proteanme

Today is a brief list of things I want to accomplish this year, not so much goals, as areas of practice:

• Travel.
• Get fit.
• Bring more attention to what and how I eat.
• Listen more to music.
• See art.
• Make art
• Watch less TV.
• Nurture friendships.

A few things I’m grateful for this week:

• My friend Toby for helping me get my clipless pedals and shoes set up on bike, and then helping me replace a bunch of watch batteries.
• The woman who opened up a checkout line for me last night at Fred Meyer.
• An accessible and approachable CEO.
• My work cubicle being improved by the addition of 3 extra feet and a new space heater.
• Losing about 10 lbs since the beginning of December 07.
• Friends who get hold of me to see movies.

Last night I went with my friend, A., to a Colson Whitehead talk, sponsored by a really wonderful local non-profit, Literary Arts. This winter our book group read Whitehead’s latest, Apex Hides the Hurt. It was thin on plot, but there was some brilliant writing, just brilliant, and interesting commentary on race.

My thoughts in reflection of the evening:

• After the talk, A. and I saw Whitehead in the restaurant next door. He was shorter than I thought he looked from where we sitting in the balcony.
• Whitehead is a very entertaining speaker. His talk was accompanied by lots of laughter. He began with quoting the beginning of Steve martin’s ‘The Jerk’.
• Looking around the audience I couldn’t help but be reminded I live in one of the whitest cities in the US (I hate this fact). Later I wondered if the ease of laughter in response to Whitehead’s race related jokes was because there were less than a handful of African American’s in the crowd and thus no reason for all us whities to feel self-conscious.
• A. and I sat behind a group of about 7 women who’d I’d guess were in their mid to late 60’s, maybe 70’s. At least 3 of them were futzing around with their iPhones before the talk. I would love to make something a 70 year old could use without thinking about it.
• I don’t much like riding my bike in this cold weather, but I’m rocking on my clipless shoes, even if I look like a complete dork when I’m at a restaurant, passing Colson Whitehead in the hallway and saying ‘wonderful talk’.
• I really wish Portland were much more intellectually stimulating and/or I could meet more New York transplants who are bored by the sleepy and outdoorsy nature of the city’s populace.

Just got back from taking RU to the airport. It’s too early to be up on a Sunday morning, but here I am at 6:45am, headphones on so as not to disturb my neighbors, and lights off as a nod to the dark and misty beginning of another winter morning in Portland. Being awake in this dark feels like I’m cheating on the daylight a little, but sometimes I feel so vulnerable these days that I need some cover to go about the business of really being alive.

Something happened or started happening a couple months ago, maybe this summer, probably longer, that revealed to me I can travel down a different path than the one I’ve been on, which feels incredibly corny to say, and I immediately want to edit that out, but I think the point is to leave it in. It’s about the intention to wake up in the morning and say, “I wonder what’s going to happen today?” To be aware of my longings and desires and insecurities and indignations and fears without being attached to doing anything about them. To not feel threatened when nothing is happening in my life. To see my being uncomfortable in the world as invitation to be open and free and loving and compassionate.

But I’m afraid the rug’s gonna have to get pulled out from under my feet to really try out this whole path, and I’m very afraid that rug pulling out thing means RU and I really have to end our relationship. I know I said we broke up about a year ago, and while that’s true, the fact is we’re still in love. And even if we’re not technically together, we are still very much involved. And it’s very possible that we may finally be at the point of either committing or ending. Really ending. Ending, ending. Over.

I would be at a loss over that ending.

I was talking to a friend about falling in love, a topic that’s hard enough to tackle without lapsing into cliche or cynicism, but may be even harder for me to do right now without risking revealing my heartbreak. And half the time I’m not even sure I’m willing to admit my heart is broken, let alone allow even a friend to see that tenderness.

But I want to take that risk here. Falling in love with RU was such a joy and still being in love with RU, with all of its blemishes, makes for a richer experience of the world. For us, love was this process of self revelation (still is), but neither one of us may have been up for it. Nor did we have had lots of practice to rely on when revelation got uncomfortable. But that didn’t matter – I think because we had so much yearning. The funny thing is that after that first year we both started discovering self awareness is not particularly sexy or exciting, and it has the potential to bring up lots of fucking insecurity, which is hard not to hate and hard not to want to crush, and such urges are hard on a relationship. RU and I had a pretty imperfect relationship, but I love how ambitious we were about love. Ambitious in the way a record or book or movie can be, even if its deeply flawed.

So, I see this path and I’m reluctantly on it because none of the old distractions work any more, even if I keep trying some of them. And I want to say out loud, so to speak, I wish I could be on this path with RU as my partner, not because it would be safer, but because I love knowing her and being known by her. And I would rather know my life with her in it.

There it is. All the things I’ve been holding on to so tightly but not wanted to say out loud for the last year.

I remember so many mornings waking up early with RU and she would say, “Are you ready to greet the day?” Well, the sun’s out now and I’m not done in by all this. Just sad and scared and tired. Good morning, Sunday.

Following up on my so many questions post . . . last year in an effort to create a little meaning in my life I decided to explore volunteer and service opportunities. I did some set up and strike at PICA’s Time Based Art Festival and learned about theater geeks, I did some data entry for NARAL and mostly learned about the lives of the two women who’s office I happened to be sitting outside of, and then I landed on my regular gig, a monthly envelope stuffing for the BTA. Besides being a cause near and dear to my heart, I like this gig because the activity is super organized and the group always gets things done; plus it gets me on my bike on Saturdays, which is a struggle in this weather.

Tomorrow I’m participating for the first time in one of my company’s days of service. We’ll be contributing to the flood relief effort for the folks of Vernonia. Guess I’m getting my onus on. Hello onus.

Listening to Glenn Gould’s Goldberg variations and thinking about how the intimacy with a body of work, such as all books by an author, or a group of paintings by an artist, or in this case, a group of variations by JS BAch, informs you, how it adds meaning to your life. To practice and play these pieces over and over I’d imagine you’d experience a range of emotions – frustration, joy, satisfaction, boredom, ecstasy, sadness, etc. I’ve always been curious about one’s ongoing relationship with a specific body of work and what that means over time.

A day spent creating clipping paths and faking finishes in Photoshop is good practice for all the other tedious tasks I have tackle, like doing the dishes, cleaning the litter box, putting away clean clothes, taking out the compost, etc.  Actually, sometimes when my work day seems to be filled with more tedious tasks than interesting ones I try to take the approach of how can I do this tedious task to the absolute best of my ability.  So how can I create the best fake of brushed nickel?  How can I do a clipping path using as few anchor points as possible.  It’s an interesting practice that sometimes leads to lots of satisfaction and acquiring new skills. Sometimes.  Not always.

What if the world does not have intrinsic meaning? If life has no inherent purpose? If the universe isn’t really that interested in me? Is that really so bad?  If the onus is on me to create significance, to create substance –  isn’t that a life?  Isn’t it that I’m not special, but being alive is special – so live mother fucker.

Falling in love with reality means that some days are just gonna break your heart.  A day as gray and rainy as today almost begs for melancholy, a sad little companion I can’t out pedal no matter where I ride.  It’s ok.

I know. I know. I’m quoting Madonna, but it’s snowing here on Christmas day and I had to do something to catch myself before I slipped into some kind of unwanted cloying thing; especially because I’m not really feeling particularly sentimental . I’m not feeling particularly dispassionate either. For the first time in my life I woke up alone on Christmas morning, with slim prospects for anything special happening except the ever present invitation to fall in love with reality, something I don’t know how to talk about without lapsing into trite explanations. Suffice it to say everything is okay, profoundly okay. I imagine it might even be luxuriously okay.