When we got married we were so young.  My husband and I were doe-eyed 23 year olds with a whole lot of hope and a bun in the oven.  We were madly in love, we still are, so despite the total upheaval of our lives in a few short months, in the end our fates were sealed and this was just a quickening of the inevitable. I know this even 14 years later. We were fated.

Despite our intense love, planning a wedding was one of the more stressful events in our life.  Parents to please, small budgets to follow, pregnancy hormones, difficult family members, unhappy friends, the stress of the holidays (we got married in December), the joining of two families, and so much more. Our wedding was not about us it turns out, it was about pleasing everyone else – and in a lot of ways we failed.  There was beauty, to be sure, and look…we’re married!  But, in the end we had people we couldn’t invite because we just couldn’t afford one more guest. Friends that should have been there over my mother’s extensive list of colleagues and who-knows-who??? invitees, that I look back on with regret.  Oh well, that is a time past and we are still madly in love with each other, so that’s released. I hope those friends have forgiven us.

A few weeks ago a very old friend of mine, someone who was at my wedding, and at my baby shower, and who I just saw recently, was tagged by another friend of hers on Facebook.  It was a picture of a wedding shower. Her wedding shower.

Needless to say we are not invited.

I would be lying if I didn’t admit there are pangs in my heart.  I was devastated to learn of her coupling up with her awesome man, someone I totally think she’s meant for. I was heartbroken most of all not to just know it was happening – never mind the invite.

As I’ve worked through it, I am reminding myself almost daily (I know, pathetic) that there were friends I didn’t invite…

I’m also reminding myself that each guest at a wedding costs a “$” (dollar) amount, and it really adds up.  We are a family of four, so that adds up even more.

I’m remembering I’m her friend, and friends are patient and kind and forgiving and they understand.  I’m working to understand (but I’m still pretty bummed). I do wish I had at least known – I would/will send a gift. I love her.

I think the bigger issue here is that I got married very young and I have had kids before many of my peers (they’re all just beginning and I have a 12.5 year old…). Weddings are coming at a different time in their lives and I have just sort of missed that season with them. Missing this friend’s wedding is just part of that.  There are parts of me that feel I’ve missed out and I need to work on filling that hole – big time.

Today she Facebook messaged me.  It turns out she’ll be in Europe at the same time as us.  It turns out we’ll be in the same city.  It turns out to be her honeymoon and they’d like to meet up. It turns out to be a bit awkward for me. I’m working on how to do that with grace and recognize that going to Europe is something others did when they were younger too -on their honeymoons for instance. That I’m off season in that respect as well, so I’m going on a shoestring with my kids a decade after many of my peers. I didn’t have the opportunity or possibility of backpacking through a summer, or doing a semester abroad, like  my friends did when they were 23.That this is a friend I would travel with in a heartbeat.That this is not her fault, not the world’s fault and not my fault – it just is reality.

It turns out I’ve got some work to do.

Paris.

Last night we were going to France no matter what the world is dealing with right now.

Today the government is telling us we might not.

We are civil servants. In the end we don’t control our own destiny, no matter how “free” Americans are.  My husband’s job, which ultimately tells us what we can and cannot do, sort of like your parents, is shutting down travel orders left and right. We have friends in the same job who are being told they can no longer travel to France this month because it’s considered a war zone.

France is NOT a war zone.

This is maddening.  This is…this is…

This is our reality.

More news when we know for sure.

“Paris Without a Plan” – that was the plan for todays post.

I was hoping to post for your reading pleasure today the ridiculousness of my lack of planning for the Paris stretch of our trip this winter. Remember, I started this blog with the sole purpose of tricking myself into be responsible to…myself? I wanted to be held accountable to adventures I might not do because I let other(s) agendas get in the way, or worse, fear.  I am essentially going to Europe – To PARIS, because I began this 13 Adventure journey. I’m going to Paris without speaking a lick of French.

Fear.

What the hell?  Fear seems to rule all.

And then Friday night the news rattled us. The world shook not from one terrorist attack, but from many around the globe this week, and the reality that we are none of us free from this new world order, this assault on society. This fog bank of fear.

Paris was wounded. Paris is wounded.

Paris needs love.

Nothing poetic to add here to my lack of plan in Paris, it seems silly now.  I should probably learn French, that seems like a good plan – and I’m working on it care of public library.   I should also turn off the News.  And love, I should love. We plan to continue to love each other and our neighbors and to take ourselves less seriously if possible, and to carry on heading to Paris. We are going. We will not be terrorized.

Vive La France – see you soon!

On Friday night we hosted a group of rowers from the club I have joined. It was in celebration of the end of the year and a board member briefing. Business meets fun and a chance to meet a few more residents from this tiny island.  There was probably about 17 guests milling about, filling glasses of wine and nibbling on a pot-luck buffet of finger foods.  I was standing sentry, as I do, near the sink, handing out towels, finding more corkscrews, cramming avocado toasts into my mouth – you know, hosting.  My husband came running into the kitchen screaming “call and ambulance!” and then ran back out.

My heart dropped, was it one of the kids. had someone fallen off the stairs. My husband had looked ash like in that brief moment and I couldn’t imagine what on earth had happened.

I grabbed my phone off another counter and I, and many party goers bolted towards the living room.

It was one of us. Well, it was one of them. it was a rower, an older man, a local doctor and he appeared to be having a stroke, or a heart attack, we weren’t sure. He was vacant in his stare and slumped over on the couch next to my daughter (who thought he was taking a nap). he was not napping. He began to sweat, and drool, and did other things I won’t share. Several hovered around him, including my husband, tending to him, lifting his legs, trying to figure out if he needed CPR or simply a glass of water. What was happening?

I stood on the porch getting updates while staying connected to the 911 dispatcher. Another man (I don’t even know who he was) volunteered to stand at the road and wave to first responders. The lights flashed and swirled and the sirens blew from  down the country road.  I came in to find our patient coming back awake, unbelievably and trying to talk.

“Have you see The Great British Baking Show,” he murmured to me, sweat pouring off him and his body weak. I was taken aback. Was he really talking baking to me? He had obviously taken in my history gazing at awards and pictures on my wall, before his incident occurred, and he was now changing the feeling in the room – as a doctor does – to distract from the issue at hand. The scary part.

Everyone around us looked at me. They were shocked and confused too.  I had to respond.

“Isn’t it the best PBS show since Downton Abbey?” I cheerfully responded, and then he, a mess and I an equal mess, described this epiphany of  a baking show to the other guests while paramedics streamed into the room and absorbed the space.

I was shaken. I still am. In the end this man had a cardiac related syncopated episode (???). He passed out, kind of. He passed out because his heart and lungs stopped operating – so it was a little more serious.  Everything stopped working actually. His whole system shut down and then rebooted, right there on our couch.

He was quickly whisked away with loved ones who had been summoned, and the paramedics cleaned up behind themselves, and we set to cleaning up farther…and I haven’t really heard much since, except that he’s home and resting.

The funny thing is, I don’t know this man’s name.  I have since learned his first name of course(“Burt” we’ll call him), I had to while all the fuss was happening, but I couldn’t tell you his last. I know he’s a doctor, but I’m not quite sure where or in what specialty. I don’t know a lot about him except that he clearly has a serious underlying cardiac issue, AND, he’s a big fan of British baking shows.

It’s eerie, isn’t it? Eerie to have someone travel through your home, through your space and to only really know very little about them.  We never know what will happen one moment to the next and wouldn’t it be nice to see a familiar face in your last moment (god forbid…)?

I’m not sure where I’m going with this, only to say that this is one more confirmation that we can’t waste time with getting to know people, with seeking out friendships. It’s best I think, to throw ourselves at the world, so that we know someone if we fall down.

November 6th update (two days late posting)

Well, it seems a life in transition caught right up with me this last few weeks and I have sadly fallen silent.

Truth be told, we had a visitor.  A wonderful being who we adore but none-the-less sucked my energy dry. Like an overused balloon, I just deflated into a heap.  Add to that all of this year’s immense changes and well, I am confronted with just why this blog needs to happen.  I must not succumb to the pressure of the future, the pressure of routines and expectations, and I certainly feel I’m falling into that this past few weeks.  Without creating total drama I will simply say – I’m done.  And somehow the Universe heard me. Though we had planned another massive Thanksgiving, slowly others are dropping like flies from the party and it’s settling down to be a peaceful little meal with some trusted love ones.  The Universe I tell you, she listens.

This last month has had me fighting some incredible knee pain. I will attempt to avoid sounding like the annoying aunt in a Jane Austen novel “oh my rheumatism”, but seriously, “oh my…it hurts!”  This has sidelined what should have been some hikes owed to my adventures. I’m saying that out loud so that pesky Universe can hear me again. I want to hike. For now I’ll row. It’s something.

And one last thought – you all should know – It’s freaking freezing here.  Not just cooler, it’s freezing and I am colder than a witches…oh god, ok, I won’t say that. I’m cold though. If you’re feeling you’ve knitted too many hats, or scarves, please know there is a girl in the Pacific Northwest who is chattering her teeth while she types, and she would give them a good home 🙂 Just teasing (actually not teasing).

The familiar rumblings of self-deprecation have been filling my head of late. I’m aware of a financial drain hole that needs stopping up, I’m not exactly producing any great financial product for our family at the moment. To be real, I never have.  And this fact, this little nibbler of my self-esteem, sometimes over powers my creative and adventuress self.  I feel less.

When we arrived in Washington state I felt awash with the possibility of ME. I had creative juices bubbling that hadn’t been that reactive since, well maybe since my daughter was born 7 years ago.  I’d like to be able to only blame our stint in the humidity for my lack of luster, but actually I had been on the downhill for several years and if I stop and give myself credit, a lot of shit had hit the fan personally.  I just couldn’t believe in me, or push anything exceptional out.  Well, that’s how I felt, it doesn’t matter if it’s reality or not. Reflectively I know I’m not very patient – especially with me, and when things are continually on the up, I get down.

Yesterday, post art class night (and I promise to tell you about art night), my new friend (yes, a friend), and neighbor joked with my sister about how “much” I take on. How “busy” I am.  It was that snarky busy, said with a little distaste even, I have heard spoken about me before by many people I hold dear.  It was also, I fully acknowledge, said in fun maybe even said out of appreciation. They were teasing and being self-deprecating of themselves, and their not as busy schedules.  As much as it could have been a compliment (“You Row, you paint, are you going to build a house now?”), isn’t it interesting that what I hear when someone calls me “busy” is “You’re crazy”, or “you’re uncommitted”, or worse “you’re a flouncy flibberdy-jibbit housewife”.  That’s what I hear. People, that’s what I tell myself.

I’m not very patient with me. I have set standards that far exceed the masses and I don’t reach them. I can’t reach them, because I am not superhuman. I don’t hold these standards for anyone else around me (thank god), I just ram them down my own throat, almost constantly. On some days I am so overwhelmed by my own lacking ability to generate income, to be creative enough, skinny enough, worldly enough,  that I just plop down and watch TV.  “There’s nothing else to do really, because as you know, I’m a loser,” I think subconsciously.

This is habit.

I have habitually compromised my self-esteem for most of my life.  My good friends, those who hold a golden part of my heart, don’t manage to make me feel like I have ADHD professionally very often. A rare few look at me and fill me with a sense of accomplishment. They see what I have done, and they resonate it. One of my dearest pals once said “you have a lot of arrows in your quiver because you never know which one you’ll need to shoot.”   That was perhaps the best compliment I’ve ever had. It perfectly captures how I want to feel. I want all of life, every corner of it, and in order to play (compete) in so many quadrants I have to be ready.  On my good days I feel that way.

As fall has fallen, autumn sweeping her cold fingers in around our toes and pinching our cheeks pink, I have found myself enamored. If I could get a job that was just about doing Autumn, I would add it to my quiver. It probably wouldn’t pay well, and I’m sure my sister would make fun of me light-heartedly, but it does seem nice doesn’t it?  My new neighbor friend is teaching wreath making workshops. This seems brilliant to me, I want to do that too, but then I would just be waffling between interests, wouldn’t I. Then I would be made fun of for being Fall. This is what I tell myself.

I need to be patient. I need to let my mind slide into a cold state that focuses on one crystalline snowflake, one ice branch, one perfect part of me. I need to slow with my metabolism and accept each corner of my busy brain, my “busy” life. I am not doing things I hate. I am not hurting others. I am living a full, and fuller me. This is not bad. This does not require I assure people of themselves. This does not make me a flibberdy-jibbit.

If  (and it’s really possible), I take a “real job” amid all my apparent hobbies (I think others would call my creative goings on hobbies), then so be it.  My work for money does not have to determine who I am as a human and likewise, just because I work a normal humanoid job does not mean I have to give up my creative self. I can and will be both. This is the root of 13 Adventures, is it not?

So this is my short-term goal: I will react in the positive when I am next accused. I will not self-deprecate. I will not be ashamed. I will smile and agree with them – “Yes, I am busy. Isn’t it great?!”

On Monday night I am venturing to take an art class.

Now I know, my life on an island is beginning to sound like Camp Club Med. Take art classes, learn to row, hike. Next I’ll be taking classes on self-awareness and meditation (probably not, though I know it’s good for me). But there you have it, on a community Facebook page, an artist offered up a six-week course in oil-painting, all as a fundraiser for the local Jewish temple, so I’m getting a two for one really, I’m being charitable and doing something on my LIST.  Can you tell I feel guilty? Well I do. I have guilt over allotting time for myself. I have guilt at spending money I haven’t made. I have guilt at having enough money to spend on art classes when so many go without.  This is problematic and it is habitual for me.

~~~

Art is…

Art is… Art is a really big thing. It means so many things to so many people and artists do so many things in so many different genres. To say I’m taking an art class is kind of open-ended.  Specifically, for many years, I have wished to know how to properly paint (I’d also like to work in clay, but one ridiculous adventure at a time please). I didn’t expect to try oils – and never have even on my own, so that’s quite scary and new (how do you wash up after oil paint?). I have so many friends who are brilliant artists and I crave to understand how they make the brush do what it does. Do I aspire to be a famous artist? Uh, no. I just want to feel how it all works. I want to understand it.

Over the last two years I have been painting and then molding these little paper fairies. They’re ridiculous. They are hobby-craft.  I have no outlet for them (other than a few friends who have been trustingly gifted one). They scratch an itch in me to make something by hand.  And so, I carry on, every few months inspired to pump out more fairies. How does one introduce oneself to new friends and say, “in my spare time I spend hours making tiny paper fairies with big noses!”. Insert crazy detector here.

Sometimes I have painted other things; tree bark, a tiny canvas, scraps of paper. Once a friend who is quite an accomplished artist took me to the beach and taught me to look for the horizon. That was kind of life changing in my whole painting world.  “Holy crap, right, the sky does always meet the earth somewhere!”

And so, this Monday, I undertake my first formal attempt at really knowing how to paint. I feel that this act, like much of the last few months is a step towards my own personal meditation on me (WAIT! Didn’t I JUST say I wasn’t going to meditate?). A formal job, a too busy schedule hasn’t quite gotten its fingers into me, so for now I can continue to send out my feelers for what is right for me (until I run out of money – but that’s another blog).

To art.  Let’s see how this goes.

Yesterday, while at rowing (tell me that’s not the weirdest thing to say ever?), my focus was on becoming silent.  In rowing, ever minuscule move you make affects the entire boat and your team.  If you are chatting away, as I am inclined to do, you will undoubtedly make a mistake and fumble your whole crew.  When we row we try to become like legs of a spider, working with each other silently, telepathically to propel forwards (actually backward, because rowing is weird).  All of my focus goes into the shoulders of the rower in front me, watching their muscle patterns and trying to imitate and anticipate with my own even strokes.  I’m not very good.  The rower behind me would probably tell you this, as she in turn tries to mimic me. We have considered calling our team “Hot Mess.”

As we entered the water to get the boat ready yesterday, the obvious change in season took us by surprise.  Our chilly water, that we wade into knee-deep to hook up oars, had taken a decisive dip into frigid territory. It was like walking in salt ice. I thought to myself just then, as my calves seized and stung  in the cold, “Maybe rowing isn’t for you?” Nevermind, I was already in and with a team so today had to happen. We stiffly entered the boat, definitely frozen up and less agile, and pushed off from shore, navigating our way to the channel.

As we headed out, we chanced upon a rather large sailboat temporarily docked at our harbor.  She was gorgeous. I would have taken a picture but carrying anything extra while trying to stay upright with a team of fellow novices in a 1-foot wide boat, is a bad decision. Even wearing my glasses is a risk, if we go over they’re gone, so I don’t being my phone to snap pictures, or at least I haven’t braved that yet. But, if it were with me I certainly would have taken a shot or two with this jewel of a wooden sailboat, her tall masts standing up against the fog, salt air, and pine trees across the channel.  As we moved from bow to stern a most glorious sight emerged. This boat was called “The Adventuress.”

Seriously.

It was an omen sent for the heavens that had me totally floored as we bobbed out into the water. Her gold carved name plate was the last view we had, rowing ever so deftly across the surface, all of us eyes up on her majesty.

The Adventuress. Oh my goodness, was that meant for me? It was, undeniably. In the midst of my crew of four relative strangers there wasn’t much to do but swallow hard and soak in this message.  I am doing the right thing. I am adventuring, sometimes against my own will, and I will change for it, and for the better.

Mind blown.

Before we returned from doing drills in the bay, The Adventuress had gone.  How we didn’t notice this beast of a sailing ship as she headed out still baffles me.  Eagle harbor is small, and boats of her size are hard to miss. I must have been, in those moments, do deeply entranced in the rhythm of rowing that I just floated by her.  This is what my adventures should become, right? Just normal, just me in the wind.  Though I could have been sad at missing a chance to run back down the dock and get a picture, in so many ways I started to feel like she was a ghost ship. I had gotten the message I needed, I was reassured in my journey, and I didn’t need a picture to know that.

(But in case you want to see her, here she is http://www.soundexp.org/)

What if we are all being handed these kinds of omens daily but aren’t always ready to receive them? I’m pretty sure my friends who are heavier on the woo-woo magic of life will laugh out loud reading this and say, “duh!”  But I’m not so woo-woo magic, and so this feels a bit more like a life changing surge.  There are omens when  we’re ready – and yesterday on the water I was.

I like being invited to dinner.

I think we all like it, right? Well I hope that for humanity’s sake we all like it because I have a habit of hurling invitations left and right.  In any case, I like when the offer of a dinner is bestowed upon me and mine, and it’s been long overdue here.

We are new animals on this strange planet called the “Greater Seattle Area.” Immigrants once again wandering the streets and forest paths (and school systems) of a strange land, looking for our place and our tribe.  It’s always a series of trial and error when first searching out your people. There are instant hits of awesome that happen only rarely, but more often than not there are those we try on for size.  I have tried on a lot of new friendships in my life.

Sometimes, though it’s not favorable, we meet people who seem like they could be our tribe, or we even lust after those we think we want to belong with, only to find that being their friend is either exhausting, or boring, constricting or just plain against our own personal ethics (insert conservative tea partiers here).  It’s a bummer. It’s like you fill yourself up just a bit with the joy of companionship and then either have that ripped from you, or have to painfully push that spot free again – you can’t take in all the crazy and there is a lot of crazy out there.

Add to all this, the lovely little social habit of some communities who put their pitchforks and axes up when “newbies” arrive.  It happens everywhere – I promise (except in the midwest, because they have class).  In Seattle there is a term called the “Seattle Freeze.” As much as I’d like to attribute this to the temperature of late (brrr….says the wahine), it’s actually a cultural phenomenon and it stings like a frosty front porch on your bare feet. Here, people are known to be kind at first meeting and then run home, shut the curtains and pretend they don’t know you.  It’s a really complicated version of fake.  Of course Seattle is not fake, it’s amazing, but in order to breach the inner circle you have to know people who know people and as a newbie you will most likely…not.

Proof: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Seattle_Freeze

Alright, bear with me.  I have heard about this freeze but hadn’t really ingested it. I mean seriously, most people seem really friendly here at first meeting, but then that’s it! I’m moving from a place whose  cultural take on new people is exactly the opposite.  In Hawaii if you are new, you are annoying.  In truth, you really are – annoying – but people have labeled you that before you even open your mouth. Can you blame them? Thousands of people come and go from the islands every day and if you grow up on a place full of immigration you kind of learn to build walls, to protect yourself emotionally from having to say goodbye. In addition, there is a fair amount of culture shock going on for the whities who arrive sun glasses in hand, and this leaves many of them in a state of rather rude shock.  Hawaiians (cultural Hawaiians, not ethnic Hawaiians), don’t just open their doors to everyone right away. You may sit in a local restaurant and wait for several others to be served before you’re even acknowledged. BUT, and this is a very big but, once you’re in – you’re in. If you know Uncle Bruddah, then you know everyone. A family network emerges and if you are trusted enough to support rather than degrade the lifestyle of the islands, then you are part of that network – skin color irrelevant. Sure, there are outliers, those who make a bad name for everyone, but overall there is a lot of love to be given in Hawaii and a great sense of community.

Here, people are pretty polite at first meeting. Friendly even, but it’s a mask.  If you are obviously not part of a certain click, then you can count yourself alone. FOR LIFE!  Just kidding.  Sort of? Try being new.

I didn’t notice the freeze at first because of all the politeness.  It was distracting. But as the reality sunk in that we had in fact not had anyone over to our house yet (ok, we have some old friends who hail from the midwest and now live in Seattle who have come over), and that we had not been invited anywhere, I have taken note that I don’t belong to a click. I am not safe territory and the world at large sees that.  Whoa! My head is a trippy place to live.

So this brings us to last night at gymnastics class for the youngest.  A mom, also a transplant but from Western Washington, had chatted me up last week. This week she came notepad in hand to collect my contact information, “We want to have you guys over for dinner – how’s Friday?”

Mind blown.

That is such a simple offer, isn’t it? For her, no longer a newcomer, it was probably effortless and yet she had the ability to make an enormous impact on my day.  Whether this new friend will stick or not is yet to be determined, but it’s promising and if for no other reason than she has got a little bit of heart and isn’t afraid to show it.

I think I can learn from this.

I may have a little bit of her hiding inside me, or at least I hope I do.  Maybe this is an important social skill – a challenge for us all. I think each of us – no matter how long we have lived somewhere – should invite someone new to dinner.

Let’s put it on the list!