Back in the states, and coping
Monthly updates are not enough (so what stops me from updating weekly? Hmm).
The Grand Adventure continues aboard the beautiful sailboat, but I jumped ship in Cozumel and flew home. I love sailing, even in a reasonable amount of tall seas, but 24 hours of it is exhausting ... and the forecast was for several more long days. So on the second morning of the first long passage I announced my intention to get off at Cozumel. Which left only an additional 24 hours, some of it in seas 4-8 feet with occasional 14s. I spent most of that time in my bunk, getting gently rocked or energetically rolled. Twice something in my back got adjusted without my permission.
I'm fine.
Flew back to NJ on Wednesday, spent the night with one of my dearest friends, descended on our tenants the following day, so we overlapped in the house by 24 hours (most of which I was out gallivanting around town).
Now the house is preternaturally quiet and empty. It is very odd living here without Dear Housemates, who moved out in December a few days before we left. It is very weird living here with empty space and no plans to fill it with either people or things. The woods are beautiful, lush and full, and the deer and birdsong is delightful.
I've seen a very few of the most important people hereabouts, managed to participate in deep ritual with two groups and take a class with a third. Today is clean-up and pack day.
Tomorrow I fly to Florida to meet the boat, which is on schedule to arrive in late afternoon. The next day we'll pick up a truck, into which to decant the boat stuff, and drive it home to the barn.
But I see I'm talking only about physical externalities, which isn't really what's on my mind.
The passage was hard. Mostly I didn't feel concerned about the boat -- she's built to handle quite a bit more than the seas and weather we had -- but I was physically uncomfortable and exhausted far beyond what felt safe. I see that the two months of inactivity have been crippling. More than anything I need to get back to the gym, but I'm still postponing that for another couple of scheduled-travel weeks.
The passage was hard. Several times I found myself asking, 'How much more of being this miserable do I really have to do?' Unfortunately there are no rest breaks on a sailboat in open water; if the weather is bouncy, then you will bounce. Eventually I realized that this feeling was familiar, or at least resonant. Suddenly I suspect this is how Dear Husband has felt, each time I have insisted on his participation in something important to me in the categories of magic, or personal growth work, or education. Sometimes I think counseling should be included in that list.
I don't ever want to feel that miserable-at-someone-else's-demand again. Why should he?
I don't ever want him to feel that miserable at my demand again.
If we delete all the joint activities that make either of us squick, what will be left? And would that be a relationship I would choose?
The answers seem obvious. It has taken years to get here, approaching asymptotically. I suspect several of my friends, classmates, colleagues and mentors have long since given up wondering when I would stop dithering and just go. (I've wondered that myself, for a decade).
Ahead: loading the truck, decanting it in the barn, going (together or solo) to a long-awaited week encampment, one that we cancel'd last year in favor of getting the house onto the market. After that? I want to go get my car and my stuff and bring it back to some one place. He wants to come with me, but I don't think so. Goats for the summer, and more aggressive marketing of the house. And then?
The Grand Adventure continues aboard the beautiful sailboat, but I jumped ship in Cozumel and flew home. I love sailing, even in a reasonable amount of tall seas, but 24 hours of it is exhausting ... and the forecast was for several more long days. So on the second morning of the first long passage I announced my intention to get off at Cozumel. Which left only an additional 24 hours, some of it in seas 4-8 feet with occasional 14s. I spent most of that time in my bunk, getting gently rocked or energetically rolled. Twice something in my back got adjusted without my permission.
I'm fine.
Flew back to NJ on Wednesday, spent the night with one of my dearest friends, descended on our tenants the following day, so we overlapped in the house by 24 hours (most of which I was out gallivanting around town).
Now the house is preternaturally quiet and empty. It is very odd living here without Dear Housemates, who moved out in December a few days before we left. It is very weird living here with empty space and no plans to fill it with either people or things. The woods are beautiful, lush and full, and the deer and birdsong is delightful.
I've seen a very few of the most important people hereabouts, managed to participate in deep ritual with two groups and take a class with a third. Today is clean-up and pack day.
Tomorrow I fly to Florida to meet the boat, which is on schedule to arrive in late afternoon. The next day we'll pick up a truck, into which to decant the boat stuff, and drive it home to the barn.
But I see I'm talking only about physical externalities, which isn't really what's on my mind.
The passage was hard. Mostly I didn't feel concerned about the boat -- she's built to handle quite a bit more than the seas and weather we had -- but I was physically uncomfortable and exhausted far beyond what felt safe. I see that the two months of inactivity have been crippling. More than anything I need to get back to the gym, but I'm still postponing that for another couple of scheduled-travel weeks.
The passage was hard. Several times I found myself asking, 'How much more of being this miserable do I really have to do?' Unfortunately there are no rest breaks on a sailboat in open water; if the weather is bouncy, then you will bounce. Eventually I realized that this feeling was familiar, or at least resonant. Suddenly I suspect this is how Dear Husband has felt, each time I have insisted on his participation in something important to me in the categories of magic, or personal growth work, or education. Sometimes I think counseling should be included in that list.
I don't ever want to feel that miserable-at-someone-else's-demand again. Why should he?
I don't ever want him to feel that miserable at my demand again.
If we delete all the joint activities that make either of us squick, what will be left? And would that be a relationship I would choose?
The answers seem obvious. It has taken years to get here, approaching asymptotically. I suspect several of my friends, classmates, colleagues and mentors have long since given up wondering when I would stop dithering and just go. (I've wondered that myself, for a decade).
Ahead: loading the truck, decanting it in the barn, going (together or solo) to a long-awaited week encampment, one that we cancel'd last year in favor of getting the house onto the market. After that? I want to go get my car and my stuff and bring it back to some one place. He wants to come with me, but I don't think so. Goats for the summer, and more aggressive marketing of the house. And then?