proteanme

I am buzzing. Could be the lack of sleep. Could be the coffee. Could be that there are things. It’s raining, hard for Portland, and part of me wants to go walk out in it for as many miles as I can, until I can’t walk any more, and then lay down and sleep for a week. What’s that about? The yard wants some attention. Freelance work is backed up a little. The house is dusty and needs to be vacuumed. And I just want to write and play music and make food and feel all these feelings I have. Marvel at that last part, really.

I am listening to 70’s music. My not so secret secret thing I do sometimes – ELO, Fleetwood Mac, Leonard Cohen, Wings, Elton John, Bob Dylan, circa Blood on the Tracks, Velvet Underground, which is technically the 60’s . . .  not sure what my point is. Its not nostalgia.

I had a meaningful conversation last night with MG, who I’ve known for a while through AM and BDF, wherein we realized for the first time (because we’ve never talked at length) that we were both Hoosier ex-pats and that the secret heart in our hearts was our midwesterness. It was awesome. We talked about that open space and seeing for miles and corn and kindness and I felt so “seen.” It was an unexpected connection that came at the start of a night of all sorts of amazing unexpectedness.

The clouds are dense and I can’t see across the river to the west. today is marked by the insularness of Portland, trapped in the damp and the little bit of chill that’s going on, and when that gets combined that with all of the tall trees that sit on top of the tall hills, it makes me feel a little closed in. Sometimes, I like that feeling. Sometimes, I don’t. Don’t know how I feel right now except that really I want to put my head somewhere safe and sweet and not think about anything for a little bit. Just look out the window and say it’s impossible to see very far and that’s ok. Also, maybe I should stop listening to this one Neil Young song over and over. I don’t know if its the piano or his voice that is making it so impossible to not tear up all of the sudden.

I have been reflecting back on this summer, which for the most part was quiet and solitary to see if I can reconstruct how I got to here, which on the inside feels like a different place from where I was in May. Different place is maybe too dramatic. Maybe more a shift to reveal a place that was always there. A flurry of meaningful stuff happened at the start of the summer. RU moved to the Bay area and I went home and  saw lots of people I love from different parts of my life – family, camp, Bloomington and through Dad. And I went to LA and saw other people I love and then I had my 50th birthday. There’s was such a sweet turn out. And RU surprised me and Adele came out from Chicago and my friends gave me a gift in support of my writing that made me cry. I felt soooooooooooooooo lucky.

Including “RU moved to the Bay area” in that above list does not at all capture the earthquake like significance of the event. Everything changed.

After that it felt like a lot of chill time and I think maybe I needed a lot of stillness. I’m a big believer in neutral space, in not going from a to z. Radical personal change is typically not “my jam” (as my friend Colleen would say). Also, I am way into in-betweenness and in-between space. Probably in large part, because that I have so much in-betweeness in me, being queer and butch. So for a big chunk of time I think I was just hanging out and being with myself.

Thinking about that time now I can see that I did a handful of things that started turning the iceberg around. One, I fixed up my Bridgestone RB2, which is a road bike and it was such a pleasure to ride it. There were times I felt downright joyful pedaling around. I know I’ve blogged about it a bunch so I won’t keep going on here. Second, I brought my amps up from the basement and set up some dedicated practice space and then started playing here and there. Ditto blogging about this too. Third, I went camping with AM and BDF and I let myself be myself in the woods. I made bad jokes. I made up songs and also sang whatever popped into my head, which at that point was like a radio station from the 70s + 80s (please don’t call these oldies). We saw whales. We meandered our way back to town and had adventures. Fourth, that reading in July that AM and I kind of threw together. It was so heartfelt and open and it felt like everyone was personally projecting some special part of summer, like everyone had special super summer powers. And because of the reading, I started writing poetry again. I think of all these as milestones in my own un-numbing. There were other things too, hanging out more with Remy, turning off talk radio, my neighbors tearing their fence down, hanging out with Lowen, meeting Olive and Gus for the first time, falling in love with the projects my fellow writing group writers are working on.

So there it is. Documented in one entry. I’m sure I’ve written about all of it over the summer, but I think I needed to pull it together for myself. And its all stuff to reflect on especially in light of thinking about nurturing and how to nurture and what to nurture.

Blue sky this morning. Or at least blue streaks and patches. That’s really nice. For however long it sticks around. Which is the thing that has been on my mind lately. Not literally blue sky, but more the metaphor of this morning’s blue sky or the 20 minute down pour Monday on my ride home from work, and by that I mean a metaphor for temporariness and really the temporariness of everything.

I think of the last couple readings I’ve done with my writing group and how much I have loved each one of them for very different reasons. Different groups of people, different time of year, different energy and I read different poems. Both times I tried to be present and awake and alive and experience all the things that were happening. Because that’s it, really. That’s what I get. These one time shots at having the experience that is happening at the time it’s happening. The memories are special and sweet, for sure, but my aim is to be open to the experience. (I could go on about the tram ride being another metaphor and actual thing but I will restrain myself.)

An interesting side note is that even though it seems it should be easy to do this, to be open. with super pleasant and happy experiences, it can still be scary. To feel so phenomenally good and know 1)  that the phenomenal part can’t be sustained (we can’t walk around with the volume at 11 forever) and 2) joy can crack your heart open, just like sorrow.

But I am traipsing off a little because what I’ve been really thinking about is what’s left after you’ve been had an experience that’s cracked your heart open or volcanoed it, in some instances. What happens next? You could just be like, “wow that was intense” and then return to your regular thing that may or may not include being open. Or you could say I’m going to nurture this thing. This open heart. This connection. This being a little more alive. Nurturing both whatever it is that happened that touched you and/or the feeling of openess. Sometimes I thing of nurturing as being like practicing writing or playing music but with 1000×1000 more  tenderness and empathy. The other interesting thing is everyone gets to decide for themselves if they are going to do the nurturing thing and what they are going to nurture.

Maybe this is all already apparent to everybody, except me, but it feels like a big deal, like a revelation, which feels kind of funny to say after being alive for 50 years and all the things that have come with that that kind of luck  – friends, family, lovers, a band, a career helping people, etc. But whatever I knew about nurturing before seems different now and I don’t know why. But I think I might fall in love a little with the idea of nurturing and what it really means to do it, consciously – the tending to, the caring for, the watching over, the cherishing.

John Coltrane and Miles Davis and the sky in the west without rain for now. I am feeding the cats in the dimmest light of dawn. Some mornings feel like a mystery to me. The street lights outside the front of my house make the Hawthorne trees in my city strip bright and shiny and a little unreal to look at. I get on my bike and ride to work in the dark and on cloudy days it feels like I’m riding through a secret.

I am a little restless. I have the feeling of wanting to get on a plane again, of birds flying away in my chest, of my midwestern guy heart and wanting to drive that little stretch of road just on the other side of Lake Lemon. To think of that stretch makes me tear up. Why? What does that mean? I think it’s best not ascribe meaning to it right now. Things are unfolding. Best not to cut the process short. I have been thinking of a little house with a little yard and a room to sleep in and room to write or play music in and just enough space outside to grow some veggies and shoes by the door and a key in the pocket and feet on the floor . . . it may or may not mean anything. I don’t know. Really. Images flash into my brain and I am just trying to be open to them.

Yesterday, riding the tram down from OHSU to the waterfront, it was crowded like it usually is at the end of the day. We were all jammed in there, hitting each other with our bags and backpacks and jockeying around a little for position. I tried but couldn’t nudge my way up to the windows, which is usually what I try to do most rides, for the view. And in those instances when its impossible to get a view, like it was yesterday I tell myself I am still riding on a tram 500 feet in the air and that is really cool. The front of the cabin was packed with little kids who laughed and yelled out as the cabin swung over the tower. I caught the eye of the woman who was standing beside me and we started laughing too and talking about loving that kind of exuberance.

“We should yell out like that in the mornings,” I said and she laughed.

“I know,” she said. “It never gets old. An amazing view every time.”

“Yep,” I said, “it’s kind of like having a little bit of magic everyday.”

She nodded and smile. “It is.”

First day of full rain gear on my ride into work. I forgot that I need to leave extra time both to get all suited up and to account for the reality that I don’t ride as fast in the rain because my brakes never work as well when its this wet.

Last night, Kath asked me about the mental shift for riding in rainy season and riding in the winter, which I guess is not too far away. I couldn’t articulate my mindset very well at the time, but thinking about it this morning I could sum it up as willingness, as in willingess to get in the saddle and be uncomfortable. Very uncomfortable, sometimes.

The idea and practice of willingness was something I started thinking about and then working with maybe 8 or 9 years ago when I realized “will power” was not working for me. Specifically, the idea of “will” and “my will,” which seemed overly aggressive when I was trying to work with parts of myself that needed my tenderness, like getting on a plane. Trying to exert will over anxiety or fear was the exact opposite of what I needed to do to help myself then and that continues to be true now with all sorts of feelings.

These days when I have unwanted and generally sucky feelings I wish I didn’t have, the first thing I ask myself is if I’m willing to experience them, and if I am (which is not always the case),  then I try figure out ways to encourage myself, to nudge myself down the path of being ok with feeling uncomfortable, sometimes really uncomfortable. Sometimes, I can see the crazy stories I tell myself (that’s what I call my neuroses) arise and fade away and that’s very cool. And sometimes I just ride my bike around or find a house project to work on, because the neurotic stuff seems dug in. Usually, it at least loosens over the course of such endeavors and at the end of four hours of weeding or cleaning the kitchen, I’ve gotten something done and I’ve got some breathing space from my neuroses and can start reflecting on what’s up. It’s trickiest when I fight against the sucky feelings because I spin out into some other bullshit narrative. So its bullshit piled on top of bullshit, which mostly involves me trashing myself to myself, but also jumping to conclusions or trying to fit things in ill fitting boxes. And it’s the absolute worst when I just decide to numb out.  That is my least favorite version of me. Numb me. I am sure numb me needs a boat load of tenderness (and I am risking sounding way woo woo here by talking like this) but in my best moments I don’t have a ton of tenderness for my numbness and I just strive to be neutral. I think numbness may scare the crap out of me, at least in my heart. Hmm . . . well . . . I need to think about that. It could explain a lot of things, I think.

I have to end this post some other way because I am feeling self conscious that I sound a little chickeny soup for the soul or Hallmarky and that’s really not my inner voice (Please say that’s true. I want the inner voice of a farmer.) So back to the start. Rain. I only suited up half way for the ride home and of course I got hit by that 20 minute down pour and got soaked from the waist down. But at least I got home before the new darkness had settled in. So it’s been Willie Nelson and Chet Baker for me and not the debates. Tofu and cabbage and peas. And IPRC workshop prep.

I got caught a little, walking in the downpour this afternoon, then came home,  took a nap and woke up to see some blue sky, which is now slowly being consumed by clouds again. There were things. Things I was going to do today that are not going to get done, like change out my thermostat, bring the rest of stuff in from the deck. Practical things. Totally fine, though, to make them wait for another day. I got some books from Powells, which was having a surprise sale and the cashier was soooooo fucking nice, telling me how I was going to love the books I bought and what she said felt really sincere. Also, I told this guy I saw in the store that he had the coolest sneakers (old school Nike running shoes from early 80s) and it made him grin. I love this kind of stuff. The small interactions where me and the other person get to be our better selves, even if just for a few seconds. When I bring consciousness to it, that’s how I look at grocery store encounters and standing in line at the DMV and going hrough security at the airport etc. –  being a little better part of humanity to the situation.

Yesterday there was a guy on the tram, maybe in his late 70’s, stylish in this very understated slightly western way, wearing levis and a black sweater and a cool black jacket. He had well trimmed sideburns and also wore nice wire rim glasses. He was wearing a well worn, thick, silver ring that had a polished turquoise stone on it. He was with some friends and teasing them a little and being sweet with the woman he was with. Charming without trying to hard. I ended up talking to him for a few minutes. Telling him I really liked his ring. But really I admired his whole thing. His style and what, seemed to me to be, his easy way of being with himself.  And that’s how I want to do it too and I think I might be on my way to growing into that. Or at least I hope I am. That’s the thing about getting older and I know it’s potentially going to sound hokey, but its the chance to become deeply yourself, which is an amazing thing to get to do.

I meant to post this earlier and I don’t know why that matters. I wrote it many hours ago and for some reason that seems significant to me. Maybe this should have been a note to myself.

I love how quiet it is as night. You drive out in it and it really is like a secret world and you are a little bit in on the secret. From some points on the east side, at least near my house, you can see over to everything lit up on the west side of the river and its almost always a little bit of an amazing thing to see.

I read a poem a number of years ago and there was some line in the poem about birds flying away in your chest or your heart. I don’t remember if the line was about feeling sad or feeling happy, and I’ve searched but I can’t find the poem, but the image of the line has stuck with me. For a while I used the “birds flying away” line as a way to describe all sorts of tender feelings and heartfelt stuff when other words just didn’t seem right or didn’t fit or I needed to somehow say there’s a bunch of stuff inside my heart and I am just trying to feel it. I haven’t used the phrase in years, but I still like really the idea of it; it seems so not neurotic; so not over thought; so just being and breathing.

Dorencbecher in mist

Originally uploaded by proteanme

I forgot about the fog. Its kind of funny because its such a frequent occurrence up here on the hill OHSU sits on and the first year I was here I was so taken by it that I took a bunch of pictures, like the one above. It wasn’t nearly as thick this morning. Its already starting to burn off and I can see the blue sky behind the mist.

So now what? I got all vulnerable and declared how much I want to change things in my life. Writing the declaration is so much more fun, or  maybe not fun, but at least its  easier than doing the work. Of course. I do have a vague plan, though. I’ve been at it all summer: ride my bike, stop listening to the news, listen to more music, trust my gut, go with my heart, make creative connections, eat less junk food, drink more water (yay for sparkling water), reach out to people I like, make sure the people I love know I love them . . . it sounds kinda cheesy, but that’s ok. I was having a conversation the other day where I revealed that I knew about chakras. My secret is I am down with whatever works for people to find joy and meaning in their lives and whatever set of beliefs, practices, etc make the world work for them. It doesn’t have to work for me. And it doesn’t matter what I believe in. It would be such a small and boring world if the only things that mattered were things about me and my point of view, which is often changing and limited no matter how much I try to be open. If it was all about me, I don’t think I would just go crazy; I think parts of me inside would die.

There is something kinda strange going on with me. This last week when I was at these straight and mainstream places, like Clyde Common, and events, like a book reading, I had these very visceral responses of  “get me the fuck outta here.” As in I don’t want to have to deal with this straight and mainstream shit one more minute than I have to. I swear I could have actually run out of this one event last week. Like, actually moved my feet in fast like running way. It was weird and surprising and I feel like I’m tapping into some under current that I can’t quite name right now because it would be premature to jump to conclusions. But in short, it feels like I’m coming out again, except I’ve been out now for over 32 years, so rationally it doesn’t make any sense. Still, it feels like I want to go find a queer world and just live there and stop trying to live in this other world in which I and tons of people I know are ignored or stared at or blown shit or worse (although typically, worse does not happen in Portland).

Also, sometimes lately, I look at planes in the sky and think I want to be on one of them. That happened yesterday. I’m not dreaming of vacation, either. It’s like all this open hearted work (and I hesitate to call it work) I’ve been doing is not just opening up my heart, but  it’s opening up all of my life, which wasn’t my plan. Well, plan is not the right word; it’s more like I just wasn’t thinking about what would happen. Or that anything would happen at all, except maybe deeper feelings and being more connected and authentic (which is a problematic word – authentic is). And even though I said earlier that I wasn’t jumping to conclusions, I can easily guess that what is happening is as I open up more, I am finding that the way I’m living my life, or I’ve set up my life, is not working for me. Probably in some fundamental way. And even though I know I should think of this as a good sign, because I am at a good place to make changes, sometimes I find it all kind of sad and scary. How many times in my life do I do this thing?  Thing = change big things in my life. And would it help to rephrase that as how many times in my life do I GET to do this thing? Also, is rephrasing really gonna trigger a shift in perspective that makes me feel better.

I am the one calling my blog “protean me.” I have named myself as “changeable.” And there’s a lot of great bonuses about being a pretty adaptable and versatile person. I am not the me I was at 20 or 30 or 40. I did not get stuck in a way that would make it impossible to change, which would suck, immeasurably. And I keep finding so many interesting things and people in the world to engage with. Both in heartfelt and intellectual ways. That’s lucky, right?! That’s being alive?! Or that’s my way of being alive. I feel like all my life, I’ve been making it up. I mean making up my life. Making up myself. Even though I am not all that radical and certainly radical people would never consider me radical. It’s just there’s never been a lot to go on. But don’t all queers feel that way to some degree or another?

I imagine that I am revealing way too much here, but also I think it is ok. It is all practice for being vulnerable, anyway. But I don’t want it to sound like I am falling apart, though, because I’m not and I’m not fishing for sympathy, either.  I think there is something fundamental that I am trying to figure out about being who I am and doing the things I love and putting the rest to the side. Life is so short. I mean that as the kindest reminder I can say to myself.

It is dusk right now. I used to love dusk, especially to ride my bike in it, because it was the physical manifestation of the idea of liminality. And for a while I loved the idea of being liminal. It was around the 2008 election and I was attributing Obama’s popularity, in part, to his liminality. I’m sure I blogged about it at least once, if not more. I’ve really got to activate search for my blog, so I can find out how much I am repeating myself. But also, more importantly I loved thinking of myself as liminal. I had this grand theory about how being butch was a liminal state, as in a state of being in-between or transitional. I think it’s still a good theory, but the love shine has worn off the idea, in that I’m not talking or thinking  about it whenever I get the chance.

It’s been a while since I’ve really been in love with an idea, since I’ve had some intellectual love fest with myself/my mind. I am generally a head first person – thinking, thinking and more thinking – although I am trying hard this summer to be more open hearted. Is that a contradiction, to try hard to open one’s heart? Shouldn’t one’s heart soften? I can almost hear Pema Chodron’s voice in my head, saying that trying hard is just another way of being aggressive with myself. If I say I’m trying hard is it giving off the image of prying my heart open. Good lord, that just sounds painful. But softening up sounds too much like corduroy pillows and nagchampa. So I guess I could just omit the “trying hard” part of the sentence or even just the “hard” part. I am laughing to myself right now and thinking how my friend Toby would call what I just did extreme editing, which might make some sense to any programming friends who take with a grain of salt all the development gospels out ther, like extreme programming and agile development

Ah, dusk has resolved itself and it looks like the very first part of the night has officially fallen. My front door is open and A Guide By Voices song is on. I don’t have one light on in the house and the street light is shining on the hawthorne tree in the city strip, making it look yellow. It is kind of magical looking at it from my seat, behind the bright light of my computer screen. It’s almost like I am imagining it.