I Can See Clearly Now

I can see clearly now, the rain is gone, I can see all obstacles in my way…
(Johnny Nash)

Back on April 18th, when I was traveling home from the Grays Harbor College interview, while I was on I-205 just north of the Oregon border, a rock violently hit my windshield and chipped it. A couple of weeks later, when I was at my neighborhood gas station, I spent a few minutes at their little “rock-chip repair” station. I’d done this before and the results had been really dramatic. For a few minutes of time, and a call to the insurance company, the rock-chip damage magically became much less noticeable. Well, this time, instead of “healing” the chipped glass, the repair attempt led to a very large crack in my windshield. It was obvious that it was time to get the whole thing replaced. Happily I have great insurance, -$0- deductible on my comprehensive coverage, so my windshield was totally swapped-out for free a few days ago. The glass company even came to the college parking lot and replaced it while I was at work. Pretty slick.

It’s amazing, really. Every day since then has rather been like I’ve just had a car wash. I can see so much better out of this new glass, it’s unbelievable. The old windshield had been chipped and damaged over the last few years, and I guess I didn’t realize how bad it was. I drive down the road and I am able to see everything so much more clearly now.

It’s a lot like my life at the current time, where I believe I am getting a fresh perspective on several elements of my current existence.

For example, I see clearly that:

♥ My health has suffered under the duress of my current work environment. I desperately need time to heal, rest, recharge and recuperate.

♥ I need to take care of my body and soul. This has to be THE priority of my life.

♥ Unemployment wouldn’t be all that bad…well, for a little while at least. I have not really had a break for ages, and even the vacation time I had last summer was quite stress-filled. I would love some time to sit by the pool, walk in the sunshine, read novels, produce some great photographs, and write.

♥ Leaving “my people” behind will be difficult. I have made some significant attachments during the last two years, and now I’ll be going. I am really, really inept at goodbyes, but I will try and do them as gracefully as I possibly can. I know that “love” is a strong word, but there are some of these folks that I have come to love that I must now leave.

♥ As much as I’ve been resisting change, here it comes. I need to embrace it. I have started to do just that by taking a few substantive actions: I have given notice on my house; I have filed for unemployment; I have decided to live in Eugene if I need to be unemployed for a while; and, as a symbol of this new life I am about to start, I even cut my hair. (Way short. My first hairstyle change since 1977.)

♥ As much as I am called to do the work of academic administration, Oregon may not be the place to continue to do this. Or, as much skill and experience as I bring to such work, there are other endeavors that probably suit me as well. [I doubt if I could make a living as an artist at this stage of my life (and I do still have to make a living), but I need to remain unattached as to the outcome of this particular transition.]

♥ I need to soak up the emotional support that I’ve been receiving lately, which has been totally delicious. There are lots of folks in my camp right now, on my side, checking in, expressing their concern and emotional support.

♥ I need to keep breathing and asking the universe: “what’s next?”

It is pretty great to have a new windshield for my life as well!

ER

Yes, I love the show “ER” – and I’ve even mentioned it before here. The show has lots of drama, not only because of the variety and intensity of the emergency-room cases they present, but because of the lives of the characters we see developed. However, that’s not what this little essay is about. What I’d like to talk about now is my personal experience of the emergency room. My most recent exposure was just a couple of days ago – and I’ll get to that in a little bit.

First, a little history.

Probably the most interesting emergency-room time I had was the night I passed a kidney stone, but was nonetheless diagnosed with bladder cancer by the young (Doogie-Howser-looking) ER doc and the on-call urologist he consulted with. That episode lasted from dusk till dawn, and the crisis passed a couple of days later when tests showed that I did not have cancer. While I felt mostly well-cared-for that night (Katrina was with me, and she was certainly a great comfort to have around; and I had a wonderful nurse), Doogie's behavior was pretty amazingly terrible, as I recall. As he was initially delivering the bad news to me, he was talking in a soft voice, and walking backwards away from me toward the door, while using medical terminology obviously intended to obfuscate. I believe he just tried to slip that little word “carcinoma” right by me, thinking I might not notice (or know what it meant). Basically, both doctors that night came up far short in terms of getting a good review from me.

A couple of other ER experiences stick out in my mind as well. Neither were quite as bad as the one just described, thank goodness. They were drama-packed in their own right, though. One was an “urgent care” facility that we took Katrina to when she was suffering from a rupturing appendix. Although the tests were not definitive, the surgeon who was called in was right on the money in terms of a diagnosis, and the surgery the next day, I think, went mostly ok (of course, I’m not the one who had to go through it, and there was a tough post-operative period). The other episode was here in Portland four days after I moved up from Eugene in 2004. I took a fall on the pavement while walking the unfamiliar hilly streets in the Mt. Tabor neighborhood, and ended up spending almost another entire night being attended to. That I complained of “chest pain” at the front desk probably got me some special attention, I imagine.

So, now we come to my most recent visit.

I developed an early-morning nosebleed two days ago while I was in the shower. At some point I looked down and the water in the bottom of the tub was curiously pink. After I figured out what was going on, it took me almost a full hour and a half to get the bleeding under control. Given that I have had a history of nosebleeds (for me, they come with allergy territory), I have some experience in this area, so when it took that long to control I was, well, concerned. During the time I was trying to stop the bleeding, I had images of somebody, someday eventually finding me naked and dead on the bathroom floor, bled out from the nose. Not a pretty picture. And, all the while this was going on, the room started to look more and more like a crime scene. Again, rather ugly.

Well, I did get the bleeding to stop. Finally. I called my doctor’s office (it was right about 8:00 a.m. at that time), and they said if I wanted to see somebody, go to the emergency room. I drove myself, of course, all the time hoping I wouldn’t start bleeding again!

OK: I admit. This time when I visited the ER, it wasn’t quite in the category of emergency. It certainly had felt like it earlier in the morning, but by the time I got to the hospital, the situation was fairly tame. And, I guess, from an ER doc’s perspective, well, “this is a pretty uninteresting situation here.”

I had quite some time in the waiting area, and then in the little examination room I was finally shown. The nurse who checked me in was quiet but efficient. I appreciated that. After about a half hour in the examination room (I was passing time reading the morning’s paper), a young woman finally came in, introduced herself as a med student, and said that since no one else was attending to me, she thought she’d keep me company and familiarize herself with my case. She sat down, asked questions, took notes, and listened. She was pretty great, actually. After about five minutes, though, the “real” ER doc came in and took over. At that point, the med student seemed to rush away. I was sorry to see her go; it was about the only time I felt really listened to during the rest of my experience there. Not that I didn’t get attention; my nose was cauterized and packed with gauze and I had the name of a specialist to follow up with. But, during most of my time there, I believe I was an “issue” not a person. I was “the nosebleed in 4” – wow, that was not a great feeling.

Later that same day, my nose started bleeding again…I felt it happen, and, in the mirror, watched the gauze change color from white to pink. I drove to the ER again. I was bleeding when I showed up, but I still had a half-hour to wait before they called my name. During that time, sitting in public view in the waiting room, pinching my nose and swabbing my face with Kleenex, no one at the desk seemed to be overly concerned. Again, I suppose I was “just a nosebleed.” When I finally got in to see the second doc, and since the bleeding had stopped, he did nothing. In fact, was very dismissive (like: why are you here?), and didn’t even really get any of his attention until I said something like, “well, I can see that I’m not being taken seriously here.” As it turned out, all he would do was reinforce the notion that the ER had done what they could (contained the emergency and referred me on). I left with wet bloody gauze in my nose and no hope of getting it looked at again until Monday (four days away).

Well, I knew there was no way that I was going to make it that long with gauze in my nose. I just knew. (A thought validated after a sleepless night that night, not being able to breathe.) Yesterday, I removed the gauze myself, and now I seem to be doing fine.

I don’t think I’ll be remembering this episode too favorably…except for the med student who took some time to listen. Even though I was “just a nosebleed,” she saw me as a person as well...and what a difference that makes!

Metaphor

I believe I have taken a picture of this sign at the Oregon Country Fair every year I’ve been there. I love its color and texture. Will I have a schedule allowing my attendance there this summer?

I wonder what life is to bring me in the next few months. I have a temporary job and am furiously looking for a new one. My rental house is being sold out from under me. I have experienced rejection and displacement. I must find my way away from here, but what that means, exactly, I don’t know.

Right now, it seems that my total focus is looking for work. (Some might argue that blogging is right up there on my priority list, too.) The actual process of seeking a different domicile has not yet commenced, as I hope to combine that with a new job and city. I spend weekends preparing job applications, and every single vacation day doing interviews. My expanding list of physical symptoms of stress have led to regular doctor appointments, and now even more-frequent acupuncture treatments.

The scariest physical symptom I’ve experienced, so far, is the development, ten months ago, of tingling and numbness in my left foot and toes. If one can give any credence to the “illness as metaphor” perspective, then what interpretation might apply here?

I am numbed-out? I am unfeeling? Part of me is asleep? I am frozen? I am burning up inside? Part of me is dead? I am damaged? My nerves are frazzled? I’ve taken a misstep? I need to tread lightly? I need to walk away? I’ve stretched myself too far? I have a hole in my sole (soul)? I need to realign my qi? I need to find someplace warmer? I need someone to give me a foot massage?

What can this possibly be about?

Authenticity

Oftentimes, I truly struggle with the role in life that seems to be mine.

In relationship, I showed up: totally, passionately, and with great capacity for commitment. I lived, not merely played, the role of devoted partner, lover, friend, confidante, and care-giver. I loved deeply and had the expectation of being loved back proportionally.

Steadfast in my role, I kept hoping against hope that something would change. I anticipated that she would eventually discover, in this person, me, her mated soul.

Oh, I wanted: the joy of that discovery!

In this life, it seems I keep playing the role of the broken-hearted one. It was a constant theme that I was rejected, left to lick my emotional wounds, allow time for them to scar over, and then attempt the same uneven dynamic all over again.

How can two people be so close and yet so far apart? How can the universe be so cruel?

Today, everyday, I show up in an environment where I attempt to play a similar role. I find myself in another situation where there’s no commitment to me, yet I am expected to show up, perform, give my all, and care. I have been trying to play, at great personal cost, the role of a caring person in a dysfunctional, uncaring place.

Here’s the deal: I believe that I am an authentic individual. I am exhausted by the role of inauthenticity that this environment forces me to play.

I desire connectedness. Team play. Commitment. And, yes, love.

I continue to find myself in situations where those crucial, life-affirming forces are absent.

On and off stage, what I have to offer is my one-man act. Alone. I look around and the set is empty. Except for me.

All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players.
William Shakespeare

Moment by Moment

Life does not wait: Whether we spend our lives meaningfully or not, the time will be used up moment by moment. – the Dalai Lama.

OK, I know what you’re thinking…first a song-lyrics phase, and now a quotations phase? Oh, well: this one caught my eye on the Quotidian Quotes page.

The above thought strikes a chord with me, of course, as I continue to question the meaningfulness of my life at the current time. I realize that I’m not, really, living in the present moment, but rather waiting for something else, presumably better, down the road. This is not much of a way to live and I know that. Is it within my power to change this state (other than totally changing my life)? Yes, I suppose it is. I am certain that things must be different than they are for me…but what if I’m wrong about what that looks like? What if it’s just my attitude that needs adjustment? I admit that that’s a possibility. (Yes, most of the time I believe it’s a remote one, but it’s a possibility nonetheless.)

This limbo-like state that I occupy these days is disorienting. I’ve never been so unsettled for so long…

…well, as I write that, I know that that’s not entirely accurate either. I was, for the whole of my 20s, in a condition that was barely emotionally survivable. I had chosen poorly in terms of a marriage partner, and spent nearly the entire ten years living with unhappiness & despair – and a variety of physical ailments (including chronic, debilitating tension headaches) that signaled, to anyone paying attention (though certainly not me at the time), the unsatisfactory condition of my life. I believed, truly believed, that I was not ever going to see my 30th birthday. When, on my 29th, I was still living and breathing, and it occurred to me that my personal lifespan assessment may have been in error, I started to make some radical changes. First, I weaned myself from the Valium habit I had developed (prescribed by a series of physicians for coping with my headaches), and then ultimately left the dysfunctional relationship that was at the root of my problems.

At that time, as I finally decided: what was called for was a radical reshaping of my life. I knew deep down (really, even through all the years of denial) that wholesale change was needed. And my life experience since then, and the several dramatic transitions that have been called for, has taught me to trust my judgment when I believe that change is necessary.

So, is an attitude adjustment in order? Definitely. But, on a higher-self level, I know that I must restructure this existence of mine in order to survive it.