Writing to Live

I'm back.

It only took six years apparently.

It took about five years for the, "You need to write," voice to become louder than anything else I needed to do, and another year for me to actually listen, which is a whole 'nother thing....

Six years ago it became apparent to me overnight that I had to turn my attention to a project that would take all my energy: Building a life on my own.

I did that. The journey has been as rewarding as it has been hard.

Six years ago I instantly dropped all creative work and went into serious survival mode. From the initial job-search to the eventual house-buying, I felt my plate was full. There was little time or emotional energy for creating, only space to exhale, recover and try to have a little fun. However, over the past year or more, I have found myself driving to work on Mondays without a feeling of anxiety over getting through another week, and, I now have time and space for travel, reading and many, many time-wasting endeavors. I'm breathing easier.

These days "You need to write," voice is very loud. I have resisted it with every imaginable lame argument, until recently, I lost the debate. The argument trumping all others was this: If I don't throw in and start writing, I will never know. I will never know what I could have written or what it is like to be a writer. I will have the regret of the un-lived life.

I can see myself on my death bed saying, "But wait...I was going to write something really, really good."

Six years ago I loved this blog, maybe read by a handful of people. I was taking baby steps to see if I, like everyone who aspires to do something creative, had the courage to put my stuff out there and create a tiny piece of art with my choice of words. It felt great. It gave me an outlet for my thoughts and a growing feeling of confidence and satisfaction every time I got to click on the word "publish." It was as if I was a real author.

The only writing I've done since is is scribbling in scores of journals for my own mental health. So, I have to start back with baby steps. However, I've grown up a lot in six years, maybe I can get to full-on walking before too long.

Swimming

I am swimming.

After plowing through the water for weeks, I am suddenly swimming.

I really thought I would be plowing forever, splashing inefficiently and forcing myself to stare at that damn black line...I really thought it would never be more than that. I have taken up swimming a few times before, and I've never progressed beyond that. It has never flowed, I have never glided.

I just needed to accept it.

I used to think that if I really worked at something in life, I would get better at it. At some point, life would begin to flow, and it would feel like gliding...it would feel right. Then experience, and other people, convinced me I couldn't, and shouldn't expect that. Things in life are hard and they only get so good, and you need a formula to muddle through.

But...I am swimming now.

It was so sudden, it just clicked. One day I found myself reaching farther with every stroke, feeling stronger with every lap. It shocked me--I had quit expecting things to "click."

So, there is my proof. Sometimes at least, life works the way I thought it should. I was right. Contrary to all those rule-following naysayers who said I shouldn't expect things to flow, sometimes they do.

When I decided to take up swimming this time, it was really just a resignation. I have a beautiful pool a couple blocks from my house--I should throw myself in there a couple times a week for cross-training. I never expected to be gliding within a few weeks...

Well, gliding is too strong a word, but I am swimming. I am pulling myself through the water and getting stronger...can gliding be far off?

I'm expecting it.

New Mexico

Well, regular life has resumed, if at a much slower pace. Unlike D.C., people in New Mexico are not rushing around trying to conquer the world, or save it. It seems they are happy to just be here...this is one quiet, sleepy town.

It's cool. I haven't waited in a line since I've been here, traffic and parking problems are non-existent. I've met a few locals, then run into them a couple times since--it's that small of a town. We've been saying that we have to allow an extra 20 minutes if we're going to run errands in town, no one is in a hurry and they love to shoot the breeze.

There's been something to do every weekend. There's a little park in town where all the festivities take place--the pancake breakfast, the Cottonwood Festival, the Wine Festival, the Balloon Festival, the Fiesta--and as you might imagine, once you've been to one, you've pretty much been to them all. There's always a few booths with a few artists and vendors, and a stage with a local band playing...that's pretty much it.

The weather has been nice since we got here, and it's true, the sunsets over the desert mountains are worth a look every night. I do a lot of dogwalking/running out there, it's giving me a quiet, big sky, God-must-exist perspective. Plenty of air to breathe and horizon to vent to--I do not feel hemmed in living on-base.

Apparently it's hunting season. I've overheard some locals talking it up and even saw a guy carrying a rifle downtown--we are in the West. Lots of pick-up trucks, ball caps and a few cowboy hats. I had my first rattlesnake encounter--it was the sound that was more startling than the snake--he gave me a nice warning I took to heart.

If I'm home, or near home I get to hear music every day, a couple of times. Each day at 4:30 loudspeakers all over base play the national anthem. Wherever you are, or if you're driving, you are to stop in your tracks, face the direction of the flag, and listen. I find myself trying to work around it if I'm withing earshot--not that I don't like the anthem, it just feels a little...staged. And, because we have a German squadron based here, on Wednesdays they play the German anthem first, then ours. It's only hospitable I suppose. The whole thing reminds me of the organized way of living in Japan, where every little town had their loudspeakers play a song at 6pm. We would make up our own words to those.

So I'm not sure about the 4:30 call to patriotism, but what is growing on me is the 10 pm playing of "Taps," every night. At first it was a little startling--I felt like I was living in a movie and was reminded that any of our people could be called away to fight and die at any time. Now I'm finding it painfully quieting. It is a reminder of what could happen, is happening, and of our purpose here, and that is just, well, true.

Back On the Horse...

Well I got bucked off the writing horse.

I think it was the move, the traveling, the adjustments to a new life and place--I'll even blame feeling under the weather for a few days. It takes some time to even figure out what I feel about a new life and a new environment, and I don't feel quite like myself here yet.

There are a couple of ways to get back on a horse you've been thrown off...I know this from experience.

You can jump on, grab that mane and hang on, hoping you stay on and gain control before you're thrown again...OR, you can take your time, try to manage the horse close to a fence, be still and quiet, climb up the fence and slowly ease yourself back into the saddle. Maybe the horse won't even know your back on until your set and ready to deal with the beast.

Anyone who knows me knows I'm going to take my time...

On Writing

"Artists never thrive in colonies. Ants do. What the budding artist needs is the privilege of wrestling with his problems in solitude--and now and then a piece of red meat."

Henry Miller

"For Christ sake and don't worry what the boys will say nor whether it will be a masterpiece nor what. I write one page of masterpiece to ninety-one pages of shit. I try to put the shit in the waste-basket....Forget your personal tragedy. We are all bitched from the start and you especially have to be hurt like hell before you can write seriously."

Ernest Hemingway, in a letter to F. Scott Fitzgerald (1934)

"There's no one out there waiting for it, and nobody's going to scold you if you don't do it."

Lynne Sharon Schwartz

"It's easy, after all not to be a writer. Most people aren't writers, and very little harm comes to them."

Julian Barnes

"Writing is easy. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and open a vein."

Red Smith

"The most solid advice...for a writer is this, I think: Try to learn to breathe deeply, really to taste food when you eat, and when you sleep, really to sleep. Try as much as possible to be wholly alive, with all your might, and when you laugh, laugh like hell, and when you get angry, get good and angry. Try to be alive. You will be dead soon enough."

William Saroyan

Sacrifice, Sweet Tea and Western Skies

I was ready to leave the beach…it was a nice break, but it wasn’t real life.

We left there and headed directly north to an Army base in Georgia. An Army Ranger friend was having a party and participating in an event so we decided to make it our first stop.

Many of the people at the party just got back from Iraq or Afghanistan, and our friend is heading over there next month. He’s been over there a lot, even been shot a few times. He has a titanium plate in his leg for crying out loud…

The event was a Change of Command ceremony. I’ve been to several in the Air Force, they’re always a little moving as one commander leaves his leadership position and what has consumed most of his time the past two years, and another one takes charge. In the Air Force it typically happens in a hanger…the squadron of 20 or 30 pilots and a few others stand at attention in front of jets. It’s a picture of our war-fighting capability—a few people and multimillion dollar tools.

At the Army Ranger ceremony there were no tools of war. Standing at attention behind the outgoing and incoming leaders were just men. There were of course no jets, but also no tanks, no artillery, no helicopters--no tools. Just 1500 well-trained, highly-fit men, all of whom would rather be fighting the fight than standing on that parade field. They are the tools of war...their well-trained bodies, their minds, their willingness and whatever they can carry on their backs.

It was a stunning picture.

The outgoing commander choked back tears reciting the names of the ten men he’d lost in his two years of command. Then he apologized to his kids for not being there, and complimented their mother’s raising of them.

Wow. Our Air Force people are gone some and work a lot, but we don’t lose many and our people don't typically have to concede they haven’t even raised their own children. We are feeling this war, but not at that level of stress and loss. We are removed from it with our outlying bases and our multimillion dollar airplanes flying high above the fray. Army Rangers are over there all the time doing America's bidding, and I could feel the sacrifice.

I was struck by the clear knowledge they were giving their lives for this. It’s always interesting to see what people do with their lives, but usually it isn’t so clear. People are into their jobs and families, just living their lives and getting by, maybe not thinking too hard on what they are spending their lives.

Those are the exactly the words that came to mind watching those men—They have decided to spend their lives on this. They've done all the work to be fit, strong, willing and able to do whatever it takes, whatever it takes, over and over again. And with all their battle scars they are not crushed, or even weakened, they are strong and fired-up and itching to go again. It was obvious to me it’s just what they do, like there is no other option. Everything else falls into place behind this mission--no compromises--family and even religion get in line behind it.

I’ve heard a lot of prayers in my life, but the one at this event about knocked me over. In the Air Force we have chaplains of all faiths, saying prayers that tend to be pretty generic and politically correct. This chaplain pulled no punches. He basically called for a holy war—in Jesus’ name, of course. He not only prayed the Psalm of David asking God to “Prepare their hands for war,” but he also called down God’s "fury upon our enemies."

Wow again. No love of Jesus? No mercy? Yeah, no F-ing way. You know the other side is praying the same thing, not realizing God bleeds red, white and blue. Yikes. I wonder what God is thinking about all this...

I hate it when people mix patriotism and God…like he’s blessed us and is on our side because we’ve been so good following him. It was one of the last straws weighing down my Christian camel’s back a few years ago. I gave this chaplain a break though…I don’t know how many dead or injured Rangers he’s prayed over, he might deserve to be angry. I suppose the Rangers appreciated the prayer, and truthfully, I actually thought to myself, “Whatever you guys have to think to get the job done.” I’ll let them have it. I'll let them have whatever reality they live in that fires them up to give their lives to this...

Why? Because I’m sleeping in a safe bed and driving around drinking a Starbucks with my radio blasting, that’s why. And although no one is making them do it, they’ve chosen to give their lives to going to war for this country. They might not even be doing it for noble reasons, they might just be good at it and get a bang off it, but they can have that too...

Why? Because someone has to do it.

The next day in the car traveling across the South we were listening to country radio and I had to fight back tears when I heard a pro-military, patriotic song bragging about how we can rage at our enemies and silence them easily. Yes, I suppose we can, but there is a heavy price. Are we even looking at the bill?

I for one, am tired of paying it.

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We had to cross Alabama, and ended up in Montgomery at lunchtime. Ummm, fried chicken and sweet tea one more time...

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We didn’t have time for much sightseeing, but wanted to take a little downtime every day, so we decided to stop at Vicksburg National Battlefield and Cemetery in Mississippi. We’ve visited a few battlefields from our wars, and it always takes some imagination to understand how things went down. Here the battle was over the river, control of the Mississippi was imperative to both sides in the Civil War. President Lincoln himself mandated that Grant clear the Mississippi of Southern strongholds.

Well he did easily, except for here at Vicksburg, where the Confederates were dug in deep. It took several attempts, a months-long battle, and finally a siege before Grant finally succeeded. The National Cemetery there has 17,000 Union dead...13,000 of them unknown. Countless Rebels are buried a few hills over, they apparently don't deserve the honor of the National Cemetery. The details were brutal. I guess it's always taken a lot of sacrifice to make this country what it is.

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I found that the farther west we drove the more comfortable I became. I know that is crazy and I didn’t give any state its due time, but I liked Mississippi more than Alabama, and by the time we drove into Texas I was feeling more like myself.

It doesn’t make a lot of sense, because really, how much does it really matter where I live in the USA, but I am such a Westerner. Every time I move back west after having lived east I am struck by it. I do not fit in the cities of the East, nor in the South. I am more relaxed and comfortable, the farther west I get.

So when we crossed the Mississippi Texas just felt plain good to me. The terrain started to open up, and I saw the big Texas sky. That’s why I know New Mexico will be okay…it’s the West. Since there is open sky, mountains, and a quick hop to the Pacific I'll be fine. It’s fun to live other places, but there’s just no getting me to change stripes I guess.

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One reason Texas is great is because people who are from there love it so much--they are all believers. We have several Air Force friends from Texas and it’s like it’s bred into them…they are proud of Texas and always plan to return. Why would they want to live anywhere else? Kevin always says he wishes he was from Texas and thought it was the greatest place…then he could buy a million acres for next to nothing, settle there, and actually believe he was in the best place.

Instead…we know better. Unfortunately so does every other Californian...hence the price difference.

I do like Texas…it’s just open, bright and BIG. It had to grow on me though, it was our first stop on this Air Force journey when we were first married and I was not impressed. I think I couldn’t get why it wasn’t more like California. Now I just let it be Texas. This time I got so carried away with it I bought a pair of boots.

We spent three nights getting across it, and after Ft. Worth there wasn’t much to see but beautiful sky. We left green behind and embraced the desert...again. But about an hour or two before we got to our new home we entered some surprisingly beautiful, green mountains, and the temperature dropped 40 degrees. Nice. It jumped right back up though as we descended to our new town, and I decided I needed an ice cream to deal with my new reality.

So far New Mexico is working for me, partly because those cool mountains are always in view. In only 30 minutes I can be there.

Delusions

I watched the movie “A Beautiful Mind” the other day.

The brilliant man in the movie went a little crazy, he saw and heard people that weren’t there. Those delusions became his mechanisms for getting through life. His mind and its dysfunctional patterns got away from him.

Finally at a desperate point he was forced to look hard to find the flaw in his reality—he was about to lose everything. He then made the incredibly difficult choice to every day pass on what he felt and saw, on what seemed to be working for him, the alternate reality that for so long comforted him and made him feel important.

It’s not that different than what we all have to do if we want to get past our bunk and dysfunctional mechanisms--discern what is real, then choose to pass over and over on things that aren’t. Like the man in the movie, we have to say “no” to our own delusions; else we too are carried deeper into our own dysfunctional patterns, our own brand of crazy. It doesn’t matter that we can see and feel them, that they make us feel important or that they seem to be getting us through this difficult life.

That’s faith—believing there’s something worth that painful journey…There is hope for change, it matters what we do, and there is more to life than what we see.

The man in the movie also added healthy patterns to his life: He became part of a community, developed some attachments to people to “elbow out the delusions.” He had to quit treating his delusions as real; quit talking to them, quit giving them his time and attention…quit feeding them. He replaced time spent on them with real, hard work. He also had the love and care of someone who believed in him and affirmed his right steps. Maybe no one does it alone.

He never got completely free of his delusions, we rarely get miraculously healed, although we're taught to pray and wait for it. No one tells us instead we have to face down the delusions and “elbow them out."

Every damn day.