Prepare For the Worst, Expect the Best and Live For Today

Posted on by stilllearning2b

The people of Alaska absolutely captivated me.

And nowhere was this more true than in Ketchikan, a town of around 8,000 people pressed between the towering mountains of the Tongass Forest on one side and the frigid waters of the Tongass Narrows on the other. Like many Alaskan cities, Ketchikan is only accessible by plane or boat. There are no airports in the actual city of Ketchikan; you must either utilize one of the countless floatplanes or land on Gravina Island and take a ferry across the inside passage into town (this is the site of the proposed “Bridge to Nowhere“).

Our first glimpse of the city from the ship.
Our first glimpse of the city from the ship.

At first glance, Ketchikan may resemble many other quaint coastal towns that survive off fishing and tourism.

Pretty small!
Pretty small!

But this isn’t any quaint coastal town. Although the temperate rainforest location helps to moderate the temperatures, this is no pleasure island; an everyday stroll can turn into a fight for survival at any moment. The winds fly through nearby Nichols Passage at hurricane forces through much of the winter months, forcing residents to hunker down and stranding them from any potential way out. The sun never stays long and is usually only visible through the ever-shifting layers of clouds. The forest is untamed and the wildlife is not safely tucked away in some zoo.

Survival is a way of life here.

But it’s not a way of living.

One of the benefits of taking this trip with my extroverted husband is that he engaged in conversation with everybody. We learned that one of the employees for Ketchikan Outdoors was brought there by her mom in middle school and now, as a college student in the lower forty-eight, returns to Alaska in the summer for work. She told us about the transition from a middle school with 1,000 students to one with 200 and the need to take a ferry for any interscholastic sports competitions. We met the owner of the excursion company, who first saw the city on a cruise and made the decision to move there after a second visit where he fell in love with a woman as well as the town. Our guide decided to call Ketchikan home after experiencing its raw and powerful beauty. And our server that afternoon was born and raised in the small town and, after a brief stint away, felt called back home.

Creek Street
Creek Street

Each of these residents spoke in glowing terms about their community. Yet they also remained firmly anchored in reality; life in Ketchikan can be hard.

So they prepare for the worst.

Every 7th grader is required to undergo survival training and complete a survival hike. The 8th graders have to demonstrate their survival skills with an overnight island stay with minimal supplies. Residents carry survival gear in the colder months for even a short trip into town, realizing that the weather turns on a quarter dime in SE Alaska. Nothing is taken for granted as winter approaches, supplies and food gathered and stored.

Full survival gear. Hard to believe I was in a bikini the day before!
Full survival gear. Hard to believe I was in a bikini the day before!

Yet they expect the best.

It would be easy to become fatalistic about death here; it takes far too many before their time. Yet even though tragedy is a constant threat, the people of Ketchikan possess a limitless spirit of hope and teamwork. We heard one story of a small fishing boat crashing within sight of the city. The stranded boaters immediately went into survival mode and one was spotted in a tree by a little British lady on her Zodiac excursion. The weather may have bested them, but they had faith in themselves and their community.

The rocks were covered with seals and eagles.
The rocks were covered with seals and eagles.

And they live for today.

I think I understand what is so captivating about Ketchikan – it is a place of acceptance and living in the moment. The shifting clouds change the views from each second to the next. The eagles swoop past in a flash and the whales peek through the waves. It’s a place that refuses to be tamed, to be controlled and molded into some imagined ideal.

A bald eagle grabbing a fish just feet in front of us!
A bald eagle grabbing a fish just feet in front of us!

Because it is perfect just as it is.

Although I think I’ll limit my visits to the summer months:)

If you ever find yourself in Ketchikan (and I hope you do!), I strongly recommend the Zodiac boat tours by Ketchikan Outdoors. They are a great group of people who run a great operation. We were the envy of our cruise ship!

 

Speechless

Posted on by stilllearning2b

We arrived home last night this morning just after midnight after a weeklong Alaskan cruise and a Seattle stay over. We had been gone so long, the cat hid under the couch until she decided/remembered that we are effective feeding and cuddling organisms. Today is a day of tackling the emails and work tasks that lack of connectivity forced us to ignore as well as chipping away at the seemingly ever-expanding load of laundry piled high on the dining room floor (dressing in layers translates to LOTS of laundry loads!). Our jet lagged bodies seem to keep finding the bed for impromptu naps, Tiger often joining in, exhausted from playing with his buddies at the vet. Our muddled brains struggle to form coherent thoughts as our circadian rhythms straddle both coasts.

It feels great to be home. To be reunited with our animals and our routines.

Already, the sights and smells of Alaska feel like a dream. Too big to be real.

But it is. And those are memories that we will carry. Images that can be triggered by words or pictures, but never truly captured – the jade green of the water darkening into endless chasms, the soaring heights of the jagged cliffs, clouds dancing across their fronts like some teasing burlesque dance and the power of nature in its rawest forms.

I have yet to transfer the pictures from the camera or from my husband’s iPhone, but here are a few from my phone:

So much of Alaska reminded me of a Bob Ross painting. Look at all the happy trees!
So much of Alaska reminded me of a Bob Ross painting. Look at all the happy trees!
This was from a hike around the Mendenhall Glacier outside Juneau and there's a story to tell about that day!
This was from a hike around the Mendenhall Glacier outside Juneau and there’s a story to tell about that day!
The temperature seemed to always be 59 degrees. But that could mean shorts or winter coat!
The temperature seemed to always be 59 degrees. But that could mean shorts or winter coat!
We drove a small Zodiac boat in Ketchikan. A bald eagle snatched a fish out of the water just feet in front of us!
We drove a small Zodiac boat in Ketchikan. A bald eagle snatched a fish out of the water just feet in front of us!
One of the coolest moments of my life - Tracy Arm Fjord and glacier from the hot tub!
One of the coolest moments of my life – Tracy Arm Fjord and glacier from the hot tub!
We were extremely lucky and never had rain, although it was almost always cloudy.
We were extremely lucky and never had rain, although it was almost always cloudy.
It's pretty amazing how close these ships can get to the water's edge!
It’s pretty amazing how close these ships can get to the water’s edge!
I REALLY wanted to see moose in Haines. This was the closest I got!
I REALLY wanted to see moose in Haines. This was the closest I got!
We tried to see a sunset every night to no avail (I think it's a myth that the sun sets in Alaska in summer). We finally succeeded near Victoria BC!
We tried to see a sunset every night to no avail (I think it’s a myth that the sun sets in Alaska in summer). We finally succeeded near Victoria BC! Cool detail – that’s the moon just above and to the left of the sun:)

 

I want to extend a thank you to all my guest posters and readers for taking care of the place while I was gone. I’ll try to catch up on comments and messages in the next couple days. After a nap.

The Big Three

Posted on by stilllearning2b

I had dinner with some friends the other evening. This couple was in my life prior to the divorce tsunami (in fact, my then-husband spoke of me in glowing terms to the wife just weeks before he left), provided support during the year of tear-stained cheeks and building a life from scratch and now they have welcomed my new husband into the fold. I call those BDA friends – before, during and after.

As we were walking back from dinner, the wife half of the couple posed a question,

So I know you have learned so many things from of all of this, but what are your top three?

Challenge accepted. Although it did take much of the walk back from dinner to sort through the myriad lessons learned to arrive at the top three.

Walls are a prison, not a fortress.

I had several friends die while I was in high school. Several as in eleven. One after the other in a series of unrelated accidents and attacks. It left me raw, but I was functioning fine as I left town for college. Fine, that was, until I called a high school friend that fall and learned of two more deaths. My response was to narrow my world, limiting its inhabitants so that those damned statistical deaths would have a harder time reaching me. My then-boyfriend now-infamous-ex was the sole inhabitant within that inner world, all others relegated outside the walls built to protect my heart and my sanity.

I am sure that over the years, that approach protected me from loving and losing a variety of friends. But not because the strategy somehow prevented loss; it prevented love.

After facing the biggest loss of all, I welcomed everyone in to the inner circle; I even actively sought out inhabitants. And, have I lost some of them? Yes, although thankfully none to death at this point. But I am no longer so afraid of loss that I’ll let it hold me prisoner.

Autopilot never takes you anywhere worth going.

It’s scary how easy it is to let inertia take the pilot’s seat of your life. At least, that’s what I found. I made plans, set them in action and then just let it happen. Not only was I not as aware of life passing me by, I also ended up with behaviors and habits that no longer served their original purpose. For example, I went into “grit my teeth and get it done” phase when I was simultaneously working on my master’s degree, taking a gifted certification class and teaching a new grade level. After that year was over, I should have downshifted.

But autopilot was on.

Now, I make a concerted effort to always survey and reevaluate my course. And I’m not afraid to make corrections.

Place more emphasis on being rather than doing.

I used to love being described as a hard worker; it was the best compliment I could receive. And I was a hard worker, the one you would always want on your team. Unfortunately, that drive also carried with it an anxiety about getting everything done and a sense of self-worth tied to my accomplishments rather than my character.

I’m still a hard worker, but I now know how to push the pause button. I am okay with task-free moments and even (occasionally) entire days. There’s a balance now. A sense of peace.

So those are my top three lessons. The rollerblading outing prior to dinner demonstrated that I am still learning to go downhill. So, there are still lessons left to learn!

Guest Post: Walking Like Sasquatch

Posted on by stilllearning2b

While I am away for a few days, I am sharing a series of guest posts from some awesome bloggers. This one is from Chey Being, who describes herself on her “About” page:

I believe in the Law of Attraction. I believe in laughing, especially at yourself. Flowers make me incredibly happy. I believe there is no such thing as right or wrong. I respect all beliefs because no one can possibly be “right.” Everyone should dance. Speaking and living your truth is one of the hardest things to do. I love the smell of books. I believe in smiling at strangers. I believe in looking a waiter in the eye at a restaurant. I believe in saying, “Thank you!”  Singing really loud and really bad is so much fun (at least for me). I am a perfectionist and it is important to me that I work on chillin’ the f*&$ out!  Exercise is my meditation.

You can also follow her on Twitter under the handle @leap_of_faith7

Check out her piece below with an important reminder for everyone and then send her a smile or a flower or some eau de bookstore:)

Walking Like Sasquatch

Recently, my husband and I were on a walk and I was in a rather silly mood.  I was being goofy and started doing funny walks, a moon walk (MJ I am not!), skipping, a penguin walk, and then I began walking like Sasquatch.  I was taking long slow deliberate steps and slowly moving my head side to side, just like in the famous video played on TV a million times over.  Later that evening, we went to see the new X-Men movie at the Drive-In (Yes, we have a Drive-In…so cool!) and in the movie, there was an awesome slow-motion scene.  All this slow-motion business caused me to think about how we live life…there is nothing slo-mo about it.
Sasquatch-e1379632222498
My life was a prime example of being quick to draw.  I would immediately judge every situation and circumstance and react.  If my ex-husband sent me a not-so-nice email, I would quickly respond with a biting tongue.  It was my current husband who opened my eyes to my behavior.  I would show him my responses to my ex and he always told me that I needed to wait, calm down, and then respond.  My agitation would not help the situation but only add fuel to the fire.
I acted quickly in all situations of crisis.  I don’t like loose-ends, I want to be in control, and if someone upsets me I feel they need to know it.  I also feared “bad things” happening if I didn’t act fast enough to try and “fix” them.  Life can quickly become a series of reactions.  When that happens, we are no longer determining our path, we are letting circumstances dictate our life.  We become like a computer where somebody is pushing our buttons and we react.  The computer does not make the decisions, it only runs its program (your mind) and responds accordingly.
Aside from my Type A personality, there was a deeper reason to my quick emotional responses.  I have since figured out that when I am not living my truth, my path in life, every silly little thing around me becomes my life.  There is nothing else, I am not creating anything else, so I create distractions that appear meaningful.  When I am living and moving in a direction that is purposeful, all the little distractions have less meaning and power over me.  They become little bumps in the road, no more, no less.  I no longer allow them to veer me off down a dead end.
Life happens and at times it seems to spin out of control.  We try to match the pace to control it by making impulsive decisions.  Our responses are often based solely on emotions, such as fear, jealousy, anger, and hurt.  Sometimes no action is best but we do not allow ourselves a moment to ask, is this really important to me?  I have learned to sit back, allow myself to think and then react if necessary.  I try to not let fear or my Irish temper control what I do.  Fear has controlled me for most of my life.  I no longer want to run that program.  As silly as it sounds, I want to live life walking like Sasquatch.  We can all make more conscious moves.  We can watch the world spin around us and if we want to join in, we can, if not, we can keep moving.

 

Guest Post: Aho Matakuye O’yasin

Posted on by stilllearning2b

While I am away for a few days, I will be sharing posts from a series of guest bloggers. Today’s post is from Lesley Pearl, who is a

…writer, massage therapist, and body-image/weight-loss coach living in Chicago. Her blog, “A Wandering Jewess,” chronicles life after marriage in a series of weekly solo dates and spiritual journeys. She is currently working on her first book titled “Left. Write.”
She can also be found at the following:
Let Lesley’s imagery sweep you up and carry you into her journey.

Aho Matakuye O’yasin

 

sweat-structure-with-land

Bent and tied river willows form the structure of the lodge. Photo: Paul Tootalian

 

The waxy brown cotton of my lapa feels soft between my fingers.  Like my body.  Like my heart.

I thought the African skirt would become this way over time, as I danced in it – but it remained rigid and stiff.  Until today, when, in the dark and heat of the sweat lodge it softened, pinning itself to my body.

I roll the fabric between my fingers like rosary or prayer beads.  I feel the moisture accumulate between my breasts – grateful for their small size.  Grateful for the darkness to peel off my sports bra, unnoticed, and let my t-shirt from the Knoxville Farmers’ Market cover me.  Given my druthers I would wear nothing.  But I respect the modesty requested at this ceremonial gathering of men and women.

I close my eyes, breathe in the sweet sage, and fix my ears on the beating drum and the sound of my friend Paul’s voice.

It has been a journey just getting here.

********************

I arrive despite a blinding thunderstorm, the need for on-the-road car repairs, and a bit of information which shakes my sense of perception and causes me to question if this is right for me, right now.  And with the aid and calm of friends who ferry me to and from.

I walk about a quarter of a mile through wet, freshly mown grass to where the lodge is set up – my orange, peep-toe wedges gathering silky, green slivers.

I remember wearing these shoes through Rwanda two summers ago – collecting the red earth of the land of 10,000 hills between my toes – and recalling Patsy and Edina schlepping their Louis Vuitton bags through sand in the Morocco episode of the BBC’s Absolutely Fabulous.  Dragging my rolling suitcase filled with towels, sweat and apres-sweat clothes, I feel like a bit actor in the Sweat Lodge episode.

********************

Paul is draping blankets over the hut he constructed out of river willows – collected from his sister and brother-in-law’s property a few miles away.  Rocks are heating in a pit outside of the lodge, and he has built an altar from the dirt inside of it.

Paul is the third in a line of spiritual teachers with the same name.  The first being my university religious-studies professor, the second, the one who taught me to meditate – leading me through initiation with an offering of fruit, flowers (star gazers, my favorite) and the bestowing of a mantra.

Our paths have been crisscrossing for most of our lives.  We agree the universe has been conspiring for us to meet.

2014-06-28-15-46-17

The Altar. Covered Lodge. And our guide, Paul. (I call him “The Reluctant Shaman.”

There are eight of us, the last arriving in a John Deere Gator Utility Vehicle.  She looks like an African Queen, regal in her loose batik dress with dragonflies on it, her grey hair braided at the temples and wrapped around her head like a crown.   Her face is at once both sad and serene.

She reminds Paul they have been in ceremony together – with her former partner.  The break-up is obviously fresh.

Words tumble out of my mouth about divorce, change and the painful nature of endings – no matter how right or how kind.  How people will say all sorts of stupid things.  And that she is, no doubt, on the precipice of some sort of adventure.  She smiles in a way that tells me she has lived a thousand lifetimes and knows that this kind of pain is just part of it.  That she has chosen this and is not fighting it.

I mention that I wasn’t sure I would make it here today.  That I wasn’t sure it was right for me, right now.  “Until now.  You are why I am here.”

********************

Paul smudges each of us with sage and we enter the lodge on our hands and knees, proclaiming “Aho Matakuye O’yasin – Greetings, All My Relations.”

I remember Patsy smudging my ex and I when she officiated our marriage.  And me doing the same for my friend Chase when her divorce was final, smudging the entire house – making it “her own” again.

********************

It is hot and humid inside.  I feel a wave of nausea wash over me as Paul explains what will happen in ceremony.

Rocks.  Herbs.  Water.

Chanting.  Praying.  Smoking.

Complete darkness.

Connectedness to the earth.  To one another.  To ourselves.

I am afraid.  Afraid of the total darkness.  Afraid of what I might feel, what might “come up.”  Afraid I cannot physically or psychologically endure this – even though Paul has assured us that this will be a “gentle sweat.”

But the heat is like a balm – different from the still Midwestern humidity that settled heavy around me just moments before.  The drumming and chanting force all thoughts from my mind.  I only hear my friend’s voice – strong, confident, prayerful – and the African Queen’s.  It is sweet and slippery and hard to hold on to.  But very much there.  Just as I feel her, very much there, next to me.

Everything softens.  My body.  My brain.  My lapa.  I feel the sweat sliding down my body and I am deliriously in love with it.  This body I have fought for so much of my life.  That has brought me here and is sustaining me today.  It is strong and small and very, very feminine.  I feel my hands pressing into the earth beneath me.  My legs.  My feet.  My ass.  The soft dampness of moist earth is flesh, the spiky grass is hair and we are one.

apres-sweat

Apres sweat — eyes wide open. Photo: Paul Tootalian

 

I pray for my stepfather and my two girlfriends who are battling mightily.  And I ask for prayers for myself.  For compassion and acceptance for myself, for where I am, not where I think I should be.  My voice cracks and I add, “May we all have compassion and acceptance for ourselves and for one another.”

I pray for the man who hurt my heart not so long ago.  I call out his name when I am certain no one can hear me.

********************

I smoke from the Chanupa – the sacred, ceremonial pipe.  Sober nearly seven years, my addict is awakened.

I am back in college, sitting in a circle.  My friend Brian stirs the bowl and lights it while I suck in all that I can, holding it in my lungs.  I converse easily while I do this – like one of the big boys.

But I am not talking.  And this is not weed.  It is tobacco, although it tastes like juniper and pine.  It is ceremony.  It is holy.  It is community.  It is what I longed for, sitting in a circle like this, so many years ago.

********************

I weep in the darkness.  I am certain no one can hear my dying animal letting go. And it is over.

We crawl out on our hands and knees, just as we had entered, saying “Aho Matakuye O’yasin – Greetings, All My Relations,” once again.

Paul greets each of us with an embrace, and we greet one another in the same way.  The African Queen’s eyes are wordlessly different.  Lighter.  As if the color has changed.  She presses me tightly to her.

The group walks towards the house for a celebratory feast, but I stay behind and wait for Paul.

While I am waiting, I do cartwheels around the lodge.  One after the other after the other, until I feel dizzy.  I feel the pull of my pelvis – the source of chronic pain – and I welcome it.  I feel the lightness of my body, of my mind and I welcome it, give thanks for and to it.

I had believed I was here to meet the African Queen.  That was only half of the truth.  In the stillness of the after-lodge, I know its other half, its twin – I was here to meet myself.  “Aho Matakuye O’yasin — Greetings, All My Relations.”