Swimming in Circles

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I get to the end of today, as with yesterday, as with previous days, and I am not sure at all what it is I have accomplished. It feels like I am swimming in circles in circles in circles in circles and getting nowhere at all.

This isn’t quite true. I can tell you that yesterday I met with my colleagues in Computer Science and gathered intelligence about a course I am teaching and the graduate program I am involved in. It was nice to get an invitation to a party (a social party!) from one person I talked to.

Today I went through training so that I can maintain and create my own university website and have it be integrated into the system the university uses. I put up some content, although not a lot. I ordered a tablet and a back-up drive for my computer, and while doing so I just boggled at the amount of time it took to look over reviews and specs. I even found them for a much lower price, but it turns out we can only order from the one place, so I might as well have not bothered with that. Grump.

I have syllabi started for both courses I am teaching, but neither is finished, and nothing ready for first classes or first assignments.

Swimming. In circles. In circles. In circles.

The trick to getting big amorphous projects done is to break them down into smaller, concrete tasks, and then tackle the smaller, concrete tasks. To figure out a measurable outcome and to aim for that consistently. I know that’s where I’m not succeeding. It would be smarter to spend a half hour either once a week or even every day laying out the “what I want to get done” in small tasks, rather than flailing around at one thing then at another without much of a plan.

It would also be good to turn the social media off so that I cannot get side tracked by “you’ve got mail” or another notification from Facebook. Or turn it aside for a while.

Tomorrow is another day. And one of my favorite quotes is

Courage doesn’t always roar. Sometimes courage is the little voice at the end of the day that says I’ll try again tomorrow.

(by Mary Anne Radmacher)

While I don’t feel all that small, it is still the right thought. I will try again tomorrow.

Hurts

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At some point yesterday, I realized my fall off the bike on Wednesday left me with more hurts (hip, shoulder) than just a bruise. Nothing that a short amount of time won’t fix, but I do hurt. Maybe that helps explain why that fall left me so shaky and upset at the time.

I’m feeling unmotivated to go out and do much in the way of exercise — or much of anything at all. That, in turn, makes me feel guilty for wasting some beautiful days here when I could be out exploring.

I realized that I’m also feeling lonely. I’m doing a good job of getting out there and meeting people, but just acquaintances, no friends yet. Friendships take time to develop. Having someone else eager to go on an adventure would probably get me out there. I could have gone on a bike ride with the road group this morning — but they don’t really know me yet. I wouldn’t be missed. Back home — okay, not home anymore, my old home — I was the one who organized the rides. I bloody well showed up, whether I felt like it or not, or I would be missed.

Soon after typing this, I need to pull myself together enough to go explore the local farmer’s market. Walk around a bit in the sun, and stop feeling quite so sorry for myself. Even if that hip does hurt. Maybe it will loosen up some if I walk. While I am walking I can consider whether I want to drive out somewhere this afternoon to explore, or take care of getting more of my things set-up or doing an overdue chore in my new apartment home. I need to do something other than sit and mope. Because that’s not doing anyone, most especially me, a whole lot of good.

Lessons learned geocaching and mountain biking

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Lessons learned while geocaching

  1. Just because you know where it is, doesn’t mean you can find it.
  2. A good question to ask is, if I were the person hiding it, where would I put it? I.e. put yourself in the other person’s shoes.
  3. A GPS (or any fancy piece of equipment) can only help you so much. After that, you are on your own.
  4. Sometimes we all get functionally fixed on something, and can’t see what else is there. If you aren’t finding what you are looking for, think differently about the situation.
  5. Persistence pays off. You may not have your out-of-the-box thought the first time you try, so don’t be afraid to go home and return. Keep at it.
  6. If you really are getting frustrated, ask a friend for a hint or help.
  7. There are a lot of interesting things around you that you’d otherwise never notice.

Lessons learned while mountain biking

  1. There’s nothing wrong with riding up and down the curb in front of your house until you are comfortable with how your bike handles obstacles. I.e. don’t worry about starting small and taking baby steps forward.
  2. Uphill is hard. Keep at it, and you will improve. But know when you need to stop and catch your breath. Or get off and walk.
  3. There’s no shame in walking something that’s beyond your ability level. Better safe than sorry.
  4. You probably won’t get hurt much when you are starting out and scared of everything. You will get hurt when you develop competence and confidence and start riding at your limit. And if you are going to continue, you do have to get back on the bike.
  5. Downhill is fun, but downhill can be scary. If you’re going to ride it and not walk it, get your butt behind the seat, go easy on the brakes, and trust your bike. I.e. you don’t have absolute control. You have to give up some of your desire to control completely in order to have any control at all. (Think: controlled fall. But it is a fall. If you let it, your bike will do its best to take care of you.)
  6. If you can’t stand getting bruised, you are in the wrong sport. But who wanted to be a swimsuit model anyhow?
  7. Listen to your body; it will tell you the difference between minor bruises and really hurt.
  8. Listen to your brain/spirit. It will tell you when you need to take a moment because your fear is taking over your ability to perform.
  9. If you listen to yourself, and take care of yourself, you will find that your fears and anxiety lessen, and that falls that don’t result in real injuries become much less frightening.
  10. Ice is nice. If you know you’re bruised, put a cold pack on it. Take care of yourself.
  11. Persistence pays. Just keep riding, and you will grow stronger and more skillful.
  12. Every fall has a lesson. Make sure you take the time to learn it.

I came off my bike twice tonight. The first time was annoying, but I knew I was fine. The second time, I know I hit the ground pretty hard. I knew I wasn’t really physically hurt; I’d have a bruise, but nothing really wrong. My brain, however, wasn’t having such an easy time of it. I had to sit for a few minutes to pull myself together, because that fall scared me pretty badly.

The one and only panic attack I have had was on a mountain bike ride. There was a rocky, cliffside trail, and eventually, I did, indeed, take a fall down the rocky downhill side. I was bruised up, but not otherwise physically damaged. I was also in a race, and I felt obligated to push forward to get the best time I could. A few minutes later, I was having problems breathing, and it had nothing to do with how hard I was riding. My brain, logically and calmly, analyzed the situation, and informed me that I was having a panic attack. A part of me was all fascination: it’s true that you can’t breathe when you are having a panic attack! The logical part was very calm and said I had to get off the bike, sit quietly, and calm down. It was like I was partially outside of myself observing what was happening. All while something in me was panicking so badly it was taking away my ability to breathe. I wonder if I scared the corner marshall I came across at that time. I took a seat in his chair while I steadied myself. I walked almost every obstacle after that. My nerves were shot, and I knew it.

The terrain, loose dirt and rock, which was skeetering my bike around, plus the dark, did my anxiety level no good for the fall tonight. Four rides in three different places do not get you used to the way mountain bikes handle on different types of trail. I had a light, and that helped, but it wasn’t enough.

Two of the guys on the ride tonight came back to check on me after that second fall. I couldn’t even speak. I realized if I tried, I was going to just start crying. I figured they would appreciate it if I resisted. I held up my index fingers in the universal sign for “give me a minute”. It was hard to breathe, and hard to choke back those tears. If I had been with friends I might have just had my cry and gotten it done with. Those two, more sensible than perhaps they realized, just restarted their conversation and left me be to take care of myself. Which was probably easier when I didn’t feel like I was the center of attention. That didn’t take long, although it felt long for a few moments there. I was lucky, we were almost to the end of the trail; after I pulled myself together, there wasn’t much more riding for me to do. It still took a solid half hour to an hour after we got back in our vehicles and drove down from the trail head until I stopped feeling shaky and scared.

Mountain biking is like that, at least for me. The places I go are peaceful and beautiful. And the trail demands all of my attention, so no worrying about this or that or the other thing while I am riding. It’s almost like meditation in that I have to have a singular focus. I ride my bike and do nothing but ride my bike. I am constantly growing, not just in strength, but in skill. I learn how to do more and more as I go on. But it’s not without its price. I do fall off sometimes, no major injuries, but plenty of ugly bruises and, in the past, I’ve had an occasional lasting sprain or strain. It’s certainly not fun to get hurt, but there’s something fundamental that I learn about who I am by getting knocked around a little. Every fall has a lesson, if I stop to observe, think, and learn it. I won’t do Gu; I don’t do sleep deprivation, or working so hard I vomit. But I will continue to do this. Sometimes I wish I could skip this part, the being scared more than the falling off, but I know I am learning a lot, and growing, and that is why I signed up for this.

County Fair and Rodeo

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I spent some time at the county fair and rodeo this weekend; getting to know the big event in my new small community.

I heard a woman ahead of me in line at the grocery store, talking to the clerk, “No, why bother to go to the fair and rodeo alone?” I had to laugh a little to myself, since that was exactly what I was doing. I’m sure it’s different when you’ve gone a bunch of times as a family, so she’d have seen it already. But that’s the casual attitude of people with families; if I didn’t bother to do things alone, I would be home alone most of the time. They don’t get my life. I’m sure I don’t get theirs either.

One thing I noticed that bothered me. The demographic population at the fair was probably 90% white (unscientific guesstimate). I imagine that might also fit with the demographics of the county, but the rodeo is a big draw from all over, one of the finals on the national circuit. If so few people of color were there from lack of opportunity, that seems sad. The one notable minority group I saw in some of the events was the Yakama Indians. I didn’t see as many just wandering around.

Walking through the exhibits, I was surprised at how big and intimidating cows and pigs are. Renewed appreciation and respect for those who farm and who deal with such large animals. That is out of my skill-set, and out of my comfort zone, by a wide margin.

I’m sure we all heard about cow-tipping in high school or college. You really think some city kid is going to walk up to one of these large animals and tip it over? What if it gets mad at you and steps on you? I do not think so.

I also left with a renewed appreciation for 4H and their programs. I wish I had had an opportunity to be involved with that as a youngster.

Identity

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Before I left Spokane, my friend said to me that he hadn’t realized how much of his identity was tied up with his wife. When she passed away, and as he’s dealt with his grief, he’s had to examine his concept of who he is and what he wants. This is no easy task.

I don’t know that I said much in reply aside from offering sympathy. I won’t claim to be an expert at this one, nor have I had a major grief, like his, to deal with.

Every time I’ve had a relationship end (my, I’ve had a lot more of these than I ever wanted to), I have had to adjust my sense of self. It is easier because I’ve spent a lot of time alone — then I know who I am when no one else is around, and I am mostly returning to this after a relationship ends.

What’s been harder for me is letting go of the things I wanted to be, but will never become. The one that hurts the most is that I will never be a parent. If I can’t find the husband, it makes it hard to have the child. I was never willing to go at that solo. Eventually, I got too old. 45 is pretty definitive. There are days when 45 is pretty hard to take.

There’s all the self-questioning that I can’t quite stop. I should have gone further into online dating. Sooner. Many boyfriends I should have broken up with sooner. I should have dropped the hard shell of defensiveness from my childhood sooner, and softened up. I should have been wiser about people, as if I could have just had the realization that when other people treated me poorly that this is not a reflection on my worth sooner.

We can regret, but we cannot change the past. We can only go on from here.

When we depart from the standard story, or any story we’ve told ourselves for a long time, it takes adjustment. I’m still trying to figure out who I am, as a 45 year old woman, aging more quickly than I’d like, without a family, without a significant other, with an anxiety problem that is fortunately not troubling me much at the moment, and, right now, in a new place without any friends or close friends to lean on.

We need more stories for women. More for men too, but I know less about that. I have female friends who are childless and happy with that, but I can’t think of many stories where that is the outcome for women. It never was an option in any of my happily ever afters. So I have no view of what this should be, even looking at my friends and trying to see through their eyes.

The only thing I’ve figured out is that you have to concentrate on the love you can give, not on the love you wished to receive. That is the path to happiness, but it is not easy to travel it.

One thing I hope is that I find honor and integrity, grace, generosity and kindness, warmth and caring, and lots of love freely given to others in who I am, whoever that may be.

Solo Camping

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I remember the last time I camped alone in this tent. At least, I think it was the last time.

I camped at Colorado Bend State Park in Texas, in May, with the intent of doing a bike ride the next day. Before heading out, I stopped in Austin and I had lunch with my Ph.D. advisor.

We talked about many things; my unhappiness with my job, desire to try teaching. He said something insensitive; he’s infamous for being oblivious.

I asked about a professor who was my terror when I was working on my doctorate; a man who was known for pawing his female students, with the stereotypical black leather sofa in his office, who always wanted to shut the door and sit next to you on the sofa. Hella no, I opened his door wide, and I pulled over the hard wooden chair, but when it was time for my defense, I was worried that one would make trouble for me.

My advisor said he had no idea what I could be talking about when I said I thought that professor was creepy. All he could recall was that Prof. Creepy wanted to hire some unsatisfactory job candidates. I remember a lull or change in our conversation, broken perhaps 10 minutes later, when my advisor told me about Professor Creepy’s nuclear divorce when he, indeed, ran off with one of his female students, leaving his wife and kids high and dry. Professor Creepy went on to become the department chair at another august institution; I can’t imagine they found his performance satisfactory. I also don’t think my advisor connected his story to my comments, though I am certain that my comment connected some subconscious dots, bringing forth the story.

What I remember most about the camping is the explosive tears, the incredible feeling of being lost, of being stuck, of not being good enough and having no way to ever be good enough. Deep, deep, deep shame for being who I was, with only my abilities.

With little sleep, I didn’t go to the bike ride the next day.

There was mountain biking in the park, but after getting up and getting together, I ended up on a hiking rather than a biking trail. My frustration peaked.

It was unseasonably hot, and the campground had no showers. I swam a bit to clean up, but in the end, I just packed up and went home early, running away from that moment, that vision of myself, that truth.

I didn’t interact with my advisor again for 7-9 more years.

It was quite a few years before I came back to that park, newly in love with my then-companion. I remember a magical hike we had as we got lost trying to find a geocache. I have the pictures, and that happy memory.

Today, I find myself again alone in this tent. I am not thinking about trying teaching any more; I will start a tenure track position in the fall. If I had known what success I would have as a teacher, I might have started on this path sooner.

In the ensuing years, I have had deep disappointments, and I have had moments of great joy. Part of me is very very sad for the painful moments, and also angry for this part of my past. Part of me is deeply deeply grateful to be here, now, in this moment.

Departures and Arrivals

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Goodbye College Station. Was that really last month already? Hello Ellensburg as of August 2!

Moving is disrupting and time-consuming, but I am here and doing my best to settle in. A lot of days I feel like I am getting nibbled to death. Thousands of little things to do, and things do get done, but it doesn’t feel like progress. I suspect moving is like that for everyone.

The drive from Texas to WA was beautiful. The Texas Panhandle, with its grasses and hills and canyons, gigantic fluffy clouds in a blue, blue sky, and grain elevators. Northeast New Mexico with hills and sage. Colorado with hills, and, for this trip, rain, rain, rain. Gorgeous clouds when the sky wasn’t completely overcast. The route from Fort Collins to Laramie was one of the most beautiful I’ve seen. Wyoming got long and tiring, but then you get into Utah and that corner has mountains and clouds and beauty. Then Idaho, with a stark landscape, potato farms, clouds. Before you know it, you are almost there in Oregon, and recent wildfires turned the sunset clouds pink and grey and gold and gorgeous. Also hills and mountains and much beauty.

I didn’t really want the journey to end; I stopped at the rest stop and the scenic overlook between Yakima and Ellensburg, taking pictures of my new home, a lush green valley from a stark, dessert hillside. I suspect the green is all irrigated, but it was pretty from up above.

What can I say about driving a moving truck hauling my car behind on a trailer? You aren’t going fast, not nearly as fast as Google Maps says. I got stuck once at a gas station, but some kind person who knew how to back up a trailer helped me out. “You need to take those turns wider.” “Yes, I know.” I was grateful for This American Life, audiobooks and music to get me through the journey.

I’m not great with endings, and I was sad for the journey to be over (and not *just* because that meant unpacking), but also looking forward to my new life here. Where the unpacking is happening, one step at a time.

Lost and Found

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I lost my phone this evening. Near as I can tell, it bounced out of my pocket as I ran to cross the street.

I have been lucky with lost phones. This is the third time I’ve misplaced a phone, unknowingly, and the third time the benevolence of strangers has brought it back to me.

The guy who picked up my phone told me I should lock it. I didn’t laugh, but if I did, how would he have been able to find me to give it back?

There are more good people in this world than bad people. Yes, I risk a bad person doing bad things to me with my unlocked phone. But since I’m more worried about me losing the phone than someone stealing it, I leave it unlocked.

And trust.

My trust has been well placed, thus far at least.

I am grateful for that.

Last Week

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It is the beginning of the last week before I move. Monday July 28 is moving day.

It is a bizarrely cool morning here for July, nice to sit outside with a small sweater on.

This has never been a perfect house or yard, something has always been asking for my attention. Maybe all houses are like that. But it has been a pretty house, and often a pretty yard, and I am grateful for my years here.

We had a party on Friday from my math colleagues, and a picnic Monday from my bicycling colleagues. I have been very loved by many people. In ways I have undoubtedly not appreciated. I am grateful, very grateful for that.

I am grateful to have found a missing part of myself in teaching. Grateful to the colleagues who helped me get started. Grateful to those who supported my efforts and told me I was doing a good job. It’s been a journey, and it isn’t done yet.

I am grateful for my colleague with whom I am researching. I still feel like a baby researcher, unsure of myself or my worth. Thank you for your trust and belief in me, and willingness to work with me and help me find my feet. After many situations and experiences which haven’t fit, I am grateful to be here, scared of screwing up, but using my lessons from before to try to do a better job.

I am sorry to leave this place, sorry to leave this section of my life. I know there is a new section ahead of me, and many adventures to have, but walking into the unknown is hard for me. Being lonely is hard for me. It will take time to make new friends and feel like I am secure in a new start.

I am grateful my colleagues there are planning a warm welcome — they will help me move in. That’s amazing. Thank you.

Now I need to get to some packing and sorting for today. After all, I only have about a week left.

Clarity

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I just had my windshield replaced. It’s had a big crack across it for about two years now. A week and a half ago, I took a weekend road trip with a friend. We drove my car, because I needed to bring a bicycle. Hers is nicer and newer, but mine is the champion for cargo capacity. I was surprised to find myself uncomfortably embarrassed by my aging vehicle and the gigantic crack.

I should have done this sooner.

Getting the windshield replaced is like getting new glasses. The world looks different, even though it is the same. You’d think you wouldn’t touch anything if you reached out toward it, and you understand how birds make those tragic mistakes flying into glass.

Everything is fresh and new and wonderful, but just for a few moments. Quickly, oh so quickly, I acclimatized to the change and what was wondrous, I ceased to notice again.