The Next Move

My first week at my new job went very well. I've been meeting people; learning about the organization, the work it's done, and the context of the project on which I'm working; and even starting to get my hands dirty.

I've also been scouting potential living situations. Despite a very tempting offer to share a million-dollar home in a beautiful neighborhood for only a couple hundred dollars more than I had budgeted, I finally settled on moving into a house on Chestnut Street with Heather (28) and Willow (9 months).

The house is only a 20 minute walk from work, and a short bike ride to my sister's. It's situated between the canal and the river, so paths along both are readily accessible. It also has solar panels, radiant floor heat, and hang-dry laundry facilities, which equal ridiculously low utility costs in a city of old houses and high heating bills. And there's parking for both my Jeep and my bikes.

With these changes, my time horizon has gone from not being sure what was happening next week, to having some certainty about the next month -- still short, but much more manageable. My five months of camping and couch surfing is coming to an end.

Copyright © 2010 Lynn Thorsell, All rights reserved.

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.

August 20: Island Perspectives

Ah, border crossings. I’ve had some challenging ones in the past couple years – being asked to sit and wait on bench W without explanation and then accused of being a student for Pete’s sake; being asked one item at a time whether I was bringing guns, knives, bombs, apples, oranges, potatoes, drugs, gifts, merchandise, funds in excess of $10,000, or broken glass into the United States until I was teetering on the verge of sarcasm.

Today I was the last in a long line of bus passengers, having forgotten to complete my declaration form beforehand. I chatted with the young Norwegian couple in front of me finishing the final few days of their four-week Seattle-Vancouver adventure. The agricultural inspectors laughed and joked when I cheerfully declared my container of half-eaten hommous, and then to my surprise wished me a happy birthday. I’m now back on the rolling bus admiring a beautiful view of Mount Baker while listening to Boards of Canada’s “In a Beautiful Place in the Country”. Maybe this is my reward for earlier today praising Seattlites’ warmth, courtesy, and kind driving manners.

I have had such rich experiences on Vancouver and Salt Spring Islands the past three weeks, and want to say more about the happy side of those. At first wildlife sightings seemed rare, but when I tally them now the list is extensive: Hummingbirds, dippers, herons, eagles, ravens, harbour seals, sea stars, a bat star, mussels, oysters, crabs, moon and lion’s mane jellyfish, rockfish, salmon, sole, and two humpback whales flipping their tails out of the water across Muchalet Inlet. Kingfishers, chickadees, deer, goats on the roof and on a cheese farm (one of which I helped rescue from its entrapment between a fence and chickenwire pen), alpaca, a mink, many rabbits, raccoons, the sound of otters playing on the shore. Carolyn and Derek were even visited by a crying coyote one night, which seemed significant since we had been talking about the transgressive trickster earlier that evening.

I fell in love with Vancouver Island all over again. It was the first time I’d explored much of the interior, and I discovered lakes, hikes, caves, rivers, and tiny towns with curious histories that I would love to experience more of. Plus there were the wild western beaches that I’ve always loved, surprisingly warm-watered, windy inlets, and a short pilgrimage to my grandparents’ former home at Qualicum Bay. Carolyn and Derek were very persuasive in their display of Victoria’s attractions. They get farm-fresh eggs and produce at stands only a couple blocks from their townhouse, and showed me hikes and sunset panoramas on nearby Mount Doug. Whales and deer and an abundance of bunnies – Victoria is a pretty idyllic little city. I also understand what my aunt in Cowichan Bay means when she says that when she comes home she feels like she's on vacation.

Over the course of the three weeks, I’ve slept in sailboat berths and hammocks; couch-surfed at my step-daughter’s apartment; stayed in the guest wing of a mansion bungalow perched on a mountain top overlooking the southern Gulf Islands and Olympic peninsula; spent many happy nights in the back of a Jeep out in the middle of nowhere; stayed in a truly sleazy motel; and been put up in the guest rooms of two beautifully and creatively decorated homes (one with a secret passage to the master bedroom…)

I’ve also eaten extremely well: three pots of increasingly delicious seafood stew; oysters, salmon and asparagus barbecued on the stern of a sailing boat; Embe Bakery apple oat muffins; the best coconut cream pie I’ve ever had; vegan poutine; truffle goat cheese, halibut baked in herbed lemon mayonnaise with farm-fresh veggies; crab for dinner, breakfast, and dinner again (I’m not complaining!); Portuguese rice pudding; and many amazing and abundant breakfasts. Today I am very much noticing the effects on my waistline. Hmmm.

To top it all off, I’ve been very generously welcomed and hosted by loving, daring, dedicated, wise, wild, and provocative people, and have been connected to many others by phone and email. My heart is full. I hope the record has been set straight. Life is pretty damn good when I relax enough to just enjoy it.

Copyright © 2010 Lynn Thorsell, All rights reserved.

Finally Checking In Again

A few of you recently reminded me that it’s been a few weeks since I last blogged, and you’re wondering where I am and what’s happening. I am flattered that you have enjoyed reading the blogs and care about me enough that you are prodding me, and very grateful to still be connected with you all through this transition.

Although my belongings are in Ottawa now, I am not. The first few days there, I enjoyed being stationary, caught up on sleep, and settled into being with family. I also had two wonderful meetings with a friend of a former client’s (thank you, Nicole!) and with a second cousin, both of whom have experienced big moves, think of Vancouver as a second home, and were very welcoming and informative about life and work in Ottawa. Those two meetings were lifelines to me in beginning to feel connected to this city.

After five days in Ottawa, my mom, sister, brother, nephew, nieces and I left for a whirlwind visit to New York. What can I say about the Big Apple? I grew up on a farm, I love being outdoors, and I sometimes find the hubbub of a strange city overwhelming – but I LOVED New York. There were so many wonderful sights, tastes, sounds, and experiences. Three days was just enough time to know what I would want to do when I return. You can see photos of our visit here: http://picasaweb.google.ca/thorsell.lm/NewYorkNewYork#

Back in Ottawa, cousins welcomed us to their farm near Carleton Place for a barbecue and tractor ride; one of my nieces and I spend a day at a nearby waterpark; the men (my brother in particular) gave my Jeep much tender, loving care; and we celebrated an anniversary and two birthdays. Then I jumped on a plane back to the west coast.

I came here was to fulfill a pact made last summer to spend an annual weekend with five of my luscious LIOS women friends. This year’s retreat was on Salt Spring Island at the beautiful home of one classmate’s parents. Great company, delicious food, silly antics, morning meditations, a kayak trip, and a beautiful island to explore – it was all I could ask for. Yet I felt a bit outside, not as happy and connected as I would have been even a few weeks before, one foot in another world.

That’s been a common experience the past couple months. I have felt unsettled with myself, emotionally distant, irritable, or just plain lost. I haven’t always been able to be a good friend to people who have been good to me. These aren’t all-the-time experiences, but frequent enough to be a trend, and disconcertingly unpredictable. I have been completely happy and at home cooking over a campfire at a remote lake on Vancouver Island, or sitting in a kayak anywhere, but prickly and uncomfortable in more familiar places.

My summer has continued to be nomadic – I began writing this on a bus and am finishing it on a sailboat. After leaving Salt Spring Island, I met a friend at Swartz Bay and spent ten wonderful days camping and exploring from Sombrio Beach to Campbell River to the Nootka Sound – places I’d never seen before. After we parted, I returned to Salt Spring for a sail with Ross and Gina, spent three nights in Victoria with Cait, Corey, Carolyn, and Derek, and am now savouring another short sail with Alan and Eduarda near Cowichan Bay.

Earlier this week, I called my brother in tears, saying how ironic it was that last year at this time, newly separated and about to lose the home I loved, I felt so happy and joyful, while this year, travelling, being with people dear to me, with good health and relatively few concerns, I am having crying jags and feeling so out of sorts. It was so helpful to hear him reflect back to me the limbo that I’m in, and his faith in my ability to ride this river of changes through to calmer waters.

I talked with a few other friends that day, too, who reminded me that sometimes there is nothing to do but go through the experience as mindfully as possible, that, although it may feel painful and I may not recognize it, there is a healing happening. From his extensive travelling experience, Derek talked about the tendency to cling to the people, places, and times that we associate with happiness, love, and connection, when what is required is to keep relinquishing each day’s experience, each chapter of life, and to move on to the next with faith and intention.

At times, I’ve questioned my decision to travel this month, wondering whether I shouldn’t instead be in Ottawa being responsible and putting down roots. After talking with Derek, I see these travels not just as recreation, but as a practice – a practice in moving through life’s changes with acceptance, expressiveness, and grace.

Since those conversations, connections, and tears I have felt much more peaceful and happy. At the moment, I am sitting in Tabinta’s cockpit anchored off Charlie’s Cove. The water is calm, there’s a gentle breeze, blue sky is breaking through the clouds. My uncle, who earlier made omelets with crab leftover from last night’s dinner, is lying reading in the hammock on the foredeck where I slept last night. In an hour or two, we’ll get in the kayaks and paddle to Genoa Bay.

To those of you who have been on the receiving end of my moods and disgruntledness, please accept my heartfelt apologies. I wish that I could have been with you differently, and don’t know even yet that I can. I’m still practicing.

May we all be safe from inner and outer harm. May our bodies serve us well. May we be happy and accept ourselves just as we are. May we take care of ourselves joyfully.

Copyright © 2010 Lynn Thorsell, All rights reserved.