True or Trained

hitchhiker picker-upper

First, let me apologize for my unintended absence. I read somewhere that we aren’t supposed to apologize for things like this, not out of being crass, but because no one really cares about our excuses. I get it, but really? I want to think people do care.

One of the writers I follow hasn’t posted in a while, and I truly care, even though I’ve never met her and she has no idea who I am. I care because I feel a connection, even if it’s one-sided. I still care.

We are being desensitized, not to care, not to reach out. Mostly, I think, because we’re all in some state of survival mode. The security of our well-being feels constantly threatened.

This week, my daughter wept in a huddle of students during class while they were on lockdown because of an armed person on campus. She was physically safe, but how long before her internal world feels safe again? It’s everywhere. It’s constant. It feels like only a matter of time before it touches us all. And it takes a tremendous toll.

Terror, trauma, anger, fear, greed, injustice, inequality, all create an unbearable resentment in those of us longing just to feel safe and at ease.

I’ve been thinking about hitchhikers.

I’ve always wanted to be someone who picks up hitchhikers. There’s a mystery there. Curiosity. Possibility. Who knows what or when something could transform our lives? Picking up a stray traveler could be the answer to a question I didn’t even know I was searching for until I found it. 

My truest self is a hitchhiker picker-upper.

And yet? I know better. Or maybe “know” isn’t the right word.

I am trained.

I feel we have two selves: the true self and the trained self, the one we are at heart, and the one shaped to survive.

I was trained not to pick up anyone I didn’t know, not to talk to strangers, and to be street-smart. As a kid, the news was enough to instill terror, along with indulgent television shows like Creepshow, The Twilight Zone, and Alfred Hitchcock’s films, each loaded with a fear that clings to the mind. I was trained to believe that even an innocent act could bring my demise, and with good reason. The world is threatening, especially to women, BiPOC, and LGBTQIA people, who together make up well over half of humanity.

The age-old question remains: Why does it have to be this way? 

I want to rewrite the rules. I want to be my true self. I want to give strangers rides if they need them. I want to talk to them, and I want them to talk to me. I want to care.

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And so I’ve been remiss in my posting because I was pummeled by a virus that flattened me. I’m slowly finding my way back to this world.

At the same time, I’m riding the relentless fluctuations of hormones that turn me into a rabid lockness monster. It makes sense, as next month I hit 50, all while preparing to pack up and move again. In a few weeks, we will be heading back out to the country, where I’m hoping to recover some sense of well-being, something I honestly haven’t felt since moving into the city.

What’s been floating my boat lately?

This short film, Far West: An Artist Seeks Reinvention by Living Off the Grid | The New Yorker Documentary, I honestly cannot stop thinking about this woman’s courageous journey, and the temptations it sparks to live way off-grid.

Origami: Specifically, the Herringbone Tessellation Fold.

This lovely Sencha from Kagoshima, Japan, where we visited last spring… it has my name on it.

Seeing Padraig O’Tuama speak in person again, this time with renowned poet and storyteller Marilyn Nelson.

Learning how to DJ. After 40 years, my dreams of being a DJ are getting closer. More on this later.

Evelyn in Transit: A novel by David Guterson. I heard a blurb about this book on the radio while driving and was enthralled. I haven’t yet read his beloved, Snow Falling on Cedars, so I don’t have that for comparison. At times, the story is a little hard to follow. I find myself going back to reorient, but even so, I’m enjoying the journey of Evelyn and Tsering. I love Evelyn's tenacity, especially as a child.

What’s sinking my boat a little is that, after seeing these letters in this book, Bad Luck, Hot Rocks, I started thinking about my rock collection from far and wide. While I don’t have any petrified rocks, I will be tiptoeing around my rocks until all is clear.

What’s been floating your boat these days?

When everything is moving and shifting, the only way to counteract chaos is stillness. When things feel extraordinary, strive for ordinary. When the surface is wavy, dive deeper for quieter waters. - Kristin Armstrong

Spring Workshop

Ghost Ranch: Drawn To Clay

Join me this spring for an art adventure in one of my favorite places on this planet: Abiquiu, New Mexico. I would love to meet you there.

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Thank you for reading and for your kind comments and emails on my past posts. I greatly appreciate them all and hope to respond soon. Wishing you good health and the feeling of being cared for. ♡