So I'm starting to learn and understand experientially that there is life after.
Life after 40, which is where this blog's title has its roots.
Life after a very difficult ending, one I still grieve daily.
The winds of life bring not only "change," but with it new opportunities and new experiences. Often when you aren't even looking or trying, or sometimes when you only take the smallest of steps.
Like, two weeks ago I stepped into the REI outdoor outfitters store, finally after a month or two of intention, to look for a backpack so I can feel more readily outfitted for hiking.
I ended up hitting it off with the store employee who helped show me packs, and a week and a half later found myself going out on a date! The first date I've been on in five years; and probably only the second date or thereabouts in about ten years! Whether it will turn into anything remains to be seen. Even if I get a friend out of it, I will consider it a success. Heck, even if I never hear from the guy again I will consider it a success, because it was all borne out of my taking a step forward in my life - to buy a pack with the intention of taking more steps (literally and metaphorically) to go hiking - and because it all happened when I was just being myself, at ease with and present in my reality.
In other changes that demonstrate "life after," two weeks ago a new Sheltie suddenly came to share his forever home with me. His coming was a redemption, of sorts, of loss that I experienced last year with the sudden death of my beloved Tri-color Sheltie, Naomi, whose death punctuated a year of difficult losses. Now suddenly I have this very sweet, mellow Sheltie boy gracing my home and my life. Such an unexpected and happy blessing.
As more example of life after - life moving forward in positive ways - I had made a friend in photography (through a random sailing connection that also came about because of my taking a couple of steps forward) who was an unexpected connection and who has become something of a dear friend. She came into my life on the crest of the wave of huge losses, and her grace and care were something of a life preserver for me during the difficult months of the darkest of winters in my life. Now as the stormy seas have begun to settle around me, I find this unexpected connection with this friend has held fast and grown stronger, such that she was even calling me weekly during the entire last month while she was away in England.
And still more, through even tonight as I stepped out once again, to go on a sailing "meetup" to an entirely new location, entirely new group of people, entirely new and unknown kind of sailing than I've done before. I was terrified somewhere inside myself, but yet all the confidence I've been nurturing for so long was like a giant internal insulator against the fear, so I got myself out of the house (with some difficulty), drove to the location, made small talk with a man who turned out to have been the instructor of the sailing classes I took a year ago and who had terrified me so much that I intentionally never signed up to sail with him... Continued to introduce myself with confidence to the other attendees who all seemed super confident and knowledgeable about sailing... while I fumbled around and tried to be helpful or at least not to do anything stupid. Ended up sailing with "Mike" the "scary instructor," who turned out to be really nice and willing to gently teach, and with another gal who was really friendly and easy to be with. After, we went out for drinks and appetizers at a friendly nearby neighborhood pub, where famous local celebrity Cisco Morris happened to be hanging out for the evening with a group of friends. Talk about feeling like I was in the best place to be in friendly Seattle subburbia. We chatted and I made connections with both women for potential future hiking and kayaking together and also for a friendly escort into the scary world of the Seattle Singles Yacht Club that I've been far too shy and scared to attend so far.
Life after.
It's bittersweet. There's still a ton of grief. The losses have been tragic, and there's still a lot of anger because they shouldn't have happened. But the sun keeps rising and setting. The seasons keep changing, such that (finally!) Summer is here in the Northwest. And just like the region and everyone else in it is slowly metamorphosing back into living as the sun shines and the weather grows warmer, I find myself taking tentative steps back into the world of the living, too.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Saturday, June 26, 2010
The project: Picking a name for the new dog
Picking a new name for a dog is difficult!
I've been thinking of name possibilities for almost two weeks, since I first saw a picture of "Coco(a)" and realized that, if he came to live with me, I probably wouldn't want to keep that name for him.
I've turned over many options in my mind. But trying to find one that resonnates with the both of us is hard.
Some names that are under consideration:
Theodore (Teddy for short) because he looks like a big teddy bear.
Dakota, Native American meaning "friend, ally."
Samson, with the reference to his hair.
Beauregard (Beau for short) meaning "beautiful gaze."
Yosemite, Native American for "grizzly bear."
Berwyn, meaning "bear friend or bright friend."
Auberon, meaning "noble or royal bear."
Montana
Marley
Napoleon, meaning "lion of the woods."
Gandalf
Stetson
Salem
Cassanova
Cheyenne
Arthur, the Celtic word for "bear."
Scirocco, meaning "warm wind."
Gilroy, meaning "son of the red-head" (that would be me).
Rousseau, meaning "little red-haired one."
I feel partial (at least today) to Dakota, Beauregard, Napoleon... and probably a few others but if I start down that road I'll have largely repeated the above list.
I wish that I could just look at him and have him tell me what his new name should be!
Maybe if YOU look at him, he will tell you?
I've been thinking of name possibilities for almost two weeks, since I first saw a picture of "Coco(a)" and realized that, if he came to live with me, I probably wouldn't want to keep that name for him.
I've turned over many options in my mind. But trying to find one that resonnates with the both of us is hard.
Some names that are under consideration:
Theodore (Teddy for short) because he looks like a big teddy bear.
Dakota, Native American meaning "friend, ally."
Samson, with the reference to his hair.
Beauregard (Beau for short) meaning "beautiful gaze."
Yosemite, Native American for "grizzly bear."
Berwyn, meaning "bear friend or bright friend."
Auberon, meaning "noble or royal bear."
Montana
Marley
Napoleon, meaning "lion of the woods."
Gandalf
Stetson
Salem
Cassanova
Cheyenne
Arthur, the Celtic word for "bear."
Scirocco, meaning "warm wind."
Gilroy, meaning "son of the red-head" (that would be me).
Rousseau, meaning "little red-haired one."
I feel partial (at least today) to Dakota, Beauregard, Napoleon... and probably a few others but if I start down that road I'll have largely repeated the above list.
I wish that I could just look at him and have him tell me what his new name should be!
Maybe if YOU look at him, he will tell you?
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Joy and pain, not either/or but coexisting
The joy and the pain can coexist simultaneously.
I am learning this. And just now I had a revelatory flash moment of experience of it.
It's a beautiful Sunday afternoon. I was up early this morning, did some last minute cleaning, showered and dressed by 9:30a. The windows are open. Sunlight is streaming in. I've got some lovely jazz playing on the radio. One of my favorite scented candles is burning with a soft glow. It's peaceful and beautiful.
I just finished entertaining a visit from the lady who runs the Sheltie Purebred Dog Rescue. She has matched me with a five-year old male Sable who needs a new home. I'm nervous, but excited (but nervous). The idea of Sheltie love and companionship in my home again is a nice thought that stirs a place in my soul that I thought might be dead - and dead for reasons beyond just the loss of Naomi last year. Dead because of all the rest that's transpired in that year. But there's a feeling of passion, love, excitement, commitment... I feel it all still alive within me. Maybe it can all come fully to life again.
Yesterday I spent the morning and early afternoon with my family - sister, brother-in-law, two lovely nieces, and my Dad. We visited Saltwater State Park in Des Moines to take advantage of extraordinary beachcombing due to an extreme low tide. We wandered the beach encountering beautiful and curious creatures. I took dozens of photos. Hah - "dozens"? Who am I kidding! I downloaded 716 images from my camera when I got home last night. :) My heroic brother-in-law was a terrific amateur field guide, hunting through the water as it lapped up in waves into his rubber boots, looking for creatures to show us. He found two Moon Snails, a beautiful jellyfish that made me think of the character in the movie "Julie & Julia" attempting to poach an egg, several brightly colored starfish, and numerous different species and sizes of crabs. He turned over large rocks so we could see the sea life underneath them, and wasn't afraid to hold anything in his hand so we could examine and photograph it. My sister packed a spectacular picnic lunch that we shared companionably after the tide came in and chased us off the beach and after we were famished from our nearly 3 hours of walking through the rocks and sand.
After parting ways with my family, I decided to pull out my map book and used it to wend my way first to a nearby marina where I was able to photograph a couple of kiteboards (a sport I honestly think I would like to try sometime - I will have to add some photographs to this post sometime later). Next I wandered to a couple of parks, where I enjoyed the scenery and took more photographs.
It was a satisfying day, if a bit sad and lonely, nostalgic. But I felt proud that I had made the most of it.
After the Sheltie Rescue lady left today, I once again pulled out my Thomas Guide mapbook and started investigating where I could go exploring today. I'd hoped to get out early enough to see today's low tide, for a reprise of yesterday's delightful excursion, but that didn't work out. But then I read on Tweeters about birds spotted today at the Union Bay Fill and I grew excited about going there again, given the beautiful pictures I was able to take just a week or so ago when I was there.
It was so great to feel excited about heading out - even all by myself - to go exploring and to take pictures! As I felt that excitement, even as I noted my sadness that is still with me every moment over the losses of the last year, I suddenly realized that it really is true that joy and pain can coexist, that they can be with us simultaneously. I experienced a lot of joy during the weekend, a lot of moments of "full life," and yet there was also a lot of sadness, too. But for the first time I experienced in a truly new way how perhaps the joy and the pain, each separate and whole and pure, can coexist, neither totally compensating for or overriding the other, like holding them both, one in each hand, observing and experiencing the weight of them together simultaneously in this one life.
I am learning this. And just now I had a revelatory flash moment of experience of it.
It's a beautiful Sunday afternoon. I was up early this morning, did some last minute cleaning, showered and dressed by 9:30a. The windows are open. Sunlight is streaming in. I've got some lovely jazz playing on the radio. One of my favorite scented candles is burning with a soft glow. It's peaceful and beautiful.
I just finished entertaining a visit from the lady who runs the Sheltie Purebred Dog Rescue. She has matched me with a five-year old male Sable who needs a new home. I'm nervous, but excited (but nervous). The idea of Sheltie love and companionship in my home again is a nice thought that stirs a place in my soul that I thought might be dead - and dead for reasons beyond just the loss of Naomi last year. Dead because of all the rest that's transpired in that year. But there's a feeling of passion, love, excitement, commitment... I feel it all still alive within me. Maybe it can all come fully to life again.
Yesterday I spent the morning and early afternoon with my family - sister, brother-in-law, two lovely nieces, and my Dad. We visited Saltwater State Park in Des Moines to take advantage of extraordinary beachcombing due to an extreme low tide. We wandered the beach encountering beautiful and curious creatures. I took dozens of photos. Hah - "dozens"? Who am I kidding! I downloaded 716 images from my camera when I got home last night. :) My heroic brother-in-law was a terrific amateur field guide, hunting through the water as it lapped up in waves into his rubber boots, looking for creatures to show us. He found two Moon Snails, a beautiful jellyfish that made me think of the character in the movie "Julie & Julia" attempting to poach an egg, several brightly colored starfish, and numerous different species and sizes of crabs. He turned over large rocks so we could see the sea life underneath them, and wasn't afraid to hold anything in his hand so we could examine and photograph it. My sister packed a spectacular picnic lunch that we shared companionably after the tide came in and chased us off the beach and after we were famished from our nearly 3 hours of walking through the rocks and sand.
After parting ways with my family, I decided to pull out my map book and used it to wend my way first to a nearby marina where I was able to photograph a couple of kiteboards (a sport I honestly think I would like to try sometime - I will have to add some photographs to this post sometime later). Next I wandered to a couple of parks, where I enjoyed the scenery and took more photographs.
It was a satisfying day, if a bit sad and lonely, nostalgic. But I felt proud that I had made the most of it.
After the Sheltie Rescue lady left today, I once again pulled out my Thomas Guide mapbook and started investigating where I could go exploring today. I'd hoped to get out early enough to see today's low tide, for a reprise of yesterday's delightful excursion, but that didn't work out. But then I read on Tweeters about birds spotted today at the Union Bay Fill and I grew excited about going there again, given the beautiful pictures I was able to take just a week or so ago when I was there.
It was so great to feel excited about heading out - even all by myself - to go exploring and to take pictures! As I felt that excitement, even as I noted my sadness that is still with me every moment over the losses of the last year, I suddenly realized that it really is true that joy and pain can coexist, that they can be with us simultaneously. I experienced a lot of joy during the weekend, a lot of moments of "full life," and yet there was also a lot of sadness, too. But for the first time I experienced in a truly new way how perhaps the joy and the pain, each separate and whole and pure, can coexist, neither totally compensating for or overriding the other, like holding them both, one in each hand, observing and experiencing the weight of them together simultaneously in this one life.
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