Strange Gifts

“This time alone on a little boat at sea in the middle of a wild storm and longing for company is like nothing else in my experience. I have leaned back from others, resenting their close breath upon me, imagining that the most important virtues are self-reliance and independence, fantasizing about post-apocalyptic survivalism (myself the only survivor). Into this resentful misanthropy intruded a frank and uncovered loneliness. This is why people venture out alone on mountains and little boats and across deserts – not because they can, but because they can’t. …

“It is true that we are ingenious and resourceful creatures and we can survive without espresso and poires belle Hélène, but we cannot last without companions. In cities we live badly with one another, and blame others – the pressure of their presence – for the vileness of our days. But the fault does not lie there.” – p. 280, The Water in Between, Kevin Patterson

Writing has a way of shifting things. Even if no one read these blog entries, writing them is very helpful to me. That you not only read them, but respond with such kindness, love, and understanding is a balm to my heart. Thank you.

After writing the last entry, I finally thought of volunteering as another way to connect with people here. I called a local organization to which I had been a long-time donor. While they weren’t taking volunteers, a woman named Sophie (another former Vancouverite) very generously gave me contact names for two organizations seeking group facilitators and offered to call them and let them know she had referred me. So that is in motion.

This weekend, I am registered in a workshop: two eleven-hour days in a hotel conference room learning techniques to free oneself from debilitating behaviours and disease. I heard that this program is being used in some areas of federal government leadership training and thought it might be a good connection. Although I had a rough night, I got up early Saturday – by far the earliest since I’ve been here – exercised, showered, and got to the conference by 8:35. I felt scared to be there – too raw and vulnerable, unwilling to open to these strangers. Through the early part of the morning the facilitator led a couple reflections and during these I noticed how my experience of loneliness was once again preventing me from fulfilling my intention of connecting with others. How could I get out of this vicious cycle? What was driving it?

Self-rejection. When that thought came two hours into the workshop, it fit like a key. The sadness lifted. It’s not a particular place or person or people from whom I am alienated; it’s myself.

I have been feeling it most sharply and hating myself most deeply lately because I finally accepted that someone who I want very much to want me simply doesn’t – at least not as much as I want him to. But when I look at the situation frankly, I see that I am abdicating responsibility and trying to get him to do something that I need to do for myself – and that he needs to do for himself much more than for anyone else. In that way, I’ve been trying to steal his energy.

I left the workshop at the noon break. It’s a beautiful day, and I decided to spend the rest of the weekend with myself outdoors. This seems like more important work right now than meeting anyone or learning someone else’s techniques. I’m writing this sitting on a log beside the Ottawa River. There are lily pads and sea grass and boats, and I saw a heron. My camping gear is in the back of the Jeep.

I’ve been resenting Ottawa, questioning my decision to come here, railing against fate and wanting things to be different. Right now, finally, I can see coming here and even not being wanted by someone as gifts: Just what I need in order to begin. I’ve talked about valuing and loving myself no matter what. Now I get to practice.

Copyright © 2010 Lynn Thorsell, All rights reserved.

Loneliness and Home

“Which is … the redemption of the travelers and their compulsion to tell tales. Their stories, when they are meaningful, are certainly not about the solitary traveler. They are about home, and the travelers’ relationship with it.” - p. 278, The Water in Between, Kevin Patterson

This week has been lonelier and harder than the last. I have found it more difficult to accomplish the tasks on my self-care list. Things unravel quickly -- I stay up late; am reluctant to get out of bed; try to compensate by doing some of the look-for-work or prep-for-errands tasks on the computer and phone; skip exercise; eat late; finally force myself to dress and shower; get a couple things done; go out to a social event to try to connect with people; come home feeling lonely; stay up late trying to connect with people on the west coast who are busy or away, in the midst of their own lives and worries; stay up late; skip meditation, etc., etc.

I keep learning how patterns of behaviour unintentionally reinforce unwanted cycles of events. In this case, feeling lonely --> sad --> cry --> isolate myself --> pry myself out of isolation --> go to social event --> find it difficult to connect with others (not surprising, given that my energy is low and I feel sad) --> feel lonely --> call or email --> others busy / bad timing --> feel lonely --> sad --> cry --> isolate myself, etc. It's a tragic and ironic cycle. I'm sure there are many, many other people who just need to be held and to have a good cry, yet it seems so hard to melt the fears and distance and social barriers and do that.

There have been breaks: Hugs with my sister, second-hand shopping with my niece, a chat with my nephew. I know that if I keep chipping away, connections will happen. If nothing else, I am, I hope, cultivating compassion for other travelers and life-levelers. And I recognize that although I may feel stripped down, I still have many blessings: my sister and her family, their hospitality, my health, a working vehicle to get around with. These are not trivial things.

It may not look like I am still traveling, but until I arrive again in a place that feels like home I will still feel like a nomad. I imagine that many people are invisible travelers, having lost one home and not yet found another. In its absence, I am certainly discovering the value of home for me.

Copyright © 2010 Lynn Thorsell, All rights reserved.