Notes from an Open Life

So what the hell?

Well, OK. The blog has been dormant for a while. And I've been regularly paying $8.95 a month for blogs I'm not using. And so I've been considering getting rid of the Typepad account entirely. So I cancelled my pay account on Typepad and just have the one blog on the free account now. 

On this blog, it changed over to this - interesting - template. I lost Music Therapy, but that's OK - I still have the podcasts themselves, and perhaps I should just put those in a public Dropbox folder. (Huh...not a bad idea.) Or I could restore them here. 

I will likely move over to Tumblr soon enough, but don't have the concentration today to do so. 

So that's what happened. I think it's about time to start blogging regularly again in some form - perhaps for the new year. 

 

Climate proofing - via networks and looking out for one another

You may or may not be able to link through to this New Yorker article - it's worthwhile, and you can access if you subscribe - but the thing that struck me was the plain statement of something that has been lingering in my mind, mostly unspoken and unformed, for a long time: 

Even if we managed to stop increasing global carbon emissions tomorrow, we would probably experience several centuries of additional warming, rising sea levels, and more frequent dangerous weather events. (bold and italics mine)

And that's where I almost stopped reading because I couldn't quite absorb this statement of what had been lurking at the edges of my mind. 

SEVERAL. CENTURIES. 

Of more frequent dangerous weather events. 

The article gives several examples of physical and structural adaptation to help deal with extreme weather events - like barriers and "lifeline systems" (infrastructure for immediate aftermath of disasters). But it also touches on the differences of impact where there was a strong social network in place. Where people knew each other, or there were community organizations that bring people into contact with one another. These types of 'systems' - where people will even simply look out for one another - significantly contribute to the resilience of a community after a disaster. 

I've heard several stories from people who lived through Hurricane Sandy on the East Coast (and seen a lot of the news footage as well), and the striking thing is the humanity in the stories. People helped each other - and people were and are grateful for the care, the concern, the help. That's what made a difference. 

I'm not sure why I felt compelled to write this post. I guess there was something that shifted for me. In the face of a literally altered reality for the foreseeable future - where we simply accept things like extreme weather, and perhaps, shootings that are becoming a monthly occurance - will we adapt? I like to think that we will. And I have to think that we have to. 

Faith and frustration

"If you're going through hell, keep going." - Winston Churchill

I have a lot of blog ideas that start out as just the beginnings of ideas. I jot them down as draft posts and then forget about them. They sometimes come back around and resonate with me again, and then I finish them up and post them. This is one of those. 

I was raised Catholic, and, as I tend to say, it didn't quite "take." That said, I feel like I've gradually built a fledgling, practical spirituality based more on my life experience. From that perspective, I use the word "faith" in the sense of: no matter how dark and difficult things might seem right now - no matter how much I can't really see how things will turn out well - things actually will turn out well if I simply have faith and allow it to.

Which has led to the title and topic of this post. 

Faith that things will actually turn out OK is, of course, hardest when it feels like exactly the opposite - that everything will NOT turn out OK, but spectactularly and permanently badly. Which, I suppose, is exactly the point and definition of faith. As they say, it's easy to have faith when things are going well.

And so it occurs to me that the experience of faith - faith in its truest action - is not necessarily a positive experience. While the word sounds uplifting ("FAITH!!"), the experience itself is not uplifting at all. Faith in true practice is actually a maddening mix of a positive outlook, along with sadness, anger, frustration, and, at its deepest, elements of despair.

Because why does one need faith if there seems to be some positive solution to a situation? If there is even a glimmer of hope, it's relatively easy to have hope. It is only when there seems to be no hope, no solution, no end - when there is despair, deep in the soul - that faith becomes one of the only options (other than compounded despair, dissociation, breakdowns, psychotic breaks, or self-harm, among others).

Is this a new concept? No, of course not. But the experience and the realization seem new to me. In the face of overpowering and unexplained occurrences and emotions, where one's basic beliefs come into question - what is one to do? When one doesn't FEEL as if everything is going to turn out all right? Where does one turn? 

There seem to be two options. Follow that feeling of despair and descend into that dark and deep pool. Or repeat to oneself, even as some part of oneself screams and cries against it, "everything will be OK."

Maybe even "everything IS OK".

In writing this down, this seems overly simplistic. Living the experience - getting to the point where one is truly not sure whether one will ever get out of that pool of despair - draws out the awful paradox of this.

Life change happens one small step at a time, with simply doing something different. Thinking something different. Believing something different. For a moment. For a day.

This is at the heart of change: proving to oneself, in very small steps, that perhaps one doesn't know or understand the full plans of one's life - which is what ego wants to believe. Or perhaps not proving anything, but simply being willing, for a moment, to believe that things can be different, despite current appearances.

Having the courage, perhaps, to let go of the thought that one knows what's going on, and allowing life a small chance to lead you someplace new.

Last post from the road...

...though not really from the road. We've arrived in Portland and now have the task of rearranging all the stuff we've brought into some semblance of order. The plants all survived, which is good, and the cats all survived as well. Technology (read: Internet) is in place after 24 hours or so, so all is right with the world.

The last day of driving, the cats behaved extremely well. I think they were getting used to the routine: truck during the day, motel at night. If you'd seen them in the room, you'd think they'd been in motel rooms all their lives. Very casual.

Gorgeous scenery coming down Highway 84 - through the Columbia River Gorge, and seeing the amazing Columbia River.

We made really good time and then, coming into Portland, I didn't make the right turn. And I lost it. Portland is an easy city to get lost in (at least for me, a newbie), and being lost in a city with lots of narrow, one-way streets with a 20-foot truck and towing an auto trailer is exponentially worse. After three days on the road, to be so close to our destination and suddenly having a whole new challenge was just too much. I don't usually curse a lot, but curse I did, upsetting everyone. The problem was solved relatively quickly. But, I can't say that if it happened again, I wouldn't curse up a storm again. But we made it, and here we are. Things are much better after having a good cup of coffee after three days of in-room coffee. (Boy, I'm a sad case.)

Driving a car after three days in a truck and trailer is very very easy. Now that we've unloaded, and the car is off the trailer, it's kind of a joy to learn a new set of city streets. I'm sure I'll get lost again. But in a car, it's nothing that a few right turns can't fix.

Queen of the Road

Part of me is wondering why I'm blogging after a very long day in a truck with my wife and daughter and two freaking-out cats. But I wanted to take a few minutes to share some of the experience of the day.

We were fortunate enough to run into two friends and neighbors before driving off, and then had a great sendoff from friends. It was tough, and not without tears. Then, getting used to driving a fully-loaded 20-foot trailer, also towing a car and trailer. We made our way up through the Wyoming high plains, where we had a rainstorm. I've never seen the plains of Wyoming so green, with actual wildflowers of purple and yellow. A couple of wind farms (which made the "Awesome" list). And finally into Evanston, Wyoming, just a few miles from the Utah border.

The biggest adventure was the cats. Desmond essentially crammed himself under the seat until we got here. He was exhausted and panting, and we got him some water right away. He seems to be OK; we'll be taking special care of him tomorrow.

Trixie, on the other hand, despite starting out yowling and fighting with Desmond, halfway through the trip turned into the Queen of the Road. She was on our laps, acting as if she had ridden in cars and trucks all of her life. She stared intently at all the trucks going by.

I hope they are both willing to get back into the truck tomorrow. Not entirely sure I am.