3 november 2020
If you have HBO, check out "Getting On", a strong female cast highlighting great character development, set in an advanced care hospital ward with desperate-for-love, Nurse Dawn,(Alex Borstein), Nurse DiDi, who often gets the short end of the stick, (Niecy Nash), and highly neurotic and competitive doctor, Dr. Jenna James, (Laurie Metcalf) specialising in the study of feces for her scholarly research with Patsy De La Serda, "a supervising male nurse of ambiguous sexuality". Follow along as they conspire, back stab and fight both the threat of reduced budgets and obsolescence while tending to the elderly, a tender and comedic portrayal of friendship and workplace drama with smart supporting-role performances
Verging on a form of depression, it is more likely situational than true depression, with no work, as all the schools here in Campagnia have closed, that's the yoga classes, english-learning schools, a hope held out for employment, now gone. And. With all that is going in the states, Good god.
Plus. It is not good for wo(man) to be alone. As a solitary creature, very comfortable in my own skin and company, I enjoy humans for a short periods, then need to recoup, alone but not without a community. And here, with Covid, it's particularly hard to connect as Italy has more enforceable restrictions. We are required to wear masks- I'm for it- at all times in public. There is a curfew from 11PM to 5AM, everyday, rarely affecting me though Italians are known for their late dinners, 8:30 - 10PM, depending on the day. And restaurants must now close by 6PM.
Finally there is talk of a full shutdown, and that, I cannot endure, …again.
Ergo, the path I had been on has disappeared, not that I fully understood where I was headed to begin with.
One thing I have learned in two years of moving, traveling, packing a bag, changing rooms every three to six weeks, I want to stop. Full stop. I may grow a back full of hair and howl at the moon, or like Odysseus, and need to be chained to the mast, …it's possible. My spiritual 'therapist' asked if it was a question of intimacy versus intensity. Intimacy is laying down roots, attaching, growing something around you. Intensity is the high of new sights, sounds, people, food, culture. And while delicious fun, my writing has exposed a need to tend to my root chakra. The root holds our most meaningful connections, to family, tribe, money, stability. I have been in search of tribe for a very long time, especially after I left the evangelical background I grew up in. It is necessary. In order to become a fully developed human one must leave what is dead behind.
The through-line of my life has been the abandonment of my creative well-spring, whether writing or drawing, designing clothes, floral design, someway, somehow I start and in need of approval, beginning with my biological family, not getting an atta'boy, throw myself away over and over again. And if I've learned anything in this bumper car adventure, it is NEVER too late to restart. I am deeply, deeply encouraged by those younger than I, who having created platforms or participating in them, show up with their hearts set on fire, unafraid to show their work, hanging ass for all to see. It takes courage and knowing that whatever your background, however much we (all) have suffered in myriad ways, we can still bring our gifts, our own one-of-a-kind, unique beauty to the world. We may not have renown, nor chase it, but we can grow gardens around ourselves that provide necessities: food, clothes, shelter, healthcare and then the icings, travel, passions, comforts.
FYi. I'm back in the States. Arriving 7 November to the happy news of Biden's election. And yes, I know, there's a lot of work to do.
•. •. •
"To fall into shame is to fall into the voice of sabotage and that will stop you from moving forward." Sarah Biodin, Insight Timer
Horizontal thinking coined by author Elisabeth Gilbert: you can't lay in bed thinking of all the things that have gone wrong, (Anna). You must get up and do something, read a poem, write a journal page, read a book, make a sandwich, walk the dog, wash the cat, build a bird house, check the sofa cushions for loose change, roll up into a rug, run sprints, drink hot tea, take a cold bath, bake a potato, but not sink into the ooze of a worried mind.
So I get up everyday now around 6 am, walk a dog, do yoga, my breath is prayer, drink tea and plan my day.
"Time is finite, take action, always move forward, always choose intuitively, you'll know what to do when you get there."
( Host of the Moth Podcast, Dan Kennedy, his therapist said this.)
I’m trying to get back to that girl, left on the school playground.
Fourth grade. Being new to a public school after three years in a tiny private Lutheran academy, it was overwhelming. My brothers and I walked the four blocks to school. On my way home with my friend Molly, a much larger girl, a sixth grader, began following us, me. Walking right behind me she stepped on my heels, placing her heavy hand in my back and pushing me forward, my body whiplashed with each thrust. She harassed as we walked. Being so frightenedI have no memory of what she said. Looking to Molly for help, I could see she had dissolved into her own fear and appeared ready to break away. But, she stayed. When we reached an intersection the girl left off. Molly and I walked together, I holding my composure, unclear that my terror would be met with sympathy. I never told my parents but lied to my mother saying I was helping a teacher after class. From that day forward I waited until the school emptied, lingering in the halls, corners, waiting to see that the girl had gone. When it felt safe, I walked the empty playground, alert, it's vast stillness mirrored my lonely confusion.
Occasionally I still dream of those few blocks home.
In order to arrive at home in ourselves we must feel all the feelings of our heart, and heal.