Category: Grief

My Ten Days of Christmas: Day 10

Posted on Posted in Christmas, Grief, Growth, Self-care, travel, UncategorizedTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

Mismatched Striped Wings

I awoke from a bad dream. My head was aching. I made coffee but then went back to bed. Echos of the dream reverberated in my brain so I got up, took coffee to the beach and sat in the sand allowing the residual fear and anxiety to drain away. This was my last full day in Chicamacomico and gratefully, I’d established an agenda for myself.

I drove to Frisco, which is about 38 miles south of Rodanthe, to go horseback riding. I hadn’t been on a horse since I was a teenager. But strong memories remain. I loved everything about being around horses, even the smells — leather mingling with a horse’s sweat, the hay, the manure, the sweet feed, the horse’s breath.

I arrived at the stable in Frisco and was met with the familiar smells. I felt like I was home. Horses are in my blood somehow.

The horse I was to ride was named Bo. As soon as I met him, he began kissing my face. Not licking it. He gently pressed his muzzle up against my face and held it there for a seriously long time. He never tried to lick me or nibble on me. He just nuzzled me with his muzzle. Prickly whiskers, nostrils flared and snorting air, musky horse breath. For way too long.

I mounted Bo and thanked him constantly for bearing my weight on his back for two hours. I was acutely aware of the fact that the reigns in my hands were attached to a bit in Bo’s mouth. The saddle cinched around his belly and the stirrups hanging down his sides were instruments I used in conjunction with the reigns to make Bo do what I wanted him to do. It seemed an unbalanced alliance. So I offered many thanks, much praise and a few I love you’s as he walked in sand and through woods to reach the ocean.

The path through the woods was narrow with lots of obstacles for him to negotiate: hills, tree roots, water holes. But once we reached the ocean and Bo could run, he seemed happy. I was happy, too.

Like I said, I hadn’t been on a horse since my teenage years. I had forgotten all the muscles that are used in riding a horse. I’m feeling them after the fact.

After my ride, I went to the Frisco Native American Museum. This was an odd place. It was established by one man from his own personal acquisitions and it really seemed more like a collection, less like a museum. There were beautiful Native American artifacts from across the United States and a bit of general information on groups of items. I had so many questions and the only person working there was a woman in the gift shop. I imagine she could have answered all the questions, but I did not want to distract her from her post.

It is hard to look at items that come from people that my ancestors annihilated: items that had been made with intention, that carried a meaning and purpose of which I was not cognizant.

There were a couple of clubs that I fixated on. I wanted to look away but could not. There was a life to them that spoke of conflict, of counting coup, of the sacred bonds of community and the desire to secure that community’s interests. Could it be there is a reason for violence? This was a question I was not comfortable with, and I lingered looking at these clubs for longer than I did any other item in the museum. One of them had a demonic-looking face which I could not fully see because of the light reflecting off the glass. And from the expression on his half-hidden face, I got the feeling he wanted it that way.

There were so many incredible creations: kachinas, beadwork, sand paintings, and of course, masks. I held a sustained discomfort as I lingered over objects, photographing some of them.

I lingered in the gift shop, looking at jewelry. One of the jewelry makers was there talking with the person behind the counter about the properties of different stones that she uses. When she mentioned that carnelian is a courage stone, I replied that I have a carnelian bracelet that I shall need to call upon in that case. She asked what I needed courage to do and I said, “I need to speak my truth. And live according to my own dictates.” She nodded thoughtfully. And then she showed me a stone, a hematite tiger’s eye or tiger iron. She said it dispels a lot of negativity while bolstering you with courage. And she offered it to me, this beautiful stone. It is hard for me to accept a gift. But I felt comfortable accepting this one. I was so deeply moved by her generosity. I will take this stone with me everywhere.

After leaving the Native American museum, I went in search of the Cape Hatteras lighthouse. My phone wasn’t getting any sort of signal and I got turned around when operating by my internal exploratory gps. I decided to turn around, go back from whence I came and skip the lighthouse.

As fate would have it, I was driving along Highway 12 when I saw a sign for the Cape Hatteras Light Station! Silly me, I had passed by the entrance hours ago and it hadn’t registered. I followed the road that the sign pointed to and it lead me to right to the lighthouse! I was happy to be reunited with the it. I’d had the opportunity to climb it as a teenager when it was in its original location closer to the ocean. Now, it sits a good way back from the ocean and it was not open for climbing. Still, it was really good to see it again. It is such an impressive structure.

I left the lighthouse, and headed back toward Rodanthe. I drove through the stretch of land that held no structures save a row of poles by the road. I was struck by their vulnerability’ of the row of poles lining the road. How quickly and completely this island could be removed from modern conveniences. One major storm could destroy one’s quality of life here, if not one’s house itself. Everything here seems perched on a precipice between ease and struggle.

My snacks were gone. I was hungry. It was time to hopefully find an open restaurant. This task is much more daunting than it would seem because it is, after all, the off-season at the beach and we are still having a pandemic. I had discovered one reliable deli about five miles from my base. However, on this particular occasion, it was closed. I managed to find a Mexican food truck just before it shut down for the day. They were out of nearly everything but they whipped together a tasty quesadilla for me.

The sun was nearly below the horizon when I returned to my home base. I took my final evening walk along the beach. The sky was dark with an approaching storm. A dozen fishing boats dotted the horizon. I walked halfway to the pier, took some photos and walked back.

I sat in the sand briefly and found a fragment of a shell that reminded me of the stone the jewelry-maker had given me. I pulled the stone out of my pocket and laid it next to the shell. They were like a pair of mismatched striped wings. I decided the shell was to come home with me so I it went into my pocket beside the stone.

I walked back to the house and started packing up the rest of my stuff. I carried the bulk of it to my car. I readied the coffee maker for morning. I gathered all foodstuffs and toiletries and when I felt like I’d done all I could do to prepare for a fast and easy departure in the morning, I went out on the deck and reclined in the hammock.

I pondered the anxiety and fear that had been conjured by the bad dream. In the dream, a situation had stripped me of my agency, and circumstances took on a life of their own. I understand why I had this dream. Up til now, I have not been adept at steering my own course. And eventually circumstances overtake me. I realized that when I return home, I might again place myself into situations that strip me of my agency. This was the source of fear and anxiety. This was the cause of my dream.

From this point on, I must take the reigns, and direct the course of my life. I can do this now. Bo reminded me how.

This time has been packed with weeping, healing, exploring, and expanding. This has been a time for spreading my wings. A pair of mismatched striped wings that now, I know how to use.

I rocked back and forth in the hammock looking up at the clouds in the sky, and I made up a little thank-you song. I was singing this little thank-you song over and over again and I noticed right above me, there was a little break in the clouds in the shape of a heart.

My work here is done. It is time to return to my regular life and incorporate all the new discoveries I’ve made about myself. I am ready.

My Ten Days of Christmas: Day 9

Posted on Posted in Christmas, Grief, Growth, Self-care, travelTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

61

Today is my birthday. I don’t mind telling you how old I am because I worked damn hard to get here. I have walked this planet for 61 years, believe it or not. And every day I wake up able to rise and shine, I am grateful.

This morning, I spent time on the beach drinking coffee and writing in my journal. I watched my dolphin friends parade back and forth several times. On one pass, a couple of them threw their tails up higher than was necessary and then rolled their bodies up and out of the surf. I thanked them heartily.

A string of birds flying in formation caught my attention. The formation pattern shifted constantly, creating lots of different moving pictures in the sky.

I typically do not enjoy my birthday. I feel pressure, either external or internal — or both — to make something big happen for myself, to be a big kind of happy. It’s too hard. Especially this time of year. Everyone is recovering from the big Christmas blowout.

I have threatened for many years to run away to the beach for my birthday and I finally did it! It has been completely liberating to celebrate my life by living it on my own terms.

After writing a while, I sat in the sunshine, fell asleep in the sand, went to a deli and bought a sandwich, ate the sandwich, took a proper nap in bed, drank tea, read notes from friends, packed up most of my stuff in preparation for leaving, and then, I did what I have not done in a year and a half: I took a bath! Because there is no bathtub where I live. Only a shower. So that was my happy birthday!

But really, this entire trip has been a celebration of me. I gave myself this time to heal from an immense sorrow. And every day has been a blessing. Every day I feel stronger, clearer, happier. This evening was a testament to that.

For some reason, I was clearing out my voicemails, and I happened upon a few that I’d forgotten about from the Oregon guy. I listened to them. Why? I don’t know. To see what kind of response I had to them, I guess. To test my heart to see if it was all better, maybe. No good reason. BUT. They didn’t make me cry. They didn’t make me sad or angry. They just annoyed me. So I happily deleted them.

Am I becoming more callous? Probably. But I probably need to.

Betrayal is a common theme in my life. And I don’t bounce back from that kind of hurt very quickly. In the past, I’ve given people multiple opportunities to redeem themselves after they betrayed my trust. But here’s the thing: I remember this time when exhusbandguy nearly hit me in the head with a beer bottle after screaming bloody murder at me. It just missed me. I ran out of the house and tried to find someone to help me. But every person I called said they didn’t want to get involved. I had to go back home by myself. Once I got there, exhusbandguy was crying and apologizing over and over and saying he didn’t ever want to hurt me. And I thought, how many times will I accept his apology? Nothing changes. He’ll lash out at me again. Because he always does.

So it is with people who have lost my trust. When I give them opportunities to earn my trust back, but they repeatedly disappoint, it’s time to let go. This is a different type of abusive relationship. And it’s bad for me.

Oregon guy messed up several times. I always forgave him and gave him another chance. My mistake.

So yes, I have to be a bit more callous, a bit less forgiving. I’m 61, for goodness sake! It’s time!

I had a dream last night in which there were two gigantic dogs. Irish Wolfhound size. I was told to be gentle around them as they are sometimes wary of people. But they immediately warmed to me and were comfortable in my presence. The dream was very tactile in that I had a distinct sense of having a very large paw in my hand. I remember the weight and heft of it.

Gentle, loving, and loyal beings. I am grateful for this reminder of the type of person I want to be. And the type of people I’d love to be with.

I leave Chicamacomico day after tomorrow. I have big plans for tomorrow that will take me down to Frisco and Hatteras. Tonight, I will rest in the peace and assurance that I am getting stronger, smarter, braver, and happier. I will say my gratitude for the abundant blessings in my life. And lastly, I will say thank-you to you, dear reader, for walking beside me.

My Ten Days of Christmas: Day 8

Posted on Posted in Christmas, Grief, Growth, Self-care, travelTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

Chicamacomico

I can tell my vacation is nearing its end the same way I can tell its time to do laundry: all my favorite pairs of underwear are used up. All that remain are the ill-fitting and/or raggedy pairs.

I have two more days left in Chicamacomico.

Chicamacomico is an Algonquin word that roughly translates into “shifting or sinking sands.” It is the original name for three communities that have come to be known as Rodanthe, Waves, and Salvo.

As an aside, I learned today that the “e” is pronounced in Rodanthe.

During my first trip out to the beach this morning with coffee in hand, I noticed the people who had been staying in the Ebb Tide house were leaving. Now’s my chance, I thought. I’ll go ask if I can take a quick peak inside. I approached a man with this request and he clearly did not wish to accommodate me. I explained that I thought it was super cute and he said, “It’s not cute on the inside.”

A good while after they left, I decided to see what I could see from the windows. I approached the steps leading up to the deck and saw quite plainly that the sands on this beach are indeed shifting.

I climbed the steps and took the following photos of the interior by looking through the windows.

In my opinion, cute is in the eyes of the beholder.

I had been waiting for today because today, the Chicamacomico Lifesaving Station Museum would allegedly be open. I had discovered this lifesaving station by chance, was intrigued by its structures, and wanted to learn more about it. When I arrived, a large “CLOSED” sign was posted on the gate. A car was in the parking lot and lights were on in one of the buildings. I decided to call a number listed online. Maybe they were just closed for lunch? A woman answered and told me they were indeed closed but she could let me come into the gift shop.

Inside the gift shop were prints depicting the bravery of the keepers of the lifesaving station and their crew and the treacherous conditions with which they were often met. Among them was an uncanny print of a team of men using ropes to drag a boat across the sand in the middle of a raging storm. “You couldn’t get horses to pull the boat in a storm, so the men had to,” my hostess explained to me. She loved this lifesaving station and all its history. She delighted in answering my questions and would have told me more than I could retain probably. But I made some purchases and left. I do want to return at a time when the museum is open. The tours are self-guided and offer a unique glimpse back in time.

Postcard of lifesaving crew on their way to rescue the crew of a wreck with a surfboat c1900
Postcard of U.S. Lifesaving Station c1900 Early Morning Training Exercise.
Postcard of lifesaving crew in front of their surfboat. Surfmen had numbers on their uniforms to denote their rank.
Postcard of Lightship #71 Diamond Shoal Station, NC 1913.

I decided to wander north to see if I could find an open restaurant. I could not. But I happened upon a curious marker that made me pull over.

I parked my car and got out, determined that this was a public area to explore, and set off walking along a winding, sandy road.

I spotted a deer off to my left who was standing partially hidden by a shrub and looking at me. I stopped and made an “ooooo!” sound. A curious baby deer peered out from the other side of the shrub! I stood looking at the two of them, the two of them stood looking at me, until the mom leapt off, and the baby followed suit. They ran to the top of a sand dune and paused to look back at me before disappearing to the other side.


I walked on, approaching a crest in a hill and I wondered what I’d find once I reached the top.

I found more road.

I followed the road all the way to its end. And there was nothing but sand and sea.

The vast expanse of emptiness, the absence of any sort of buildings was startling. I held my arms out to embrace the emptiness. It was a very large emptiness so I had to spread my arms out wide.

I returned to my car and drove back to the house where I’m staying. I was lured away from my room by the cute Jack Russell puppy named Ozzie who is staying at a house just down the road from me. Ozzie is a mess. Quite full of himself. I managed to get a few pics of him trying to make friends with a cat, who would have nothing to do with him.

Jack Russells are fearless animals. I appreciate this about them. Because I’ve been crippled by fear over the years. Fear of what other people think of me, basically.

This fear kept me hanging on to the idea that one day, my friend from Oregon – the one who was going to move to NC to be with me, the one who quite suddenly reversed his affection and direction mid-trip, abandoning all his spoken plans, the one who called me the “Hope Diamond of manipulative geniuses,” the one who is the source of my grieving – one day, maybe five or ten years from now, we might become friends again. I could not stand the idea that he thinks I am the “Hope Diamond of manipulative geniuses.” I wanted him to see that he was wrong, that I’m a good person. I held onto a remnant of that hope until today. I think that’s why I’d been hanging on to correspondences. But not anymore.

I deleted over a year’s worth of text messages between me and this guy. Every single day for over a year. Text messages that went back and forth sometimes for hours at a time. I could have written a novel or a play in the time I spent writing text messages. In one quick motion, I deleted them all. I deleted his phone number. I deleted emails and his email address. I blocked him on social media. And in this manner, I have symbolically shut the door forever on the possibility of being that guy’s friend. That possibility does not exist. Because I have learned some valuable lessons at Chicamacomico.

The people I want in my life are people who are capable of weathering storms with me. People who have moral attributes like courage, tenacity, loyalty, and people who manage to keep wonder alive. The people I want in my life are people who won’t lose their footing when the sands shift and who will enjoy riding the waves that shift them.

I want to be the sort of person that I would accept as a friend.

These are the realizations that resulted from my stay in Chicamacomico. And for that, Chicamacomico will always be a part of my heart.

My Ten Days of Christmas: Day 7

Posted on Posted in Christmas, Grief, Growth, Self-care, travelTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

Just Breathe

The morning ritual that I establish when I come to the beach, if possible, is make coffee and take a cup to the beach. There, I sit in the sand, watch the ocean, and just breathe. Thoughts come into my brain. Often times a melody circles around and around. Sometimes I try to force enlightenment: following a thought to ultimately put some positive spin on it. It’s both super hard and super easy to just breathe: to take my attention gently away from any thought or emotion by focusing on my in breath, my out breath, and on and on. It is as if my brain wants to distract me from being at home with myself.

When I first arrived in Rodanthe, I was in a heightened state of anxiety that lasted about three days. The unfamiliar territory, being alone with myself — all my thoughts and feelings, which were unmanageable — worrying about my parents, and the fact that it is Christmas, and all the baggage that carries with it regarding familial responsibilities, real or imagined. I was so out of control that I needed to check in with people who could help ground me in the reality of the present moment.

Each day that followed was an exercise in being ok. It’s as if I took my psyche on a test drive daily to see how it acted and if I could make it through in a state of calm at the end of each day. I’ve learned that I don’t have to be such a harsh task-master. I can take a breather and watch episodes of “Schitt’s Creek.” I can eat chocolate. Just not too much of it.

Today was a day of just breathing. I had no agenda, though I tried to force one a couple of times. No place to go. Nothing to do. I’d hurt my back by lifting the cover off and on a hot tub on the premises and that was requiring me to take it easy physically. No forced marches to the pier, like I’d done the day before. Here are some fun photos from that forced march, though:

I took a book to the beach and read for a while. Then I took my book back to the house and climbed into a hammock which is mounted on the deck. Every time the hammock stopped rocking, I pushed against the deck railing with my foot to get it going again. The sunlight beamed on me fully and the sound of the ocean was ever present.

Late in the afternoon, a heaviness began to descend. I went back to the ocean, took my shoes off and stood at the water’s edge, allowing the frigid water to wash over my feet. As soon as I did this, I felt the grief rising up again and I cried the deep, heavy sobs of unsuppressed emotion. I breathed deeply, allowing the emotion to be.

My heart has felt so heavy from loss. I know there are multiple levels of emotion that must manifest at some point in time. Grief can be unbearable and it is highly inconvenient. But it has to happen. And it has to happen on its own terms. I think that’s the hardest part of it. We don’t get to choose when the grief will show up. It just does.

I read a really lovely post on social media the other day about when you invite a grieving friend to your holiday gathering, invite their grief, too. I’m going to share it here as there is much value to be gained by it:

Holiday host etiquette: If you’re inviting someone to your home and they’re grieving, be sure you’re inviting their grief to attend, too. It will be there, anyway.

Don’t invite someone with the goal of cheering them up for the holidays. Don’t expect them to put on a happy face in your home. Don’t demand they fake it til they make it or do something they don’t want to do, either.

Invite them with the loving intention of offering cheer and companionship and unconditional care during the holidays. To do this, you will need to honor and be responsive to their needs and emotions.

You can do this by privately acknowledging their grief when you make the invitation:

“I know this season is extra hard and you’re heart is hurting. You and your grief are welcome in our home. Come as you are, we’d be honored to have you with us.”

It’s also incredibly loving to honor the reality that it’s often hard for grieving folks to know what they will want, need, be up for, or able to tolerate at the holidays.

Giving them an invite without the need for commitment and permission to change their mind is extra loving:

“You don’t have to decide right now. If it feels good to be with us, we will have plenty of food and love for you-just show up! I’ll check in again the day before to see if you’re feeling up to coming over and if there’s anything you’d like me to know about how we can support you.”

Your grieving friends and fam need attentive care and responsiveness at the holidays, not plans to keep them busy, distracted, and happy.

If they’re laughing, laugh with them.

If they’re weeping, ask if they’d like your company or your help finding a quiet place to snuggle up alone for awhile.

If they’re laughing while weeping, and this is more common than you’d think, stay with them — this is a precious moment of the human experience that is truly sacred.

We don’t need to protect ourselves or each other from grief at the holidays. In fact, the more we embrace grief as an honored holiday guest, the more healthy, happy, and whole our holidays will be.

In solidarity,

Sarah Nannen

Most people don’t know how to allow grief to be without trying to push it away, shush it up, hide it from the family. I think, especially now during the age of Covid, everyone needs to learn to allow grief to manifest in themselves and others. I could not stay at home with my parents and attend the annual Christmas family get together this year. I needed the space to grieve without people trying to cheer me up, shut me up, or ignore me. I needed the space to grieve.

As I was putting on my shoes, preparing to go back to the house, I spotted some dolphins. They were pretty close to the shore so I got a good view of them rolling through the water. Suddenly, a tiny dolphin body leapt out of the water. A baby dolphin! I sat there incredulous, staring at the spot where I had seen this phenomenon. And it happened again! As if to prove to me that yes indeed, magic is real!

My heavy heart was immediately lightened and I laughed out loud. I jumped to my feet and ran to the water’s edge to try and capture this entity on video. Alas, the show had been for me and me only. And all I captured was a video of the sea at dusk.

My state was completely altered by this enormous event. I went back to my room to have some dinner. After dark, I took a blanket out on the deck to the hammock and stretched out. The hammock’s location offered a nice view of the stars. I rocked back and forth, listening to the ocean, and watching the night sky. And my heart, which had been clutched by grief a short while ago, was filled with a quiet gratitude.

My Ten Days of Christmas: Day 6

Posted on Posted in Christmas, Grief, Growth, Self-care, travelTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

So This is Christmas

The beach was devoid of people this morning as I sat in the sand sipping coffee. An odd black bird with bright round eyes joined me. Another landed nearby, and another. They seemed unafraid of me, curious even. As curious as I was about them. I didn’t ask if they had a message for me. I just watched them. I felt too empty to ask. Or too full. I don’t know which. I just sat and watched as they hopped in their funny way. With my sunglasses and hoodie, I’m sure I looked funny to them.

I watched the water for a long time, content to be still and quiet and warm in the sun. I noticed a Jack Russell puppy down the beach playing with his person and could not keep from smiling at the hilarity. As if he knew I was watching, the puppy turned towards me and ran at full speed.

“Ozzie! Ozzie! Come see me!” I’d met this little guy yesterday. He’s four months old and loves people. He jumped all over me, alternating between licking my face and tugging at the sleeve of my hoodie with his sharp puppy teeth. I haven’t laughed so hard in a while. It felt good. Ozzie got bored and ran towards the ocean but turned back to jump all over me again. His person tried to persuade Ozzie to come with him but Ozzie began furiously digging in the sand. What a delight!

Ozzie and his person left. I cleaned the sand from the lid of my coffee cup — sand that Ozzie had slung onto it with Tasmanian Devil-like fury. I slowly sipped more coffee. And along came another Jack Russell. This was an 11 year-old girl named Lexie who, I could tell, was not enjoying the wind. But she was very sweet and visited with me for a short while before heading on her way with her person.

I received happy Christmas messages from several friends today, from my mom, my aunt, my daughter, my son, and my sister-in-law. The love that has been expressed to me during this time has sustained me and I am so grateful for it.

I took a blanket out to the beach and laid on it, listening to the sound of the water. Sad feelings arose a couple of times. I just let them be. I wrote in my journal but could think of no great insights. This is a process, this letting go of hurt. I can’t make it happen any faster. Just like the waves, the feelings come and go, ebb and flow.

I have four more days here. Four more days of freedom to simply be. I’d like to think that I can become fixed by the end of that time. Solid. Strong. Ready to resume my life. Nothing is that simple. Or maybe it is.

I looked back over my photos from yesterday’s adventures. Each of the places I visited was built for the purpose of survival. I thought about something a friend from this area said to me: “That area of the Outer Banks, Rodanthe, Salvo, Waves, Hatteras, is the most primitive. When I was growing up down there, I always thought of it as wild, untamed, the people too. I imagine it filled with the spirits of very strong, sturdy folks and pirates. People had to be strong and resilient to survive there. You’re among good spirits.”

Indeed, I feel that.

~~~~~~~~~

Thank-you, Lucy.

My Ten Days of Christmas: Day 5

Posted on Posted in Christmas, Grief, Growth, Self-care, travelTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 1 Comment

Expanding My Comfort Zone

It’s Christmas Eve. The ocean was unusually calm this morning. I took my usual cup of coffee out on the beach before sunrise and walked along the water’s edge. There was barely any wind. The world had a gentleness and an ease about it.

I spotted a pod of dolphins and watched their majestic procession. I asked if they had any message for me. What I heard was, “Breathe freely. And do your thing.”

“My thing?” What is “my thing?”

I watched the sun rise above the horizon line and dazzle the water with its light. I noticed the deep shadows that complemented its radiance. And I wondered at the glory of privileges such as walking, breathing, hearing, seeing. Just being.

I needed to drive into Nags Head today for a few things and decided to make a day of it by veering off the path to see some different sights. I had ideas of places I wanted to explore but I had unformed ideas of what might be there. For me, the discovery is part of the fun. So, for example, at the base of the Marc Basnight Bridge, I had noticed a sign for a Pea Island Lifesaving Station. I decided to veer off to see if there was a spot where I could take a good photo of the bridge while not driving. It is an impressive structure, a testament to engineering ingenuity. I not only found an excellent photo opportunity but an opportunity to walk out into the middle of Oregon Inlet.

The Marc Basnight bridge replaces the Herbert C. Bonner Bridge, the last bit of which was finally demolished in May of 2021 — all except a bit that extends from the shore out into Oregon Inlet about a thousand feet. This is now used as a pier. I had read of this structure’s existence but hadn’t made the connection between its existence and the former lifesaving station where I’d chosen to veer off. I was beyond elated to happen upon it.

I secured my car keys and phone inside my shoulder bag, which I strapped
crosswise over my shoulder for extra stability. Because whenever I am
in a precarious place — on top of a mountain, on a pier or bridge over a
large body of water, even a small pier over a small body of water, I
have an irrational fear that some invisible hand is going to knock my
cell phone out of my hands as I’m taking a picture and it will sail
across the sky and into the abyss below never to be recovered. Or it
will magically reach into my bag, snatch my car keys and hurl them into
the abyss below never to be recovered. Or it will magically lift my body
and hurl it into the abyss below never to be recovered. It is an
irrational fear that is deeply rooted but it is not a debilitating one. I
am still able to enjoy myself while precariously perched. The fear adds
to the excitement.

After satisfying my urge to explore the former Bonner bridge, I proceeded to the Body Island lighthouse. Operational since October 1, 1872, this lighthouse was the third erected on this site. The first was built on an unstable foundation and ultimately torn down. The second was exploded during the Civil War. I think of lighthouses more as decorative structures, less as lifesaving ones. But especially in this area where sailing conditions are treacherous, lighthouses are a necessity.

I stood in awe of this structure as I imagined the history of its existence, the storms it endured, the people it saved.

After running my errands in Nags Head, there was one last place I wanted to explore. A very old-looking house is visible from my room and its vibe has been calling me. I decided to find the road that accesses the house so I could take some photos of it. Not only did I discover this road, but I learned that the interesting-looking house was part of a compound of other interesting-looking structures that were the Chicamacomico Lifesaving Station. The museum and gift shop were closed so I didn’t learn much about the history, just the dates posted on placards. But I wandered around the complex, finding all sorts of lovely angles and light for photos. I will definitely explore the history of this place.

The final bit of expanding my comfort zone occurred in the house where I am staying. I am renting a room. Yet I was told that I could take advantage of a full kitchen, lounge area and deck on the upper floor. So I went up there today and found all sorts of magic. I can spread out, when I allow myself to. And why not allow myself to?!

In a world where conditions are limiting and other people strive to keep you in check, I choose to expand beyond what is known and comfortable in the little ways that present themselves. This is often very challenging. For example: I wanted to leave Rodanthe after my car was repaired. But I’m very glad I was able to stay in that space of discomfort until it passed. I’m glad I stayed. I’ve given myself space to dump a lot of stress and allow my heart room to breathe freely. And this is what the dolphins said to do.

Also, “my thing” is growth. I will keep doing my thing.

My Ten Days Of Christmas: Day 4

Posted on Posted in Christmas, Grief, Self-care, travelTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

Good Morning Sunshine

It was the first sunny morning since my arrival in Rodanthe and I took advantage of the opportunity to go watch the sun come up over the water. I arrived at the beach right after the sun had cleared the horizon. There she shone in all her glory, this life-giving entity.

I had my coffee in hand as I walked along the sand, acutely aware of it shifting under my weight and the increased effort required to simply take step after step. I paused to take a photo of “Ebb Tide” which has taken on some larger than life meaning that I haven’t fully grasped. My elongated shadow might offer some insight. For now I will simply post the picture.

I returned to my room where I had more coffee and a bagel. I emailed my mom to let her know I was ok. I had a phone call from my daughter. I checked some messages from friends. And then I took my journal out on the beach, sat on the little wooden platform at the base of “Ebb Tide,” and began to write:

“A good deal of stress has left my system through tears. There’s probably more to be shed. And that is all as it should be. I need a re-set. After a year of spending time talking and texting with S, he has now disappeared from my life. Withdrawn himself completely. I’ve had to quit that daily habit cold turkey. That has been hard in and of itself. But the way in which things ended involved a lot of harsh words. I listened to him spew vitriol at me. I heard all his words. They penetrated me like venomous knives.”

“Everyone hurts. And often in paying respect to other’s hurts, I overlook my own. He hurt me. He hurt me. He hurt me. It was all so unnecessary. Every bit of it. I have tried to understand his perspective. It just doesn’t matter. My hurt is valid. I honor my hurt. I kiss it as I give it to the waves. Thank-you, my hurt. Thank-you for teaching me that I deserve better treatment. Thank-you for showing me what happens when I don’t listen and respond to my inner knowing. When I don’t love myself fully.”

After writing for a while, I returned to my room, overcome with the urge to sleep. The sun streamed through the window and across the bed, heating the room considerably. I stripped down to my underwear and stretched out in the generous swath of sunlight soaking up its radiant warmth. I turned on a dharma talk on how to grieve but was only remotely conscious of the words as I drifted in and out of sleep in a manner similar to the fevered sleep one experiences when sick. I awoke in a haze half an hour before a Zoom appointment with my psychiatrist.

I have developed a curious mistrust of the way my mental health has been approached over the years. So I listen with skepticism to the advice of my psychiatrist. He asked me more than once if I wanted him to increase my dosage of anti-depressants. I don’t want to be on anti-depressants in the first place. And he’s the expert. Why does he ask me what I want? I really don’t understand this. After a brief game of ping-pong with words, it was mutually agreed that I would increase my dosage by 2.5mg. The caveat is, he wants me to have an EKG when I return home because this anti-depressant can cause heart arrhythmia. And he wants me to go to an “assessment center” where I can be more fully assessed.

I just don’t know.

After the meeting with the psychiatrist, I drove to the Pea Island National Wildlife Refuge. It was late in the afternoon. I would be able to catch the sunset on that side of the island. The sound of the birds — swans, egrets, geese, ducks, and so many I don’t know — was otherworldly. Truly. In unison they sounded like an alien craft had landed. I walked along a trail that lead through a tunnel of oaks.

And there were tunnels off the trail that I didn’t follow.

I took a video in which you can hear, briefly, the sound of the multitude of birds in the beginning. Mostly you just hear the wind interfering with the sound recording. At the end, you can see a nice group of swans, I think, swimming in formation. There was a baby with them who doesn’t really show up on the video.

Another excerpt from my journal reads, “The beach is deserted. But I don’t feel alone. The ocean is teeming with life. The seabirds are near. I sense the earth and all its bounty of life beneath my feet.”

I took a photo from the visitor’s center of the east side of the island where the ocean lives before getting a photo of the sun going down over the tidal ponds to the west. I just can’t get over how narrow this stretch of land is. And here I am, standing in the middle of this narrow stretch, surrounded by water. It is so peculiar to me.

I returned to my room and ate a small dinner. Then I bundled up and went out on the beach to gaze up at the stars. It is such a treat to be in a space that offers dark skies, where viewing the stars is possible. But silly me, I tried to take a photo of the stars. What a sad and pointless thing to do. I realized then that this is, indeed, an impulse to validate my experience through sharing it with others. I made the conscious decision to let go of that impulse and just enjoy the stars.

One of the last things I wrote in my journal was, “If I give up my hurt, what do I replace it with?” I do not feel fully able to experience joy or even happiness. But I am starting to feel peace. That’s good enough.

My 10 Days of Christmas: Day 3

Posted on Posted in Christmas, Grief, Self-care, travelTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

All I Want To Do Is Live

I write this missive after the ebbing away of an unusually hard crying spell. It was so hard in fact, that I became worried. I called my therapist and my psychiatrist’s office, making contact with neither, but I was able to secure a Zoom appointment with my psychiatrist tomorrow.

Eventually, the hard crying ended. But I felt it’s shadow lingering.

What’s the crying all about? My general practitioner would probably say I need to take a higher dose of anti-depressants. My therapist might say I am working through some grief. My psychiatrist is relatively new in my life. I don’t know what he’ll say but I’ll find out tomorrow.

Here’s what I know to say: for over a year, I stayed up way too late, talking for hours on the phone night after night after having reconnected with a friend who lives on the other side of the country. I was perpetually sleep deprived and emotionally stretched thin. But he made me laugh and complimented me often and as I felt lonely and all alone in my life, those were enough. He fed a hope that he might possibly become more than just a friend. He might move across the country to be a part of my life.

That possibility existed briefly but it is gone forever. Harsh words were spoken that broke my heart, dashing my hopes to the ground from a great height.

I realized the highly unstable emotional nature of this man much earlier than the huge irrational blowup that happened over the phone, the one that ended our friendship. But because I felt so lonely and alone in my life, I believed these were quirks that were unimportant. Or I believed he would heal. Either way, I was engaging in magical thinking.

I’m not entirely sure what this grief I am experiencing is all about. It’s not just about the loss of a friend. It’s about the loss of people I can trust. I am feeling grief from the hurt caused by self-righteous people who use sarcasm and snark. I was hit not only by my “friend” with self-righteous sarcasm and snark, but by family members who were being self-righteous and snarky about my “friend.” And in both instances, their self-righteousness snark was always more important than my feelings. I can accept this level of betrayal from the alleged friend much more easily than I can from my family. Additionally, standing in between two bodies of snark ripped me apart.

People who are so convinced they are right and others are wrong will say anything they care to say, intending to hurt rather than heal. I find myself doing this sometimes. And I don’t want to be this person. I want to be a person who cares enough about others to talk with them, to reason, to work through difficulties without sarcasm, without snark, and without becoming passive aggressive. Conversely, I want those sorts of people in my life.

I awoke this morning to two deer grazing on the sparse grass in the front of the house where I’m staying. Such gentle creatures fill my heart with such relief and hope. I yearn to find gentle humans among whom I can dwell. Just as I did with the vultures, I asked the deer if they had anything to tell me. A healer in the Cherokee tradition taught me to do this. As soon as I ask, a response immediately comes into my brain that I need to hear. This morning, the response was, “Be still and clear in your heart.”

I set out on the 35 mile drive to Kill Devil Hills where a capable mechanic would determine the cause of the battery and check engine lights coming on in my car. I was apprehensive about learning the cause, so it required a bit of an internal push to initiate this journey.

If you recall, I arrived in Rodanthe at night, so I hadn’t fully taken in the scenery along the route there. Besides, I was a bit distracted by the battery and check engine lights coming on and worried that there was no place around for me to stop. In the light of day, I discovered that I am indeed on a very thin strip of land in the middle of the water, that the sand wants to cover the roads and so lots of machines are constantly at work shoveling the sand up into the dunes by the road, that there is truly nothing between Rodanthe and Nags Head, and that humans are silly beings to build “permanent” structures on such places as this.

I got within a half mile of garage when my car stalled. The power was rapidly dying but I had enough left to pull into a parking lot. I called to let them know I wouldn’t be on time for my appointment and why. They recommended I call Bayside Towing, tell them Meineke sent me, and I’d get a deal. The tow truck was there in no time and got me to the garage safe and sound. The driver was most courteous and even had a decorated dashboard for Christmas. Despite the bad luck of breaking down en route, everything proceeded pretty painlessly.

I had a bad alternator. Having nowhere to go and no way to get anywhere, I sat in the Meineke waiting area while the bad alternator was replaced with a good one. News played on the television. Why is the news always playing in waiting areas? Why not the Cartoon Network or Comedy Central? You would think doctors and mechanics wouldn’t care to depress their clients further. I mean, they do hope to get paid after all.

I was rescued from the news by a Jersey girl named Susie. She’d lost her husband and her brother in September but she was a tough gal. She told me about her large family and what hilarious nuts they all were. She told me how much she laughed when they were all together. She showed me photos. And indeed, they appeared to be nuts. Susie was lovely and gave me her card as she was leaving. She told me that if I get lonely, give her a call and we’d go out for lunch. I thought for a moment that she must be an angel to have seen inside my heart so astutely.

After the car was repaired and I paid way more money than I’d expected to spend during this get away, I drove to the grocery store to pick up some supplies for my stay. Foodstuffs. But I couldn’t make myself get out of the car once I arrived. There I sat in the parking lot wondering if I really needed to secure foodstuffs for my stay. Or did I need to high tail it home, beat down by the outside world, back to KVegas, back to my parents house, back to a place where I would absolutely not allow myself the space to grieve?

I sat pondering these things for much too long but ultimately, I got out of the car and went grocery shopping.

Driving back towards Rodanthe, a little restaurant called Food Dudes Kitchen caught my eye in Nags Head. It looked like a good spot to acquire some comfort food. I was correct. They had a mac ’n’ cheese with Cheezits on top. Its savory warmth soothed my soul.

In the bathroom, there were funny little fish creatures made from beer bottle caps and wine corks. I found myself taking photos because I wanted to share them with someone. This is what happens when I’m alone. I want to share my sights with someone. Is that because I feel like the sights aren’t valid if only I see them? Just me alone and no one else? I may need to practice taking no pictures tomorrow. But for now, here are photos of fish creations.

I left the restaurant. The sun had come out for the first time in days. I took advantage of this and walked along the ocean in Nags Head. Then I drove back to Rodanthe and walked to the Rodanthe Pier. It appears to be closed due to its dilapidated state. But the structure fascinated me and I felt a kinship with it. It’s still useful, to a degree. Not as useful as it may have been in the past. And not much to look at. Still, the stories it could tell! Standing still and listening, I could almost hear them.

After my walk, I returned to the place I’m staying and as soon as I entered my room, I started to cry again. Deep, heavy sobs whose intensity would not cease.

This grief is a force of nature. A tempest. It is mystifying. In time I will figure it out. As the deer said, be still and clear in my heart. Only then will I know.

As hard as this is, I’m staying with myself, by myself, for the holiday. I’m the only one who knows my heart. And right now, that’s the sort of person I need to be around right now. I am exactly where I need to be. Because, “The cure for anything is salt water: sweat, tears or the sea.” -Isak Dinesen

I dedicate this missive to dear friends: Meghan, Wesley, Lucy, Melissa, Chris, and Jen, who checked in on me yesterday and today. Thank-you. I love you.