Move

There was a lunar eclipse tonight but I couldn't see it because of the cloud cover. A lunar eclipse of a harvest moon that I glimpsed only infrequently during the drive. 

I arrived back here three hours ago.

Eve and Shelly drove with me the seven hours to PA to bring boxes and furniture to be stored at Eve's place there. It isn't the complete set, but its definitely a start. I feel so lucky to have loving and loyal friends who make such a sacrifice to help me.

As Shelly and I unloaded the boxes yesterday night, I looked at the self-made labels in black ink. "Blankets, black coat, book ends." Most things I packed into boxes earlier this month. I've missed the books the most. Empty bookshelves remind me of missing friends. I saw the box labeled, "String Theory, C.S. Lewis, Scientist biographies" and it gave me a pang. 

In the house, Eve cooked pasta, sausage, and sauteed vegetables. We ate, talked, and the night settled in around us. I thought about my text on String Theory. What if I needed it? The thought was ridiculous (when would I need String Theory?) but it wouldn't leave me alone. I needed to climb the hill to the carriage house, find the box and the book. At last, as the conversation lulled, I announced my intention, put on my shoes, and using my cell-phone flashlight, went outside. 

I felt a sense of urgency as I tore into the box. Here a biography of Oppenheimer;  there was L'Engle's "Two Part Invention" and a stack of C.S. Lewis. At last, "String Theory". As I lifted the book, I saw my copy of a Cosmology book. Maybe I needed that, too? I took it, tucked it under my arm. I shuffled through the other books. I should really bring some C.S. Lewis with me  wherever I go next. 

The stack in my arms became absurd. How could I possibly justify bringing these books back with me  in the truck after we'd made such an effort to bring these here? Maybe I should put Cosmology back? What had it taught me anyway? What would I be missing?
I thumbed through the pages of equations. In the center of the book, there was a small white card with writing on it. Notes or equations? No. Thin writing in ballpoint: "My Sjors. December 23, 2010".
My hands began to shake. My heart raced. I knew what this was. A snowy night in Paris. A long wait for the train at the Gare du Nord train station. When he arrived, ebulliant as ever, grabbing my frozen fingers in his and kissing me on the lips, I thought my heart would burst.
At the subway entrance, he pulled me into a photo booth, pulled me onto his lap, put in his coins, and we laughed from the sheer joy of being together again.
In those two small pictures there is a glimpse of all the hope and love and happiness two people could ever wish to have. Finding them here, after all these years when I thought they were gone forever. It feels like a gift. I can't get enough of them. I take them out, see his face. Wish I could step back into the photograph and into his arms again where I was meant to be.

3:38AM.  

Its dark outside. In the next room, Eve is asleep. I feel a love and longing for Sjors and, as it always does, this resonant ache echoes through my body, keeps me awake. I do what I always do when this happens: I pray for him. Please god keep him safe. You love him too. But the thought of him doesn't leave me and I wonder how he is. I see him in my mind, the man with the bright eyes and love, and I'm caught between the memory of his love and the recollection of his anger. If I saw him tomorrow, which man would I meet? Please, Sjors. Please still exist. Please come for me. 

Corinne's house

Hot in Florida - reminds me of a cool day in Port Gentil Gabon. I've tried to run here, but its a slog through a pressure-cooker and it melts me. At night, when it cools off, I try again. I'll have to figure out how to deal with the heat, fire-ants, mosquitoes, gators, and brackish water if this is where I end up. I have no idea how Corinne has made it work so well. I doff my cap to her.

I''m glad to see Corinne. I always miss her when I stay away too long. She's a kind and generous and clever person - and also practical in her approach to life. I live in the borderlands between the practical and the possible, so I find her philosophy to be helpful and grounding. She teaches a freshman chemistry course that usually confounds students - but her excellent abilities have made it one of the most successful courses offered by the university.

It was Corinne's birthday yesterday. Her husband said, "I don't think she really likes presents. So I'll give her a card." Seriously? Dude. I know she loves him but that's a really douche-y move. I have no significant-other but my girlfriends do a darn-sight more than that. Yesterday I let him dictate the terms of the birthday celebration - we took the doodlers on a 10 mile bicycle ride and had no cake or presents. Today, I dictated the birthday celebrations: bought a bouquet of roses and an intimate card for him to give her, bought decorations, cooked dinner and made a birthday cake. I think Corinne's too tired to care which direction the party goes.

The Doodlers warmed up to me right away. Serious little Marie with her thoughtful expression, and mischievous Gracie. Now, they smile when they see me, run to me with arms upraised, sing silly songs with me, and giggle when I tease them.

You can stop now

Why keep coming here? Every time I post something I see you there, looking at it. Why? Why do you still give a shit? How could this still matter to you at all?

I've lost the man I loved and the future and children I longed to have with him; the work that mattered so much to me; I've lost my job and income, and you've harmed my reputation so I can't get another job. I've given up my lease because I'm out of money, and I don't have a clue where I'll go or how I'll live. What can you possibly learn by coming here? Why does it still matter to you?  Whoever you are from MIVD who looks at these, understand that you're doing something very wrong and very sad. It doesn't matter anymore. You won. Please leave me alone.

Glimpsing behind

I found some videos I made long ago. This was February 2009 - just before my 31st birthday. I was on board the USS Nashville during its West African deployment. This was my first time to Africa - and my first time spending so many days aboard a Navy vessel. I'd been dating Hans for three months and was in love with him. I felt encouraged about the world and was excited to interact with it. It feels like a lifetime ago. I don't even recognize the person I was then.

A difficult day

Today was a bit rough. What makes the difference between a difficult day and one that's tolerable? I don't know. Maybe it's the cooler weather moving in, and the shorter days. Last night, my bicycle ride was ridiculous: I moved so slowly! Today there was a melancholy and hopelessness that leeched my initiative and left me sitting still with a bitter aftertaste on my tongue.

I know that I'm leaving this work in capable hands and this knowledge should propel me to create products to pass down. But I hate the feeling of losing things once again. The last betrayal was so thorough and so terrible it flavors my expectations of people. I expect weakness, I expect laziness and falseness. I must remember that there are brave people in the world: people who are kind and caring and courageous. I have friends who are brave.

I've stopped eating in the mornings. My experiments with fasting and prayer have evolved into this: daily 16-hour fasting. Between 9PM and 1PM the following day. I don't know that it brings me to greater spiritual awareness, but it does remind me that I'm alive. Here in this moment. My stomach aching and my legs weak.

Paperwork

Eric once tried to convince me that I should retain complete ownership of my company - that I didn't owe anything to anyone and that most business "partners" will inevitably turn on you or damage your interests. Why, he wondered, would I give over any part of my work and my company - half, in fact - to Eve?
Of course the business hasn't made money and I explained this to him. But it would make money, he insisted. At some point, there would be a profit and I would be foolish to give half of it away.

How could I explain to him that I trusted Eve as much as I would ever trust anyone in the world? Most people will never understand what it is to tread water at the edge of an abyss and to feel a friend reaching with both hands through the darkness, trying to pull you back. 

There was once a hot July afternoon, lying by Lago Miseno with Eve, as I prayed that the morning-after pill had not destroyed what it was meant to destroy. She lay quietly beside me on the dock, listening to the lapping water, feeling my panic and pain and trying to calm me. 

"There's a chance," she said. "There's always a chance." 

A month later, when the conference in Tanzania and my work had drawn to a close,  I stood in my hotel room and cried and shook. 

"It's dark," I told her. "I don't know why I can't get over the pain. I worry I'm slipping into depression."

"It isn't depression," she reassured. "Its grief and it all has to come out. You don't know the volume of the grief so it will just take some time for it to all come out."

A month later, on the beach in Boa Vista, when I looked at her and lied, "I'm just going to go for a run. Go ahead to the hotel without me." 

I saw the concern in her face, and I felt guilty, knowing what I intended. How much did that stop me, knowing she would have to see the result? 

Later that winter, when the depression was so deep and impenetrable, she took me with her family on a Christmas trip to Venice and we walked together along the dark streets of Murano, carrying candles in paper bags after the Midnight Mass. The wind blew my candle out. Irrationally, I panicked. It felt keenly apropos. What did it mean that my light was gone? 

"Here," said Eve, giving me her candle. "Use mine to relight it."

Then we accidentally lit both bags on fire and nearly burned down the neighborhood and laughed so hard we could hardly breathe. 

There are a thousand moments that comprise our friendship and in moments like this, when I find myself, once again, being forced to walk away from everything I've built, I give it all to her with open hands. She's carried me more times than I care to count - why wouldn't I trust her to carry this? The rest is just paperwork.

On the Flying Trapeze

Joy wanted to go to Trapeze school for her birthday. So we went together. She's terrified of heights and I thought for a few minutes that I should also be frightened but, as I climbed the ladder to the 23 foot platform, I remembered climbing the ladders on board the HNLMS Rotterdam and I thought, "what the hell? What is there to be afraid of? This is going to be awesome." That day on the Rotterdam still ranks as one of my favorite days in my life.

Then there was the time in Senegal when I climbed up into the Baobab trees - my favorite trees on earth, and walked between them on a wire. What a moment! What a memory!

There's a moment, right after I jump into the nothing that I think, "Oh shit. What have I done? I'm committed now." But there isn't anything to be done. It's just gravity, and holding onto the swing, and feeling the ground rush up. 

I would rather risk falling into nothing than never knowing what it is to live. 

 

Very tired now

Eric just left. I'm glad he came over, spent some time, went to a completely unimpressive movie with me tonight, ate too much popcorn and candy. It cheered me.

Today was the physical crash after a week of manual labor, emotional stress and problem-solving. The weather didn't make it any easier: it was hot and oppressive. Not the honest bright heat of a mid-summer afternoon: the throes of a dying star. I had difficulty making myself move through it.

In the morning I wrote a report and sent it to the people at my work. Then I showered, dressed, and got downtown to talk to the tax people. Its something I've dreaded and needed to do for months. Its been top of my list. The result was far clearer and less difficult than I'd feared.

At the Navy Memorial, I lay on the hot granite, next to the rushing water, and meditated,

I read "Jip en Janneke" on the trainride home. I don't want to lose the language skills I've gained. The new semester of classes starts this week but I won't be there. If I leave, it will be fairly soon and I shouldn't lock myself in for another six months. I'll just have to continue learning on my own.

Alright then

Phone call at 0700. Don't recognize the number. Salesperson. I'm up. Make coffee. Oatmeal. Shower.
Drive to McLean. Have the conversation with my boss.

Now I don't have a job.

Trying to sell all my furniture now. Can't afford to keep it and store it. Too poor to give it away for free as I might have done once.

Closing out

I scheduled the meeting for tomorrow AM - so of course I can't sleep. I know what I'm going to say but that doesn't make it any easier. Anticipating a sad or difficult conversation is sometimes worse than actually having it.

If this ugly thing hadn't happened, I would say that things at work are going well. I gave a "brown bag" discussion about the research today and the team seems enthusiastic to move ahead. People are talking about next steps and my boss is looking to nominate our entire office for an award based on my analysis. No kidding. But I feel the fragility of this. Everyone's pleasure with me would dissolve if this ugly thing becomes an issue. My old employer has a lot of sway in this office and this could get much uglier before it gets better.

The truth is: having this shit on my record is bad for business. It's bad for the company I own. It's bad for the company I work for. If I stay and this becomes an "issue" I put other people's livelihoods at risk. I can't do that. I can't just wait around for things to get ugly. Its better that I bow out now - train my replacement.

I worked out at the gym after work. Lifted weights and stretched. I'm glad I've been training so hard - I need to feel my strength.

I moved two loads of boxes yesterday - and another load tonight. Tomorrow I'll get an estimate on total moving costs so I don't have to finish this all on my own. I'm mentally gone already.

I'm looking forward to seeing Corinne and the young doodlers. Gracie's started looking like a little girl instead of a baby - and the Z-bird is walking around with her sweet baby stumbles. I haven't seen them since Christmas and I need to spend time with them, get to know them.

Vlinder

I had to leave the office yesterday. Several times. My autonomic nervous system was charging full ahead again. This, after I did a meditation in the morning and yoga stretches before morning coffee. At least I know now how to deal with the racing heart, the pressured feeling behind my eyes, the waves of nausea at the back of my neck, the heavy sticky dread in my gut. I left the office, found a quiet street, and meditated. 

On my way back to the office I found this Monarch butterfly. It was so beautiful and unique and surprising. Bright orange against the blurred white background. I don't recall the last time I've seen a Monarch.