Solo Travel, the Video

The teacher of our retreat showed that "Alexander's Transformation" video that has been making the rounds of the internet and I lost it.  Lost.  It.  I ended up sobbing into my hands in the bathroom.  The idea of the courage behind that transformation just struck me in the heart.  The perseverance and the positive talk even as he fell and fell and fell again.  Just knowing that these things are possible -- so what's my excuse?  But really, it was the song.  That Coldplay song.  Because the truth is, no one can fix you.  Only you can fix you. And as it turns out, my day of tears had only begun.

After the video, we got all warmed up and practiced our little combo.  Our teacher turned us to face the panoramic seascape, and told us there was a person way out on the little spit of land in the distance, and next time we went through the dance, we had to project our dance out to that person.  We had to somehow make that person feel the joy and the power and the love that brought us all together, dancing together.  She put the music on, and I just felt full, so full of all that I am and will be.  I started to cry again while we were dancing.  I thought to myself, this is the water that mixes the cement that puts me together again.

In the evening, we practiced yoga, then we walked down to the beach to chant down the setting sun.  Sitting on the sand, facing the water, with lovely voices all around, all chanting about the light of the sun and the light of ourselves, I filled up and overflowed again.  I started to despair of ever being able to recreate the calm, tensile strength of this retreat after I got home.  My voice broke as the last edge of the sun slipped below the waves and we ended our chanting.  In the absence of human sound that followed, the mortar set around another section of my brick house.

Solo Travel, the Lines

I went zip lining because the very idea terrifies me.  Flying across valleys, rivers, jungles and whatever suspended only by a harness and a cable? Sure.  Sign me up.  I fear heights and I don't like roller coasters, but the whole point of this trip is to do things that terrify me.

I went alone, and as the tour group assembled, I remained the only solo traveler among two happy young couples and a family of five.  I felt calm and happy as I got hooked into my harness.  I felt a wave of nostalgic zen as we piled into the open bed of a pickup truck for the drive to the lines. I was fine until we got to the first line and one of our guides went over how to sit in the harness, slow down and keep straight.  I barely heard him over the blood rushing in my ears.  My knees and hands shook from adrenaline.  I couldn't breathe, and when it was my turn, I could barely walk to the line to get hooked in.  I dropped off the side of the mountain, sliding over the cable with my eyes shut tight, screaming like a little girl in a haunted house.  The first line was a long ride.  I couldn't see the end from the start.  

After the first line, it got easier.  Over the course of ten or so lines, I trusted.  I trusted the harness.  I trusted the lines.  I trusted the goofy, flirty Costa Rican boys who were there to protect us.  I trusted myself to make it across.  

And isn't that the theme of this first year or so?  I can't see the end from the beginning, but it only works if I leap and trust myself to make it across.  All is well.  All will be well.  I hope I can continue to believe this when I get dropped back into my "real" life again.  I hope I will continue to go over the canopy into the wild.  

Solo Travel, the Flight

I fell asleep on the plane and when I woke up, we had fallen off the edge of the world -- outside was nothing but water and a few cotton ball clouds.  There was a horizon, but I couldn't see it because the sky and the water were the same color.  So, there I was, wrapped in infinite, putting the full hard stop on the person that was.  The person that was part of, companion to, connected with -- and this took my breath.  I needed the full hard stop so I could gather enough voice to speak the person who is.  Complete.  Entire.  Imperfect unto herself.

The day did not start off well.  I woke up to a message that my flight had been cancelled. I panicked.  This trip was the thing I had been looking forward to for months.  This was the mortar I would use to put together the brick house that is myself.  I ended up finding the earlier flight and I booked it without hesitation, rushing to the airport thanking the personality gods that I am always two hours early for everything.  I booked it even though I can't afford it, because of the moment.  The moment in the mirror, just after I got the cancellation message, where I looked at my frightened self.

In that moment, my frightened self wondered how bad it would really be to Chuck the trip, stay home and be safe (if bored) for a week.  The frightened voice was small, thank goodness, but still comforting.  So, I marched myself to the internet, found the earlier flight, threw everything in my bag, and got myself to the airport in plenty of time.  My fingers and hands shook so much, I could barely complete the reservation online.  Somehow it happened, and I got on a plane where I could fall asleep and wake up to find we had fallen off the edge of the world.

In the taxi on the way to the airport, I noticed a bright, clear full moon.  It was glowing brown in a deeper brown sky.  I felt the last layers of panic shake down through my body and out my feet.  The only shaking I would be doing for the next week would be for sheer joy, dancing.  I felt inclined to be peaceful, patient, to love and trust in the good nature of all people and things.

Rooster Hat

I called a friend after a brief coffee date and said this: "The next time I tell you I'm going out with a performer/artist, ask me if his profile picture involves clothing in the shape of an animal.  And if I say yes, smack me over the head."

He showed up wearing a rooster hat.  A hat.  In the shape of a rooster.  With little strings hanging down so it could be tied under the chin lest he lose it in the wind, god forbid.  The rooster hat had several little buttons all over it -- the kind you get at protest rallies or art openings.  He was wearing one of those itchy, striped, vaguely South American pullover hooded shirts in lieu of a real coat.  Did I mention that he was 52 years old?  And when he finally did remove the rooster hat (after ten minutes of conversation) he was almost completely bald?  I decided to just go with it and asked him about his "chicken hat" first thing.  Very politely, he corrected me, referring to his rooster hat, and his general propensity for wearing Ecuadorian hats.

Rooster Hat told me all about his music, his art, his throat singing and his MFA studies.  He asked me if I ever had the urge to perform, and I told him about my dance classes.  So, he told me about how he put together a performance piece where he conducted a group of dancers using hand gestures.  

Truthfully, a lot of his work sounded interesting. I had to admire his commitment to making art, no matter the financial consequences.  I had to appreciate the fact that I didn't have to do a thing on this coffee date -- I didn't even have to talk much because he was willing to share a lot about his own work.  

After an hour, I couldn't take it anymore, and I called the date in the most obvious-subtle way possible.  Saying that "I should get going," I shook his hand and said it was nice to meet him (it was, truly.) I walked down the street to the book store vestibule and called my friend.  She gave me wonderful advice about dating in general (enjoy, learn, have fun) and about artists specifically (they make better friends than boyfriends.) 

After we talked, I walked into the bookstore to get a coffee and write this post.  As usual, there were several young college freshman milling about.  One young woman caught my eye.  She was wearing a hat in the shape of a rooster, with little strings hanging down so it could be tied under the chin.

I won't say it, but you can.

I have a very dear friend whom I refer to as "The Id."  She was the one who went right to the "you are one sexy woman" place when I worried about dating, and she has adopted a zero tolerance policy towards people who hurt her friends.  More than anyone else (who I am not having sex with), I can talk to her about how sex is fun and funny and not something that has to be attached to a relationship.   She has been filling in for my own underworked Id, encouraging me to do things that make me giggle like a child.

I am working on being at least neutral in everything I say about the ex.  I want to follow my father's example.  After he divorced my mother, he never said an unkind word about her to anyone.  In fact, he made a point to talk about how much he admired her and to compliment her on raising us kids on her own.  I want to be able to be that gracious, even though I am the one who got left.  It does not serve me to insult or bad-mouth the ex.  Any words said in anger only cling to me and make depression that much harder to shake off.  Usually, I am pretty good at this.

Some friends are confused by my refusal to call the ex names, or to say unkind things about him in anger.  Recently, someone tried to tell me that anger is natural, that my approach was weird.  I told him that I truly believe that things I say in anger come back on me.  When I allow myself to speak from resentment, even justified resentment, it only makes me more resentful.  I am not in the place to speak truly and sincerely well of the ex yet, but I can be neutral, and I can honestly report that there are positive aspects to his character.  This pains me now because it reminds me of how much I am losing.  Later, though, I trust that this will be a comfort because I will not have to look back in embarrassment at my bitterness.

Which brings me back to The Id. We went to a Christmas Choral Concert.  It was the cheesiest this vegan has ever gotten, and I loved it.  Trust the  Id to help me enjoy wacky holiday cheer.  On the walk back to her place after the concert, she asked me how I was doing.  Because I trust her, I answered truthfully.  I have not been great.  The winter and the holidays were kind of knocking me down.  She answered with a brief expletive against the ex for all that he had wrought in my life.  My Id.  I loved her for her loyalty, and for her honesty.  I continue to struggle to stay neutral-to-positive, but that night I thanked her.  I thanked her for saying all the things I would not allow myself to say.  Coming from her, it was a relief.

Ginger Problems

Laugh and the whole world laughs with you.  Cry and the cat gets scared and bites.

Or something like that.

So, the event went about how I expected.  It was beautiful and uplifting and I walked around the whole time feeling like I had a knife stuck in my chest.  I stayed just long enough for the Introduction of the Practitioners, then I sneaked out into the rainy night while the strains of "I Will Survive" drifted out the open door.

I am not kidding.  The ultimate woman power anthem was playing in the background while I walked to my car, sobbing into my hands.  Great, gulping, gasping sobs.  Did you think I'd lay down and die? Oh no, not I.

When I made it home, I knew I was going to eat my feelings.  I needed to stop into the store down the block and get something to eat.  I checked the mirror before I left the car, and came on another disadvantage of a fair complexion. -- the way crying reddens the face for a very long time.  Well, into the night with my red-face ginger problems.  Sugars and trans fats trump all.

Grief Surprise

This weekend, the center where I have my practice is throwing a party. We are celebrating the completion of a major expansion, and the opening of a beautiful new event space. This will be a great opportunity for me to network with my peers, show off my space to my friends, and generally be happy with my professional life so far.

This is the kind of event you want to share with a partner.

We had a community meeting this morning, and in the middle of joy and excitement at meeting new practitioners, I was bombed by grief. I was thinking of what I would wear and how I would a arrange my materials.  I was picturing a partner to compliment and reassure me on the way over. Then I remembered I don't have that right now. Boom.

I am trying to redirect this self-pity into excitement for the event.  But. Still. I keep picturing getting dressed with no one but the cat to reassure me. Fortunately for me, she is very vocal in her praise.