Thoughts on my Sabbatical
Day One
It only took five miles to feel free. I knew I was on my way to solitude, to myself.
Don't be mistaken... I took pretty much everyone with me... What is it that he said? It is in solitude where we are least alone...
That's what happens when you sit in one place for five hours. Just about everyone that has ever meant anything to you comes to mind. I conjured memories I hadn't considered in some time... there was no reason to remember these things before...
When I still visited my biological father, after the death of his mother, we used to ride in her old car. The back seat was turned away from the driver, so my sisters and I could look at the faces of the people in cars behind us. I used to tell them I knew the names of everyone in the world... so, I would say something stupid like, "Hi, Eileen!" and wave at the car behind us. Now, I was betting on the general humor adults have for cute little girls, and the drivers always waved back.
What brought this back was a moment beyond Richmond where I made the signal to a truck driver to honk the big horn. I had not done that since I was about 8 years old when my sisters and I would all make the signal and giggle with girlish delight when a truck driver complied with our request. It was a weird impulse... not sure why it occurred to me to do this, but I waved to a truck driver and a friendly tooting of the horn followed my gesture.
I also thought of an old friend that I haven't spoken to in a couple of years... I'll call him Seth. He attended a class with me at TNCC and we often talked on our way into the parking lot. More often than I'd like to admit, he would stop me from absentmindedly walking in front of moving vehicles. I have no idea what turns me into such an idiot when it comes to walking out into traffic... I have been hit by a car before, but, that hasn't made enough of an impression on me.
Nearing Rte. 81, I pulled into a rest stop, thinking my thoughts and remembering my sisters and a road trip I took with Tristan a while back. Tristan had left some articles of clothing in a hotel somewhere and we took a day trip to retrieve his belongings. As I reminisced, I suddenly noticed a boxy yellow car coming towards me. He didn't honk, he just slowed down and shook his head when I realized he was there. I mouthed the phrase, "I'm sorry" and waved as I walked quickly to the sidewalk. We caught up with each other on my way to the vending machine. "I'm sorry," my apology was audible this time. "I guess I'm just in my own world today."
"Didn't your mother tell you to look both ways before crossing the street?" he laughed warmly.
"Yes... in fact, she mentioned that tip before and after I was hit by a car." I smiled and went in search for water.
I had no idea how emotional the rest of the trip would be. After these initial pleasant thoughts came and went, I started remembering the events that drove me towards the mountains... the region in which I am most pleased, most connected to myself and the world around me. I actually did a great deal of working through my emotions in the car... considered pulling over a few times, but I was predominantly successful about pulling it together... reminding myself that the Inn was still an hour or two away. I realized how intensely I loved people... separate from themselves, their failures, their favors, their position in my world... I felt overwhelmed with the actual feelings... feelings that, I fear, I don't allow myself to experience fully within those relationships. I work so hard at being useful, at being available and reliable, that I worry people, even the ones I call friends, might not know me that well... that I'm not a full participant in my relationships. It was as relieving to see this as it was disturbing... how many miles does one need to drive before she can see where she's been?
Dora Jane has a soft, guarded voice. Her smile, however, is breathtaking. She reminds me strongly of my Russian mother... one of the most beautiful faces I've ever seen. She showed me my room, where other amenities were located in this gorgeous renovated farmhouse, and asked me when I wanted my wine and cheese basket. I almost burst in front of her... this perfect stranger... because someone was demonstrating such kindness to me. Obviously, I was paying her to do this, but in my state of mind upon checking in, I felt a pinprick hole poking into the dam.
I sat on my bed. I looked around. I listened to the night bugs singing, calling to one another, communicating without insecurity in the dark. I sipped my wine, ate a cracker, and gazed at the hummingbirds buzzing at the feeder in front of my window. I started to write down the thoughts that had attacked my brain in the car on the way down. I began to feel tired... more tired than I had been despite the events of the past couple of months. I slept the hard, dreamless sleep of the exhausted, the brokenheartedly lost, the dead.
Day Two
No matter what sort of night you've had, you perk up when a friendly voice calls up to let you know that your breakfast has been made and is on its way to you. Dora Jane's husband walked into my room and brought me a cold glass of cranberry pomegranate juice to wake up the senses. I popped in Alice in Wonderland in the DVD player and sipped my juice. Thoughts swirled in my glass, making funny shapes during my grogginess. I considered my grand plan to write until my hand fell off... but realized there was no room for review just then. My breakfast came in on a pretty wooden bed tray with a bud vase of flowers from Dora Jane's garden. I felt grateful, swallowed the homespun warmth, and prepared for an outing.
Mabry Mill seemed smaller to me. My parents took me there when I was about 3 or 4, but I have no direct memories of the place. Something about going back meant a lot to me... as though their early love might still be in the dirt, still flowing in the waters of the running Mill... that by going there, I might make contact with their youth, their true love, their rescued innocence from ending doomed first marriages. I breathed the air, I stepped on the stones, sat on the fence that must have been built a handful of years after my parents had visited. I didn't write anything at the Mill... just wanted to be with the spirits of my parents.
Up the Parkway I came to the winery I mentioned yesterday. I took a tour learning about the founder, the recycled wood that created the elaborate pillars holding up the building, the process of making the wine. While there, a few people on the tour with me learned I was from Williamsburg... come to find that they lived around Fort Eustis for some time and wanted me to say Hi to some people I would likely come across at some point... Dallas sends his regards.
I wrote while drinking a glass of a very decent Pinot Noir. The thoughts that had overwhelmed me the day before took concrete shapes... certain conclusions were less terrifying, less sad. Walls that I had created to protect myself from my feelings were not burned down, but I think I carved a doorway... prepared for me whenever I'm ready to walk on the other side. I thought of my deepest loves, my loves that needed to be lost, my weaknesses that perpetuated certain circumstances, my strengths that would allow me to let some things go forever...
The drive back was complicated, dinner was a challenge, but I watched Spirited Away as I fell asleep... crying softly, as I always do, when Lin tells No Face that if he puts one scratch on that girl that he's in big trouble...
Day Three
I realized too late that the clock in my room is about 25 minutes slow. I wanted to go downstairs and have breakfast in the dining room. I hurriedly showered and put on clothes. My heels started hitting the steep hardwood stairs right at 9AM. Two couples were already there and talking to one another as I sat at a table by the window set for one person. My journal and I mused over the trip as the coffee brewed, the strangers made small talk, and Dora Jane came out with the announcement of this morning's menu.
I saw their pet, Cat, lazing on the porch opening one eye when he sensed I was looking at him. He looked me over, then closed the eye and went back to sleep. More hummingbirds buzzed at the feeder. When you listened, you could hear the nearby brook gurgling enthusiastically as water gushed between the rocks.
Filled and satisfied, I escaped conversation and went upstairs to pack. I played Contact as I loaded up my suitcase. This story speaks to the deepest part of what makes me Me... a girl making her way through life as logically as possible and struggling when logic won't solve the issue... a girl who loves passionately and with true terror of loss holding her inside herself...
Checking out was sad. I was ready to get the drive over with, but not to leave the serenity of the farmhouse. I had already thought of bringing my immediate family with me someday... would be our kind of place, for certain. I checked out, took my things out to my car, and sat by the brook looking longingly into the lively waters. Dora Jane came to talk to me... we had an unexpected chat about life and death, our pets, adoption of children, and life in the mountains. She remained soft spoken... not much noise from a town or city with which to compete... but she listened, spoke when she needed to agree or express a thought... we parted two women with some quiet understanding of what it means to be Us...
After a long drive, I ended up with Beth in her apartment near the UVA campus in Charlottesville. We ordered Chinese and talked until 2AM about my findings while on sabbatical.
I haven't figured everything out... I haven't fixed all the damage. What I think I have done is, perhaps, some trimming, some weeding, so that new growth may perpetuate or something better can be planted. It's easier to be calm, clear-headed, and at peace. I'm at a fork in the road trying to see if the middle road is safe... and loving the adventure, even if it turns out I make a bad choice.
I'll still make one.
Sabbatical Soundtrack
(I was in the car about 10/11 hours after all)
My Stupid Mouth, John Mayer
Neon, John Mayer
Are you the one, Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds
Lonesome Tears, Beck
Gratitude, Paul McCartney
Driving Rain, Paul McCartney
Ireland, Tori Amos
Parasol, Tori Amos
Sweet the Sting, Tori Amos
On the coasts of High Barbary, John Langstaff
He's Watching, Peter Cincotti
Up on the Roof, Peter Cincotti
Have a little faith in me, John Hiatt
It only took five miles to feel free. I knew I was on my way to solitude, to myself.
Don't be mistaken... I took pretty much everyone with me... What is it that he said? It is in solitude where we are least alone...
That's what happens when you sit in one place for five hours. Just about everyone that has ever meant anything to you comes to mind. I conjured memories I hadn't considered in some time... there was no reason to remember these things before...
When I still visited my biological father, after the death of his mother, we used to ride in her old car. The back seat was turned away from the driver, so my sisters and I could look at the faces of the people in cars behind us. I used to tell them I knew the names of everyone in the world... so, I would say something stupid like, "Hi, Eileen!" and wave at the car behind us. Now, I was betting on the general humor adults have for cute little girls, and the drivers always waved back.
What brought this back was a moment beyond Richmond where I made the signal to a truck driver to honk the big horn. I had not done that since I was about 8 years old when my sisters and I would all make the signal and giggle with girlish delight when a truck driver complied with our request. It was a weird impulse... not sure why it occurred to me to do this, but I waved to a truck driver and a friendly tooting of the horn followed my gesture.
I also thought of an old friend that I haven't spoken to in a couple of years... I'll call him Seth. He attended a class with me at TNCC and we often talked on our way into the parking lot. More often than I'd like to admit, he would stop me from absentmindedly walking in front of moving vehicles. I have no idea what turns me into such an idiot when it comes to walking out into traffic... I have been hit by a car before, but, that hasn't made enough of an impression on me.
Nearing Rte. 81, I pulled into a rest stop, thinking my thoughts and remembering my sisters and a road trip I took with Tristan a while back. Tristan had left some articles of clothing in a hotel somewhere and we took a day trip to retrieve his belongings. As I reminisced, I suddenly noticed a boxy yellow car coming towards me. He didn't honk, he just slowed down and shook his head when I realized he was there. I mouthed the phrase, "I'm sorry" and waved as I walked quickly to the sidewalk. We caught up with each other on my way to the vending machine. "I'm sorry," my apology was audible this time. "I guess I'm just in my own world today."
"Didn't your mother tell you to look both ways before crossing the street?" he laughed warmly.
"Yes... in fact, she mentioned that tip before and after I was hit by a car." I smiled and went in search for water.
I had no idea how emotional the rest of the trip would be. After these initial pleasant thoughts came and went, I started remembering the events that drove me towards the mountains... the region in which I am most pleased, most connected to myself and the world around me. I actually did a great deal of working through my emotions in the car... considered pulling over a few times, but I was predominantly successful about pulling it together... reminding myself that the Inn was still an hour or two away. I realized how intensely I loved people... separate from themselves, their failures, their favors, their position in my world... I felt overwhelmed with the actual feelings... feelings that, I fear, I don't allow myself to experience fully within those relationships. I work so hard at being useful, at being available and reliable, that I worry people, even the ones I call friends, might not know me that well... that I'm not a full participant in my relationships. It was as relieving to see this as it was disturbing... how many miles does one need to drive before she can see where she's been?
Dora Jane has a soft, guarded voice. Her smile, however, is breathtaking. She reminds me strongly of my Russian mother... one of the most beautiful faces I've ever seen. She showed me my room, where other amenities were located in this gorgeous renovated farmhouse, and asked me when I wanted my wine and cheese basket. I almost burst in front of her... this perfect stranger... because someone was demonstrating such kindness to me. Obviously, I was paying her to do this, but in my state of mind upon checking in, I felt a pinprick hole poking into the dam.
I sat on my bed. I looked around. I listened to the night bugs singing, calling to one another, communicating without insecurity in the dark. I sipped my wine, ate a cracker, and gazed at the hummingbirds buzzing at the feeder in front of my window. I started to write down the thoughts that had attacked my brain in the car on the way down. I began to feel tired... more tired than I had been despite the events of the past couple of months. I slept the hard, dreamless sleep of the exhausted, the brokenheartedly lost, the dead.
Day Two
No matter what sort of night you've had, you perk up when a friendly voice calls up to let you know that your breakfast has been made and is on its way to you. Dora Jane's husband walked into my room and brought me a cold glass of cranberry pomegranate juice to wake up the senses. I popped in Alice in Wonderland in the DVD player and sipped my juice. Thoughts swirled in my glass, making funny shapes during my grogginess. I considered my grand plan to write until my hand fell off... but realized there was no room for review just then. My breakfast came in on a pretty wooden bed tray with a bud vase of flowers from Dora Jane's garden. I felt grateful, swallowed the homespun warmth, and prepared for an outing.
Mabry Mill seemed smaller to me. My parents took me there when I was about 3 or 4, but I have no direct memories of the place. Something about going back meant a lot to me... as though their early love might still be in the dirt, still flowing in the waters of the running Mill... that by going there, I might make contact with their youth, their true love, their rescued innocence from ending doomed first marriages. I breathed the air, I stepped on the stones, sat on the fence that must have been built a handful of years after my parents had visited. I didn't write anything at the Mill... just wanted to be with the spirits of my parents.
Up the Parkway I came to the winery I mentioned yesterday. I took a tour learning about the founder, the recycled wood that created the elaborate pillars holding up the building, the process of making the wine. While there, a few people on the tour with me learned I was from Williamsburg... come to find that they lived around Fort Eustis for some time and wanted me to say Hi to some people I would likely come across at some point... Dallas sends his regards.
I wrote while drinking a glass of a very decent Pinot Noir. The thoughts that had overwhelmed me the day before took concrete shapes... certain conclusions were less terrifying, less sad. Walls that I had created to protect myself from my feelings were not burned down, but I think I carved a doorway... prepared for me whenever I'm ready to walk on the other side. I thought of my deepest loves, my loves that needed to be lost, my weaknesses that perpetuated certain circumstances, my strengths that would allow me to let some things go forever...
The drive back was complicated, dinner was a challenge, but I watched Spirited Away as I fell asleep... crying softly, as I always do, when Lin tells No Face that if he puts one scratch on that girl that he's in big trouble...
Day Three
I realized too late that the clock in my room is about 25 minutes slow. I wanted to go downstairs and have breakfast in the dining room. I hurriedly showered and put on clothes. My heels started hitting the steep hardwood stairs right at 9AM. Two couples were already there and talking to one another as I sat at a table by the window set for one person. My journal and I mused over the trip as the coffee brewed, the strangers made small talk, and Dora Jane came out with the announcement of this morning's menu.
I saw their pet, Cat, lazing on the porch opening one eye when he sensed I was looking at him. He looked me over, then closed the eye and went back to sleep. More hummingbirds buzzed at the feeder. When you listened, you could hear the nearby brook gurgling enthusiastically as water gushed between the rocks.
Filled and satisfied, I escaped conversation and went upstairs to pack. I played Contact as I loaded up my suitcase. This story speaks to the deepest part of what makes me Me... a girl making her way through life as logically as possible and struggling when logic won't solve the issue... a girl who loves passionately and with true terror of loss holding her inside herself...
Checking out was sad. I was ready to get the drive over with, but not to leave the serenity of the farmhouse. I had already thought of bringing my immediate family with me someday... would be our kind of place, for certain. I checked out, took my things out to my car, and sat by the brook looking longingly into the lively waters. Dora Jane came to talk to me... we had an unexpected chat about life and death, our pets, adoption of children, and life in the mountains. She remained soft spoken... not much noise from a town or city with which to compete... but she listened, spoke when she needed to agree or express a thought... we parted two women with some quiet understanding of what it means to be Us...
After a long drive, I ended up with Beth in her apartment near the UVA campus in Charlottesville. We ordered Chinese and talked until 2AM about my findings while on sabbatical.
I haven't figured everything out... I haven't fixed all the damage. What I think I have done is, perhaps, some trimming, some weeding, so that new growth may perpetuate or something better can be planted. It's easier to be calm, clear-headed, and at peace. I'm at a fork in the road trying to see if the middle road is safe... and loving the adventure, even if it turns out I make a bad choice.
I'll still make one.
Sabbatical Soundtrack
(I was in the car about 10/11 hours after all)
My Stupid Mouth, John Mayer
Neon, John Mayer
Are you the one, Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds
Lonesome Tears, Beck
Gratitude, Paul McCartney
Driving Rain, Paul McCartney
Ireland, Tori Amos
Parasol, Tori Amos
Sweet the Sting, Tori Amos
On the coasts of High Barbary, John Langstaff
He's Watching, Peter Cincotti
Up on the Roof, Peter Cincotti
Have a little faith in me, John Hiatt
Thank you for bringing me home...
2 comments:
Well, glad you gained some self-awareness on your trip. I hope you also feel relaxed! You're so much deeper than I, at least when it comes to LIVING. I go on a trip to NOT reflect and to just enjoy creature comforts. What's it like being deep? :)
Anyway, watch out for cars, Gen. They'll get you. One dent is cute, any more and you'd probably start to look really strange!
TvT
It means so much to me to hear from you... to have these feelings read. Thank you, my friend... and I'll try to stop walking into traffic, but, I do live in Williamsburg... Most of the locals perpetuate the same bad habit. ;)
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