Tag: boundaries

My Ten Days of Christmas: Day 10

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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 2

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Everything is Temporary

I had a mercifully good sleep last night. My alarm was set for 6:30 this morning. My plan was to get an early start, head into Kill Devil Hills where a mechanic would look at my car, tell me why the battery light was on and hopefully rectify the situation. However, when the alarm went off, I did not care about getting up to see a mechanic. Instead, I cared about fortifying myself with extra rest. And so, I followed that impulse and slept an extra hour.

Upon waking, I felt timid about doing all the things I ordinarily do first thing in the morning. Pee. Make coffee. Drink some water. Get dressed. I felt awkward in this room that felt not at all like my room. But I breathed through the discomfort and slowly and methodically did the things I ordinarily do first thing in the morning.

I think the moment that I splashed water on my face was when I experienced my first taste of gratitude since arriving here in Rodanthe. What a gift it is to cup one’s hands under a running faucet, catch some water and bring it up to one’s face. What a gift to have an indoor bathroom with running water! The gratitude was immense. So much so that I wondered what had happened to the anxious being of the previous night.

What is there to be anxious about? I find things. 2021 was the most anxiety-filled year I’ve experienced in a very long time and over the past several weeks, my anxiety went through the roof. It’s probably going to take a good long while to untangle all the causes and resulting manifestations, so I am going to have to learn to be patient during this time. Untying knots is a painstakingly tedious process that cannot be rushed.

I took a cup of coffee with me outside and walked to the ocean. It isn’t far. Just up the road — which ends abruptly in a sand dune. I think it probably was not always this way. I think at some point the road had a proper end. Possibly there were stairs leading over the sand to the beach. I get the sense that the sand has gradually encroached upon the road, covering the stairs in my imagination, so that to get to the ocean, one simply climbs the sand dune. Once atop the dune, the ocean is right at one’s feet.

A small house to my right had a “For Sale” sign on it. It’s name was “Ebb Tide” which I found ironic. Because the tide had clearly flowed much more than ebbed, repeatedly encroaching upon the hopeful little house. It appeared that sand had piled up around it and under it, making it much closer to the ground than it had been designed to be.

As I climbed down over the sand dune, I observed how close the tide was to the little house. I felt sorry for it and its owner. They know it will one day be under water. They are just hoping to turn a profit before they experience that great loss.

I was a little startled by how little beach there was. The water rolled up to my feet several times. There was space to walk along the water to my right / south. But there would be no walking to my left / north. The water came all the way up to the houses.

I headed south and paused when a feather captured my attention. It was small with markings similar to a blue jay’s feather without the rich blue hue. I bent over to pick it up and the wind blew it away from me. I then remembered a Native American tradition of asking the entity, whether a rock or shell or feather, permission to take it home with you. But you have to listen because sometimes the entity does not want to go home with you. This feather did not want to go home with me.

I happened upon another feather. It was extraordinarily long with a very strong rachis. I asked if it wanted to come home with me and it too said no. I asked if I could pick it up and it reluctantly said yes. So I picked it up gingerly at the calamus and measured its heft. It was an impressive feather from a large bird of some sort. I laid it back on its spot in the wet sand and took a photo of it. As I did, I remembered that today was Sarah Browder’s birthday. A beautiful feather of a girl who was blown off this planet by a man with a gun. I remembered this because taking the photo of the feather reminded me of the time I took a photo of a dead butterfly in the sand during a previous beach trip. I’d placed the butterfly’s body in a sand memorial I built on the anniversary of her death.

Thus was the onset of crying spell #1 today.

My coffee cup was now empty and I decided to go back to the house to refill it. Outside the house where I am staying, I met the person who owns the house and another person who lives in the house. They were jump-starting a truck. Which reminded me to test my car and see if it would start. It did.

I went inside to call the mechanic as it was now much later than I had intended for it to be. The result of that conversation was the decision to wait until tomorrow to drive into Kill Devil Hills. I followed my body’s cues to take it easy today.

I had more coffee and created a little altar for the Solstice. In my own silly hierarchy of trip preparations, I had the foresight to include items for such an altar. I forgot all my toiletries. But I had altar pieces. I burned candles and palo santo and indeed brightened the corner where I temporarily live.

I participated in a four hour ceremony via Zoom designed to set one’s intentions for the coming year. I was in a very tender heart space during this ceremony and found many opportunities for tears to be shed. I struggled with the hurt in my heart. It was so overwhelming at times. I observed the happiness in the other people on Zoom and asked myself, “where, where is the happiness in me?” I breathed through the difficult moments, found sparks of inspiration and hope, and felt a great deal better at the end of the four hours than I had at the beginning. However, after the ceremony ended and I was alone in the room that was not my own, I felt that familiar anxiety rising. And here’s the thing: just like the tide, harsh feelings rise and then they recede. That is the way of it. If you can just hold on, you’ll be able to experience peace after a storm.

Many times today, I thought of a Thich Nhat Hanh teaching. With young children, he explains that strong emotions are like a storm and the person experiencing the emotions is like a tree. The limbs may blow violently, but the trunk stays steady and strong. He tells the children to focus on their trunk to find their strength and stability during strong emotions. Eventually, the storm will pass.

Yes. I am worlds better than I was this time last night. Because that storm ended. Other, smaller storms hit today. But I tried very hard to remain steady despite the violent emotions.

My body is telling me to go to sleep now. So I will end this missive here. Because night will shift into day when there are things that I must do. Now is the time for rest.

My 10 Days of Christmas: Day 1

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The Wake

A few days ago, I was driving a little outside the city limits of Kernersville, NC when I saw a group of black vultures. This was the second time in two weeks that I had observed this type of gathering. The first time, the vultures were making short work of a deer carcass by the side of the road. This time, there was no obvious food. They were all just standing around. I pulled over to take a picture of them. One of them looked my way and I said, “Hey buddy! What’s up? Do you have something to tell me?” Because like all magical thinkers, I believe animals have messages for me.

Immediately, the following words appeared in my brain: “Carry on living your life in your own manner.” This was an unexpected response from a black vulture. So I said, “Thank-you! Anything else?” Again, an immediate response came to mind, “You are beautiful.”

I had to research what one calls a grouping of vultures. For example, a group of crows is called a “murder.” A group of dolphins is a “pod.” I didn’t know what to call a group of vultures. Perched vultures are a “wake.”

I’ve been grieving over the loss of a relationship, which — even though it was a year in the making, it was still in its developmental stage. The grief is still pretty fresh. And to be honest, I’ve been distracting myself from feeling it. The grief has been compounded by unkind words spoken by family members at me about the person with whom I am no longer in relationship. I very nearly fell apart from the weight of trying to please everyone. But I managed to hold on until I could get out of town.

Today, I drove to a string of barrier islands known as the Outer Banks in North Carolina. I’ve rented a cheap room for ten days so that I can avoid the traditional Christmas get-together with family. I felt I would not be able to handle the chaos and commotion with any degree of integrity, so it seemed best to remove myself altogether. Since my birthday is three days after Christmas, I figured to be safe, I’d stay away til a few days after that.

The drive provided me with the freedom to cry. I cried a lot. Random song lyrics, sights, and thoughts triggered me and propelled me to sob.

I packed up an assortment of books, my painting and drawing supplies, and some needlework with which to occupy myself. I’ll have the great outdoors while the sun’s up. And afterwards, I can busy myself with self reflection and self improvement exercises.

I am alone.

I drove the first quarter of my journey before I needed to find a bathroom. I took an exit that advertised gas stations but quickly realized the bathrooms were 2.5 miles off the exit. This annoyed me and so I decided to get back on the interstate and take an exit where bathrooms were immediately available.

You just can’t bank on this expectation when driving through rural areas. I had to drive a mile and half through winding roads to the first available entrance ramp for the interstate. I was face-to-face with the immediate gratification monster that contemporary society had turned me into and it was not pretty. I started feeling a heightened anxiety made worse by the discomfort of my full bladder.

Mercifully, I found a ramp just up the road a ways and found a gas station pretty immediately. I noticed a strange creature on the roof of a CashPoints® and made a note to self to explore it more carefully after I’d relieved myself.

Right outside the bathroom was a display of T-Shirts that said “Lizard Lick, NC.” How was it possible to end up in a town called Lizard Lick without even realizing it!? I purchased a shirt and dashed outside to examine the strange creature. It was indeed a large lizard perched atop the roof of the ATM island.

For further verification, I took a close-up.

Feeling pleased with myself for discovering Lizard Lick, I soon left it and continued on my journey to Rodanthe.

The name Rodanthe obviously conjures thoughts of the giant Pteranodon in the Godzilla universe, a.k.a. Radon, Monster Zero-Two, The Fire Demon, and Titanus Rodan. I questioned my decision to book a room at a place with such a fear-inducing name. Especially as I neared it.

To reach the Outer Banks, one must drive across a couple of rather long bridges. The longest is 5.1 miles and as I drive over Croatan Sound, images of Godzilla and Rodanthe — er, Rodan — ripping up bridges, cars plummeting into the murky depths, play out in my brain.

What the hell am I doing?!

It was nearly dark when I arrived at Nags Head, the most convenient stop at the Outer Banks. I had to drive further South where there is much less development, much more wilderness. And just as I veered away from civilization, my check engine and battery lights came on.

I don’t know if you’ve ever found yourself driving along a narrow stretch of land surrounded by the sea — a stretch where there are no stores, no gas stations, no mechanics — at dusk when the check engine and battery lights in your car come on, but I can tell you from experience, it is anxiety-producing.

I pondered whether to turn back or push forward. To double back would put me at my destination much later than I cared to be and I was already exhausted. Plus, there was no guarantee I would be able to find anyone to help me should I double back. So I asked for grace to descend upon me and shower me with her good favor as I proceeded on my way, driving across yet another bridge. This one was only 2.8 miles long. But at night, and with its extreme curve, it was much more frightening.

I drove between sand dunes that towered overhead, sand billowing across the road. I watched the lights on my dashboard as I counted down the miles remaining before I reached my destination. My eyes darted nervously from the car’s dashboard to the navigational app on my phone. Would I make it?

The navigational app’s voice guided me to the road where I would allegedly find the house I would stay in. The road led me to a row of houses that were predominately dark. No porch lights. No lights from within. My cell phone lost service right as I parked. My anxiety mounted. Fortunately I was able to connect to the Airbnb’s host’s wifi and all was figured out from that point.

Road weary and exhausted by the sudden onset of rather dramatic crying spells, I staggered up the front steps of the house in the dark, went into a dark house where I staggered up more steps, trying to determine which door in a series of doors led to the room I had booked. I found the correct door with the correct keypad upon which I punched a series of digits that allowed me access to a dark room. I flipped a wall switch and no light came on. I felt my way to a lamp and cut it on. I texted the host to determine whether the overhead light worked and discovered it was just “finicky.” I needed to pull on its chain out to the side a bit rather than simply pulling down. It took several tries before I succeeded in mastering the finicky chain. And then I was able to see what I’d put myself into.

It’s fine really. But upon entering it, I became aware of the distinct lack of Christmas cheer, the distinct lack of personality, the distinct lack of company. And I suddenly wondered again, “What the hell am I doing?”

We’ll see what the daylight brings.