HOME!

 

Yep, that's where I am.  Right there.

I drove in from the airport - a 3ish hour drive - and as I approached the tall highway 101 bridge driving into North Bend I started feeling simply giddy.

I drove through Coos Bay, seeing the same things that I do when I go through, and yet even in ten days there were a few changes. 

But the best bit is when I drove into my small town. 

The cheese factory that is going in has been framed in and sheathed, which is so exciting for me (and my small business).

My beloved beach was still there, still perfect.

And it's home.  Driving up to this place, I was just giddy with that knowledge.

This is my home in a way that no other place I've been has been MY home.

It's my solace, my enticement.  This place loves me, who I am works here.

I am so very glad to find the place in the world where I am home.

I don't know what it is about this place that makes me so thrilled, but it does, and I am... home, home, home, home, HOME!

Christmastime, growth, gifts and a gentle ass-kicking

Sadly, I am traveling for Christmas.  Sadly, because I didn't bring my camera and because I am not on my blessed beach.  So, there will be no photos for today's post.  It'll likely be a short one, but for me anyway, important.

I'm surprised this trip at how ok I am.  I thought coming back here would be harder, that there would be more tears and more sadness, but I think I've been able to work through much of the grief at home where I feel safe to let my guard down and mourn.  This trip was both about an ending - a letting go - and connection with friends and family.

I've been so blessed with, as one friend calls it, my collection of people.  I am a person who seeks people out for their gifts, and because we connect on that level, no matter how far apart we are or how long it's been since we have been able to spend face-to-face time together, it's easy and relaxed.  This week, because I journeyed back to the place I was born and raised and spent a large portion of my life, I got to see a few of my people connection... and what a huge blessing it was for me.

I met up with an old flame this week.  We had coffee (or in his case, chai) and talked for nearly three hours, and there may or may not have been a kiss.  Isn't it funny that after 25 years that you can reconnect with someone like there was no time at all?  While the kiss was lovely and exciting, I think both he and I would agree that it was simply that, a kiss, and not something either of us will get too het up about - but as my friend C says, "Good, you got that out of the way, now you can connect with someone who might be more in the picture for you."  I'm sure that my old flame and I will continue to communicate, and that's fine with me - there is still friendship to be shared there but likely nothing more.

Another dear friend and I were able to sit and talk over a really great breakfast (incidentally, if you want the way to this foodie's heart?  breakfast - every time.)  She and I have been friends for so long and so closely, it's like putting on your favorite pair of shoes when we get to spend a few hours alone.  Very few people 'get' me like she does, our gifts and personalities balance each other so well, she brings me no shortage of joy. 

She is a crusader.  Had she been born a man, I think life would have been infinitely easier.  As it is, my dear friend struggles with her place in life.  Well, that's not entirely true - she is exceptionally great at being who she is.  What she struggles with is other's acceptance of her gifts.

I'm easy, I'm loving - a salve to the hurting - a comfort and an exhorter.  These gifts are welcomed in women, loving people is something we expect of the femme.  But a crusader and a woman?  Christian culture (where she works and operates) does not find these two concepts comforting and regularly rejects the pairing.  Men in general, let alone those in Christian culture, typically don't like women to wield the machete and hack through the thick underbrush of thought, reason, and Biblical exegesis.  Alas, thusly she was gifted so thusly she walks and thusly she is - for lack of a better word, persecuted.

The persecution has been subtle and constant: rolled eyes, pushing her to the background, tamping of her fire.  Even if you are very strong, those things batter you, take the wind from your sails, and grind you down till you see yourself as wrong and broken. 

There are few who can speak into your life and tell you that your difficult for other's gifts are beneficial, and those voices have to be loud and persistent.  With the latter, I've been remiss.  I will commit to you - my longest living intimate and dear friend - to be persistent. Who you are is more than good enough.  What you bring is necessary, even if it isn't appreciated overtly.  We are both like water in our way.  The things we bring aren't always for the moment.  The influence we bring puddles and lingers, wearing away at resistance to truth.  The things that are difficult for others are my favorite things about you.  May your light and influence be appreciated now and in this lifetime.  But if it isn't?  DO NOT STOP BEING YOU, not ever... not for a moment. 

Thank you so much for being the bold, fire-y, pain-in-the-ass that you are.  I love you.

To the rest of you, thanks for reading this far... and Merry Christmas!!

Out of Step

I walked half of the South Jetty with my dear friend, L today.  I am not used to her pace, nor she mine.  I am not a meanderer, but my gate is longer and more fluid... and I walk slower.  I suppose part of it was nearly 15 years of walking with a photographer who was a foot taller then I.  The walk, while nice (and chilly) felt out of step.

 Add to that, the South Jetty was littered with a whole mess of logs and natural debris.  This is my heart right now.  I'm a mess.  The scab pulling has affected me so much more than I expected.  I suppose it is because I have a lot of baggage - this week is only 8 months.  Maybe my cautious friend is right to back away slowly.  Though there are a many reasons one does not want to get involved again, it still hurt to find out after weeks of patient and kind attention one isn't the object of affection.  My friend L is impatient with me to move on, to be open to something or someone better.  The truth is, I've got  a few things to work out, and in my secret heart, I want him to realize that he is wrong and come calling.  I don't think this likely, but it is still my wish.

 It will be awhile yet before I am wholy myself.  I won't stop living, nor stop enjoying things in my life, but I will cry over this loss too.  Loss of potential, loss of a hope, loss of a maybe friend.

Be Brave, Be Safe. Take Care.

 This shot is looking over to the North Jetty and Bullard's Beach beyond and the one below is the Coquille River Lighthouse.  Sometime soon I'll go and shoot the North Jetty/Bullard's, but for now, this is what saw when I walked up to the top of the South Jetty.  So pretty!

 I've been thinking about bravery in the last few weeks.  I get told that I am brave quite a bit.  I suppose that after a fashion I am... if the definition of bravery is being scared and acting anyway.  I am moving on in my life after my husband's death, but don't feel very brave often, I'm scared a lot.  Along with all the other stuff that happened, I lost my best friend in the world - the human I could tell anything to, and I miss him, but I have to keep going - right?

 I don't feel very brave when I move forward in life.  I feel resigned.  I know I can't just say *here* because here doesn't exist.  Much like the beach, here changes almost constantly.  Stuff moves in and out like the sands and the trees and the tide... people, opportunities, etc.

 Often, stuff doesn't work out the way you hope and sometimes your heart get squashed a bit, and sometimes it gets downright broken.  I'm told it's brave to want to try again, to open yourself up to someone or something new.  I don't know if it is, I don't know any other way. I'm not willing to hide away because it's painful.  I know I take risks - I'm an adventuresome woman.

 Sometimes I do stupid stuff because I've never gone that way before.  The low tide was +3 feet today, and I like to walk at low tide, but I had not woken up early enough to meet it (and it was raining) so I went a few hours past the low, when the surf was making it's way up the beach.  The moon was full a few days ago brought the tide up high and with it a lot of trees, and a lot of sand.

 As I was walking, and (honestly) dodging the waves and sometimes stumps in the water I walked not quite half way down the beach and realized that this was probably unsafe for me.  For all of it's beauty, this really wasn't safe to be out alone.  If something happened, there'd be no way for me to get help enough in time and I could get hurt.  I had a strong intuition that this was a possibility.

 So, I packed up and started walking back up the beach.  I'm reminded that even though taking a risk often feels safe to me, the road less travelled and all, it's maybe not the safest for everyone.

 Like this cute little snowy plover, sometimes you get pretty battered, and it's safer to find a nest and and hide away.  You have to figure out what is the safest thing for yourself.

I licked my wounds for a bit, and I'm still recovering from the rough seas from earlier this year, it takes a bit for things to calm down and for the cleanup to happen.  I'm in the middle of this awkward process of being adventuresome again. 

So, I took a risk.  I fell a little for someone who showed some interest.  I got my heart squished a bit.  It's not broken like it was when my husband died, but the scab got pulled on a bit and yeah, it's bleeding a little. 

 Sometimes when we are careful, it hurts worse than when we are adventurous - like a broken bone poorly set, sometimes you need to be broken again so you can set properly.  I know people who chose not to have those bones re-broken - the fear of the pain of that event, despite the eventual benefits, are more than they chose to experience.  It's an acceptable way to live, but again, not something that is for me.  I hope that people who hide themselves away get what they need out of life.

 So, here was my thinking bench today, out of range of the surging surf.  I was not going to get squashed by a log here - and I understand the benefit of being away from the adventuresome stuff - the benefits of not taking all of the risks.



Just a little...

Four Thirty a.m.

It's not a time of day I recommend.  For some reason, I am experiencing this time of day with my eyelids lifted much too often.  All of the tricks that I typically use to lull myself to sleep, and then sleep runs away like a toddler in a mall.  Here I am, I was, giving chase.

I should probably find some kind of med that will allow me a nice 7.5 hours of blissful rest, but I am not a person who cares for meds much - even the herbal or homeopathic (melatonin) make me a little uncomfortable.  I'm trying though.

Last night I went to bed around midnight.  I did all the things - start my rain and ocean sounds, turned the timer on the t.v. (falling asleep in the dark is still a problem).  An hour or so beforehand I took a hot bath.  A girlfriend and I had a nice conversation and I was all "tucked in" - the realization that I am not alone cemented in my brain.  I fell asleep within minutes of closing my eyes.

Bing.  It's 4:30am.  And I am awake.  Again.

I looked up the corresponding organ for the time I am waking (need more info?  google Organ Meridian Times - this corresponds with Traditional Chinese Medicine) and it was "lungs".  When I woke up, I was congested and having trouble breathing, my apparatus (a singing term) filled with yuck and goo.  But is that it?

Why am I waking up in this time, am I forgetting to breathe?  Did the heat turn on and overheat me (which is a trick, as I keep my house at a chilly 55* most of the time)?  Am I anxious over the dumb little things I say during the day... afraid that I've caused someone pain?  Am I mulling over the possibilities in store for me?  I don't know.  Frankly, I don't care.

I just want SLEEP.

UPDATE:  I was up for half an hour, and then I closed my eyes and was gone for about another 2.5.  I may get a nap in today too!

Alone v. Loneliness, Choice to Some Extent

South Jetty Beach, 11/4/12

I alluded to the existence of this post in my last.  The photos were taken, and the text was planned out but someone forgot to publish, and it is clear that we will find out who that is fairly shortly here.

 

One of the things that one deals with after a loss of any significant relationship is loneliness.  Naturally, when you partner with someone you grow together.  Your tastes change, your habits change, the rhythm of life changes to accommodate another person.  It's natural to feel lost and lonely when there is an ending to a relationship like that.  I am there, steeping in that kind of loss right now.

 

 I have opened the facts of my circumstance to a number of people here in my new home now, it's been about seven months and I was getting questioned about my inherent sadness and when they hear my story, some people withdraw (naturally, this level of pain is difficult for some) and some give me the pity eyes (which I hate and also understand), and some people step up in ways that astound and bless and they just sort-of tuck you under their wing while giving you the grace to move away from that level of care when you need.  I am so very blessed that I have a lot of the latter in my life right now.

 At the same time, things that you once enjoyed with a partner are difficult to share with someone new, and for me - I guess it's the South Jetty Beach.  It's my favorite place to walk.  (Please tell me that you see the chicken in the above photo.  There will be a story about that to follow.)  For a long time, I wanted to walk the South Jetty.  It was something that my husband and I did two or three times a week on the low tide.  For months after I moved back here, I couldn't even look at the Ocean, let alone walk on the beach.  Then I started asking people if they'd walk there with me, and for whatever reason, we could never make that happen.  This series of photos was taken on my first walk on the beach alone.  I took my camera (obvs.) so that if I decided I needed to sit, or take a break I wasn't drowning in my loneliness.  I saw the piece of wood above and was shooting around it when a couple of local kids approached me.  They were about 12ish, funny, roughhousing types.  They asked me what I was looking at so we talked about taking photographs and seeing images and perspective and capturing shapes and light to make an interesting image.  Then I handed one of them the camera and asked him to shoot what he saw.  I laughed when the image flashed up on my preview... he grinned cheekily and said "Could be dinner, man". 

 There they go, off on their own walk.  For about five minutes talking with these two, I wasn't lonely.  Yeah, I was alone, but what the hell does that mean?  Can we choose between the two, to be alone and secure and safe in that - finding connection along the way to ebb the loneliness? 

Do we allow ourselves to be overcome by the tide of overwhelming emotion, to be tossed about, potentially lost to finding connection?  I suppose it's a path that can be chosen, but it's not for me.

 I remember standing there after those boys left, thinking, "I still have stuff to give."  I have more life here.  And even though I had been taking steps toward this realization, it was the first time I acknowledged to myself that after my husband's death that I wanted to live. 

 I didn't want to be stuck in the mode of loneliness.  That's not a bad place, there's nothing wrong with it, but I didn't want to be there.  And to not be there I would have to make a few choices.

 Still not quite sure what I wanted, I've been noticing a few people moving into my life, and I've enjoyed them and the experience of getting to know them.  The learning process of being open again to new people isn't always pleasant.

 I've certainly not got it all figured out, and probably won't, ever - in a concrete way.

 And then, in rolls the tide, and you get to choose.  You get to see what might be coming for you - it doesn't all rush in at once, there is an ebb and flow - and you can watch it come in on the tide.

 The yin and yang of what is coming.  Sometimes it's sweet, sometimes it's bitter, and if you are lucky it's bittersweet.

 And you find that you are not adrift, that somehow you are cemented in the sand.  And it's not loneliness, but it's being alone and THAT space is a good place to be.  Where it's a choice and you get to choose it. 

It was time for me to turn around, I was getting tired, and thought, "Sure would be nice to walk back with someone." Then around one of the monolithic rocks shown above came THIS guy and his dog, and he asked for directions and so we starting walking back together. He'd just moved here from Texas, and this was HIS first walk on the beach. Funny how that happens, isn't it?

Sometimes it's random 12 year olds, and sometimes it's a random twenty-something year old, your elderly neighbor, the fed-ex guy who chats with you for a moment, the guy who flirts with you at the meat counter, there is all sorts of connection and being alone doesn't really have to be all that lonely.

 

Isn't it funny I saw that on Mulberry Street?

On depression, an ending, and a starting over on the South Jetty

This is the South Jetty Beach in my town.  Isn't it beautiful?  I love living here so much, partially because of all of the different ocean vistas and walks.  This is healing my heart.
________________________________________________________

I had an entire post written out a few weeks ago about loneliness v. being alone.  I am alone right now.  My sweet, sweet husband died tragically and by his own hand.  He'd struggled with some significant depression and thoughts of ending for over thirty years before he left.  He told me about his depression five years into our marriage.  It was just after his 30th birthday, when he told me that he never expected to live that long.  I asked for ten more years, in hopes that some kind of help would be found, and then, the optimist that I am, I let myself forget. 

 

A few years later, both in hopes that it would secure his life or leave me with a piece of him, and because we had a desire to parent, we started trying to have a child.  After years and years of no such blessing and multiple early miscarriages and one pregnancy that lasted for just over 9 weeks, we gave up trying.  There was no medical reason given to our inability to complete a pregnancy, and I know it was crushing to both of us.  I believe that our decision to stop our quest for a child is when he started his exit strategy. 

 I, again, chose to ignore - or didn't see the signs of this.  I think that's easy - especially if you don't want to see them, especially if you don't want to be left behind.  We did adore each other, and that's not just post-death reasoning.  We were actually devoted, affectionate, adoring, and committed. 

If I could have done anything to help him survive, I would have done it.  As it is/was, you can't make someone live, no matter how much you stand in the doorway, no matter how much you love them, no matter how much you wish you could take away their pain.  That kind of love just does not exist.

 I tried to expand myself into the doorway of life so he couldn't get out and I thought that we had a pretty great system, but the sad days got to be more, and the pain got deeper.  No matter what I did, who I was, how much I loved him, his heart was not in life.  So, he made a plan and found a way for me to be safe.  He helped me start my business, and he would push me to expand past my natural limitations.  He cheer led, he found a home for me, made me think through different scenarios in business life, had me set reasonable minimum expectations of income so I could pay my own way and wouldn't need him anymore.  The sadness got deeper, so deep that when he'd talk about it,

I wanted to go with him. 

One day, he looked at me and told me he expected me to marry again.  The thought of that terrified more than any other he'd posed.  He started talking about not feeling physically well, but he'd do nothing to feel better.  He started giving his things away, but I didn't see it.  I could talk him into taking St John's Wort (a natural anti-depressant) for a few weeks and things would get better.  Better meant that I wouldn't come home from work or errands and find him crying.  Worse meant I was afraid to go grocery shopping, or work, or visiting a neighbor.  I told people afterwards that I didn't know, but denial isn't just a river, is it?  You can see things a whole lot better if you aren't sitting with your nose pressed on them.  Next week will be 8 months since his death.  I have a little perspective now, I suppose.

So today, on my walk I was having a hard conversation with myself.  Appreciating the love, the affection and adoration that he and I shared.  He saw me for who I was, and I saw him, and we worked at bringing the best out in each other.  The week he died was not a good week.  We'd made a plan to move back to the lovely small town on the Oregon Coast and things were progressing toward that move, albeit slowly.  He was exceptionally depressed and more and more resolute that the only way to make things work for me was for him to not be here.  He made sure I knew where all of the paperwork was, should something happen.  Later in the week he worried aloud that his depression was killing me.  I told him that I was his person and that this was how it worked.  I adored him absolutely, and I would have done anything for him to continue breathing.

Today, I sat down on this log.  Today I told him, for the first time since I met him, I didn't want him anymore.  Today I told him that I didn't want him back.  For as much as I had loved him, and as much as I still love him, I didn't want him back, that I was ready for something new, for someone new to love - for someone to love me.  I sat there and I wept.  I have stopped trying to fill the gap and have been expanding into the me of me.  He is no longer the person I have to stand in the gap for, that I have to let him go as someone for who I need to consider going forward.  I need to live for me.

I feel selfish in saying this, and maybe I am...but I have had epic love and I want more.  Is it spoiled and greedy to want another love like that?  If it is, then I am, both; spoiled and greedy.  From my vantage point, it appears that there might be love out there for me again.  The good kind too, the kind that sees you and who you see for who they are... potential.

 Perhaps I don't deserve that kind of love again.  I guess, I don't really care if I deserve it again... but I am smart enough to know that if there is love for you that feeds you, and if you feel like you can give back in the same fashion, you go for it.  Heartbreak is not the worst thing a person can experience.  The heart heals and the heart builds rooms for new love, and I am experiencing renovations.

 I don't know if this someday man will ever see this post, and really it does not matter to me if he does or does not.  Should he be someone with potential, we will have the conversations that such a relationship will require.  If he is not that man, then I have a nice new room and a hope for the future of me - for love too, and a good idea of what I want when I do get there.

 There is hope for the future for me.  I hope, dear reader that you see that there is hope in the future for you.

 ...And to think that I saw it on Mulberry Street.