When You Get There, Will You Know?

"When you get there, will you know?"- Robert Plant "Come Into My Life"

This apropos song came up I as walked today. 

So what does success look like in this journey? I don't know. The losses are all still there. Walking or not walking won't change them. I already know that I'll meet or beat whatever standards I'll set for myself. If someone asked for two traits I value in myself, I would assuredly pick loyalty and endurance. Still, despite the fact that work is piling up at home, it feels good to be out and about.

Today, it was easier to be detached from the world. I checked my notebook and phone rarely. I certainly noticed my body more. Despite carrying a gallon of liquid out with me, the heat and wind forced a constant battle with dehydration. There was maybe a mile of my journey to day that had any significant amount of shade. There were no services of any kind again. When I finally ran out of fluid altogether, I sat down at the edge of the road and called for an extraction. No heroics, no agonizing over being a few miles short of the goal I had hoped for. I'm moving more slowly than I'd like, but much faster than I could have imagined given my complete lack of training for this particular walk. I'm even secretly pleased that my pale,out of shape winter body has responded as well as it has. The miles come hard. At times I am keenly aware of the blisters and aches and wonder if I am just punishing myself. At other times, the walk does what it was designed to do, be the vehicle of meditation. And of course, a get away vehicle. It's hard to be profoundly sad when all along your journey, tadpoles are flashing through the puddles and marsh just inches from your feet, birds are circling overhead, and the relentless sun has found the two places on my arms and the one place on my neck that I did not adequately cover with sun screen. I saw baby vultures. All manner of flowers and plants are emerging. The soft earth along the roadside is covered with footprints and scat. New life. Am I running from life out here or joining it? When I get there, will I know?

Free Fall

     So....five years have flown past. A lifetime happened in those five years and now I find myself standing in a place I had hoped to never see again. A place of needing rebirth and redirection. A place where the sense of loss in the face of so many gifts and so much grace is bewildering. The horror of discovering that all these things I thought I had coped with so well in this half decade weren't coped with at all. They were just sitting in a calcified cavern in my soul and when one of the walls was moved by the departure of my longtime boyfriend, the insides came spilling out. About a moth ago, I started crying and can't really stop. An ocean of tears flowing under the surface that I never saw until they started spilling. I've kept moving while they flowed, working on building the farm stand, cleaning out the old house so it can come down and make way for my Mom and Dad's place, starting the spring chores that lead to a successful farm summer.....I've made and kept dates with many of you, kept putting foot in front of the other. And they are good times, truly. I'm just in some weird place where the beauty around me ....can't be treasured like it should. Many of you have reached out and made super human efforts to support me and keep me moving during this time. I'd still be picking at pieces of the poison purple glass in the farmhouse if Maggie, Gavin, Larry, Jamie et all hadn't kept me moving. Thanks also to Diana, for getting me moving again in the studio. I deeply appreciate each of you. Again, the stark contrast of so much love and support in the face of my own desolation.
     This is a rough time of year for me anyway. The days are short, the nights are too long, there is much that needs done and I rarely feel like doing it. Again, I'm moving around. I've lost a few pounds. I try and swim or do something active a few times a week. I'm cooking nutritious food. I'm even cooking it in small batches so it doesn't spoil while I continue to gnaw on it. It is not enough to sustain me.
     The anniversaries roll around. Cancer. I'm still healing and rarely acknowledge it. My tongue still feels weird as nerves regrow. I continue to suffer from dry mouth, particularly at night. It causes much discomfort. Sensation is ever so slowly returning to my face. I get cold easier, and I still seem to need more sleep. Mazie's death; there is still one nose print on the inside of my car I can't bring myself to clear off.  Grandparent Birthdays and death dates. Another anniversary for David's death, my cousin's death, and so on. Memories from my married life in every inch of the old house. Ghosts. Ghosts that suddenly come into focus through the lens of tears.
     So even as I tumble through space, knowing that so many of my friends have been through so much and worse, and that I really have no right to be carrying on about my small sufferings, I know that I have to do something to right myself and get back on with things.
     I'm going to start walking again. It is my intention right now to leave Wednesday morning. I'm walking south from New Castle with no destination or timetable in mind. Maybe I'll only walk to the end of the block and feel better. I just don't know.
     I know a lot of you will be hurt and confused that I haven't reached out. I even have appointments with some of you. I'll need to reschedule. It's not personal, depression does that. Right now, the mean voices in my head that like to point out that I am a freak and have no hope of ever finding peace or love or comfort are running rough shod. In the rational world, I know it's not true. Then the ghosts get to rattling their chains reminding me that life and love are temporary and we're all gonna die and the tears start again. Walking has worked for me before. Because of my schedule, the time of year (read lambing), and my poor physical condition, I am going to start by day hiking and return home via car each night. I trained for 18 months last time to heft that 40 pound pack and carry it into the mountains and I'm certainly not in that kind of condition right now.
      No, I don't want to talk about it, so please don't rush to your cell phones. I will be limiting my exposure to internet and phone on the road, but I will check in. If you want to join me and walk a few miles, I'll entertain that. If you want to volunteer to pick me up or take me back out one morning, that would be cool too.
     Much love to all.

   

Exit Strategy

In the end, I got barely thirty days in the wilderness, and virtually none of it as alone as I imagined. I suffered through some of my goals, saw more than I ever though possible, and in good American tradition, left a brilliant foundation for a sequel. By the time I post this, some of you will know that I have returned to America early to resume caring for my farm. Eric, already struggling to fill in for me, has accepted a full time position with Fiskers, the electric car company that took over the old GM plant. Despite the fact there will be no product until 2013, he started training immediately.
I've spent the last ten days exploring the west coast of Scotland, Isle of Skye , and the Outer Hebrides isle of Lewis & Harris with my friend David. Initially, he had planned to come up for a long weekend, but the vast remoteness of the country there, and the inaccessibility of attractions made a short trip pointless. The most fascinating sites are often separated by twenty or thirty miles, with few buses and no services or even places to refill a canteen with water. He rented a car after we missed the only bus of the day from an extremely remote destination. (We didn't actually miss it, the bus driver just rolled right by four of us, looking straight ahead, speeding away...) The car was enormously helpful, we put over 600 miles on it in less than a week.
So how do you condense a wonderful week and a half of exploration into a paragraph or three that won't make people grind their molars off as they read it? Part of the magic was the people we met; Sven, a humorous German fellow who rode with us for a few days.. Jarrod, a teen and avid fisherman in our hostel who turned 19 Friday night and who cooked two of the best trout I've ever eaten yesterday....a local woman at a craft festival who bought not, one but two heather plants....(for surely I've already mentioned the heather infested moors in a previous post?) and then waved them in my face, while I tried not to laugh, as she regaled us with stories about her trip to America...
The places? The standing stones (sort of like Stonehenge), the old churches or ruins? The rugged coastlines or endless trails to walk? Finding the first legal scotch distillery on the island in 200 years- but apparently it's not allowed to advertise? The guide books and tourist information for the area weren't comprehensive, so a lot of it was just piecing things together and stumbling onto other things.

Things Happen When You Let the Universe Choose for You

Last week, I took a day of rest. I elected to stay in the hostel and venture out only to get groceries and make a real chicken vegetable soup.
On of the guiding principles on this trip is that I need to read for pleasure again, something I just don't take time to do at home. There are some rules in my game though. I can only carry one book. After my initial thrift store book purchase, I'm not allowed to buy another book- I have to take what I find for free left behind in bus stations, hostels, or where ever. I have to finish the book. (When I do read at home, I often have multiple books going. ) The books I've taken on have all had something to offer, even if only minimally, and the game has been fun.
So.... my initial Ian Rankin (Scottish serial writer of mostly police stories) purchase was traded for a book called IDORU, a  not too distantly futuristic story where technology is more invasive, the net more interactive, with a cyber world that can interact with our world in very different ways. Not a great piece of literature, but evocative to me in the same way that Avatar was.
I traded that off for a story set in Malaysia about a hideous, dysfunctional family. Power, greed, incest, elder abuse, politics, unfaithfulness all had starring appearances. The book was well written, but the people were so horrifying, that I ended up writing a journal section clarifying my own personal life values.  (They included creating love, order, being busy and productive- but not overwhelmed, clear and honest  communication, the joy of new learning, and finding new ways to be more self sustaining/ less impactful of the earth.)
So finally, the dreadful book was finished, and I explained my game to a passing Australian tourist. She gave me a book called "Horse Boy," the story of a father who takes his autistic son to some shamans in Mongolia for healing. As I read, it occurred to me that I had read many similar stories over the years and had enjoyed them. When I was younger, it was so hard for me to relate to others and I felt so alienated from general society, that I feared that I was on that  autistic spectrum, or at least hoped there was some rational explanation for my being so different.... Now I realize that I like these types of stories because they are generally joyful anecdotes about people way outside the norm finally finding some way to overcome their barriers and integrate with society in a more meaningful way. I have the blessing of many supportive, loving friends and family members, so I no longer feel the total alienation that I once did, but finding a way to fit in is still a struggle. While that struggle to fit and redefine myself may be fascinating, what really moved me about this book was a bit from the boy's mom.
"It's like he's a born Buddhist," said Kristen. Over the last few years, Kristen's Buddhist practice had been merging more and more with her academic psychology work. Specifically, she had been conducting research into the Buddhist concept of self compassion; the idea being to cultivate kindness and forgiveness towards yourself, as well as others: no easy task, especially in times of suffering or failure. However, the studies she'd been publishing seemed to show that self compassion was better for mental health than the conventional psychological wisdom, which equates self esteem with positive mental health. Kristen had found that the constant pursuit of self esteem becomes, over time, an obsession with feeling special and superior, an emotional roller coaster you can never get off of. By contrast, self compassion allows you to look clearly at yourself, forgive yourself, and then make the necessary changes to achieve equilibrium.....she goes on to comment on her son, "It's as if he takes nothing personally. He suffers in the moment, then lets the suffering go. He doesn't carry on the story line and make a personal drama of it."
Wow. I think I just got a message from the universe!

What Really Matters....

"Nothing can bring you peace, but yourself."- Ralph Waldo Emerson

So, today, I finished hiking Hadrian's Wall. Considering how frustrated I was Wednesday, this was not necessarily a forgone conclusion. Today, despite the pelting rain,  was a grand day, most notably for the fact  that I walked without being in hideous pain for the first time on this journey. I have eaten a whole bottle of motrin, all 100 tablets, this week. At times I considered snorting them, shoving them under my skin, and maybe tucking them up my other end, just in case it could be more readily absorbed this way. To finally have my body accepting that this hike is going to happen, that I have a whole nother country to walk across, is such a gift. (Not that it feels GOOD yet, lets not be hasty....)

So here is what matters, lesson-wise, so far:

*It's often easier to go uphill, than down.
*Stop and look back.
*Small kindnesses matter! The lady who brought my drenched, sorry self a cup of hot tea from her home today, while I waited two hours in the rain for the bus. The Irish fellow who refilled my water bottle a long way from nowhere. Les, who took me in for a night when I couldn't walk another step, even though his hostel was closed. The farmer who returned me to the trail after I had strayed a goodly distance. Joan, from the Quaker meeting in Carlisle, who took me home for a lovely home cooked lunch Sunday afternoon. Just dozens of pleasant, cheerful, helpful people along the way, too many kindnesses to name....
*Good boots. No other part of my body is dry, but my feet are. (Thanks, Dad & Mom.) Good walking poles too. (Thanks Corla!) If for no other reason than when you are laid out flat on the ground, you can sort of pull yourself along with them. Or at least use them to pull small, shiny bits of trash closer to you so you have something to look at while you suffer.

I had hoped for dramatic changes and insights into my life as a result of this trip, and I expect the results will be more subtle, but already, I see some clarity and purpose to my return home in October.
Open your pubs, Scotland!!!!! Ima comin'!

Touchdown, Gratitude, and getting started. Tomorrow.

My arrival into the third world hell hole of London was as uneventful as could be! The streets, shown on TV as full of looters and all sorts of burning things only days before appeared normal. A few boarded up windows here and again, but nothing too alarming. I've been delayed yet another day here, trying desperately to get my phone unlocked and secure local data service before my bus leaves for New Castle tomorrow morning. I've been told suppertime tonight, that I can pick my phone up, and it SHALL BE DONE.... hopefully so! ( Note, it was not done, and I am now carrying a stupid phone with a UK number.)
There have been a lot of small irritations in the lift off, GPS not working, Tmobile failing to unlock my phone, clutch going out on the car on the way to the airport, but many joys as well. So many friends stopped by in the last days before my departure. Thank you all for the support, love, gifts... Im touched in the most indescribable of ways. I haven't even begun the journey yet and the tug of home is working on my heart.
Home is far away now and my gear is exploded all over the floor of David's guest room as I sift through it over and over again, trying for figure out what to leave behind. Food is even more expensive than I remembered, and the VAT tax has gone up to fund the Olympics, so the nuts and dark chocolate bars I got cheaply at BBs were packed first. Ive only seen the sun for a few minutes early this morning, and it's cold! Im so glad for the thermals and windbreakers. I'm packing a lot of my gear into zip lock bags in an effort to stay dry. Update: Im leaving for Scotland NOW. I need a Sherpa. How did this $%#^%# bag get so heavy?
The time in London has been grand. I've been to two fabulous restraunts, one turkish, one scottish, to the National Portrait Gallery and the Tate, and I've destroyed my liver. David's friends have been amazing and fun. I need to wash and the cab comes in 17 minutes. Haven't slept yet and this post is almost inarticulate, but I'm slapping it on the web anyway. Love to all.

Exam Week

How can a whole month have flown past? When I posted last, time seemed like a fat cat in a sunny window, luxuriating, purring, in no hurry at all. Now, I am the fat cat in the window, stiff from laying in one spot too long, and surprised to find that the sun has been long down, and I may in fact, have missed dinner.
Important, must-be-done projects vie for my attention, and new ones smack me in the face, literally. I've lost enough weight to where my glasses fall off if I bend over, so somehow, I have to jam in a trip to the eye glass place. After taxes, getting my cell phone unlocked, packing, one more fundraiser.....
In any case, on Tuesday, my journey begins.
Why a vision quest and why now? (And why a blog post now, when I should be out repairing the roof on my rental house?)
A vision quest is traditionally defined as a journey undertaken by a young person entering into adulthood. It is discussed as a  rite of passage or a transition. This is where I find myself, as I transition through the approximate mid point of my life.  Maybe, because I settled down at such a young age, I missed some important steps in maturation. Perhaps the failure to have taken the proper steps earlier in my life explains my inability to fully accept myself or to settle into a more typical life pattern. At this point, all the things I identified myself by are stale or deteriorated. Married only in name, I'm no longer a wife. Mother to a very independent and self sufficient young man, my days are no longer full of the homeschooling and carpooling demands that once devoured my time. My farm, while successful at least in reputation and product quality, has turned into a daily slog. I am no longer filled with a sense of wonder over my plants and animals, only an endless dread of the weeding and mucking, and the constant strain of trying to produce more, to somehow turn a profit. I've tried many things in my life, most of which have been satisfying for awhile.

"After you have exhausted what there is in business, politics, conviviality, and so on- have found that none of these fully satisfy, or permanently wear- what remains?" Walt Whitman

Indeed. What remains? As a society, no real value is placed on thinking about these things. There are plenty of very social acceptable ways that I could fill my days. I could volunteer more or remarry. I'm sure I could get a pill prescribed for my malaise, or find ways to numb myself to the passing of time. The reality is that maybe I've been numb for too long already. No church sermon is going to pave my way, no trip to the mall for retail therapy is going to give me the new outlook I need. In the end, only a hard, long, honest look at myself is going to help me find new tools a dreams that will bring joy and meaning to the latter half of my life.
Perhaps this journey is just a search for a graceful way into middle age. I hope it will be more. I dream of healing, clarity, renewal, and purpose. A vision quest...

"Do not mirror the behavior and customs of the world; be a new and different person that brings a freshness to all you do." Romans 12:2