Mr. Positive

Today I picked up a journal I haven't used in a while. (Yes, the old-school paper book for personal, reflective writing.) I re-read the last few entries, all written over three years ago. At that time I was:

• grieving the estrangement of a recently-revived relationship with a significant lover from a long time ago
• having a satisfying and hollow, purely sexual relationship with a man
• lamenting my inability to find a fulfilling relationship with a man. (The word "doomed" featured prominently in my outlook.)

Fast forward three years and things are much different. Since August, I've been in a relationship with Mr. Positive. This connection fills so many of the needs I had and the things I craved in a relationship with a man. In my journal I described wanting to be loved, to be desired and to be seen for my beauty. Mr. Positive does all of those things. 

It's somewhat incomprehensible to me how this happened. After years of feeling doomed about a fulfilling relationship with a man, it's hard for me to adapt to something this great. Don't get me wrong, I have plenty of gratitude, but it's laced with a healthy dose of disbelief that I really got what I was looking for.

Which leads me to Mr. Positive himself. He is many things—attractive, kind, attentive and other lovely attributes, but above all he is excessively positive and happy. Regular readers know that I am not. I'm generally stressed or anxious to the point of mental bondage and often wrestling with depression. Do I have a good life? Absolutely. Am I happy? Yes. Wait. Usually. But I am rarely positive.

I am unaccustomed to the ways of the positive creature—the being who seems to skip through life without noticing or being fazed by challenges. Those around me may have recently heard me muttering "fucking positive people." It's said with love and in jest, of course, but excessive positivity throws me for a loop. I've noticed changes in my autopilot, The Grump. You know what I'm talking about, right? Surely you also have a voice in your head that foreshadows all the shitty things that could happen next or points out where everything could unravel at any second? Yes? Well, it's good to know I'm not alone.

Except when I'm with Mr. Positive. In his presence The Grump shuffles around in my head, reflecting on its purpose in my life and wondering if it should take a hike. I adore Mr. Positive for many lovely reasons, but I most appreciate how his demeanor has made me challenge The Grump.

Holiday Letter

It's that time of year when we're starting to get those holiday letters from friends and family sharing the highlights of their year. Family trips, home repair, a few photos thrown in for good measure. Being the kind of people we are and the family structure that we have, our lives don't lend themselves to these letters. If we did publish one, chances are great that we'd alienate many of the people we send them to or at least they'd look at us ever more skeptically than they already do. But if we did write a holiday letter, here's what it would say:

Mr. Man grows into a man more every day. He began fifth grade with confidence and has found his footing in his upper elementary class. His matter-of-fact approach to chaos and challenge are an inspiration to me. He is concluding his fifth year of martial arts training and is looking for a new and exciting physical activity to keep his body strong. While he loves video games, Minecraft being the latest obsession, we believe he will be one of the rare gamers with washboard abs. He loves physical activity, loves to challenge himself and has amazing balance and strength. A pull-up bar is soon to be installed in his room.

In the fall we moved to House of Eris West 3.0. We weren't looking exactly, but a good opportunity arose and we took it. More space, same price, two floors, utility room for washer/dryer. All on our list of must-haves. It's a quirky space that took us a while to settle into. We're still working on small design and decorating elements to make it just right. It seems the cats, Mr. Man and his moms are all pretty happy with the change.

Our family grew stronger and larger this year. My wife and I celebrated our long-awaited Tipping Point and we threw a big bash. My wife's man became my man, too, and we learned new poly lessons about sharing. I added to our tribe with a man of my own, who has his own wife. For those counting, that means my wife has two partners and I have three. Scheduling is a bitch, but our family has found a constellation of people who add even more to our already beautiful and rich life.

My wife toggles between periods of really good days and challenging bits. She started having a "good spell" around the time of our move and immersed herself in Occupy Wall Street actions. She had about three weeks of largely symptom-free days and for a moment I think we forgot she was chronically ill. We were really thrown for a loop when that ended. Nonetheless, this fall has been a productive time for her, both with activism, her spiritual practice and her business. She's on the verge of stepping her professional activity up a notch and we're learning the best ways to do that, hoping that her health will continue to cooperate.

For me, this year has been about promoting the things in my life that support my mental health. I've lost weight, changed my eating habits and have become much more active. I've been regularly bike commuting since August and have developed a love for Crossfit. I felt like I had a handle on things in early fall and decided to try life without an anti-depressant medication. The verdict is out on whether I need it or not. In the time since I stopped taking the meds, my boss died, my work life exploded and we moved unexpectedly. Things have certainly felt harder in the last few months, but I'd like to hang out for a bit longer to see how I do.

This year is also the year our family kicked the sugar habit. In early January we stopped eating processed sugar as much as possible. I no longer bake and we don't buy sweets or dessert when we're out. It is actually a pretty hard addiction to curb, but we've done very well. I think all of us feel much better when we don't consume sugar, most notably Mr. Man's mood seems more stable.

There are plenty of things that haven't changed. Chester, our needy, frat-boy cat, continues to pee in inappropriate places. Pumpkin, the black cat, is his same old ornery and feisty self. We continue to live happily without a car, with Mr. Man and I biking most places. My wife has the worst lot, stuck in the rapidly-deteriorating public transit system for hours every day ferrying Mr. Man to and from school. We continue to love vegan living, and added green juices to our diet this year with the help of a new juicer. Our life continues to be wonderful, full of both joy and challenge and a healthy dose of gratitude.

The Air I Breathe

Here on the precipice of Equinox the landscape seems vastly different from Lammas. Clearly there has been growth, for now all around me I see bounty and beauty. Like the cycle of the garden, some of my personal bounty is withered and dying and returning to the Earth to fertilize future growth. I'm enriching my soil. In other areas I see nothing but fresh fruit, ripe for picking and enjoying.

Mr. Man has settled comfortably into school, such a relief from the difficult adjustment he had last year. I think I see the hint of pride in his eyes as he describes how he confidently began to dig into his work on the first days of school. His teacher agrees that he has matured so much.

My wife, ever the amazing woman, still wrestles the beast of migraines. Like the stock market recently she has great good days and awful bad days and it's anyone's guess what's the cause. Tonight she seems taken by some crazy food poisoning or food allergy reaction that's had her puking by the side of the road and huddled over the toilet all night. In her weakest, sickest state I still find her beautiful and powerful.

The joy of the start of school is that once again my wife has need to pass by my office on the way to and from school. I've seen her three times so far this week for lovely lunch, coffee and kissing breaks. Her face brings pleasure to my otherwise painful work day. I pity the other schmucks around me who don't have it this good.

My own wellness is at an all-time peak. I'm riding to work every day and enjoying crossfit classes. In July and August Mr. Man and I rode three 28-30 mile rides. I'm stronger and leaner than I have been in at least two years and I feel fabulous. Aspects of my life are stressful and busy, but I feel well-balanced enough to ride the waves instead of get pulled under.

There's even new joy in my life in the form of a suitor. It's been years since I've started a relationship with a new partner and I'm finding this beginning to be particularly sweet.

So you see, bounty is thick in the air I breathe. Happy Mabon.

Joy and Pleasure

I was raised among adults who modeled a protestant work ethic and an often puritanical love of effort and order. There were few options but to tow the line, do my work in an efficient manner and without complaint. It was always clear that any fun or relaxation was to happen only when the work was done.

Fast forward to my own entry into adult life. My wife and I had many conflicts over house cleaning when we first lived together. I approached it with rigidity, a feverish and intense flurry of task after task to be accomplished as efficiently and thoroughly as possible. Her relaxed approach of cleaning something, reading a chapter in a book, then tidying another corner before pursuing some other interest boggled my mind. I dreaded having to clean and was not satisfied until it was over. My wife thought it sucked, but she seemed to do it with an odd joy. In this arena we were completely different from one another. In fact, it never even occurred to me that there was any other way to do it. As I watched her I felt as if an alien was cleaning the house.

Years of therapy and a child changed a lot for me. I learned to let go and chill out more often. I didn't necessarily relinquish the sense that I was supposed to be doing work in a specific manner and to certain self-imposed standards. My overdeveloped sense of responsibility has largely haunted me throughout much of my adult life.

However people have this capacity to be amazing--and inject joy into my life. Even an over-responsible person like me has the pleasure of being knocked on my ass the by pure joy emanating from those close to me. It's hard for me to fret about mopping the floor when Mr. Man shares a hysterical 10yo insight about the world.

Stressful moments or incidents often send me retreating to the prison of Taskville. The joy of my family, Earth and art can try their damndest, but will not likely get through to me in dark moments.

The last few weeks have been like this. Swallowed by work I have given joy a run for her money. I worry she will turn away, fatigued. On Beltaine, of all days, I owe it to myself, to my family and friends, to the world to invite joy and pleasure back into my life in a consistent way.

Welcome home.

Seafarer Explained

About nine years ago, shorly after my son was born, it was apparent that I needed emotional support. Thus, my journey into therapy began. For five years I unraveled myself, determining how I came to be the person I was and slowly releasing the parts that no longer served me. About a year into this discovery process, my wife and I came to a fork in the road that revealed the Seafarer within me. She found my discovery process hard to navigate. I found it difficult, yet oddly comforting. Whereas my wife liked to sit with her emotions and let them percolate, I preferred to let waves wash over me. Sometimes I got carried away by waves and other times I bobbed around in the tumultuous waters, but it seemed the way for me. I distinctly remember the day, about eight years ago, as my wife and I sat on a concrete bench on campus having a teary conversation, when I discovered that I was Seafarer. This was the way I rolled. Thankfully, she has agreed to roll with me.

Fast forward to present day, in a new city with new life challenges, and I still find myself needing emotional support (enter new therapist) and even more help to fight depression (enter medication). Seafarer still reigns. She still fights and fights and fights. Some days she wins. Other days the water takes her for a ride.

It is the persistence of the waves, the never-ending nature of the tides and the roar of the wind across open ocean that keep me here. On a cellular level, my body responds to these forces. Emotionally, I am but a drop of water navigating a vast sea. I find this challenge beautiful.

Light Returning

As the light returns, I reflect on darkness. The last year felt dark much of the time. It was the most challenging year our family has faced. My wife's debilitating pain and persistent migraine symptoms had quite the ripple effect on our family. I was lost in a world of hopelessness and despair where I was unable to help those I loved most. How I wanted to take away her pain, dizziness, nausea, etc. How I wanted her to have a functional life back. I could do nothing. The love and comfort and support I gave, while significant, felt worthless.

My wife was gone in the darkness, unable to reach out to anyone. Alone, she summoned all her will to stay sane through the pain and watch many aspects of her life slip through her fingers. The wife I loved for over 17 years had gone away in many ways. I thought of the foreigner who inhabited her body as the stunt double who got her through the dangerous times, but who you could tell was not quite the same. I loved her stunt double with all of my heart because I knew the real player would one day come back into her role.

Amidst her pain and isolation and its impact on me and on us, there was Mr. Man. He's a hard nut to crack, so his feelings were tough to get to, despite my repeated trying. How do you parent when the landscape of the family suddenly changes? I worried and I fretted and I hoped the stress wasn't taking its toll on him. Most of how we coped is a blur to me. Months of one mom being broken and one mom overfunctioning. Neither scenario was healthy, but we did our best. The only answer I had was to love him. The only lesson I could think to teach was that change and challenge happened, but that love would carry us through. I pray it was enough.

As fall rolled around the corner, my wife's migraines lessened somewhat, enough that we operated in crisis mode less each day. What came next was a wave of awareness that as her symptoms subsided we would not magically pop back to "how it was before". We had weathered this storm and come out of it differently. We marveled at what we had survived and familiarized ourselves with whom we had become in that process. It resembled dating with its fears and uncertainties to uncover and new connections to make.

Our post-crisis debriefing process enabled us to move forward together in positive ways. Debriefing allowed us to make plans for what might work if we encountered similar situations in the future. Grieving together for what the last year had stolen from us was cathartic. My wife's personal exploration of the inner hell and how she coped helped me to understand and support her. As the days grew shorter we brought more understanding, forgiveness and compassion into the light. We shone more light on what our life had become and how it might be different now and the future.

This solstice as I rejoice in the return of the sun, I remember most solemnly the darkness that passed over us the last 16 months. I honor our family's courage in the face of the darkness. I praise the spirits and forces that guided us through treacherous sections of road. I am grateful for the friends and loved ones who supported our family in many ways, known and unknown.

There will be darkness again. We know the wheel turns. I may not know what lies ahead, but I know we are powerful enough to step into the light again.

Rob Brezsny Sums it Up

AQUARIUS (Jan. 20-Feb. 18): "Desire is not an occupation," croons the lead singer of the industrial rock band KMFDM. But I beg to differ, at least as far as you're concerned. For the immediate future, it would definitely not be totally crazy for you to play hooky from your job and stop doing all the busy work you usually do so that you could fully devote yourself to exploring the riddles of your deepest longings. I'm not just talking about the yearning for love and sex, but every single one of your bone-aching, abyss-tempting, reality-crunching hungers.

Wild

My injured lover is recuperating in a ranch-style home out in the suburbs. His body likes this better than the 3-story climb up to his room in the Victorian house he lives in. I was told it was a 10-15 minute walk from one of the suburban transit stations. Little did I expect these directions:

Go up the stairs and head east away from the parking lot. Emerge on a sidewalk where the buses come into the transit center. Continue diagonally along the fence to a traffic light. Continue on sidewalk, cross the median and walk across paving stones to a parking lot near medical buildings. Continue diagonally across the parking lot, cross another road and continue through the parking lot to another medical building. At the right end of the medical building there is a fence with blackberries. Follow the beaten path down the hill, through the woods and over a creek where people have laid down wooden boards. Emerge onto 95th, following the road north up the hill until it turns to a gravel road. A path will continue on a public easement next to someone's driveway and go through another blackberry patch and emerge onto 95th again. The road will take an immediate right turn. Follow 95th downhill, then uphill and take the 2nd left on that road. The road wasn't given its own name. Just follow the cul de sac to the only uphill driveway.

My first trip during the day was fine. The next day I was lugging lots of his stuff, so I went by car. Tonight I took the trip up before dinner and, knowing I would be returning after dark, I came prepared with out-of-the way directions by road. The walking path through the woods is really most direct.

But I've been studying deep ecology in a discussion course at work. We've been talking about wilderness. So at 11pm on a crystal clear night in a moonless sky I ventured into the blackberries, creek and steep woods in flip flops and without a flashlight.

The first patch of blackberry bramble went well. I emerged unscathed. Lights from the houses nearby lit most of the rest of the way, but I knew the final stretch was remote and densely wooded. The nighttime sky cast enough light to see the wood boards over the creek. As I entered the uphill stretch, I was amazed. The office building on the edge of the woods was, of course, fully lit despite its abandoned nighttime state. It was impossible to see, not because it was dark, but because the lights from the office building blinded me, making the path ahead of me disappear. I was forced to hold my hands up above my brow as a visor to block the light. As I rounded the corner of the building about to step into the parking lot, I heard the squeak and then hiss of the sprinklers turning on. Walking back into the concrete nation of suburban office complexes, I thought how tame that was. I expected something harder, scarier.

Walking up the final stretch of sidewalk toward the transit center along an undeveloped stand of tall grasses I heard a rustling. I turned to look in the direction of the sound. I saw movement in the grasses and spotted an animal of medium size. It stopped moving and made eye contact with me. It had the angular face of a cat, yet upright ears of a rabbit. It stopped moving and made eye contact with me. It moved again and I could see it was about the size of a large beagle, light in color like the dry grasses around it. I walked on, turning back to see it once more, but it had blended in to its surroundings. I could not see it, yet I sensed it watched me.

What is wilderness and where do we find it? What sheds light on the wild territories within us? What do we fear about quiet places that lack the walls and barriers we erect in our "civilized" lives? I walk through places in me and in the world in search of answers.

Delicate

I was walking in Laurelhust Park on Monday night with my lover. I love this classic, strolling park with its huge trees and, on this particular night, copulating couples in clear view. We, however, were walking, talking and enjoying the sights on a beautiful night.

I left him a message Tuesday after work, hoping to find a time to see him again.

My phone rang Wednesday morning at 6:40am. It was the hospital and he had been in a car wreck. He has two compression fractures in his spine. An elderly driver, speeding to catch up to a driver who had cut him off, passed my lover on the right-hand shoulder of an interstate highway and swiped both the guardrail and my lover's car, sending them all in a tailspin. The elderly driver hit the median first and broke off a piece of the cement barricade. My lover's car hit this fragment and his collision ended with his car up on the median.



He is alive and will heal. Hug everyone you love.

Signs, Signs, Everywhere Signs

From time to time I make myself little artsy posters to hang next to the mirror in my bedroom. They range from positive go-get-'em messages to deep insights.

The one I created yesterday states:

DO NOT

YIELD

your beauty to those

who do not commit to

preserving it.

For more visual impact, the word yield is actually a traffic yield sign - bright red for impact. My little project kicked off an art session with Mr. Man. We spent a few hours making traffic signs. Wrong way. Railroad crossing. No parking. Traffic light ahead. No U-Turn. Turns out traffic road signs are elegant, simple symbols useful for interpreting one's life.

Push

Yesterday I woke up numb. I felt swallowed whole and acutely aware of the immensity of my surroundings. From my distant and small place, little touched me. None of the debris from my day made an impact or changed my perceptions.

At 9pm I headed out for a rainy evening bike ride. I loaded the iPod with ample Melissa Ferrick. Who else, really, to reach me with intensity. The rain splattered my face and my eyes watered from the effort of blinking back the raindrops. The ride downtown helped me unwind. As I circled back across the river I started to find my release. On the Springwater Corridor I rode faster and harder. I sensed the kinetic energy trapped inside that needed to be pushed out. Unsure of its source or purpose, I simply released it. The ride was a blur, the experience of steadfastly moving forward like a trance. My eyes were steadily fixed five feet ahead of me and my legs pumped, pushing the energy out.

I wonder why numbness settled in, yet what I know is important is that I pushed it back out. I still sense something inside fueling my impatience, ennui and discontent. More rides and rock concerts are likely in the coming days.

Table Design

My winter break pleasure reading theme has been largely about food. Starting with Mad Cowboy by Howard Lyman I quickly felt relieved I was vegan and horrified that I had eaten meat while I was pregnant and the years prior to age 18. I'm currently in the middle of Christopher Cook's Diet for a Dead Planet. It turns out an ailing food system is not only killing people and animals, but is significantly responsible for global warming and environmental destruction. Food should nourish, not kill. This reading inspires the same rage one encounters when reading political history a la Howard Zinn, Noam Chomsky or any other truthful account of American imperialism.

It makes me look very carefully at what's on my fork. So when I went to our local grocer a few days ago for a few items, I was unable to by the $1.65 bag of generic popcorn and instead picked up the $3.19 bag of organic popcorn. I knew the dangers of a crop genetically modified or sprinkled with the manure of sick livestock and I couldn't imagine putting that in my son's mouth. Whenever I could, I picked up the items with the "Home Grown" label popping out from the shelf. I knew they were transported less and more likely to be from a small grower/producer. I did not bring home the sickly looking, expensive, out-of-season tomato my wife desperately wanted for her sandwich.

Mr. Man and I came home from a 13 mile bike ride yesterday and my wife lovingly prepared dinner - falafel and a very garlicky tahini sauce. Mr. Man was asked to set the table, which he did. He took a picture of the table "exactly as he designed it." He had set an origami peace crane at each place setting.

Happy eating.

Backdating

I got mysteriously older in the blogging world tonight. I went back to my LiveJournal and moved my posts over here. The posts were fun to relive and are lovely snapshots of my life when Mr. Man was 3 - and still nursing.

If interested, review April 2004 to May 2005.

A Sing-Along

I've been singing this song for a few days. Sing along with me.

My pants are too big, too big.
These pants too big.
Woo hoo, too big, too big.
My pants are too big.

I guess making up songs and singing them to your child sticks with you - even when you don't want it too. If you can't sing along, you need a kid.

The combination of exercises prescribed by my chiropractor along with the biking has been transforming flab into muscle. About a year ago I had given up on further weight loss and stopped trying. I recently finished reading Now is the Time to Open Your Heart, a novel by Alice Walker. She reminded me that the weight I carry is an emotional burden that I do not need to hold on to. Aside from biking and strength exercises for chiro, I've not consciously been trying to lose weight. However, I have been actively trying to shed the emotional baggage that has haunted me since childhood. House cleaning usually ends with a big pile to give to Goodwill. So it goes with my body.

Look for an update tomorrow night about my first bike commute to work. I'm so geeked.

Letting Loose

Suffice it to say that for many complex and varied reasons I've bottled up the part of me that really lets go, is creative and experiences joy and fun in all of its frivolity - say for about 5+ years. The transition to a cool city and several recent personal events has helped my wild woman rise to the surface and she has started to knock on the glass. In fact, I've peeled off about five layers of gunk over the course of the last ten days, which have been the most intense emotional whirlwind in a long time. The whirlwind has largely been positive and holds much promise, despite its intensity. The outcome of all of this is that I want more for myself and I want out of the prison I've built for myself.

So I've started taking steps. I have previously mentioned my love of biking in this city. I recently found a funky group of bikers and I'll be participating in their next Midnight Mystery Ride. People show up at 11:00, usually at a bar, then a leader takes the riders on a midnight bike ride to a mystery destination where people generally hang out near a fire and, well, probably drink a bit more. Some folks actually shed some clothing on the ride.

I went for an hour-long solo ride last night while my wife put Mr. Man to sleep. This was my first opportunity to ride solo, as most of my rides are with Mr. Man. It was amazingly liberating. I basically took the route I will need to take when I start bike commuting next week. The beauty of the route is astounding and unbelievable. I used the time to ride hard, clear my head and stop by the nearby creek to journal.

This Sunday I'll be taking a 25 mile ride with a local riding club. Probably not funky people, but my guess is people who just like to ride. Hopefully not too intensely athletic and with a sense of enjoyment.

I have joy in here and I want to let it out - for myself and also with others. Better look out, or next year I'll be in the naked bike ride video...

Wind, More

Tonight the wind was both helper and hindrance. I increased to the next level on my training program (the goal being to finish a 5k in August). While I ran east the wind was helper, but on the long trip back home the wind turned on me. Good news was that I exceeded my goal for the night, so I was pleased.

As I increase my running regimen, I find myself haunted by the summer of 1998 and all the intricacies of my life then - three lovers, only one of whom was healthy and made me happy, rocky roads with my partner, the death of my partner's grandmother and the best physical health of my life. That time was complicated and sad, although I didn't realize it until things fell apart.

I'm thrilled to find myself on the other side with my relationship surviving well and now one of the most satisfying aspects of my life. Now I find myself running with the content feeling that I run home to something whole, instead of running from things that were falling apart back then. If only I knew this were possible, I wouldn't have waited six years to start running again.