Part I, Addendum

A shared secret: the Beauty of a hidden spot of nature: the lushness of the greens, the clarity of the blues, the simultaneous warmth and dampness of the browns, the austerity of the grays.

Fallen trees,

all grayed out beauty:

arching, reaching, 

calling to us with their chimes 

carried along the wind,

only dull and muted

like a murmur

moving through a crowd.

The Secrets We Keep

I love how that one curved branch is gathering the others in- a protective gesture of sorts.

Part I of III 

There are times throughout a person's life where everything gets to be too much; the confluence of work, family, partners, friends, and the Rest of Our Lives all seem to vie for the bulk of our attention, and we scramble to keep up and maintain. I'm sure that we've all experienced this in some form at least once, no?

Well, what happens to me when these stresses hammer down is that I take what's bothering me, what's going wrong, the words spoken and then winced at later, and hide them. And maybe these Secrets stay hidden forever, or maybe they get purged, but often they are just there and start to act like crabs in a bucket: crawling up on each other's backs to escape, but then pulling each other right back in at the last second: Oh, no. If I'M not getting out, neither are YOU. You stay right here and help make her miserable.

This summer has been less than stellar for me in terms of emptying my bucket. I've felt a constant low-level stress for quite some time, even having a mini breakdown not too long ago. That episode really made me step back and ask some hard questions of myself: What is true about you, Self? What makes you whole? What makes you happy? What do you need to Be Rachel everyday?

Heavy stuff. What's a girl to do?

Get away from it all? YES. A retreat of sorts? YES. A re-connection to the creative Self I once loved and nurtured? YES. 

And so I planned a solo camping trip for three days and nights. Me, a tent, a kayak, some art supplies, some running gear, a journal. My destination was Pete's Lake, a campground along Federal Forest Highway 13 in the Hiawatha National Forest; a favorite local trail- Bruno's Run- is adjacent, and there are lovely walk-in sites that are secluded enough to feel like you're really nowhere near anyone else. 

Secret #1: I didn't really tell anyone about this plan. Most people were...stunned to hear I was going camping. Alone. In a tent. And not the Public Chicago kind of tent, either. Ain't no Barney's or Nordstrom's where I was heading. 

Secret #2: I love the outdoors much more than I've ever let on. In my former life, the types of outdoor activities I enjoyed were not enjoyed by my wasband, and so my pursuits were few and far between.

Part of what I wanted to explore over those days was the things that made me feel complete, the things I enjoy. Many of these things I resisted for sooooo long, mostly because the identity prescribed to me was based on how I had been introduced to people for the past 15, 20, 40 years: Ed & Susan's daughter, Eric & Lisa's sister, Doug & Ann's daughter-in-law, D's wife, Emily & Sadie's mom. Never only "Rachel." That socially constructed identity was one that I clung to as a defense mechanism, it was a wall I had built up as a silent protest in reaction to my own unhappiness. But what made me happy? What made me ME?

And that's another Secret, isn't it? There's a good chance the person you present might not be who you really are. Those people you socialize with, those activities you participate in, those topics of conversation are really only niceties; you are being Polite. The juxtaposition and/or dichotomy of those things with your Self make day-to-day so much more difficult than need be. If only we could listen to Self without the static! If only the static could turn into our own voice of clarity, if it could turn into the broadcast of our Core! My retreat was my attempt to tune in, to return to Self, whatever- or whomever- that was. 

I did so much thinking. I thought a lot about secrets and how some things you want to remain secret: good news you're not ready to share, bad news you'd rather forget, sad news you don't want to revisit. No matter how happy or angry or sad you are, and no matter how much your friends promise to keep their mouths shut, some things are better kept to yourself. And sometimes you'll be questioned. And sometimes you'll cave. And other times- too many times, in my case- you'll be the Bigger Person, recognizing the subtle differences between privacy and deception when it comes to secrets.

I thought about how we link secrets to memory. Things like the smell of a lover on your skin, not washed off so you can continue to smile; the sadness of witnessing the life leave someone's body, the helplessness of seeing their vibrancy extinguished like that; the anguish of your own heart breaking for what you thought you had, or hoped could become with enough effort and time; and of course, the secret lives led by people you think you know- bruised egos and hurt feelings and "Well, I never thought"-s over and over again, surprising you even after so many years. All of these secrets we have and hold and use to create an identity for ourselves and others. And the shared secrets others use to create an identity for us! 

And so I had to examine my own Secrets and decide which would get dumped out and exposed, and which would be burned in the camp fire. The little wavelets while kayaking rocked a few out of me. My drawings were inspired as much by the natural surroundings as by the frustration and resistance in letting some go. The pine needles underfoot on Bruno's Run cushioned the honest blows to my ego. The camp fire did, indeed, burn a fair share. The rain and my shaken tears washed away many more. And yet some remain.

And so my retreat was underway, my reaffirmation or Return to Self was in motion. Step One was the honest evaluation of what I was holding on to, what secrets were keeping me stuck in limbo despite my best attempts at living in happiness. Do I feel better, closer to knowing and acknowledging my Self, my Core on a daily basis? YES. Do I defer to the need for the walls I've built up to come down? To the truth that keeping certain Secrets will hinder my ability to create intimacy with those I love? YES. 

What was next? Well friends, if Step One was surveying, then Step Two can best be described as demolition. Until that story is ready to share, I'll leave you with this:

I left a bit of my heart on the shores of Pete's Lake, that's no secret. 

Faith and Flow



In my last few posts, I've written about some happy things- my life now, my decision not to flirt with regret- and mostly, my life is Good. I have the love of my family and friends, I have a job I love, I have my health. What I also have is a propensity to behave in one of two ways: 1) as a locked vault, or 2) as an open book.

When my life is going well, when I have Balance, I'm apt to be the book, to have faith that what I'm doing and how I'm behaving and all that is happening around me is all part of a bigger plan. Put another way: I have flow.

flow (noun): the action or fact of moving along in a steady, continuous stream.

More than that definition though, I have flow as defined by Mihaly Csikszentmihaly, flow when you get so involved in something that you forget time, you forget how you feel, where your awareness of your actions fades into action alone. It is an amazing experience.

My day-to-day flow, the one I've been working so diligently on mastering, recently swelled and surged and hit the wall. Slammed right into that fucker, pounding pounding pounding, and me, holding holding holding. And then a break like I haven't experienced in some time. I should have been prepared for this, but I was not.

I was removed from my day-to-day due to work obligations and then the July 4th holiday. I should have seen it coming. Work was stressful enough without having to manage things from across the country. And the holiday? Well, seeing all of the happy families and reunions and couples and young people all around me- oblivious to anything other than their own joy- just crushed me. And then the wasband went further and stomped more, twisting and grinding me down further. The somber rain clouds and quick but violent storm on July 4th was not lost on me, oh! pathetic fallacy!

Look at that photo above. That one rock? Its me, its you. We are solid and stable and here and we exist in this place with all the chaos, with the Holy Mess that is our Life. You are the rock in the river, and every so often, you work yourself loose. You get jostled and pushed and pounded along the river, tumbling, moving to the surface with the current or getting pushed down further to the silty bottom. Eventually you bump into a few things- a fallen tree branch, another rock, a dead animal- and experience some pain before you nestle into a new spot where you once again get used to all that surrounds you, the routine of family, friends, lovers, work, Life. This takes time, of course:

"Experience has taught me how important it is to keep going...Eventually [pain] passes and the flow returns." - Frank Shorter

I took a few days and sat at the beach, meditating on that quote, thought about how it applied to me, and to my life, my current crisis of faith, and how contemplation could repair my flow; I was looking for proof. To maintain flow, it is said that one must seek out increasingly greater challenges; attempting these new challenges stretches our skills, forces us to seek feedback. Lack of feedback blocks flow.

I was in the Holy Mess stage. I wasn't looking for a place to nestle into- I was too deep in with anger and frustration and jealousy and fear. I was blind to the faith meant to guide me, I had no one person to guide me out of the dark water, back to the lightness at the surface. (That, dear friends- "Be the place I nestle into. Always."- can be added to that list for My Best New Boyfriend.) I was low. I faked being happy wherever I went those few days. Three people could see through my act, and their guidance helped me more than words can express. Feedback, right?

And then I refocused. I went back to work, I got back into a routine. I did my laundry and washed the dishes, I went to the gym. I ignored calls from my wasband. I hugged children and I laughed. I am still wobbly, but I have recommitted to waking up every day to find joy and express gratitude for this, my Holy Mess of a Life. Proof be damned.

"Faith is not belief without proof, but trust without reservations."- Elton Trueblood

My flow has not resumed it's full momentum, but I trust that I'm moving in the right direction. Go with the flow, friends.

Now or Never

For most people, the winter holidays are a time for introspection, memory, and nostalgia; for me, this congregation meets in the summertime. Summer's endless days- and the laziness with which the nights come- are prime breeding ground for me and my thoughts, my memories, my hopes and wishes. Sometimes a memory will come back at me like a blast of hot air from the oven; sometimes it just tickles my neck like a lover's breath.

Warm weather and it's winsome ways always have me thinking back in time; my fondest memories always feature the sun shining brightly, warming my skin, reflecting off my wide smile. July 4th has always been my favorite holiday (Hello? Sunshine and fireworks? No brainer.). I have Utopian childhood memories of endless days and still-light nights spent playing Ghost in the Graveyard or Kick the Can; running around the shores of Rawson's Lake and hearing Uncle Len sing and play the ukulele while everyone else fished and drank beer; picking raspberries and blackberries behind the school across from my grandparents' house.

When I moved to Michigan, I realized that summer started around July 1st and ended somewhere in the week immediately post-U.P. State Fair. New memories included running the Firecracker 5 Mile in Gladstone, followed by a marathon day of swimming, sunning, kayaking, eating, bonfires, fireworks and more.

Summer was also the start of fall marathon training runs with Doug. For many many years, we would take off from his house and run south on M-35, past Breezy Point Bar, past the Ford River bridge, a brief stop at Satch's house for pre-stashed Gatorade and snacks, then maybe a few more miles down the road before turning around and retracing our steps. Satch's house was 13 miles, Mayville Road about 16, No See-Um Creek was 21. Grandpa Herb was always waiting with coffee cake- lots of frosting, per my request- upon our return.

But I digress...it is during these times when my mind wanders from the present-day sun-dappled sidewalk either backwards or forwards in time, the direction dictated by the momentum of the "What if...?" at the front of my brain.

What if...I never moved to Chicago?...I didn't have babies when I did?...I never moved to Michigan?...I never started running?...I wasn't right there when Doug collapsed?...I never had my mental toughness and emotional strength tested like that?...I stayed in my poor excuse of a marriage?...Where would I be now?

We all have moments, memories that we say we "regret," our voices' tones quietly serious and rueful. Regret happens, but is it useful? Hmm...I don't think so. I've always been one to preach that you cannot change the past, you need to learn something from it and move on: evolve. To regret would be to negate the lessons learned- If: Then: - and who would you be then? Not the same person you are now, feeling sorry for yourself, feeling a loss for something that will never happen because the circumstance can't be recreated to make it so: you cannot make regrets materialize and transform into new memories to replace the old ones.

It can't happen. Stop wasting your time on this. Think about it this way: Why waste your time wishing your memories were something else when you could be busy creating new ones?

And so that's what I've willed myself to do: move on, evolve. And now the "What ifs" at the front of my brain are of this variety:

What if...I train for a triathlon?...I get my Master's degree?...I choose to be happy? Every day?...I tell my friends I love them before its too late?...I stop chasing and grasping and flailing and just BE?...I find New Mr. Rachel? How will that new adventure play out?

And I'm busy making new memories, every day. I tell people I love them more freely, and without reservations. I try new things with only minor trepidation. I'm okay with not getting it right the first time around. I'm planning vacations- currently in the hope/wish stage, but- and exploring options. I'm still a resident of Hopeful, Unincorporated when it comes to New Mr. Rachel. I'm thankful for all of my What ifs; I've just learned to not let the ones tinged with regret take control.

Lastly, do me a favor: 1) Listen to this song. I will preface it by saying that it is the most beautiful, yet saddest, and yet strangely uplifting song I've ever heard. 2) Think about the What ifs in your own life, both kinds. 3) Make changes so that the potential outcomes match your hopes and wishes.

Fill your days with love and joy, not regret. Don't miss out on right now.

Permanence

permanence (noun): the state or quality of lasting or remaining unchanged indefinitely.


After 15 years of living in the Upper Peninsula, I've decided its time to embrace this place.

My new found enthusiasm for this place- the 906, the Yoop, God's Country- is, I think, indicative of the fact that I'm back to who I used to be. Explanation...???

I've never really been able to feel completely welcome here in the U.P.; there's something about being a transplant that, no matter who you know, or how hard you try to assimilate, or how much you try to learn about your adopted place, you will always be the Other.

Other. Its a role I know well, and it has (of course) spilled from general life to my personal life. It can't be avoided. Being the Other is something that people in transition become: new town, new neighborhood, new job, new relationships. When we move ourselves to a place where change is inevitable, we also need to recognize that so is our role of becoming Other. Anyone who has been in a difficult relationship or been through a divorce can relate to this role. Friends quickly learn that although two are invited, only one will ever RSVP; you, Other, will always be along for the ride as the third- or fifth- or even seventh wheel.

And mostly, you will be grateful for such kind friends who refuse to mention the absence of your partner. Every. Time.

But I digress. This post is not about transitions, really. It is about the permanence that results from change. Yet it is also about Returning to Self.

You see, the past two years have been a serious Return to Self for me, a transition come full circle, if you will. People who have known me for longer than 15 years surely know what I'm talking about. The people who have only known me since then may have caught glimpses of that girl from time to time, but are really only now beginning to experience her most of the time.

My time here in the U.P. has afforded me the blessing of creating a surrogate family for myself, friends culled from awful jobs or through mutual friends, through shared interests or family. And those people whom I am so lucky to include among the branches of my family tree have accepted me as Other without blinking an eye.

I figure then, that as a re-commitment or Return to Self, I can in turn accept this place I have called home for 15 years with open arms and a smile rather than deep sighs and eye rolls. There is so much I want to do now...

I want to spend time with that floating feeling near Lake of the Clouds. I want to get lost running the trails near Copper Harbor. I want to plunge into Lake Superior from the Black Rocks with Jeff while Kristina takes our picture. I want to go swimming in Christmas with Bridgette and her dogs. I want to have ice cream with Joanna and her babies at the Dairy Flo in Rapid River while we hatch grand business plans. I want to run the Kipling loop with Jessica- even the North Bluff hill part- in preparation for another last-minute, cheap & easy race vacation. I want to read books in the sand at the far end of Aronson Island on a summer day. I want to have too many late night cocktails with Kris and Steph while their baby and dogs sleep down the hall. I want to drive around drinking coffee and running errands with Pat. I want to eat copious amounts of guacamole and laugh, open mouthed and without sound, with Maggie (beergaritas implied).

I want to do all of these things as a testament to the power of transition, to the power of the permanence these family members have used to burn a place on my heart.

I'm just now, 15 years on, becoming comfortable with my role as Other; even though it was made mine as a result of transition, it is a role I'm comfortable making permanent.

Welcome home.

Just Give Me a Minute

A while back, I wrote a post about balance and how I wanted it, and how I needed to work at finding it in my life. Well, in the five months since that post, not much has changed. I still have a frenetic work pace, am still making it through what seem to be never-ending training cycles, and there's still a sometimes-surly teenager doing her best to test my patience and drain my pocketbook.

Lest you think I'm turning into a bitter shrew of a divorcee, I'll point you to this post about what's great about my life these days. Although that post was written over a year ago, I'm standing by that list- it's all good.

But my personal evolution is not all sunshine and rainbows; I have my moments where dark, nasty, charcoal-colored clouds invade my space and linger beyond what's comfortable or productive. It's at times like that when I come up with items on the following list. Indulge, if you will, my momentary Pity Party:

Things I Miss About My Old Life (Even If I Only Tried to Wish Some of Them Into Existence, or If They Were There They Were Only Mostly Meh)

1. My turntable and veranda. And someone to playfully complain about my music selections, and the cackles of laughter carrying across the neighborhood. I miss summer nights watching people walk by and catching snippets of their conversations while I sat silently on the veranda, pretending to read or sleep.

2. The weight of another person- the weight of their presence, even- next to my body. I miss the physicality of someone else while leaning into each other, or standing at the coffee counter, or while reading the jacket of a book, or paging through a Crate & Barrel catalog- those small gestures that say "I like you near me."

3. Someone to argue and make up with; a good conversationalist, even if the conversation is full of total bullshit, makes life that much better.

4. A shoulder or a lap to fall asleep on while watching television, plus couch cuddle time.

5. My good dishes and cookware from Williams-Sonoma.

6. And while we're at it, I miss the kitchen I helped design; from the stainless steel appliances, to the concrete counter tops, to the reclaimed wood floors, to the lighting fixtures from Pottery Barn, to the crocks holding utensils, to the sunny spot where I'd drink my coffee each morning.

7. And furthermore...I miss someone else making the coffee each morning.

8. Hearing someone say "I'm happy you're here with me." (That one falls into the "wishful thinking" category.)

9. Someone to dress up and show off. Listen, as a former art student/current fashion slave, I absolutely lovelovelove using humans as my very own dolls. Just trust me, I know what you should be wearing and why.

10. S. E. X.  (You didn't think that was going to be omitted from the list just because my mother reads my blog, did you?!)

I've always been pretty positive (okay, but with a sarcastic side, too), and have used other's words to help me remain focused on the Good in Life. Just like that picture up top tells me, things will just keep getting better as long as I don't get bitter.

Pass the sugar  :)

Risk vs. Reward

Its been just over a month since I posted anything here, and only a few months since I've taken an active role in looking for a guy to date, going so far as to sign up for an online dating service. I've even sent a few "winks" and emails to guys on the dating site, but let's cut to the chase, here: I finally went on a blind date. What hit me after I finally clicked "send" on that email agreeing to a bike ride and a beer was the idea of risk in life, especially when it comes to relationships.

I guess taking risks should be par for the course after a breakup or divorce; the guy I was meeting was nothing like I ever gave a second glance to in my younger days: short, bald, glasses. But he's witty, I told myself as I read his email, and he likes being active. Secretly, I hoped he'd be like Harry Goldblatt, Charlotte's husband from Sex in the City. Regardless, I was breaking from my usual definition of "date-able."

The plan was to meet this guy- let's call him "Not Harry"- in Marquette (about an hour's drive for me) and go for a bike ride, chat, have a beer, maybe two. I take my bike out of the basement, pump up the tires, and go for a short spin. So easy! Of course I can do this. Its only a bike ride and maybe a beer.

I make the drive feeling fine, no nerves or butterflies or anything, and when I pull up to our meeting place, I spot him immediately: he is just as he described himself, and I know that Chuck Woolery was nowhere close, what with his witty and flirty questions, winks, and smiles. We have a brief, sanitary hug hello, and we're off. The day was brisk but sunny, and the conversation was...kind of a chore. Not Harry had a bit of a frat boy way about him, trying in that nonchalant way to name-drop and impress. Also, he was an interrupter when it was my turn to talk. Sigh.

We park our bikes and take his car to go grab that beer and a snack. Driving down a main road, he points out a new local microbrewery & pub that's pretty popular...and drives right on by, instead taking me to a nice but generic place further down the road. We chat more, drink our beer, then head back to our bikes where Not Harry and I say our thank yous and goodbyes, and with another sanitary hug, my first post-divorce blind date is over. Risk: going on a date with someone whom you've only had a handful of email correspondences. Reward: knowing that your instincts regarding the opposite sex are still intact after being dormant for so many years.

I immediately drive back to that new microbrewery, try a few samples,  and pick up a growler of beer to take home. Before I start the drive back home, I stop at another new business in Marquette that I've been meaning to visit- Everyday Wines- and begin thinking again about risk. Two new businesses, successful even though the economy is less than ideal. What would those people be doing now if they hadn't taken such a risk?, I thought as I wandered around the shop, listening to the saleswoman give her friend a coffee order. She chatted me up a bit, found out about my reason for being in Marquette that day, and helped me out with some great wine selections.

And then something else happened.

As I'm paying for my wines, signing the credit slip, the sales woman's friend returned with her coffee and she said to him: "I'm going to introduce her to Also Not Harry," pointing to me. Her friend looks at me and says, "Oh, yeah. Good idea."

Not only do I not know either of these people, but I obviously don't know Also Not Harry. As I look up and say "Um, what?" (clearly my conversational skills need practice), she is already texting Also Not Harry. Just when I thought my risk-taking was finished for the day, this woman throws another at me, telling me I need to befriend Also Not Harry. 

What's a girl to do? Well, *this girl* has learned to embrace risk these past few years, and whereas I probably would have smiled and shouted "Hook a girl UP, yo!"  in my younger, bolder, pre-married days, that day I just smiled, shrugged with that "Why not?" look, and said "Uh...okay." (Again with the words!) Everybody needs new friends. I have yet to meet Also Not Harry, and should say that making new friends doesn't necessarily mean more dates, even if that's how my day started. Risk: letting fate and a stranger in a wine shop take control of the day. Reward: new friends.

Taking a risk can be as big as opening a new business or as small as going for a bike ride. Risk nothing, and you're settling for Good Enough; the low level risks associated with Good Enough can certainly be an enjoyable way to pass the time, but deep down, you know you'll always mentally compare Good Enough to What If, even if the latter is only in your head.

Its fitting then, that you never know how you'll truly respond to risk, even if you're aware of what could happen, what the possible outcomes could be. Your business could fail, or you could fall off that bike and skin your knee something awful. Or you could make new friends thanks to strangers in a wine shop.

You'll never know until you pump up those tires and push off.