Before and after my twice yearly travels to see my family, I go through my so familiar and so bumpy transitions feeling irritable, cranky, overwhelmed and exhausted.
Mid-August in Ojai, as always, is a time of intensely hot, near or above 100 degree days, gentler, cooler 55-60 degree nights and the endless cornucopia of summer fruit spilling off the trees in the family orchard. White and yellow peaches, white and yellow nectarines, red Bartlett pears, gala apples, mission and kadota figs and the last of the Santa Rosa plums. It’s a boundless feast for the birds, bees, ants and every person in the small circle of my daily life: clients, friends, body-workers, dentist, acupuncturist, and of course, me!
No matter how much the owners, the new tenants and I pick and bag and disperse, it always seems that near to half the crop drops to the ground for critters and compost. (Sigh!) Still, after so many seasons here, I seem less obsessed with it all this year; more accepting that what falls to the ground does actually fertilize next year’s growth. I’ve finally surrendered to the process!
The last of July was a time of traveling for me. On my twice-yearly trek to the southeast, I stop first in New Orleans to see my goddaughter and her sweet family. There I get to share a little in the magical unfolding of the now just two year old and quite miraculous, Abigail Hope. We read books, jump-dance, learn everything about “Elmo” and eat homemade Cajun food.
After just 48 hours there, I move onto Fort Lauderdale to visit with the equally dear and miraculous mid-eighty/mid-ninety year old set: my dad, step mom, two aunts and Great Aunt Sophie. There for 72 hours I get to marvel at these lively, outspoken, funny role models of positive aging as we play rollicking games of cards (Shanghai, Bridge and 727) and eat, eat, eat Jewish food! In both places the talking, story telling and laughter is non-stop.
As always though, the trip was preceded by the so familiar crabbiness and irritability that overtake me whenever I have to leave my little home in Paradise. Although I’m only going off to visit people I dearly love, I always feel an enormous sense of overwhelm as I face traveling. There seems no way around it. The endless amount of preparation/making order/packing. The excessive length of the travel days (11 hours one way, 13 1/2 the other). The major differences in lifestyles/environments (closed up, air-conditioned indoor living). And, the fact that “life” in my little world goes on no matter that I’m on vacation somewhere else!
Once I’ve launched, I’m usually able to surrender completely and serenely into the limbo of airports and planes and living in other people’s worlds. My ordinary life disappears from my consciousness and I have a way of fitting quite seamlessly into the reality of wherever I find myself. Sometimes, at bedtime, I do briefly dip into my abandoned “real” life by checking phone messages or actually calling a friend back “home.” But, this time around, it felt as if doing that would add more “contact” than I could possibly encompass without going onto overload!
Perhaps because my visits are so short, but surely because the being-with-each-other is the only reason I’m there, we seem barely to take time out for sleeping! And, this time, the extreme heat and humidity in both places made even my usually assured hour-long walk-breaks entirely out of the question. The being with and around people for 24 hours a day is so intense for my little solitude-preferring, telephone-visiting hermit-self! I’m always amazed at how well I do while in the middle of it all. Then, on the far side, I always feel wrung out, exhausted, in dire need of the quiet of a long, deep solitary rest!
But, once home, the mail, phone calls, website e-mails, dead-heads on the rose bushes, overgrowth in the vegetable patch, the next round of watering and tending to the birdfeeders after the house-sitter’s done with her stint–all added to the unpacking and laundry leave me having to play so much “catch-up!” What I’d much rather do, once through my own door, would be to be a “cauliflower,” to simply veg-out for several days just to recover from the stimulation overload!
I’ve gradually learned to be able to postpone most of the unpacking till the next morning, to delay returning phone calls for still one more day. And, I’ve taught myself to take small breaks during the whole process. Still, the first few hours of the first full day at home always bring a complete “melt-down.” I crumple in a heap in the middle of the studio rug, sobbing like an overtired child. I desperately need order around me to be able comfortably to rest. And, I desperately need rest so that I can have the energy to make that order around me! I am filled with such longing for an on-call capable, loving “Mommy.” An already instructed personal assistant or even a clone who could take over the re-making of order for me so that I wouldn’t feel so totally on overload! And, of course I’d want her to be quietly invisible as she does it–no more talking!
After the cry and a tantruming fit of cussing–yelling about how much I hate everything, how much I can’t deal with any of it–I pass through the turmoil into a kind of surrender-into-the-middle-of-it-all. More quietly now, I can fall into spiraling through the layers of “doings” that need attending to, taking little time-outs now and then to cuddle with Ms. Pretty (who’s always so happy to see me back) or just to space out. After the totally predictable, seemingly unavoidable “melt-down,“ everything always seems scaled back to completely manageable proportions. And, after all the “catch-up” is done, I usually do still have a couple of totally do-nothing days before ordinary life resumes.
At these moments, I always find myself wishing everyone lived closer by so that seeing them wouldn’t involve so much stretching. But, then, there’d be other kinds of stretching to contend with! Knowing and truly honoring how the dance unfolds in me allows me to be sure to give myself the permission, the time and the safe space I’ll need to go through all the stages of these transitions–the leaving and coming back to home. Sometimes, I remember back to the years during which I had so little awareness or respect for my process that I left no room for transitioning. I am appalled at what I put myself through then! And, I’m incredibly grateful for the loving support from the Grandmothers that has so helped me to develop such loving, compassionate sensitivity to my own tender, delicate sensitive self!
Originally published August 2002
