was enjoying my days off and got a call that the resort was CLOSED. I no longer had a job. And no snow in the forecast. Was just getting into the groove of cold outdoor work and was loving it.

A month after Fergus died, I was bringing home my first foster dog for the Multnomah County Animal Shelter. I had been compulsively looking at doggie pictures on petfinder.com and the various
rescue groups in the area. I was going to shelters every day. I couldn't stop myself but I also didn't see anything wrong with it. My heart was broken and I was filling that massive dog shaped hole in my heart by loving on other dogs in these places where there are so many sweet little pups just waiting to be scooped into someone's arms and taken home. I have never understood how anyone could obtain a dog any other way than through a shelter - it almost seems criminal to me, but that is probably being too judgmental. The amazing part to me was that capacity of the love I had for a potential new dog. There was no comparison to Fergus (though I am attracted to only small dogs), but his death seemed to magnify and make urgent the dog-love-bond that I had taken for granted for 17 years. After filling out a foster application and getting approved right away, I was about to begin my journey with Good Boy.

At first it seemed selfish and irresponsible to me to be bringing this poor dog to my house. I wanted to hold and cuddle with a doggie, with none of the long term responsibility...he had "issues" in the shelter, was aggressive and snarling at people, but the second I opened the kennel in my house he leapt into my arms and snuggled with me like a baby. Within the hour we were in my warm cozy bedroom under piles of soft blankets, him sleeping with a smile on his face in my lap. He had a "home" and was very grateful for it. I was soon to find out that a foster dog is a lot of work. They remove them from the shelter for a reason - they are not adoptable and need to be made that way. This one only bonded with one person and every one else was a threat. I was to socialize him by having people come over or me take him around places, and I did that as much as I could but it was too hard because of his unpredictable nature. I ended up just bounding home after outings or work to have a love fest with the giddily happy dog. Almost 5 weeks passed before someone asked about him. I was feeling the wrenching sense of how awful fostering was: the dog bonds and starts to feel totally safe a secure in a home, and then he is toted off & dropped off at a stranger's house, to have to start the bonding process all over again. I was starting to panic. More for me than for him. I was totally attached to this dog. He was mine and I was his. I was a true love affair, as great as the one I had with Fergus. And I was about to experience deeply felt loss again.

After meeting with two different families (spending all day with both of them) he finally got adopted. He was only $25 because of his age and how long he'd been homeless, and the night before I dropped him off at his new home I didn't sleep a wink, feeling like I had done him a big injustice fooling him that he had me forever. I dropped him off at his new home and feel comfortable with them as his new owners, but it is me who is bereft, confused, heartbroken all over again. Was I masochistic to put myself through this pain again? After a couple of days of "freedom" I was very very sad. I bought a plane ticket to Texas so I wouldn't get another dog. I went to the shelter again to ask if they had one I could keep just until my trip. They had a sweet little girl, but we decided to wait until I got back from my trip. I used the shelter worker as a grief/guidance counsellor as I had a lot of confusing feelings about my role as a foster parent. She assured me my grief was typical, and that the best way to do it was to get another one immediately! Ok, I could do that. It seems so indulgent, but I think that will have to be the way I get my dog need filled for now. I almost cancelled my trip to Texas so I could have another dog right away, but that just seemed weird and compulsive, so, as lonely as I am, I'm still going to wait until I get back mid February. This part sounds like it could be titled "my dog addiction".

I didn't think it would be this way. I thought the second Fergus died I'd just drive outtta here and travel and just be drunk with my freedom from responsibly. But the opposite is sort of true (and it is still early, I still may be not ready to be that utterly free), having cared for a dog for so long, I cannot imagine my life without one. It just seems WRONG to be in a cabin by myself with nothing to love on. I don't have close connections with people around here, so I really need that dog love connection. I am looking at the possibility that I have changed. That this fantasy I had in my head this past four years may have just been a fantasy of freedom from responsibility, but the reality is that I need responsibility. I have applied for all the antarctic jobs I feel I am qualified for, and am hoping that I do get a job this upcoming fall, but in the meantime I need that dog love...I now understand those people who go out and get another one right away...you can't help yourself! And there are those that never get another one - I thought I would be one of those. This blindsided me. Maybe it's still the pain of the loss, or the emptiness of my life right now, but fostering that dog gave my life meaning and purpose, and a whole lot of love. And for the first time I had an experience that was truly gratifying - gratifying in a way that I now understand when people talk about service and giving of themselves. I was the one who was fostered, loved, cared for...I'm hoping that this two week trip will wake me up to a reality that is not centered on dogs, but if it doesn't, then this will be my new reality. And that is fine with me..... :-)

I hope that I did right by him. Fostering is tough on the heart: you have to ready to utterly let go of this precious animal that you have loved to bits for a short period of time. And I was blindsided by how much I loved him. I know that being a dog, he will bond with his new owners just like he did with me, and that makes me happy...but what do I do with the new squishy me that I don't even recognize as me? Was she birthed from the ashes of the ancient pup that quietly changed her psyche over 17 years? Is this just a factor of being middle aged and not having human grand babies? Or is it a cosmic joke played by a trickster god who knows that it's no coincidence that dog is god spelled backwards? I think the alchemy of love is strange and unpredictable, and never did I not think my source of it wouldn't be a human man; but this, a soft smiling face, the same face, on every one of them.

"Good Boy" - my first foster dog

Shattered by Love

Fergus 11-1-97 to 11-8-2014

My precious little dog, who was 17 years old passed away four days ago, peacefully euthanized at the vet's office, suffering very little, and very ready to go. That Saturday morning was like a too fast moving series of events that I was not ready for...and in the last four days I've talked and talked about the story when I haven't been sobbing, and all the love and support for friends and family and fellow dog lovers has been enormous. I know I have written for several years about how much I miss the Ice but I loved my dog more and it was my commitment to him to stay with him until he drew his last breath. Now I am glad that things happened swiftly and I got to hold onto his little body while nuzzling in his neck and telling him how much I loved him while he was sedated and comfortable. When the doc inserted the second needle, his little heart stopped before the fluid could have reached him...he was so ready..and I can look at this picture and imagine him saying "thank you for my awesome life!" 

And he did have an awesome life...from all the people on Facebook who remember him and remember our bond, to the incredibly sweet flurry of pictures sent between me & his grandparents (who loved him as much I did, as their house was his second home & he spent all my Ice seasons there), I have gotten to experience something I have never experienced before: deep, hard loss mixed with joyful memories and deep bonding with other pet owners who have lost pets. I am now in that club and I understand. The happiness he gave to me and so many others almost overrides the grief. I am able to keep that feeling with me most of the day. There are terrible moments: driving up to the empty cabin, seeing all his toys and food bowls and meds...but there are more happy ones too: knowing he will never suffer again, knowing that he had the most luxurious no expense spared care a little pound puppy could ever have.

I don't know what his life was like for the first 6-8 months, but when I saw him at the high kill shelter I adopted him from, I instantly knew he was the dog I was going to adopt. I don't remember why I wanted to get a dog, just that I woke up one day & went to the shelter (where I used to volunteer with the cats because I didn't like dogs!) and walked amongst all the big pens with hundreds of dogs jumping and slobbering and excited and then a saw a tiny bit of red, inert fuzz in back of a large kennel, and he seemed so frightened and small. I asked to take him out to the play area and he walked around a little and seemed very tentative. I had never been around dogs and wasn't sure how to act...I think I tried to get him to run with me and he started to respond, ever so little. I went home and told Steve, my live in boyfriend, that I found a dog I wanted and would he come look at it with me the next day. When Steve saw Fergus he said "he's so small!" and he was attracted to the boisterous high energy mutts. I was not interested in looking at any other dog, so we went back to the play area and he was a little more active, still very tentative, but at the end of our petting on him he reached up and put his paws on my knees and wagged his tail...and Steve was amazed and said "I think that's your dog!"...and the next 17 years was basically doggie heaven. He went on road trips, went to parties and stayed at grandmas and flew on airplanes and had many comfy homes in Austin and Oregon. I bought this little cabin for him to spend his final years in...and he got to live here for 1.5 years in a heated bed with baby food daily and lots of comfort.

What I was not aware of until he passed was what was different about me. I feel I did right by him. I took care of him to the best of my ability, and most importantly I sacrificed things for him: mostly a career I loved. And now I see that I didn't sacrifice anything...every day with him was a privilege...every bit of loyalty and love that he gave to me made me a better person. Even when I was cranking on about my lack of "freedom" or feeling "trapped" my actions were of total devotion and care - at least that's what everyone has told me. I would only work somewhere where he wouldn't have to be alone very long...I didn't do many things because I didn't want to come home to a frightened pup, and at first I kind of resented it, and then I couldn't wait to get home to spend time with him. I was lucky that he was utterly healthy and puppy like until his last year. This last year he was like a different dog. His senses were so degraded and he was so disoriented I'm sure his quality of life wasn't optimal. I kept saying he was a happy little dog but people who weren't attached to him saw something else, something the vet and my friend could see that Saturday morning that I was blind to: that he probably wasn't doing that great this last year, and that he might have been suffering a little. But I saw him as happy because he always ate a lot for the one hour a day he was awake.

My friend who I always listen to said this to me: you might regret it if you went to the Ice and he died while you were gone, but you will never regret having spent the rest of his life with him. I always clung to those words...these words from a friend who has experienced deep losses. She was right. 

It seems like some great cosmic joke to me now that I thought I was missing out on something these last 4 years. It shows me that I am so spoiled...I'm so used to getting to do what I want, but not getting to do what I want has shown me what real joy is, the commitment to something that is not me, something that is dependent on me. I would have never known until I had the experience that to sacrifice something for love is not sacrifice at all. Thank you Fergus, for showing me what real love is.

Between Midnight & McMurdo

Over twenty years ago I was watching Star Trek episodes to get through a grieving process after being dumped by I guy I was crazy about. I was living in Austin, 29 years old and weary of my office day jobs and out of control partying weekends. I was also extremely disappointed in the direction my life was going: I had a filmmaking degree and had been praised a bit in college, moved to NYC  the day after I graduated with dreams of being Woody Allen and ended up in a series of low paying receptionist jobs & drinking like Bukowski. The partying became more dark and dangerous (yet I always made it to work every day in the city) and I was seeing that my life was not anything like I had pictured it to be - I felt clueless on how to guide my life in a positive direction. For some reason an acquaintance gave me an old black & white tv (people always wonder why I don't have a tv in my house). It only got one channel, and one night after deciding to dry out for a bit, I turned it on & saw a 60's Trek episode for the first time. As I watched it I felt something blossom in my heart - it was compelling in a way I did not understand yet. Looking forward to this show kept me out of the bars for a couple of months. I remember looking in the mirror after a couple of weeks of not drinking and saw my sparkling eyes for the first time in a long time. So, again in Austin six years later, I'm 29 and going through my umpteenth breakup, still partying but not nearly as hard, and hungrily watching star trek every day. And it wasn't even intentional - it just organically popped up as my heartbreak band-aid...I don't think you could rent the shows at this point so I just watched them on network...and just like when I was lost in NYC, they worked at healing my pain by focussing my attention on things that made my soul happy: camaraderie, complex friendships, a mission, a journey full of challenges, a ship full of people whose lives were filled with meaning an purpose. I did not know at the time that this was why the show grabbed my attention so completely. I just knew there was something going on there and it was trying to tell me something, and whatever that something was was touching some deep an buried part of me that would take another 14 years to crack free...

I got married and my husband also loved the show - we even went to some conventions and actually met George Takei. I never got into the later versions of Star Trek. I tried to watch them but remained a purist; they just didn't have that rawness of the original...nor the qualities I saw in the trifecta of characters in the original: the dark sides, the doubts, the uncontrollable lusts, the petty jealousies and cockiness & bravado borne from insecurities. Spock became my guru. There was a famous episode, "Amok Time" where he was to return to Vulcan to marry his intended. The human side of him was in serious tumult with the Vulcan half - and when he went back to meet his bride, she was in love with someone else because he was around and Spock was always gone. Spock still would have been able to marry her and fulfill his community's expectations, but he let his betrothed go to her love (Stonn), surrendering to the situation and staying true to his true calling. In the end to he turned to Stonn and said:

 "After a time, you may find that having is not so pleasing a thing...after all, as wanting."

When I heard this line the starts aligned, all the molecules of my body lit up and the clock stopped as  my gut had received a truth it had hungered for. My dear old friend Richard came by my house while the credits were rolling (with that incredibly cheesy theme song)...forced me out of the rocking chair I had been glued to for weeks, and dragged me to a nightclub on Sixth Street and that night, I met the man I was to marry. The marriage didn't last, but the whole experience of Star Trek coming into my life at my lowest moments makes me have faith that some ancient and mysterious loving powers might be helping us in our darkest hours. Looking back, my 20's was bursting all the time with this sort of synchronicity and help. I would welcome this sort of excitement now - though I am much more able to take care of my emotional self than I used to be.

My reader may wonder why I have a picture of Antarctica up instead of Mr. Spock. Well I had written an entirely different post an then erased it. It was a long poem inspired by the line "...between midnight and McMurdo..." and I kept working it but it just devolved into my usual story line of missing the Ice and being frantic inside about this place going on without me. I had recently reached a crisis point as I usually do during Winfly time, pumping energy into all the negative feelings that surround me having to stay stateside: helplessness, resentment, sadness, despair, when I finally just told myself ENOUGH! It is time to DROP this story. I watched every Eckhart Tolle video on youtube and forced myself to live in the present and dig into my life here. It is working. My life is getting juicy again, and even though looking at that picture of the far away frozen place can take my breath away, I know that it is the wanting of it that is steering my pleasure around it. I have already had it and will have it again, but for now I can just enjoy the wanting.

Summer Travel Posting

these bad boys hang out on the rock of Gibralter

sweet memories of Provence

a 500 year old bldg gives new meaning to "vintage"

cool peeps I met on the trip

Cadiz, Spain

Cadiz again, I loved it

Joan from Manchester, UK - my new bestie!

There is nothing like travel to thrust you into the present moment...as much as I've done it I'm still amazed at how righted & centered & alive I can be once I get into that airport (my "church" as I've jokingly referred to it with a friend) and begin the journey that has a loose itinerary but that is always filled with surprises. And the surprises are not what I discover out there but what I find out about myself - the world always acts as a mirror for me to confront the parts of me that I am not able to see when I am in familiar routine, so travel has never been about relaxing or vacating for me, but more like coming to and hooking up with myself. Not always joyful, often very painful, but always very, very intense and necessary seeming.

I started driving from Mt. Hood to Houston on April 21st and at first the drive seemed ridiculous: carting an ancient dog across the country (to stay with my parents) so I could be free to travel for a couple of months without worrying about him. He is frailer and blinder than ever, so leaving him in kennel seemed cruel. I guess I should look at the positive side that I have the means and freedom to do a trip like this at all...but taking care of creatures is not my wheelhouse - bolting towards unknown adventure is.

The 6 day drive was epic and insightful, as all long solo road trips are...it was snowing when I left Mt. Hood & 96F when I arrived in Austin. So horrid to be in Texas weather! I love my home state so much it hurts, but the weather sucks so badly I can't live there anymore. After settling in at my folks house in Houston I went to Taos for the annual painting/gutting trip. It was good to be in that space, but I felt hard and resistant to the process - very aware that I was still feeling pain in my heart about the miles between me and McMurdo...it never ebbs, I can only distract myself from it with work, travel, yoga, lame attempts to have a spiritual life. In the blink of an eye Taos was over, then my month in Austin was to commence.

Initially I thought being in Austin for an extended period was going to be just waiting to go on this mediterranean trip, but my time there was very, very juicy: I felt like the prodigal son returning to welcoming, excited hordes of people wanting to see me. It was incredible. I was home. I was feeling apprehensive about the two weeks in Europe, feeling badly about dumping my pet on my parents, feeling like I hadn't worked long enough to  earn this trip, and that I was just overindulging myself because I could...but what I've learned is worrying about stuff is such a waste of time...in the blink of an eye that trip was over too...and here I sit at 4:00am in Houston, the multi-legged adventure completed, preparing to drive back to my cabin in Oregon. But before I close some words about the Europe trip:

It took a long time to decide whether I would go on this trip...I really wanted to go to Skandinavia & Russia but this group I wanted to travel with only goes to hot sunny places so I decided to do the mediterranean with them. I would just suck it up and deal with my sun exposure headaches with advil and kvetching.

What I always forget & what is always a delight is the intimacy that happens with being in a place where I've never been, exploring the crooked cobblestone streets alone, and being utterly in the present and available for anything. I was with a group...but soon found I preferred my own company to theirs, though was grateful to have them as a safety net of comrades. The beautiful busty lady pictured is my new friend Joan from Liverpool. We met the last few days of the trip and had a blast dancing and tarting around on the ship. I am truly blessed to be able to have such a life.

So Lame, Using the same Post on two differently themed Blogs. Oh Well...

Taos Ski Valley 2014 - year 8

I came into this ski week with very high expectations. I took my first lesson ever here 8 years ago this same week and have been coming back closing week every year. I had been progressing a little each year & could feel it a lot in my 6 days on the mountain. Two years ago I had gotten about two weeks skiing in on Mt. Hood and had gotten a lot faster so that my 7th year I felt very confident. Last summer I moved to Mt. Hood and got 40 days on skis before coming to Taos this time and expected to be put in a very high level class. I got here a day early and got a big day on the mountain before class started and for the first time did not feel intimidated by this macho & rugged peak. So when I got put in the same level class as last year during ski off (where the head of the ski school watches you do a few turns & assigns you to a class) I was shocked. I saw someone I had skied with for years in a higher level than me. I saw that there was only one class lower than me & couldn't believe what was happening. Did those 40 days not make me better? I was told that just time on skis made a difference but it apparently didn't. I wondered if I had not improved at all & what, if anything, I had gained by doing all that skiing. And it was hard: the decision to move someplace where I didn't know anyone, buy a cabin, buy snow tires & drive up to ski by myself in total fear & awkwardness. I met some folks on the mountain & we would meet up at the resort & ski together but they were at a much higher level than I was. I found one ski buddy & we started going up all the time. He was very fast & I asked him for help & he told me some things & made me feel lame for "not improving." We had some huge powder days & I couldn't ski it, and he would say "then you can't ski" & we would fight & grouse at each other driving down the mountain as I let my ability at this sport control my self esteem while he obsessively texted his girlfriend. What else did I have? I had defined myself by being an Antarctican for seven years. I was no longer an artist, no longer an old Austinite, felt lost in Oregon as it has never felt like "home" and was putting all my eggs in one basket. I really wanted to be an expert skier & felt that I had failed after putting in all those days.  Deep down none of this really felt like "me" but that was also what was so alluring about it - stepping into a life that was nothing like I'd ever been in before.

What is interesting to me now is WHY I want to be so good at this...I had never wanted to ski until I took my first snowboard lesson in 2006. I saw this energy and excitement on the mountain that was intoxicating. I failed so badly at my snowboard lesson that people suggested I take up skiing first. I had to wait til the next year though as I'd broken my tailbone on my one day out. I had never played a sport before. In junior high we had to do volleyball and softball & I was terrible at them. I was so scared in volleyball at how aggressive the other girls were that I made excuses to not play. I only liked track and gymnastics, finding out that I am not much of a team player. I started jogging in high school, started again more seriously after college & fell in love with running. Did it 3 times a week for half an hour for about 15 years. Did aerobics and weight training mixed in there too...and always walked a few miles a day. Discovered yoga about 10 years ago and love it about as much as anything I can imagine. I am not one of those people that hates exercising. I really love it, only if all I can do is a brisk walk around town or through the woods. But skiing is a sport. A very strange and mysterious one in the beginning. And I have never been good at sports. I was always good at writing and art and handicrafts but I was not naturally athletic. When I ran for years I still never got fast in a 5K. I dropped out of track in high school because I was the slowest one. I couldn't stand being the worst at something because I'd been so good at so many things naturally...but I think that is ultimately why I chose to commit to skiing: my first week was so bad, I was so scared and the last one left in beginner school, but that final day when I successfully took turns down the bunny slope I had a breakthrough that I've never forgotten. I have met people who started skiing at my age who do double blacks and I have yet to do them. I am timid about terrain I've never done, and won't do anything new without an instructor. So my class this week started off with us all being about the same with one really slow person...the slow person dropped down a level, we picked up two really fast people, and all of a sudden my class was 3 super fast people who just bombed down the mountain with me trailing far behind. I had never seen this happen in 8 years of ski week (where my class was not a perfect fit)....and the past few years we did moguls & trees and this time we weren't going to do them. I ended up after a lot of drama being dropped to a lower level class that had almost beginner skiers in it. Now I was the fastest person in class but was not being challenged. But I accepted that this was supposed to be about "fun" and not being a superstar, and besides, I have far surpassed where I thought I would have ended up in my ski career.

Something else was off at Taos: me. I usually blossom & dazzle there, but this time I felt this shroud around me...like I had gauze around my heart and there was a hardness, a bitterness that I did not want to look at. Yes I knew I was sad about not deploying for the third year in a row (and now possibly looking at a fourth) but was the cumulative effect of having my dream deferred turning me into a bitter old crone? Or was it something else? A dark veil seemed to come over me when I saw couples interacting in tender and romantic ways. A man turned his wife on the dance floor and his eyes melted with love for her. My life has had none of that of late. I was seared, and wondering if I had used up my boyfriend allotment for this lifetime...I mean, there have been a lot of them....and a lot of them have been awesome, and the one thing I knew is that I would always have one - until now. I'm not going to go into some new-agey tie in about how being single is awesome and one has to love themself first - cuz I'm out her in new territory for me & it is terrifying. I mean the programming that our culture has about old single women & sick cats and fat stomachs - that is not me...I love solitude & doing my own thing, but I like having companionship & a partner too...I'm not sure I'm very good at it, but for some reason I'm terrified I'm never going to find someone - gosh just writing that seems lame - it's not like I'm hideous or anything. I skied today & felt bored - bored because I am tired of groomers & no longer afraid of off piste...I took off by myself into crud & trees & baby jumps all with success. Maybe I didn't turn into an exper skier this year, but I will next year. Grand Masters here I come. Gah am I ADHD or something?

I love my little dog with his bum eye..he is more fragile now & I am more trapped - not being able to leave him alone as long as I used to because of having to be medicated every few hours...I wonder, if when he dies & I can actually try to get back to the Ice, if it will be the same glorious infusion of life that it was for so long...and this time was not wasted..I did some really bold things that I will be proud of but that also increased my sense of isolation. There is no guidebook for a single middle aged woman who still has the same chutzpah she had at 19. But at the same time there seems to be a shallowness, a non depth to the activities that I assign myself. It is like I am walking through mud, painting a smile on my face and living someone else's life. I cannot fall into that unblinking black hole right now - it's not an option with my current set of unprocessed neurosis.

I actually have women friends my age who are besotted with their grandchildren. Now THIS is an alien landscape I want nothing to do with (otherwise knows as someone please shoot me now!)  Effing Hell get me back to he child free work camp! The gritty, dirty dusty world of labor & cold & wild dancing. Take me back when I want to come back is all I ask.

Who Would Be the One Thinking This Thought

It's hard to do selfies when you can't see close up

It's finally winter here on the mountain and the snow dusted evergreens are so soul-fulfilling to a Texan flatlander.  I had dreamed about moving to a mountain and becoming a better skier (as a plan B to Ice life), and now that dream has become a reality - except for the fact that I am not a very good skier if my last two days out are any indication. Man it was rough. I skied one day by myself at Timberline: I'd never been there before so I tend not to explore a mountain too much if I don't have anyone with me. I seem to get lost very easily, stand around looking for signage and waiting for the zillions of snowboarders to whiz by, and finally figure out a few runs that seem good and do those over & over til I'm done. Even if I have a crappy day at it, I am always proud of myself for going - I mean it would be so much easier not to go. And then I had company stay with me for two nights (a gal pal & her two sons) and that was a fun two days as we skied at Meadows for really cheap and it was nice have two whole days of a long holiday with intense face time with people in my house. Sometimes I don't realize how much time I spend in solitude until someone is around me for 24 hours...like everything else I feel intensely about, my solitude is something I cherish and hold sacred, but can subtly turn into isolation if I don't stay alert to it...after a few delicious days of reading and knitting I'll feel all wonky and realize I need to go hang out with some people. This is the issue I never had to deal with on the Ice, as I was always surrounded by people and had to work hard for precious alone time. That life was easier as I thrive on contact with people, so I have to work a lot harder stateside as I love living alone and have moved 3 times in 2 years so am continually throwing myself into situations where I have to make new connections. Thankfully that comes naturally to me and this is a friendly mountain.

After a 2.5 year period where I rarely used fb, I am back on it and connecting with people again. Once the Icefolk are fully deployed I calm down, and now that it is winter here I don't feel like I'm missing out on anything. Or am I? One thing I saw on fb a lot is all the weddings and babies people are having. A lot of these people are folks I've known and loved dearly and I am always just so surprised to see them doing this. I forget that they are a lot younger than me, and that 90% of people want to have a family of their own. This puts me in a small demographic, and we women (and men) tend to find each other. We are connected by not only not having the desire to bear children, but by also being absolutely baffled by it. I am always very very surprised when I'm talking to a girl I've just met and her one desire to to have a baby. If they are under 35 I try and find out what other passions they might have and try hard to encourage them to pursue those...but I don't put a lot of energy into this as people want what they want and it leaves empty airplane seats for people like me...I am probably falling into that mind-trap because it is the holidays and I have to scramble to find fellow orphans to hang with. Truly, I have never regretted not having children, but I can understand the joy that they bring into people's lives because I have caught glimpses of it. Last night I was watching a documentary called "Stuck" about all the orphans lolling around in institutions all over the world and it was heartbreaking as so many Americans wanted to adopt a lot of these kids and the process took forever or was halted completely. That is one thing I could see myself doing is adopting one of these precious kids...but it would be super hard for a single person. One comment an adoptive parent made in the film was "there had to be more to life than golfing & skiing." That really hit home for me. Last week on my second day of skiing with my friend, we had gotten ourselves stuck on a run that seemed too scary for us. The winds had picked up and we were looking over a ledge and didn't see anything we felt brave enough to ski down. She started panicking and I asked someone who skied by where was the easy way down and he pointed to a road that would lead us to a broad bowl...we slide slipped down a super narrow catwalk with sheer drop-offs, me drenched in sweat & Renee freezing and crying, and I just kept telling her we're almost there just take it one baby turn at a time, and we got down. As soon as the terrifying part was over we were cursing down a blue run laughing and proud of ourselves and these words came out of me "I'm really Bored!" She looked at me stunned. What? Look where we are and what we are doing, this is so fun! She was right but I think my surprising even to me comment was a version of what that guy in the documentary had said. Is this all there is? I am good at picking a goal and making it happen. Maybe it's just too early in the season and I feel like I suck at skiing. Maybe it's because I haven't started working yet and I really need to start doing that to abort this extended period of navel gazing. Or maybe my innards are pulling once again towards this work I often think of, of working around and with these kids. I am glad that this impulse is keening in my heart, that I am aware that there is tenderness and compassion in me. But it only matters if I take action on it.  I have many volunteer gigs earmarked for when my pup is gone so maybe that's my next phase. When you've gotten to do everything you've wanted for yourself, the only thing left seems to be to give to someone in need. I feel it so often, but have acted on it so little. Will work on changing that for sure.

Band Aids for the Bewildered

South Dakota, or maybe North

Much Anticipated Americana

Flatlander's Comfort Zone

SD Mothership

I recently blazed in my Cat Yellow Fiesta from Mt. Hood to Watford City ND for much, much needed love and affection...and the particular soulful delights that only accompany long solo road trips. Unlike last November when I spent two or 3 nights in a motel each way, this time I drove two 12-16 hour days, spending only one night. OUCH said my almost 53 year old sciatic nerve! My clown car is not made for comfort, but gets excellent gas mileage. And after about the eighth hour my hundred dollar gel cushion is a lumpy ball under my arse. I went to see Daniel, my last bit of Antarctic connection, and we had a fantastic week of just melting into that one person that we seem to be able to do. I was so cray-cray when I first got there, the stripped down to the core raw nerve of myself that happens in Taos still not fully integrated yet, so I was overly sensitive and demanding, my abandonment shit just through the roof. I realize now I was starving. Starving for something I have tried for several years to give to myself through spirituality workshops "loving myself" practices (???) and whatever other horse hockey my mind tries to fool me that I need when what is obvious is that I need to be with somebody I love! I don't even realize that loneliness is the problem until I race the 1500 miles to see him. And I wouldn't expect it to be any other way for me - I mean, if it doesn't read like an overwrought Springsteen ballad it's probably not exciting enough (and we even went to the Badlands for crissakes!)- and I wouldn't have it any other way. I am not talking about physical connection either, I am talking about something more akin to "twin souls", as dorky as that sounds it also feels apt. We have a groove that we get into when we do stuff together that is like companionship plus...I have tried for 3 years now off Ice to have a life but I've cobbled what appears to be a tattered quilt like life - hole-y and quiet, not the shiny, overamped, studded leather one I had become so accustomed to. O metaphors!

In am amazingly surreal chain of events the Antarctic program has been cancelled because of the government shutdown. Whereas I NEVER look at fb during this time because of sheer despair and envy, now I am watching closely as my friends are being uncontracted & sent home - and I understand completely their pain. Even though I am choosing not to go back it has come at a high price to my mental happiness. I had just dug my way out of the desolation of missing my third deployment to see that almost EVERYONE is missing this deployment. My first roommate friend, and the only person I know that feels the same way about the Ice that I do wrote a blogpiece that captures the essence of what it is like to be in love with a place, and the heartbreak of having it torn away from you. It feels like a dream I will wake up from - to see so many of my tribe yanked from the homeland...

In the 80's, before the Internets, I used to mail order these little booklets from an obscure writer in the ads from the Austin Chronicle. They were incredibly deep & intellectual discussions dissected from ancient Irish sayings. The collection was called Band-Aids for the Bewildered. I ordered these little booklets as they came out, and I don't ever know of anyone else that read them or had heard of them. Before I could afford to travel and navel gaze for the bulk of my time, these were the kinds of luxuries I could afford. I wonder if I still have these little booklets somewhere...I don't know what made me think of them, but what I can guess is that I have been in this sort of lost place post Ice and have done what I can to be happy and kind to those around me. I have done a lot of it with a heavy heart. Sometimes I wonder if they are all band aids: the trips, the knitting, the binge show watching, the buying of a cabin...but that feels like thinking that comes from old programming...the only thing that thinks it needs a band aid is my thinking. Yeah, fuck the band-aid metaphor.

I've surrendered to life moving on at its own rhythm. I like to force and smash and destroy things so this is new to me - it forced it's way on to me. I am sitting in my cabin on a volcano drenched in autumn fog. My favorite season is beyond beautiful in Oregon - sometimes I can't believe I live here...like County Donegal, like somewhere I always dreamed of living. And the best part hasn't even happened yet: the snow. We are all giddily anticipating the arrival of snow, and it looks like I'll have a job at the resort, with built in time for ski breaks during the shift. I asked for the lowest job there: parking lot attendant, knowing that that is the job I would probably enjoy the most. So I made the plan to move to a mountain with a ski resort and I did it. No band aid, no bewilderment. Doing the next best thing. The next right thing. Talk about a dream, try to make it real. Maybe a lost Ice soul will join me...the door is open.

Almost Winter

Government Camp, OR

I just read my previous post and it was so one dimensional in its eternal stuckness, and epically boring in its sad craving for what I have to postpone. I have a LIFE off of the Ice. I have so many experiences of exotic trips and and have moved three times in the state of Oregon and even bought a ski cabin on Mt. Hood. I have friends who truly dig me up here. It was a very hard decision to stay or leave Oregon. I miss Texas and even though I love the natural beauty of OR I am not crazy about the people. But I have chosen this as my home for now and am nestling in to my service commitments and job hunting.

I have started practicing yoga again and sell my handknitted goodies for a fortune, but it's not a sustainable income. I haven't worked in almost a year and that is gnawing at me as I'm not ready to be retired. I got a call from one of our three ski resorts asking if I'd be interested in being a groomer on the slopes. WOW! I went and talked the the guy and he showed me the Cats and the shop and it was pretty intimidating - like the time I went to North Dakota to  look into driving a truck and realized I'd need some experience before going out there green. It seems so long ago that I felt so truly alive in those old yellow tractors on the Ice. Big Sigh.

Just got back from 10 days in Toas from a workshop that I've done many times and came away as blissed out as I am every time I do it. When I do this work I feel this impending limitless possibility of what my life could be. I am starting to see that instead of missing my life on Ice I can take a proactive stance of wishing my Ice tribe well and only keeping good thoughts in my head about it. One of my biggest (and newer) dreams is about to come true: I now life 15 minutes from the ski resort and can ski every day if I want. I couldn't do that if I were deploying. I have spent the last seven years since I took my first lesson trying to figure out a way to ski 100 days in a season. It sounds easy: just move to the mountain, but it took some twists and turns to get here. I feel so passionate about skiing. I feel passionate about knitting and seeing really good films and the surprisingly awesome tv programs that are on now (I can't believe I just wrote that). I feel passionate about yoga - I just happened to move somewhere with an incredible teacher who makes me feel euphoric after a class. The hot horrible wheather is over and the clouds and rain are back and my depression is over. It is always that simple: the incredible warm womb of winter; the white silent snowy soulful place that makes me feel that not only is everything going to be okay but that everything is going to be incredible. I can almost say that I love where I live. I have been resentful of my reality for 2.5 years as I've felt the greatest thing I ever had has been taken away from me, while at the same time refusing to see the goodies in front of me. Can I finally enlarge myself to hold the fierce envy and confusing feelings about the Ice and my present good circumstances at the same time? This last trip into the sharp experience of Taos left me believing there was no choice if I want to experience peace. Yes I miss the Ice badly. Yes I am excited about getting a job at the resort and skiing a lot. Yes, yes, yes. I must absolutely get over the feeling that I am a victim of circumstances and see that I am making a choice every step of the way. My only choice now is to surrender to the present as it's the only thing I've got.

Ice Shaped Hole

I went against one of my strict rules and looked on facebook today and saw some one's winterover pics from McMurdo. (the picture above I took in my last season). I purposely don't log on to facebook for this reason only, and it has been sad to not be able to use that interface much -it just causes me too much sadness to see it. As usual, I thought I was okay with my current life: just knitting away every day and going to yoga and waiting for it to snow so I can ski. Going on hikes and drives every day exploring the area - but a gnawing black feeling growing in my gut that I am not living my dream. It's very simple, I want to be there and not here. And seeing those photos of winfly sent me down the rathole again. There is no one to blame there is not tragedy I don't have an ailment that would keep me from going. I am now going to focus on re-homing my dog. Missing the first season was a shock and very very depressing, missing the second was having to  make friends with serious low level depression, and now that I am missing a third it just seems utterly stupid to not engage with this experience that gave me EVERYTHING. And everyone tells me it is stupid to not go, especially health professionals. It is the people I would least expect to tell me to give up the dog, but that is what they tell me to do. There is no longer a question that being able to have this lifestyle is essential to my mental health. I actually have thought I might not be able to survive if I can't go back, not without being hospitalized. I don't want that to sound dramatic - it is just the truth. This is the first season that I am not pq'd for an alt contract, so I didn't even pursue a job, deciding not to do it until Fergus passes, but my focus has been too much on just trying to figure out how long he is going to live. I feel trapped, and I did not know when I adopted him that I would find a lifestyle I loved that did not include him. I mean, parents abandon their kids all the time...why do I feel like I have to stay with this dog? I have given him a good 16 years. He was on the chopping block when I adopted him in 1998. I am sacrificing the work I love and the place I love to be with him. Where do I draw the line? Where does the commitment to an animal end when it is keeping you from following your bliss? My fear is that I hand him over to someone and then will feel guilty...but will I really? I rarely thought about him in previous deployments but knew he was being taken care of. I trusted only one set of caretakers, maybe it's time for me to open up to a whole new way of thinking. Instead of crying all the time about this and feeling like a martyr really take control of the situation and find a good situation for him. I have a whole year to do it. I just have to decide if it's going to be a home where I never see him again or if I'll re-engage with him when I get back. The easiest thing would be for him to make his transition during these next 6 months. He is not sick at all. I just know that it has come to this. My isolation an alienation in a world I don't want to live in has me working 1000% harder than I should to try and feel good about myself. It is not working. I have to do the really hard thing now. I have to make a decision about where to leave him, and be okay with it...and when I take him to his new home I hug him goodbye, I courageously turn away, and look with a fire-y love filled heart and giddy anticipation upon my reuniting with my home.

Trails on Mt. Hood

I've lived on the mountain six weeks now and it has been a very a very exciting time. I have made peace with the decision to stick it out with the dog (I think) and not go back to the Ice until he is gone. There is too much astounding natural beauty around me to justify any sort of sense that I am missing out on something. I've never really been a hiker, just sort of done it while traveling or with people I'm hanging out with that are totally into it, but now I've been going quite a bit, ticking off hikes in my big Oregon hiking book, and I always feel really proud of myself when I've done one. Finding the trail head with the goofy instructions and a non-working GPS up here is half the battle - once I've found it I'm surprised how accomplished I feel after I've completed it. I go by myself and I rarely see anyone. On a sunny day I'll go deep into a dark forest - and on a cool, overcast day I'll do the super popular hikes. I've always done a lot of walking but now I'm logging more miles per day. I also found an awesome yoga studio after not practicing for two years. The apprehensions I had about moving here did not materialize: I have more friends and closer feeling connections than I did in my previous two years in Portland. The villages on the mountain all feel like members of a family that I feel honored to be a part of. There are not a lot of jobs up here so that is challenging...but my goal to become a better skier is still a top priority, I'll just have to wait for the snow. I miss the camaraderie of working and the excitement of deployment, but I had to open myself up to the possibility that I could find contentment here. I have one last trip to scheduled to Taos this year, and then my favorite time of year will come...Winter.

A Cabin in the Forest

I just bought this cabin you see pictured here. It is on Mt. Hood, in a little village called Welches, about a hour's drive from Portland. I am not excited about it, but my lease was up, my dog is still alive, and I needed a "project" to focus on as I am looking at missing a third season in a row on Ice. I just found a Kiwi dollar while I was moving stuff, and broke down into tears again (Ice folks will understand). And we are entering my least favorite season where I have to battle with despair and Reverse SAD, so I decided to buy a little home because at least it's something I haven't tried yet in my continual search to find meaning on my off Ice life. 

It was not an impulsive decision - I had been looking at these cabins for two months as they were so affordable and would allow me to work/ski on the mountain throughout ski season, a goal I have been working slowly towards. This one, which is the nicest of all the ones I'd looked at, just fell into my lap at a ridiculously low price, so I said yes, and then had the two weeks of psychotic fears (buyer's remorse, wanting to back out, actually driving for six days to So Cal to calm the freak out down) and now I'm prepared for the move.

The one exciting part of getting ready to go is seeing all my stuff go out of my current apartment. I was not prepared to feel this glee and sense of freedom of getting rid of my stuff. The cabin comes furnished so I am getting rid of all my stuff. I stood, after hauling a bunch of stuff to a neighbors house, with that deep inner brewing excitement and studied it and it was Freedom. Freedom! Not being trapped - which was what all the anxiety was about with the cabin purchase. I am setting myself free by having a place I can lock and leave and don't have to deal with lease signings anymore.

A kid just bought my bed so now I am sitting on the floor...as soon as I move into that cabin I am most likely going to do a really big road trip. The last one was really interesting, as long solo road trips seem to do a really roto rooter on my emotional landscape as I'm traversing the actual one. I mean, on this last trip I would go through the highest highs of excitement followed by sobbing over my steering wheel - just by listening to the random millions of thoughts in my head. I hate summer, so probably need to deal with it by enacting a scenario that feels like I'm on the lam. Hoping to get a passport stamp in this summer too. I'm moving in 10 days and it really feels like the right thing to do. I can always sell in a year if I don't like living up there. A part of me was panicking so badly over this, but it's all going to be okay...I am free, I have to keep reminding myself that I am free.