38: Five things you know you know, but probably need reminding of anyway

Last week, I learned that there's a handful of things I know I know, but seem to need occasional reminding of anyway. Maybe some of these are familiar to you, too, and worth committing to a sticky note manifesto on your bathroom mirror or the dashboard of your car.

1. If you feel like you're getting sick, you're getting sick. Lethargy and a sore throat mean you need to cancel your plans and climb into bed. Stop questioning whether or not it’s a legitimate cold or mere allergies. Stop asking yourself, What is wrong with you today? and Why can’t you just pull yourself together? You’re sick. Stop everything and go be sick.

2. Friends who say, “I’m happy for you, but—,” or some variation thereof, aren’t actually friends. Simple as that.

3. Without exception, you need to wait 24 hours (at least) before sending that email. You know the one. Emotionally charged, reactive, full of you-statements instead of I-statements? The one that could demolish everything in an instant? The one that isn't going to dissolve into thin air if you don't send it right now, in the heat of the moment? Yup, that one. Sleep on it, see how you feel about it in the morning, edit as needed. Hit 'send' once the tidal wave of emotion has passed. [Side note: I happen to have this one down pat; however, I've found myself more than once the very unlucky recipient of other folks' unfiltered missives.]

4. That feeling you get when you’ve consumed what should be your last cocktail, cookie, or cup of coffee is never wrong. Thank it. Make friends with it. Listen to it.

5. The decisions you make from an intuitive place will always be a better fit than those you make from a fearful place. The tricky thing about making intuition-based decisions is: You can't judge the rightness of those decisions using someone else's rubric. So, if you're a recovering people-pleaser or pushover, beware; many people will disagree with the choices you need to make to be in integrity with yourself. It's a simple fact that your staying in integrity won't be convenient for everyone. To expressly avoid that dissonance, however, is to de-prioritize your well-being.

To that last point: Recently, I experienced some big, bad uglies; that is, I found that I had allowed someone's unhappiness with me to trump my well-being. I'd agreed to have a phone conversation with the unhappy person, but found that as our appointment approached, Roman candles of dread began setting themselves off in my gut. Not because I felt I'd done anything wrong, but because I knew there was no way for me to correct the bad press I'd already gotten; I didn't even want to correct it, because that would be engaging in combat (here, Byron Katie speaks about marriage, but her theory applies to any interpersonal relationship). What was happening was pretty obvious: I'd followed my fear in deciding to schedule that phone meeting (fear of being unkind or unfair, fear of becoming a villain in the eyes of another) instead of following my intuition, which told me nothing good would come of this particular conversation—and in doing so, I fell completely out of integrity with myself. Being out of integrity feels bad. Like, can't ignore it bad. Like, Roman candles bad. I needed to renege. To change my mind. To go back and take the route my body clamored for. So, I did. I canceled the call and fielded the fallout. I won't lie and say that getting back into integrity with myself felt good—it was clunky and full of second-guessing and riddled with what-ifs—but it felt right.

What do you know you know, but seem to need occasional reminding of anyway? Hit 'reply' and, together, let's grow that sticky note manifesto.

'Til soon,
Helen

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Notes from the week of May 8

DISCOVERED

+ the fabulously social list app, li.st (naturally, I'm @wonderinghelen)

ATE, DRANK

+ whiskey cake (hooray for a Friday the 13th birthday!)

READ & NODDED MY HEAD

+ "We are all seeking truth, but truth is in the eye of the beholder. Discernment not judgment leads you to truth by getting curious and noticing whether someone’s perception of reality comes from love or fear. It’s the difference between competition and cooperation; doubt and trust. It will lead to holding on or letting go"
+ "I’ve learned that, at times, I cannot be authentic because it will bring out someone’s ego (blaming, complaining, condemning), even if I share from a genuine place of love. We have no control over where someone chooses to live on the spectrum of fear versus love, and must discern whether there’s space to share—and what’s better left unsaid, so we don’t step on other people’s spiritual path. Sometimes we may simply need to wish others well on their journey, creating a new space for both sides to reflect on what truly matters. This is also a loving choice. And when you love without judgment, you won’t need to be right because you’ll be free"

COLLECTED

+ hippy-dippy deodorants

37: In defense of motion memory

Yesterday, I wrote to Sarah, "We're finally back on dry land," and that really felt like the most accurate way to describe our current conditions. Oklahoma City greeted us Saturday night with its characteristic balmy temperatures, red-hued gusts, and really bad drivers. We haven't missed this place. We're living in an extended-stay hotel for the next five or so weeks while Dana wraps up a work assignment that reminds me an awful lot of the song that never ends (RIP Shari Lewis; girl could seriously rock a pair of suspenders).

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In some ways it's an altogether different vantage point than the local RV park where we hung our hats between mid-September and mid-March; in most other ways, it's still Oklahoma and we still dislike it. Today, though—today, I think I'd write something different to Sarah. I might write, "What a bizarre feeling it is to have just cut a giant C in the western half of the United States only to carve that same C a second time, even deeper...and then to land back where we began, all in six weeks' time."

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There's a vestibular disorder called mal de débarquement, which literally means "sickness of disembarkment." I'm sure you've experienced it before—maybe after rollerskating or iceskating as a child, when you finally pulled off your skates to go home and found yourself gliding, still. Vestibular Disorders Association defines it:

Although this term originally referred to the illusion of movement felt as an aftereffect of travel on water by ship or boat, some experts now include other types of travel (such as by airplane, automobile, and train) as well as situations with novel movement patterns (such as reclining on a waterbed). Most individuals experience this illusion of movement almost immediately after the cessation of the precipitating event, and the sensation usually resolves within 24 hours.

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And it's not that I'm experiencing mal de débarquement in any sort of physiological way since detraining (thank god). It's more that I've acquired a different way of interacting with the world—or at least I want to. The Naked Scientists get closer to describing what I mean:

What scientists think is going on is that you have in your head a model of the world and how you are relating to it. In other words, if the world is moving, then you’re modeling that movement and working out how to compensate for it either with movements of your head and eyes or your balance system so that you don’t fall over. When you’re on a ship, because of the constant movements, your brain has to ‘de-tune’, or damp down, that response a little bit. If it didn’t, you would continuously be over-correcting for it, which might underlie why you get seasick in the first place, and why after a period of time at sea you stop feeling seasick. So, when you then come back onto land, the signals are being fed into this system which models how you’re interacting with the world. When those signals are coming in now, you’re not continuously in motion so the very thing that was expecting you to be in motion is no longer always seeing motion. As a result the model is predicting how you should respond to the movements around you incorrectly. So you experience these rather strange sensations as though the world is continuously moving.

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Our train trip was equal parts high-highs and low-lows (I breathed "I love this" as much as I griped "I'm over this"), neither of which should be sustained for too long. So, despite a readiness to return to a slightly more conventional day-to-day (one that includes clean laundry, good water pressure, and a bed that doesn't require a safety harness), I find myself completely loathe to fall back into a routine that's divorced from the whimsy and wonder of our recent travel. That's probably my biggest takeaway from the six weeks we spent wearing a semicircular groove into the western half of this country: Keep your adventuring spirit alive and well, even (and especially) between adventures. After all, a marathoner doesn't stop stretching and strength training and running between the Boston and New York City races, does she? Certainly not.

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So: How do I plan to stay in practice for the next month-and-a-half in a city that doesn't even remotely get me jazzed? How might you design your in-between time so that it conditions your curiosity muscle and whips your whimsy into shape?

Dream up the kinds of itineraries that travel magazines print. Pretend you've been hired to scout out the best local haunts. How would you recommend a non-touristy tourist elevate her everyday where you live? Try look at your own town or city through the eyes of a visitor, and really get down to the brass tacks of what's enjoyable, worthy, delightful, or intriguing. Rachael makes an excellent one for mothers with the morning off in Boston, but she's also compiled a veritable treasure trove of others on Pinterest for the simple day-tripper to the South End. Nicole offers up travel guides from local writers and bloggers "for bookworms who love to eat." The New York Times runs a weekly column that, for me, is the reading equivalent of dessert, called 36 Hours (which is further explained in the subtitle as "what to do when you've got 36 hours to get to know a city"). Keep in mind: A top-notch itinerary isn't reserved for popular destinations and exotic locales alone. You might find that this exercise lends itself to a shift in perspective...and then enables you to exist inside that new perspective whether you're on the move or disembarking.

'Til soon,
Helen

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Notes from the week of May 1

DISCOVERED

+ Wonderings & Wanderings (via Jill Salahub)

MEALS EATEN, DRINKS DRUNK

+ far too much Amtrak grub (meals are the same on every train—womp womp)

READ & NODDED MY HEAD

+ "The truth is, I hate being so easily irritated by sounds. The noise is amplified in my brain to such a level that I can’t ignore it. 'Sorry, you were saying?', spoons clinking. 'Yes, the situation in Syria is heartbreaking.' Who the fuck keeps banging their spoon? Is there a one-man band in here?"

FRIENDS MADE IN THE DINING CAR

+ Pat & Bob
+ Gail & Stanley
+ Jane & Mark
+ Valentina & Slava
+ Anne & Annie
+ Pamela
+ an elderly Navy couple who warned us of the health risks of cellphone usage

36: How to lose friends & alienate people

I didn't know 'incurious' was a word until a few days ago. I read something somewhere and learned that we actually have a very precise word for the opposite of 'curious' (which is to say, it isn't necessarily 'depressed' or even 'bored' as I'd long suspected). Finding this out was a lightbulb moment for me. It turns out there are some serious pitfalls to the incurious life—pitfalls that go beyond never traveling the country or settling for the same line of work long after the joy runs out. I'm talking the hazards of incuriosity as it applies to interpersonal relationships, the perils that surface when someone you know (or you, yourself!) is angry or hurt and won't take responsibility for creating and propagating her own suffering.

What happens when you're one half of an interpersonal conflict and you're incurious? What might you do...or not do? You might continue to collect evidence for potentially faulty beliefs about yourself that you've held onto and not examined for too long. You might assume your loved ones' actions are a direct commentary on who you are, your worth as a human being, your value in the eyes (and hearts) of those very same loved ones. You might make the mistake of reacting instead of asking questions that could help you learn more, perhaps something different, or disprove your deepest fears about your unlovability.

A common phrase is to give it—whatever it is—the benefit of the doubt. That is: to assume the best about a person or situation if the contrary hasn't been proven. Well, I'm working on a variation of that, and it goes something like this: What about giving a person, a situation, the benefit of your curiosity? What does that look like in theory? It's operating from a place where you acknowledge that your prejudices are exactly that—prejudices—and where you shelf them for a hot minute and decide that the situation or person before you merits inquiry, investigating, a willingness to learn a bit more before assumptions are acted upon. In practice, it might look like asking more questions instead of assuming all the answers.

Byron Katie, a phenomenally impactful speaker and writer, developed a method of self-inquiry that she calls The Work. Far from hippy-dippy, woo-woo hogwash, The Work "is a way of identifying and questioning the thoughts that cause all the anger, fear, depression, addiction, and violence in the world" (I snagged that from her website), with an end goal of showing people how to end their own suffering. Comprised of four total questions, it's the first two that are my favorite and that have unlocked doors of self-responsibility and feelings-ownership for me. They are: Is it true? followed by Can you absolutely know that it is true?

Curiosity is infinitely easier—and more desirable!—to meet and respond to than assumption (which is incuriosity at its finest) and suspicion (which is curiosity that's so biased, it can hardly be called curiosity). It's the difference between saying something along the lines of this:

When did our friendship become so unimportant to you?,

and something more like this:

I really miss you and feel as though there's a canyon between us. Do you feel it, too? Can you help me bridge it? I don't know where to start.

Do you see the difference? Well, besides the obvious, of course. The first is an example of sheer attack mode: incuriosity with a hefty helping of emotional blackmail. It leaves no room for nuance, for misinterpretation, for conversation. It's a sucker punch, and it will likely (and should!) be met very carefully, as though tiptoeing around a sleeping grizzly. It is impossible to engage with because it presupposes a state of affairs that is not yet confirmed to be true. It's also a test, and an unfair one at that, because it requires the friend to protest a possibly-faulty, definitely-hurtful assumption in order to put a bandage on the situation. A bandage that will soon need reapplying because it's impossible to truly repair someone else's low self-esteem.

The second example is factual in that the speaker could reasonably and convincingly vouch for its truth—they're her feelings, therefore it's possible for her to know for sure of their veracity. Then, it elucidates what feels like truth for the speaker; that is, distance between her and her friend. Next, it plugs in to a state of curiosity; because she has no way of knowing without first asking, the speaker questions whether or not her friend feels the distance. Finally, still plugged in to that same curiosity, the speaker asks for help in finding a solution to the distance she's perceived. In this way, she takes full responsibility for her feelings instead of outsourcing them to her friend for repair.

So, giving a person or situation the benefit of your curiosity? It's applying curiosity on the inside (ideally modeling your approach on The Work or some variation thereof), and then applying it in conversation with whomever you might feel inclined to blame for your suffering. You will find that engaging in a gentle line of questioning will reveal so much more about a situation than adopting the role of victim (because when does that ever work?).

Are you finding yourself more incurious than curious in a particularly fraught interpersonal relationship? No shame. We've all been there, but there's no need to stay there. Hit 'reply' and let me help.

'Til soon,
Helen

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 Notes from the week of April 24

ADMIRED

+ Liz Applegate's most recent blog post, "Prom 2010: The Unraveling & Rebuilding"
+ the man deserving of a swan hug

MEALS EATEN, DRINKS DRUNK

+ cheese, all the cheese
+ sandwiches, with a view
+ Thai delivery to the hotel room
+ almond croissant
+ miso soup
+ nachos
+ coffee
+ donuts, surrounded by heaps of people
+ a beer flight & a cider
+ chocolate, on a factory tour
+ more cider & cheese fries
+ dirty chai

LOCAL COLOR EXPERIENCED

+ Amtrak's dining car (more on this soon)
+ Pike Place Market
+ ferry-riding
+ Bainbridge Island
+ bus-riding
+ Fremont troll
+ statue of Lenin
+ Theo Chocolate factory tour

CURIOSITIES COLLECTED

+ graphic bus tickets

FRIENDS VISITED

+ Fred, Sonja, Joseph, & Rex
+ Nick

35: In the thick of it

This past week, we've found ourselves driving through the fog. Like, a lot of fog.

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Leaving Washington late Friday afternoon, Idaho was a total blur; Montana greeted us later with dense, low-hanging clouds that gave way to pitch blackness, save for the cement barriers trimmed in yellow reflector squares that transported us from Lolo National Forest into something more like Tron...but, with a smoke machine. Saturday saw us trading Missoula for Sturgis, pressing through atmosphere that was thick and wet like cotton batting, soaked and stretched, all the way into Sunday. Mount Rushmore is when things started to clear up in a way that made me wonder if a national monument wizard sat behind a curtain somewhere in the Black Hills and managed the weather dials to keep park visitors flowing in, eleven dollars a car. Similarly, the Badlands were sharply blue-sky'd and suspiciously fluffy-clouded until we neared the end of the thirty-one mile road, spotted storms on the horizon, and confirmed their severity with smartphone apps.

Back on I-90, we played tag with the rainclouds and wet air that kept our wipers going at varying speeds, but constantly. Rainbows appeared and disappeared. Rain fell harder, then relented. Picked back up again after dark last night when we stopped for fuel and hot beverages at an establishment that was half convenience store, half diner, where "Drive" by The Cars played and a pregnant waitress cleared tables and pointed me to the bathroom. Fog and rain all the way to the Blue Earth Rest Area in southern Minnesota, where we parked some time around midnight this morning, pulled a king-sized blue blanket over our heads, and tried to sleep for a few hours. I fell asleep for maybe twenty minutes and then woke up wired, which seemed equal parts unfair and like there had to be a purpose to it. The rain came down harder. I felt desperate until I didn't. Earthworms glinted under the street lamps, writhing on the pavement, evicted from underground. Around 4:30 a.m., we hit the road again and watched the sun rise somewhere close to La Crosse, Wisconsin.

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So, fog. There's this unmistakable headspace of just trying to push through; of not knowing for sure how I feel about it, any of it, until I understand all the moving pieces of the journey; of wondering why I seem to take so long to land on the other side of an experience—a place where I understand how I'm changed by what occurred and by the choices I made. Some people can do this quickly, I've noticed. As the life-altering event is taking place, for example. I am not one of these people. It's not until the fog of the right-now has lifted that my picture begins to make any kind of real sense to me whatsoever. And still, layers upon layers of context are added with the passing years, and some other, different things snap into perfect focus a decade or more after the fact.

To be clear: I'm planted firmly in my particular brand of right-now fog and appreciate that there are things I absolutely cannot know in this present moment...but, I sure as heck am looking forward to running my hands over these experiences once they've earned the patina that only time can give them.

'Til soon,
Helen

P.S. A quick travel update: We board Amtrak's Empire Builder tomorrow afternoon, which will run us from Milwaukee to Seattle. (I know, I know, we just came from that direction; still, we'd forgone Seattle for Spokane, and Seattle's still calling...)

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Notes from the week of April 17

SPOTTED

+ a wild billy goat
+ prairie dogs everywhere, and a park sign indicating that they have the plague and we should stay away
+ two wandering bison

ADMIRED

+ Sarah P. Miller's most recent TinyLetter, "How to say goodbye to anything"
+ Wendy Willis's most recent blog post, "Dearly Beloved"

CELEBRATED

+ adding Idaho, Montana, Wyoming, South Dakota, & Minnesota to my 'states visited' list

MEALS EATEN, DRINKS DRUNK

+ nuts, berries, and other rest stop food, until we got to my in-laws' in Wisconsin...
+ cheese curds
+ chili
+ chocolate chip cookies

LOCAL COLOR EXPERIENCED

+ Mount Rushmore
+ Black Hills
+ Wall Drug, a drugstore slash restaurant slash gift shop located in Middle Of Nowhere, South Dakota, but oh so charming and certainly worth the stop (they give honeymooners and veterans free, delicious donuts and coffee; if ever you're driving east on I-90 through SD, you'll begin seeing signs for Wall Drug about 350 miles out...and you should allow your curiosity to overcome you)
+ Badlands National Park

FAMILY VISITED

+ Connie & Bruce, my in-laws
+ Dana's Aunt Cheryl and cousin Evelyn

FRIENDS MADE

+ the woman behind the ice cream counter in Wall Drug who told us about getting stuck in a blizzard with her sister
+ the park ranger at the entrance to Badlands who spoke with us about the bubonic plague and how the black-footed ferret population is dwindling because they're the natural predator of the plague-stricken prairie dog
+ the gas station employees who listened to us deliriously blather on about coffee and creamer at 5 a.m. this morning
+ the Target employee who teased Dana

34: A change in adventure (& an adventure in change)

Welp, the RV sold.

(For the fun of it, I live-tweeted the bejeezus out of the whole event.)

We had a feeling it would. We hoped it would. We told ourselves and each other that even if it didn't sell just yet, that would be a good outcome, too—and we believed it, truly.

And then—it sold, and just like that we found ourselves eating eggs for lunch in a train car that had been converted into a diner. An especially suitable place to celebrate, considering we have our sights set on some train travel before heading back to Oklahoma City (where we were parked all those months that I was excessively discreet) to finish up some work. Where we'll be after that is anybody's guess.

It's not all celebration. We're sad and stressed, too. Sad because we're saying good bye to our first home together. Because the RV has been an exceptionally fun experiment (and my first big departure from conventional living). Because we weren't necessarily finished with the RV lifestyle. And stressed because, as with any move, there's packing and Tetris-ing boxes and cleaning—and because, as with any trip, there's planning and booking tickets and figuring out what clothes to bring and where to leave the car.

I want to get past the surface of this experience to tell you how I really feel, what it's really like to be without a physical home right now (well, not quite yet; our buyers have generously invited us to stay in the RV until we're packed up and ready to go, likely Wednesday or Thursday of this week), but I'm having trouble accessing anything beyond the slightly guarded oversimplification: I'm scared, but excited. Which is to say: I'm ready for our next adventure.

What's your current adventure, big or small?

'Til soon,
Helen

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Notes from the week of April 10

CAMPED AT ALDERWOOD RV EXPRESS

DISCOVERED

+ biblioburros!
+ Amtrak Residency

MEALS TO EAT, DRINKS TO DRINK

+ since eating our way through our pantry, we're pretty much down to a carton of eggs
+ you can bet golden milk iced coffee is on my must-drink list for this summer

READ & NODDED MY HEAD

+ "She never waited for inspiration, she just got to it"
+ "Remember to give your sense of wonder a good workout. When was the last time you saw something for the first time?"
+ “Greatness is not in where we stand but in what direction we are moving. We must sail sometimes with the wind and sometimes against it—but sail we must and not drift, nor lie at anchor"

LOCAL COLOR EXPERIENCED

+ Ripped, an exercise class I took with my sister-in-law's sister-in-law, both of whom I adore like sisters