In Search of the Sweet Spot

Road to Punta Allen

“One’s destination is never a place, but a new way of seeing things.” – Henry Miller

Almost 3 years ago, in June, Nascar and I travelled to Mexico for our honeymoon.  Our wedding had been delightful, with easygoing parties, well-behaved families, and friends that helped us set up, take down, and throw a hell of a bash to celebrate our union.  I was so excited to travel to Mexico, not because it was the chance for us to bond over our newly cemented love on a tropical beach, but for the simple reason that I had never had a passport.  Except for weekly trips to the bars in Tijuana as a senior in high school and a rave in Canada as twenty year old, I had never left the country.

This has always been a secret shame for me.  I grew up with girls and boys who went to Europe to find themselves when college was not doing the trick.  I could never afford such a trip, and spent my time finding myself in pool halls and rave clubs of Las Vegas.  I read once that one only travels as far as their mind allows them.  I am still not quite sure that I believe this statement.  I have always felt that my experience was not as complete and not as whole, as the friends I knew who gained knowledge of themselves through their time in hostels or on train trips in Ireland.

This sense of inadequacy still rears it's ugly head every once in a while.  Two weeks ago I attended a book reading about Burning Man, ayahuasca, and healers of the world.  I listened to the author share his experience about connecting with God and his guides, slaying his ancestral demons, and meeting aliens at Burning Man.  Sitting on the concrete floor of a Mission District art house, surrounded by searchers and dreamers, I felt not a sense of belonging, but rather a screaming sense of inadequacy.  The atoms of my mind were screaming, Why are you here?  You are a fake.  These people have seen the world, the farthest you have travelled is in your own mind, on your therapists' couch.

My heart became so heavy with shame that I left this reading in a hurry, after buying the book.  Deep in my heart, I know I am not inadequate; however, my mind has a habit of winning these insane arguments of insecurity and self-loathing.  Most interesting about this whole story - and the reason I share it now- is that I left the Mission District art house and went to a bar.  To find myself.  To settle my mind down.  To drink a glass of wine.

That wine tasted good.  More importantly, it felt good.  It turned my sense of inadequacy into a sense of  self righteousness and gave me an ability to project my feelings of inadequacy back onto the author and his aliens who triggered it.  By 1/2 of the glass, I was feeling haughtily superior to all those who had made a trek similar to that man. I robustly stated, I was "keeping it real" by seeing god in the faces of the dying, and he is using plant medicine to see aliens and goblins.  By the time the glass was gone, I was a virtual Madonna.  Transference has never felt so good.  Thankfully for me, my dear friend Gabby, listened to my ramblings, and then led me home.  The taste had been ignited, however, so a second glass of wine was had at home.  In the days that followed, realistic pictures of this situation came to me in flashes.   Feeling inadequate leads to overwhelming desire to medicate.  Medication feels good, I want more - and more often than not, I have more.  And so goes my relationship with alcohol.

So I only made it 59 days without a drink.  But I am back on the wagon again.  This experiment started out as an experiment in self-control, but has turned into so much more.  I am learning about how my mind and heart work together, and sometimes this is not with my best interest as the goal.  That night, I saw that when when my ego is hurt, or the old tapes of inadequacy are playing at volume 10 in my mind, my heart reacts by looking for something to quell this sense of sadness or fear.  The fastest way I have learned to stop the pain is to throw some alcohol on it, to make it less wounding.  I can't even say I blame myself for that.  One only does what they know.  As I stated 2 months ago, I am still intent on finding new ways to heal these old wounds, however.  Next time my mind walks down the inadequacy path, I plan on sitting with it and feeling it completely, instead of running into the arms of the nearest Pinot.  Perhaps it will take me to some new sweet spot in my heart, my own tropical island, where my guides and my goddesses have always lived, cheering me on, loving me because the path I follow is not inadequate, but only mine and unique, and they have just been waiting for me to join them.

Where the goddesses, gods, and my guides await

Sober Lady Musings

All the art of living lies in a fine mingling of letting go and holding on.  - Havelock Ellis

It has been 55 days since I have had a cocktail, glass of wine, or beer.  In 25 years, this has been my longest amount of sobriety.  It has been easy-ish.  Most of the time I do not miss it.  The afterwork rituals now consists of a shower and a cup of tea, instead of a cigarette and a glass of wine.  I admit, I have been somewhat of a hermit, not really spending too much time with anyone but Nascar.  Getting my social identity back has been a bit difficult.   In social situations, I often feel a bit gangly, all legs, arms, and stuttering words.  I miss the ease of social banter that comes with 2 glasses of wine.  Nascar and I did go to dinner with a group of friends last night.  It was interesting to try and practice listening as my form of participation, and to feel the social anxiety come in waves, then float on.

Gangly legs

Things I have heard in conversations as a Sober Lady:

Last night I sat across the dinner table from a fascinating lady.  She is a survivor, a lawyer, a world traveler.  She said the best thing about traveling was getting to see that the United States is just a small spot on the map.  That there are millions of people in the world who live well in very different ways than us, and do not see our way of life as the center of the universe.

Today, my brother called me and asked if I would donate to www.feedthehungry.org.  He said every time he is buying food for he and his son, he is reminded that there are others who have so much less than even him.  His heart seemed so big right then.

Nascar is feeling the need for a change.  He said thank you to me for being open to change - and he knows how hard that is for me.

My nephew told me he loved me.  Just like that.  With a big hug.  It was awesome.

My friend Julie Spank's laugh.

Out with my friend Silvia last night, and she came up, hugged me tight, and said, I have missed you.

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Not sure what to make about the Burning Man ticket situation.  2/3 of the folks that make that festival as special, as life-altering, as AWESOME as it is, did not get tickets.

Here are just a few of the tickets from years that meant the world to me.  Each of these years showed me so much good about myself, and some of those years (2009 especially) showed me some of my faults.  Surrounded by friends and art, it is hard not to come home inspired and ready to dream big again.

Nascar and I got alloted tickets in the lottery.  Many of our Surly family did not.  It is hard to not slip into the think space of the Have's and Have Not's.  It is hard not to be mad at the folks at Burning Man.org.  for trusting people so much.  Perhaps this is the biggest lesson Burning Man has to offer me yet:  A willingness to believe in an ethos, even when you are not gaining from it.

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A fantastic read from the Sun Magazine about another ethos that may not be working anymore:

http://www.thesunmagazine.org/issues/434/capitalism_and_its_discontents

A must read for anyone who has been hit by this economic recession.  It really shines light on the fault of the system that is outdated and built for a smaller workforce.

Today's blog written in our backyard, watching the chickens, sipping coffee made for me by Nascar, and listening to DJ CoopdaLoop's Easy Like Sunday Morning mix.  Feeling very grateful to be living' the dream.

Happy Birthday Mom!

A mother is not a person to lean on but a person to make leaning unnecessary. ~ Dorothy Fischer

Happy Birthday Mom!

We both laugh about how alike we are, despite the fact that the last time I lived with you was when I was 12 years old.  It was strange growing up with such distance, but even stranger is the characteristics I have developed that are so alike to you.  

We are both introverts, who relish spending time puttering around, crafting, cooking, or gardening.  You study the Bible and religious texts, while I study psychology and literature.  We both love scarves.  You dance a mean two step, and I have been known to dance like nobody is watching.  Alike, but different.  2 different flavors of a simple and sweet ice cream, that is you and me.

Everyday I wake up, grateful to be alive, happy to be your daughter, and so pleased with how life has turned out.  I stand up for what I believe in, I have faith in the future, and I cherish the past, because that is what you taught me.  

I am grateful for you and love you very much!

Another thing we have in common - loving men in hats

Soundtrack:  Willie Nelson's Blue Skies (makes me think of Tutu...)

Salt Water

The cure for anything is salt water - sweat, tears, or the sea.  

~Isak Dinesen

This year has started out as an exploration of truths forgotten.  Rediscovery of old habits, like hot tea before bed, has led me to a more rested place.  Replacing the wine has not been near as difficult as I expected.   I am an extremely emotional person, however, and I am not sure if the lack of alcohol has made the emotion more palpable.  At times, I actually miss the the reset button of the hangover, that I often used to escape any fear or anger I might be experiencing.  It seems  that without alcohol, I tend to hang on to the fear or anger, and let it brew into a nasty depression (since behind any anger is deep sorrow).  I am lucky to have Nascar at my side to keep me from drinking too much of that bitter brew.  


Nascar and I spent the weekend in Fort Bragg, CA, on the Mendocino Coast.  It was stunning.  The crashing waves, the tide pools brimming with life, the knotty pines and angular coastal trees were breathtaking.  I grew up in San Diego, and though we had a less dramatic beauty about our beaches, I always found myself drawn to the rhythmic sounds and the calming motion of the waves.  This Saturday, Nascar and I spent all day near the water.  We explored tide pools, walked through gardens, and watched the sun set over the ocean, and the moon rise over the mountains.   It felt just about perfect.


I am bewildered at how much I have ignored about our earth through my youth.  Despite living 2 miles from the ocean for 5 years, I had never explored tide pools before yesterday.  Nascar and I skipped from rock to rock, climbed over boulders, and found so many totems of life, that an urban girl like me often takes for granted.  As Nascar said, "I love the tide pools.  These life forms have a whole ocean to live in, and they choose these strange, almost uninhabitable places to place their beauty."  I found my first star fish, and I thought I was Jacques Cousteau for a minute.  Nascar is like a 5 year old boy by the sea, and he led me into caves and peering into crevices to find whatever might be hidden within.  It was really quite magical.

Early morning walk on Glass Beach

Partners

Searching for fish

Path to the end of the earth

Sunset is coming

Tide Pools

Crab in a Crevice

Alive

Dancing Starfish

Bam, just call me Ms. Cousteau

Hi God!

Ecstasy

My Man

Me!

Merry Christmas to Me

I am blessed to know some amazing friends.  This time of year is a big reminder to me of how the people I care about have influenced and made my life better.  I am a lucky woman and a connoisseur of fine people.  For years I hated the holidays, but over the last few years I have grown to find it magical.  Trees bedecked with twinkling lights, silly music, but most importantly, shared moments with friends celebrating the bounty of our lives, good food, lots of spirits.

Christmas 1985 was a hard time in my life.  I was 11 years old, and on December 24, my father kidnapped me.  He and my mother had a huge fight in the front yard of my mother's house.  I remember hyperventilating salty tears, it was probably the most violent cry I have ever experienced.   After my parent's fight, my father sped off with me in the car.  We did not even stop at home to pack bags.  He drove into the night and across state lines.  We spent Christmas Day in Santa Fe, New Mexico, eating dinner with strangers I had never met.  I was not allowed to call my Mom or my brother.  It was one of the saddest evenings I have ever spent.  Ultimately, I was able to convince my Dad to return home on December 27.  He realized his idea to run away was fool hardy.  It was only 6 months later that he did run away again (bringing me with him to California), and this time we never returned home.

Christmas 1993 was another sad one.  My father had sank into a deep depression and had not left the couch for one week.  He picked a brutal fight with my brother, and Tigh and I decided to leave on Christmas Eve.  All 3 of us were living in a 1 bedroom apartment in Las Vegas.  I was 18 years old.  That Christmas Eve, Tigh and I drove to Death Valley.  We pooled our money together and bought a 12 pack of beer and stayed in a cheap motel.  We got up at dawn and drove through Death Valley.  It was chilling and stark, much like our life with our Dad was.

I write about this, because it brings me to my New Year's Resolutions.  2012 will be my year of no alcohol.  My body and my mind needs a break.  Some believe that you stop emotionally maturing when you first start abusing alcohol.  I began drinking heavily at age 12, right after the drama started about running away with my Dad and my Mom had left us.  I have always been able to keep my "poop in a group" and be successful at most things I try.  I do not have great self confidence however, and often find myself drinking a bit excessively at social functions, usually due to nerves and low self esteem.  Although I deem myself a connoisseur of fine people, I do not always consider myself to be a fine person.  This can be a real drag for the friends I am hanging out with, and the overindulgence in alcohol ends up being a real drag on my body and psyche too.  This year I want to allow that hurt child inside me to truly heal.

On December 10, 2012 I will write about how it felt to not drink for one year.  I look forward to a year without hangovers.  I look forward to pursuing relationships with people that do not involve cheap wine.  I look forward to allowing myself to accept me in all my beauty.  I look forward to moving forward, away from the stark Christmas memories and into the magical ones.  

Hitting a Nerve

My nerves are shot.  It is 3:39 in the morning and I am being plagued with insomnia.  This would not be too bad, except I have a Progressive Care training class tomorrow, er I mean, today.  Life has just been feeling heavy lately - and I have something to get off my chest.  

I am a girl who likes to flirt with depression, and who is more comfortable with sour puss moods than the love and light idealism so many I know subscribe to.  My brain believes more in the bad stuff than the good, probably because in my childhood, it was the bad stuff that has defined my life and who I was.  I still talk about my life in levels of survival.  Just the other day my Mom, one of my biggest emotional benefactors ever, said to me,"Brandi, it is amazing you are the grown up you are, given what you had to survive."  This attitude of being a Survivor, got me through the darks days of being a scared kid being raised by a bipolar dad, but it is not doing me much good as loving wife, well-adjusted grown-up.  

When you are a Survivor, the alarm bells go off at the slightest wrong move.  Husband stays home sick for two days with a bad back...my survivor mode kicks in and I just know I will end up on Intervention with him hooked on Oxys, us bankrupt, and losing everything.  Umm, those of you who know Nascar Pitcrew, know that has a snowball's chance in hell of happening.  You would think I would have my paranoia in check, but sometimes it gets away from me.  Note for any future children Nascar and I might have:  your Mom could be a little crazy sometimes.  Note for Nurse Bacon:  Everyone is a survivor of something, and not everyone defines themselves by it.  

Nascar Pitcrew is seriously injured.  His T11 and T12 vertebrae show signs of a recent compression fracture.  My husband, my strong man, has been relegated to shuffling no more than 10 steps at a time and tossing and turning in bed.  Our bedroom has the lovely scent of Icey Hot permeating it at all hours.  We are sleeping in separate beds, since he is awake most of the night in pain.  I think this is what they meant in the vows, when they said, "In sickness and in health."  Damn, I had the in health part down.  I can handle Burning Man in a tent, and I am not afraid to let you do the driving.  But now, you need me to put smelly cream on your back?  Sheesh, this marriage thing has many layers.

All of this is made even more humorous by the fact that I get paid to be an empathetic caregiver.  Nurse Bacon, RN.  That is me.  One would think that caring for my loved one should be easier than assisting the lice ridden homeless guy for his premetherin shower (yep, did that this week), but embarrassingly, it is not.  

At work, I have a job to do, and in my mind, being a nurse is a little like being a teacher.  I am there to help you through your bleakest days and teach you how to come out on the other side.  There is an art form to communicating with patients, it is a lot of intelligence, mixed with the right amount of empathy.  

My marriage communication is all heart (and often my heart is cloudy and in survival mode), and not a lot of brain.  Marriage cannot survive in survivor mode.  A rhythm is needed, so when the bad stuff occurs (and it will) no one freaks out.  This week, my lack of empathy has shown me that my emotional connection to Nascar Pitcrew just needs a little more brain to structure out the heart's emotional state.  This should not be hard, because my friend Silvia says I have a big brain.

And I am a Survivor.

Nascar Pitcrew, I promise you, I will wrap my brain around this and be the best wife I can be as we get you though this painful and not fun time.  

I love you.  

Soundtrack to this morning's insomnia write: Alice Coltrane, Billie Holiday, Norah Jones, and UFO.

Beach Retreat

Family Fishing Trip

This month we spent a fantastic (truly) weekend with my Mom, now known as Nana, and my step-dad, Lloyd.  Tigh, Noah, Nascar, myself, and the parents all stayed in Guerneville for the weekend.  It was lovely to meet them "in the country," where we could fish, go for walks, and make big dinners.  I was in heaven, getting to cook for such a big group, and we had a "mock" thanksgiving" one night and a crock pot delight for dinner the next.

Anyone who knows my family knows that such a peaceful meeting has been years in the making.  I am grateful that all of us could put aside our differences to enjoy a few moments of life's little pleasures.  And, again, I am amazed by the magic of a child.  Spending two full days with Noah has made me even more in awe of those little humans and how they march through the world, learning it, tasting it, and believing in it.

Guerneville Bridge

Picking Apples with Grandaddy

Fishing