Doing what you love

Over a year ago I described a traumatic experience getting together with a cellist to play duets.  I didn't realize how much that had affected me until I started getting invitations to play trios and duets here in ABQ.  I  find myself totally downplaying my abilities ("I think I've forgotten how to play....I just play in the volunteer orchestra....I've been playing in semi-professional orchestras since I was 16 but I don't practice and haven't taken lessons in YEARS....I'm the weak link in family quartet....I usually hunker down in the back of the 2nd violin section in front of the drums....") in the hopes that they will still want me but will be pleasantly surprised instead of contemptuous when we finally sit down, instruments in hand.

The most recent get-together was a little less traumatic, as the invitation came from my stand partner in APO, and she's always very gracious about my playing.  But I was going to be meeting a new violinist, so I was still wary.  I knew it was foolish to be so timid, because M wouldn't be friends with a snippy person with attitude, but then again, I hadn't expected the trashing I received back in Portland, either.

And, I've been feeling disconnected, so meeting new people and scheduling events, even fun ones, has been an effort.  As I've said before, the game face is wearing thin, and I'm not much fun to be around.

The day started inauspiciously.  I'd been up until 2 am, so I skipped yoga, alternately waking and sleeping  from 6 to 10.  Then, I dragged myself to the weekly therapy.  I was tired and my affect was flat.  But eventually we got into it and I went into full weepy mode.  "I don't know what the problem is....I'm just tired, disconnected....I don't want to do anything...."  whinge whinge whinge.  I talked about my twenties and thirties, when I planned and saved for the future (because I'd feel so stupid if I reached retirement age after all with NO savings in place), but I also made sure I traveled and did interesting things while I was young, as the future was unknowable.  I said, now I don't need to plan for the future, why am I spending my precious life doing things that drag me down?

My therapist is an unusual woman.  When I said I just wanted to quit my job and house-sit for people, she said, "why not?"  Turns out, she spent much of her 20's doing just that, house-sitting, traveling, bartering.  I thought about my friend L, who has spent two years visiting "intentional communities," and is soon getting ready to hunker down and write about it.  That would not be my schtick, but as an inspiration and a resource, she can't be beat.  As soon as I got home, I dashed off a note:

Hi L, I'm in a low grade depression, and as I talked with my therapist, I realized that what I need to do is stop working a 9-6 job in a bureaucracy. I pondered what I want to do instead and I realized that I am half-way to becoming a gypsy like you: I don't have the savings to cover it, but I've jettisoned most of my possessions and am on the way to getting rid of the rest.
So I am writing for advice. How difficult is it to locate communities where you can work and live for a few months? How difficult is it to live out of your car or alone? What skills do I have to barter? etc etc.

Then I went to Applebees up on Montgomery to meet M and C for lunch, followed by violin trios at M's lovely house by the Sandia open space.  I was late, of course, and they were gracious, of course.  C seemed to be a cross between ML, my orchestra manager friend who sold me her bow and music when she got MS, and my friend S, who is co-owning my cat and can do ANYTHING.  She had short cropped hair and a tall thin frame and wide toothy smile like M, and a prominent jaw and sly eye-smile like S.

Turns out, she had the answer to the ant problem with my hummingbird feeder as well as lots of advice about house-sitting.  She spent two years in Chicago, living in fellow tennis players' homes and teaching.  Then she got tired of not having her OWN pictures on the wall.  (Note to self, be sure to store your art, not sell it.)

Word of mouth seems to be the name of the game. M has a friend who house-sits, solely through referrals, and that's how my therapist and C both functioned.  Of course, I don't have the network here, but I do have a network.

I was psyched!  from weepy to jubilant in one short hour.  Then we played violin trios, starting with the baroque and working our way to the classical period.  The parts were all on one page, and C had made up 3  booklets, one for each part, with highlighter to help the eye stay on track.  Since we are all 2nd violinists, we all wanted the 3rd part.  And, since the music was C's and the house was M's, I meekly took the 1st part for a few pieces.  Then we hit one with 32nd notes and I put my foot down.  From then on, we rotated booklets for each song.

I was facing the floor-to-ceiling windows, which showed the Sandias in the distance and the bird feeder in the foreground.  It was very distracting, and when the bunny appeared I had to stop and coo.  But we kept playing and playing and no one wanted to stop until I finally started stumbling over the simplest things.  And that was that.

We played for over 2 hours, and plan to do so again this week.

Then I checked my e-mail, and here was what L had to say:

Oh man, yes. "Low-grade depression" describes how I felt for most of my career.

Validation, followed by detailed and excellent blueprints for planning out a life as a nomad. I think I'm gonna do it.

Moving on

About a year ago, I wrote a blog about downsizing and loss.  In August, I wrote about loss in general.  In fact, much of the past year I have been contemplating the gradual erosion of my life.  And here I sit, at 4 am, unable to sleep, treading that familiar ground yet again.  A bronchial cough woke me up, and, in between bouts, I am thinking about finances, health, next steps.

Most of what I presaged last March has come to pass.  I've lost most of my possessions and savings, my marriage, and my sweet dog.  I am in the process of figuring out how best to jettison my house.   And yet, the grief of the past year is missing.  Yes, I sobbed throughout the divorce mediation.  And I sobbed when I learned  about D's collapse.  And I cry in my weekly therapy sessions.  But behind all of that emotion is...emptiness.  And maybe relief.  And maybe, just maybe, the stirrings of hope.

I'm not sure.

I do know that loss of stuff is no longer part of the grief.  As part of the mediation, I took the inventory of possessions and labelled them:  D, K, and M.  (M stands for marital possessions.)  D initialed the stuff he plans to retrieve, now that he's back in Portland, and I faxed the result to my property managers.  In looking over the inventory, I realized that, for the most part, I haven't missed any of it.  There is some Grandma furniture that I'd like to cherish, there are boxes of pictures and letters and  financial doings that I should go through.  But otherwise....?

Last week my managers sent me 2 boxes of clothes, which are a welcome addition, and another small box of craft stuff.  Much more remains, along with books, dishes, CDs, and Christmas decorations.  All are nice to have, all give me joy, but if I never saw them again, I'd be okay.  In fact, that would be a painless way to deal with it:  just walk away.

Really?  Have I reached that point?

Last year I was wandering around the house, agonizing over what was going in the downsizing estate sale.  A few months later, I flung things in boxes, preparatory to moving here.  At the time, I was thinking in terms of "what do we need for the next 6 months."  So, the tough decisions were set aside.  It was very Scarlett O'Hara:  I'll think about that tomorrow (or in this case, 6 months of tomorrows.)

Now I find that, for the most part, my hasty decisions were as valid as the decisions I agonized over.  In both cases, precious things were lost, precious things were kept, precious things were stored.  And the same goes for unimportant things:  while I tossed and sold a lot, I also boxed up paperclips for god's sake, scraps of wrapping paper for origami, jewelry bits to be reused.... and now that I've left D, I still have too much stuff:  my 350 sq ft are crammed with linens, clothes, dishes, papers, books, furniture.  I am not yet traveling light.  And I want to.

But the real issue, of course, is how to lighten the emotional load.  All this preoccupation with stuff is a distraction from the job at hand.  It's easy to talk about moving on, traveling light, but what does that really mean?

After the divorce was final, I wrote a haiku:

Loss is emptiness.

It should be weightless.  But no:

Tears have gravity.

So, how do I pay homage to the past 10 years and look towards the next 30 years?  How do I jettison my tears, guilt, sadness?  How do I store memories?  and how do I take joy and hope and regain my bright, serene, creative self?  How do I move on?

My friends and family and therapist are all advising me.  It's contradictory.  Most people see the last 10 years as a waste:  I lost the self that they loved, while trying to maintain a partnership that drained me financially and emotionally, alienated my friends and family, and eroded my self-confidence and self-esteem.  I get that point of view.  But it's not the whole story.  Clearly, I would not have spent 10 years on something that gave me nothing.  There were joys experienced, lessons learned, friends made.  I did not stop creating, making music, or feeding my soul.  Those 10 years are part of me, and I need to acknowledge them, grieve over what I lost, and take what I gained.

D is not the demon of the piece.  He is the man I fell in love with after my father died.  He got me through that tough time, and he loves me and thinks me beautiful and talented.  He is proud of my accomplishments.   He is a good man.  But, as E once said, he was a lousy husband.  The power imbalance led to escalating emotional abuse, and I had given all I had to give.  No one, not even D,  blames me for leaving, for giving up.  In the final analysis, I don't blame myself.

But the process?  the process is driving everyone crazy.  I wallow in grief, in guilt:  What could I have done differently, why wasn't I strong enough, what is D going to do, why couldn't I be there for him and his sister?  I whine:  I've lost everything.  I curl up in a fetal position.  I cry.  I can't make decisions, I don't follow through.  I express my loneliness.  I express my neediness.  I cry some more.  I don't know what I want to do with my life, and I cry about that.  I don't have the confidence to start something new.  I worry about debts, about stuff.  I worry about self-care and self-talk.  I worry about alienating my friends and family even more. I worry about being a burden.

One friend thinks the guilt is useless and self-destructive and I need to Just Stop.  Another says, "pffft, feelings don't work that way.  And you've raised whining to an art form.  Your friends need to deal with it."  Some friends think I'm an idiot for dreaming of eventually being friends with D again.  The current estrangement should be permanent.  Wish him well and move on. Others think that I will, in time, need to renew contact, for closure if nothing else.  My therapist tells me to acknowledge the feelings, accept where I am:  it's okay that I don't know what I want.  But....do something about that negative self-talk.

Which brings me back to the beginning of this blog.  What is really behind all this emotional flailing?  That's what I need to find, in order to move on.  Am I truly empty?  Have I lost the ability to really feel, am I just going through the motions, running on my default whiny behaviors?  What do I really want, where is my joy, where is the me that people want me to retrieve?  I truly don't know, I don't recognize that woman they are describing. I don't believe the future is limitless.

But I want to believe it.  I know that I have all the tools to do amazing things with the next 30 years, and the freedom to pursue those adventures.  If I want to.