Change

This blog is not a journal or an attempt to keep track of the external events in my life.  It's supposed to be a place for me to think, ponder, figure things out.  But today I need to make sense of the external events.  I want to think about change, and how I respond to it.  This means I need to think like a diarist, not a ponderer.   I really feel like I'm stagnating, and I want to make some positive changes, but I'm not sure I have the wherewithal to do that, nor, looking back, do I think it would be wise.

I think I've had about as much change as I can handle for awhile.

The timeline:  I get laid off in October, 2010.  In January, 2011, I turn my family room/mother-in-law apartment into a vacation rental to help cover the mortgage.  I job hunt, interview, find part-time temp work, job hunt some more.  In June 2011, I become an editor for OLAQ.  My annual wine-tasting trips turn into camping trips (much cheaper.)  I hang with friends, work, job hunt. 

After a year of this, in March 2012, I have run through my savings. I downsize my possessions and I renovate my home to accommodate a renter.  In April, I end up renting to a crazy woman and her PTSD son.  I get offered a job in ABQ, take it, find new renters, and move across country in May 2012. 

My dog dies.  My new renters turn out to be even more trouble.  My finances become even more problematic.  My apartment is beige, but the mountains are beautiful.  We go for weekly drives, enjoying the country, looking for a home that isn't beige.  We swim in the pool.  The job turns into a 6-month project: every week I'm in a new branch of the system.  Nothing seems stable.  The job, the finances, the Portland house, our living situation....all are temporary or problematic.  D's job is contract work, and he's stressing it, which means I'm stressing it.

I continue to job hunt, looking for better pay.  But I don't really want to leave.  In October, I volunteer at the Balloon Fiesta and have a BLAST.  I meet some people that could potentially be soul mates.  I join the orchestra, I sing in the choir, I learn the best travel routes, I start hiking in the Sandia Open Spaces.  We manage a marital truce, and we find good restaurants.

Then I am offered an interview for a job at the Oregon coast.  Living at the beach would be a dream come true.  I pull together airfare and crash with my friends.  I don't get the job, and I discover that, in 5 months, I've become estranged.  I love my friends, I miss them terribly, but Portland is no longer home.  All the dampness feels weird against my skin, and all the trees seem to be cluttering up the landscape and hiding the bones of the earth.  The sky is blotted out by a blanket of grey.  I miss New Mexico.

This is probably good, since I seem to be here for the duration.  I can't get approved for a mortgage, so we decide to spend another 8 months in this apartment complex.  I am not happy:  the beige and the cheap furnishings and carpet depress me, and I wonder what to do about the possessions back in Portland.  

Last weekend we move into another apartment in this complex:  it has the advantage of a gas fireplace, and the view of the parking lot is replaced by a view of trees.  It's a good change, but it is still change, and a lot of work.  Simultaneously I am rehearsing for concerts that take place on the weekend of the move.  D quits one job and starts another.  I am assigned to a new branch, while continuing to manage the project, which is over at the end of this month.  This all takes place over the course of 5 days, and it takes its toll on body, spirit, and the marital house.

So, why am I dreaming of more change?  Surely I should go into hunker down mode.  Winter is approaching (it hailed out at the East Mountain branch), and I should want to hibernate.  But I don't.  I want to do something different with my life.  I'm not sure what that would look like, though.  I am still thinking in terms of what I don't want:  I don't want to fight with D, I don't want to manage passive aggressive people, I don't want to be in debt. 

Do I want change as a way to escape?  Probably.  Can my body, emotions, and mind handle any more change?  Probably not. 

Perhaps the change needs to be internal, instead.

Hiding behind nuns

Years ago, I took a trip to Italy, starting with a few days visiting A, who was subletting a studio apartment in Rome during her first Fullbright year.  She loaned me a fabulous DK guidebook, gave me advice about gelato (make sure it's made AT THE SHOP), suggested places to visit, and met me for dinner at fabulous restaurants.  But the most important advice regarded Rome traffic:  drivers ignore the traffic lights and your only recourse is to catch their eyes, glare, and assert your pedestrian rights while continuing to maintain eye contact.

I never had the guts to do it, so I found groups of nuns or school kids and crossed with them.

I've thought of this a lot since moving to Albuquerque.  The drivers here are notorious for being drunk and/or distracted, ignoring pedestrians or actively running them down, and weaving in and out of traffic.  There is no such thing as checking the blind spot or leaving an escape route or gap.  There are two freeways that bisect the city east/west and north/south, and the speed limit is 65 mph, even in the heart of the city.  Lane changes are abrupt, and I've watched cars essentially drive diagonally across four lanes to get to the faster lane or the right exit.

I spend a lot of time driving the surface streets or the frontage road:  the drivers are just as crazy, but the speeds are better, as long as it's not 3 am.  (One of my student staff said an acquaintance died in an early-morning motorcycle crash.  I asked if he was wearing a helmet, but apparently he was going 100 mph down Montgomery - one of my main routes home -  so a helmet wouldn't have done much for him.) 

There are billboards everywhere saying DNTXT, and numerous commercials about people who died or became quadriplegic because they were texting while driving.  There's a big campaign to reduce distracted driving, but I don't see much evidence of success.

So, it's especially frustrating that D is totally refusing to stop talking on his cell while he drives. He says, "I've driven like this for years, I can do it, we're fine."  I grab the chicken bar as he swerves towards the next lane or bears down on the slowing driver ahead of us while he wrestles with the phone. 

There are no nuns to hide behind.