Projects

Yesterday I had a meltdown.  I wept pretty much all day, in between taking care of business, driving to Santa Fe with E, running errands, working on the computer,  sending e-mails, calling my realtor and my nephew.

It was a gorgeous day.  The cottonwoods in the dry Galisteo Bosque cut a winding golden line across the valley floor, and the mountains rose warm and rocky into a mellow blue sky.  The clouds were various:  fluffy, streaky, floaty, popcorn-y  It was so warm, I put on a summer skirt and lightweight top.

E was in fine form:  forgetful and funny, gasping with delight at the yellow trees, talking about how the mountains are always there, asking if I had music playing in my head (yes), and then saying, "Where are we going?"  "Sprint, the mall,  the post office, the grocery store, the Hospice Thrift Store."   "Oh yes, I need some clothes."  And repeat.

I felt schizophrenic, because I would be sincerely delighting in the beauty of my surroundings and in E's joyous responses to the day, but tears would be running down my face and I would be wiping them off surreptitiously.  By the end of the day my eyes were gritty and my brain was fuzzy with the chemicals of tear-based exhaustion.

I had all sorts of theories about what was going on.  T had basically told me our friendship was over (yes, I know I already knew that, but hearing it from him hurt my heart.)  It was a week after my wedding anniversary, and two weeks until the anniversary of my leaving D.  I hadn't been taking my anti-depressants.  I was worried about my attempts in maintaining connections, making sufficient money, managing my time productively.  I had just completed an exhausting week of rehearsals and concerts, with 2-3 hours of travel on each day.  My friend S was newly grieving the loss of a loved one. I had sent E-daughter an e-mail outlining the cost of maintaining a live-in caretaker and providing said caretaker with a livable schedule.

So, I was lonely, overloaded with responsibilities, juggling time and energy, thinking about loss.

Then, I got a call from M, who, in her New Age way, told me to get over my sorry self and enjoy my unique opportunity.   I'm living with fascinating people, and I have the time to do whatever I want.    She urged me to change the mental tape.  Stop thinking in terms of loss and grief and look at this as a retreat and a chance to explore options.  Do things I've always wanted to do (like practicing 3 hours a day).  Engage in self-care:  exercise, walk, eat well.  Don't try to live in two places, don't try to maintain two lifestyles.  Have people visit me here, create a new community, immerse myself in the experience.  By the end of the year, I will know what I want to do and who I want to be.  Don't waste this time grieving.

Yes.

I'm not sure I've started out properly:  I spent the evening watching Netflix and YouTube, catching up on old movies into the wee hours of the morning.  But, it felt good.  I knitted, unravelled a ball of yarn, listened to the wind, watched the screen.

Today I practiced  my Coro music and read a book by Angela Carter and applied for online editing work.  The morning fluffy clouds spread and darkened, the wind picked up, and sprinkles of cold rain hit the ground.  Then, the sun came out (this is New Mexico:  wait 10 minutes.)  I practiced my Tai Chi Chih outside and thought again about the rock pile downslope from the house.  I've been wanting to take the empty space and build a labyrinth.  This seemed the best time.  It wasn't too cold, but it was cold enough that the likelihood of overturning a snake or a tarantula was minimal.

So, instead of learning Spanish or practicing my orchestra music, I got some work gloves and moved little rocks into circular lines, creating six concentric circles.  I dug into the soil with my fingers, pulling out larger rocks and lining them up.  The sun came and went.  I was bent at the hips, hands dangling at the end of long arms, working the materials of the earth.  No kneeling, no squatting:  I was using my body comfortably, and to hell with the way it looked.   I thought about M's yoga instructor, telling us to avoid back pain by not straining our bodies.  I thought about S, who worked in Kenya with the Peace Corps.  She came back using the Kenyan women's methods, washing the floor with her butt up in the air and her hands busily working at the ground level, head hanging loosely, watching her progress.  I thought at the time, why do I let our cultural norms keep me from doing what is comfortable?

That's one of the things I want to explore.

Meanwhile, I still feel weepy.  But at the moment I'm no longer listening to the weepy tape.  If my body needs to cry, so be it.  My mind can work on other projects.