Giving thanks
Travel is rarely innocent. At least not in my case. I refuse to take simple trips that don't satisfy multiple needs on multiple levels.
My most recent trips include a jaunt across the country, with the girl, for a yearly conference at my Alma mater, which, served also to drive the last nail into the coffin of my dying hopes, and permanently slam the door shut on my wounded heart. Alas.
Not barely did I recover from this whirlwind trip down memory lane, hearty laughter, soul-splitting tears, and a myriad of other emotions that ran the gamut, I jumped in a car, four days later, to do a marathon drive to Pennsylvania to support Paul, in the hour of his father's passing.
Inadvertently, or by cosmic design, the trip also served to wander through the town that was once mine, that I once tramped along in endless teenage boredom, and where my formative memories occurred. I showed my girl the houses where I grew up (so to speak, I believe I am still growing... I hope!) Paul and I used to lie with our backs on the hot summer asphalt, still baking hours after the sun had gone down, and would stare up at the throbbing universe, talking until the early hours of the morning. I was struck by a deep desire to belong to something. To believe in something. Sadly, I can't. But it was both touching, and heart-wrenching to see how much comfort there can be in a shared belief system. Perhaps, I thought, that is why I often feel orphaned.
And still, I managed to make more mistakes in my personal life in only the 8 days before Thanksgiving, and risk utter emotional melt-down. But, I forewent "going fetal" because, well, because there was just too much shit to be done, and places to go.
As luck would have it, my major anxiety living here in Virginia, and wandering far and wide, is that I don't know where I am going. Nothing is familiar. It doesn't matter how many times I drive through Richmond, every damn time, I manage to take a slightly different route, and yet, none of them stick. Even this morning, after the exhausting, albeit mildly amusing scenario, I still managed to get a little lost... but now, thanks to little I.'s loss of her phone on the way back from Santa Barbara, I was able to buy myself, to concede that I needed, a so-called smart phone. Grateful. Yes.
So Tuesday, I taught my class, and came home, managed to remember to bring my plants in so to save them from the impending freezes, and turn off the heating system for our travels, and I left by 6 pm, planning to head to the Trader Joe's in Glen Allen (yes, we haven't convinced ourselves that we are not Californian yet, and there are still some products, primarily child lunch products: cane-sugar lemonade, flax-seed peanut butter, reduced-sugar jam, sparkly water... that we have not been able to substitute out.) I successfully navigated to the store, purchased required goods and had plenty of time to get to the train station, but 10 minutes away, when... disaster strikes. A light drizzle began, moments before I stopped at an intersection and my brakes simply failed to work... my car, moving slow as it was, sliding 10 feet and caroming the car in front another 5 feet. Damage? Minimal. Aggravation, slightly greater. Exhaustion, spiritual and physical. Complete.
There it was, one more time where I was thinking, "why am I doing this to myself? Why am I always in charge of everything?" I felt a great surge of resentment at being an adult. Alone. In a place where there is no one who will even know I'm missing for at least three or four days. I was grateful to the officer for being expedient and grateful for managing to get to the train on time, despite some side-street confusion. Grateful even for the lulling, lurching chug of the train that took us from Virginia to Florida. Grateful more, even, for the fact that the 5 hour delay (making our travel time a whopping 17 hours) was caused by tires on the track that mucked up the engine, rather than a desperate human who had thrown herself into the abyss... and grateful that we had not been derailed or injured.
Thanksgiving itself, was, as always, a treasure. This year, in particular because Kirsten and my parents are all living in the same town and we hosted at Karen and Bill's house, but more so because Steve and Kirsten announced their engagement. Kirsten and I were able to sneak off on day three to wander by the Castillo, enjoy the lights over the harbor, talk in ways that are only possible in person, and with no child-with-large-ears in the next room... I also saw my grandmother and aunt and uncle, who I haven't seen, in person, for several years... I helped, in my small way, to sort through stuff at my parents' new abode, and tried to not break down and cry every night, when I was alone in my room (well, alone, with a sleeping child wrapped around me).
Right now travel just feels like running ahead of the black dogs that are chasing me, and I know that if I stop, for even a moment, they will be biting at my heels, breathing down my neck, tearing me apart. So I keep going. And the return train was only 3 hours late, and I didn't miss work, but I did arrive at 7:30 am to find that my battery had been completely drained.
And there I realize that these are lessons in humility. I can't do it all myself. I don't really think I ever believed I could, but there are these reminders that I have NO choice but to ask for help, and so I did. And the station manager gave me a jump with the cables that I don't travel without, and before he left me, he gave me his card and promised to come get me anywhere if were stuck on my way home. (A very generous gesture indeed, since I was driving over an hour away). So, while it could be said that I had more eventfulness than expected, I certainly can't complain.
I am home, I made it to teach class on time with a whole 15 minutes to stop at my house and shower, and I am in one piece. Healthy, if not entirely happy. And not alone.
My most recent trips include a jaunt across the country, with the girl, for a yearly conference at my Alma mater, which, served also to drive the last nail into the coffin of my dying hopes, and permanently slam the door shut on my wounded heart. Alas.
Not barely did I recover from this whirlwind trip down memory lane, hearty laughter, soul-splitting tears, and a myriad of other emotions that ran the gamut, I jumped in a car, four days later, to do a marathon drive to Pennsylvania to support Paul, in the hour of his father's passing.
Inadvertently, or by cosmic design, the trip also served to wander through the town that was once mine, that I once tramped along in endless teenage boredom, and where my formative memories occurred. I showed my girl the houses where I grew up (so to speak, I believe I am still growing... I hope!) Paul and I used to lie with our backs on the hot summer asphalt, still baking hours after the sun had gone down, and would stare up at the throbbing universe, talking until the early hours of the morning. I was struck by a deep desire to belong to something. To believe in something. Sadly, I can't. But it was both touching, and heart-wrenching to see how much comfort there can be in a shared belief system. Perhaps, I thought, that is why I often feel orphaned.
And still, I managed to make more mistakes in my personal life in only the 8 days before Thanksgiving, and risk utter emotional melt-down. But, I forewent "going fetal" because, well, because there was just too much shit to be done, and places to go.
As luck would have it, my major anxiety living here in Virginia, and wandering far and wide, is that I don't know where I am going. Nothing is familiar. It doesn't matter how many times I drive through Richmond, every damn time, I manage to take a slightly different route, and yet, none of them stick. Even this morning, after the exhausting, albeit mildly amusing scenario, I still managed to get a little lost... but now, thanks to little I.'s loss of her phone on the way back from Santa Barbara, I was able to buy myself, to concede that I needed, a so-called smart phone. Grateful. Yes.
So Tuesday, I taught my class, and came home, managed to remember to bring my plants in so to save them from the impending freezes, and turn off the heating system for our travels, and I left by 6 pm, planning to head to the Trader Joe's in Glen Allen (yes, we haven't convinced ourselves that we are not Californian yet, and there are still some products, primarily child lunch products: cane-sugar lemonade, flax-seed peanut butter, reduced-sugar jam, sparkly water... that we have not been able to substitute out.) I successfully navigated to the store, purchased required goods and had plenty of time to get to the train station, but 10 minutes away, when... disaster strikes. A light drizzle began, moments before I stopped at an intersection and my brakes simply failed to work... my car, moving slow as it was, sliding 10 feet and caroming the car in front another 5 feet. Damage? Minimal. Aggravation, slightly greater. Exhaustion, spiritual and physical. Complete.
There it was, one more time where I was thinking, "why am I doing this to myself? Why am I always in charge of everything?" I felt a great surge of resentment at being an adult. Alone. In a place where there is no one who will even know I'm missing for at least three or four days. I was grateful to the officer for being expedient and grateful for managing to get to the train on time, despite some side-street confusion. Grateful even for the lulling, lurching chug of the train that took us from Virginia to Florida. Grateful more, even, for the fact that the 5 hour delay (making our travel time a whopping 17 hours) was caused by tires on the track that mucked up the engine, rather than a desperate human who had thrown herself into the abyss... and grateful that we had not been derailed or injured.
Thanksgiving itself, was, as always, a treasure. This year, in particular because Kirsten and my parents are all living in the same town and we hosted at Karen and Bill's house, but more so because Steve and Kirsten announced their engagement. Kirsten and I were able to sneak off on day three to wander by the Castillo, enjoy the lights over the harbor, talk in ways that are only possible in person, and with no child-with-large-ears in the next room... I also saw my grandmother and aunt and uncle, who I haven't seen, in person, for several years... I helped, in my small way, to sort through stuff at my parents' new abode, and tried to not break down and cry every night, when I was alone in my room (well, alone, with a sleeping child wrapped around me).
Right now travel just feels like running ahead of the black dogs that are chasing me, and I know that if I stop, for even a moment, they will be biting at my heels, breathing down my neck, tearing me apart. So I keep going. And the return train was only 3 hours late, and I didn't miss work, but I did arrive at 7:30 am to find that my battery had been completely drained.
And there I realize that these are lessons in humility. I can't do it all myself. I don't really think I ever believed I could, but there are these reminders that I have NO choice but to ask for help, and so I did. And the station manager gave me a jump with the cables that I don't travel without, and before he left me, he gave me his card and promised to come get me anywhere if were stuck on my way home. (A very generous gesture indeed, since I was driving over an hour away). So, while it could be said that I had more eventfulness than expected, I certainly can't complain.
I am home, I made it to teach class on time with a whole 15 minutes to stop at my house and shower, and I am in one piece. Healthy, if not entirely happy. And not alone.
posted by ilana at 8:43 a.m.
1 Comments:
Hugs, sweetie.
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