Time Passing

For my 50th birthday back in August, Bear and I took a road trip down to Durango, Colorado, with stops in Salida, Colorado, and Farmington, New Mexico. It was supposed to be a celebration, but for various reasons, it turned out to be a difficult trip for the both of us. I think when I try to force something to be very, very good, I usually get too uptight to let it be what it is.

We did have some beautiful vistas on our trip, especially when we decided to drive the "Million Dollar Highway" (U.S. Route 550). The picture at left shows one of our favorite stops (we went there twice that week): Andrews Lake (with Snowdon Peak in the background). We plan to go back there this coming summer to hike from Andrews Lake to Crater Lake and take another drive along the highway to really enjoy it without pressure to make it "the best birthday trip ever."

But this post isn't about my birthday or about the drive. It's a consideration of how I think sometimes: That the hotel room, the incidentals, the ability to take perfect photographs, how I look, really matters more than enjoying time with my husband and with myself for that matter, at peace in my own body. For instance, we were to meet a friend of Bear's and some of his family for drinks and nachos... I panicked. I didn't have anything to wear, I didn't look right, I couldn't do it, I just couldn't do it. I forced Bear to go shopping with me for new clothes and a new camera (because everything had to be perfect and my Canon G11 had a scratch on the lens...). When we got to the restaurant and met Bear's friend, I immediately relaxed. These people were really nice. They weren't there to judge what I was wearing or how much I weighed or anything else for that matter. It was a happy, congenial setting. Bear had someone to talk to about computer stuff and work, and one of the women wanted to talk to me about my recent back surgery, because she was considering back surgery too. They were accepting and interested. It was a great time, cut too short because they had other commitments.  They had taken time out of their day to get together with us, and I had made way too big a deal out of it. Later that evening, Bear was really sick. We chalked it up to the food, but now I know it was all the stress I was venting.

Why am I confessing all this in a public blog? Because I developed this blog just for this purpose — for examining the conflict that we have within ourselves — using the metaphor of "Dragonfly Wars."

The second best part of the trip was visiting with my dad (Ernie) and his wife (Betty). Driving down to their place, enjoying their garden and the many hummingbirds buzzing about, getting to eat great barbecued chicken courtesy my dad and tender corn on the cob courtesy Betty — this is the good life. One of the reasons I wanted to head south from our place was to spend some time with Dad and Betty. When things went wrong with our hotel room, instead of trying to make it perfect again, we should have taken my dad up on his offer to stay in Farmington. Another error.

What I want this coming summer is a chance to recreate the good parts of that trip, without trying to force it to be GOOD, and FUN, and full of opportunities to take "PERFECT pictures." I want to enjoy the motion of the car as we drive, the book that we choose to listen to along the way, and the company of my husband, friends, and relatives. I want to take care of myself by eating right (no sugar, little alcohol) and taking time to calm down. I want to see my husband happy.

That's a lot of wants. How can I erase all the wants and still make it a good trip? Remember the dragonfly. The adult dragonfly has a lifespan of only five to six months. During that time, its fragile beauty, the glint of sunlight on its wings, its flight as it catches insects and alights on prairie grasses — it is what it is, and that is all.

Even as I write this I'm aware that I'm trying too hard. I want to go back over the paragraphs to perfect my writing. The paragraph above has too many "its" in it. Take a deep breath, Kea. Let it be. Publish the post as an exercise in imperfection.

What's so Amazing?

    It's been a while since I've stopped to write a thoughtful post here. I've been busy working on my other blog, KeaNeato.net, on which I try to make daily posts. That's possible because the posts are shorter, usually a photo or a link. Sometimes I do get a little more verbose, but I'm saving some things for Dragonfly Wars.
     For instance, I wrote a post on KeaNeato.net called "One Amazing Thing — How much do we reveal of ourselves to others?" I based the post, the question, on a book, One Amazing Thing, by Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni. Characters in the book are asked to share one amazing thing about their lives. I won't take the time to explain it all here — see my KeaNeato post.
     I'm following up on the question of how much I should, can, may, may not, reveal myself to others here because it's more the point of this blog. As I wrote in my first post here, this blog's title, "Dragonfly Wars," relates to the conflicts inside a person, between fear and beauty, ignorance and acceptance. It's about whether I should live my life "out loud" or keep myself safer by writing outside the lines (that is, in generalities).
     I'm not sure what that means, exactly — I'm having trouble expressing myself for some reason. I think that's because of the topic. I'm uncomfortable with how much I want to write about all facets of my life and how much of it I know might be too revealing.
     But writing just this much is like leaving clues that only make people guess at the answers, and guessing can be dangerous. Folks might think one thing about you and so their thoughts get caught up down one road or another, when you're just really meaning to point them to a path.
     Maybe I can do it a little at a time.
     So, I go back to the question: If someone asked me to tell "one amazing thing" about my life, what would my answer be? My first thought is there is nothing amazing about my life. Not in the sense of what we see as amazing in the lives of others — the real and fictional folks we see on TV and in the movies. Of course, those people have really lived extraordinary lives. Perhaps I'm putting too much into the word "amazing."
     Dictionary.com defines "amazing" as "causing great surprise or wonder." That's quite different from extraordinary, which labels someone as "exceptional in character," "noteworthy," and "remarkable."     So, that takes a load off, doesn't it? I don't have to be "exceptional in character," I just have to cause great surprise or wonder. I can do that. I've had quite the life. But, is it really that different from anyone else's? Maybe it's because who I am now contrasts so greatly to who I have been.
     I'm a successful editor; I have a master's degree in journalism, and I put myself through both undergrad and graduate school. You can read more about that kind of stuff on my LinkedIn page.
     But how did I get here? Well, for one, I have benefited from white privilege. What? Yes, I said it. It's hard to notice if you don't have anything to contrast it with, but I know it's there. I read a really good blog about this called, "Straight White Male: The lowest difficulty setting there is." The author writes that even if you start at a lower level than other people, getting ahead in the game is just easier if you're a straight white male. It's easier if you're a male in general, but compared to the lives of other women, Straight White Female has to be pretty low on the difficulty setting as well.
     But yes, I did start off with a lot of things against me, and life growing up was hard. Maybe very hard, depending on your point of view.
     Stop. This is where I start wondering — how much more do I write? Anything more and I'll be stepping over that threshold, revealing PRIVATE things. Not that there's anything to hide...
     Oh, the conflict! Maybe this is where I end for now — leaving us both hanging (you, the reader, and me, the writer). If I were writing anonymously, I might be more bold. Who am I worried about? What am I worried about? My professional life, my parents. What if someone I work for reads this blog? How will it affect my job? What about my parents? Is this my story or their story? Is it right to include them in this?
     So, "gentle reader," this is where I ask for your feedback, your thoughts? What would you do?

Until Tuesday - Review on KeaNeato

I just wrote a review of the book Until Tuesday and I'd like you to read it. It's posted on my other blog, "KeaNeato!"