Detour Ahead

Photo by Ben Wicks on Unsplash

I know this is where I talk exclusively about art, but today I can find no art in my being. I am numb. I have been mentally and emotionally paralyzed for nearly three days. You know that disorienting feeling of how your ears are not quite right after a really loud concert or a blast and you can't connect with the world through your senses in the usual way? That's how I feel. I can't move through the world in my usual way yet.

Tuesday

I was visiting my family, 800 miles away, over the past week. It was my dad’s 87th birthday and I got to spend time with kids, grandkids and sisters.

I had voted early and so was free to be away on election day. I stayed with my son and his partner and we all went to bed early Tuesday night. It was just too much with the watching, the waiting, the anticipating and knowing there would likely not be an answer that night.

Wednesday

I opened my eyes before 6 am, swiped my phone awake, saw one headline, then quickly closed it. I was sick with the same nausea and fear I felt waking up in a New York City hotel room on a Wednesday morning in 2016. Mechanically, I packed my things, wrote a quick note saying goodbye and crept out of the house to get back to my home, my husband; my safe place. I know I shaved about 20 minutes off the usual 12 hour drive.

While I was completely aware and attentive the entire time, I don’t remember much of it. Drive, gas, pee, drive and drive and drive.No radio, no socials, no news. Audio books. Fantasy novels. I tried “If Women Rose Rooted”, but I started to cry at the author’s recounting of the horrors that men have inflicted upon women throughout the ages, and thought of how it is happening again to women all over the world and now, here, in the USA. It was not a good day for that book.

Messages from friends checking-in went unanswered. I had nothing for them and could ask nothing from them. I was reeling and searching for purchase, for the ground under my feet. It wasn’t there.

I arrived home in time to cook dinner, seeking some normalcy and routine, even though I was exhausted. I only made a few small mistakes, but Michael was there as my sous chef, bless him. Over dinner, we talked about nothing. Both of us were still trying to find a way to process what happened and come to terms with it.

Thursday

I woke and went upstairs to my studio (my happy place) hoping to paint my feelings, but I still couldn’t touch them. Still numb, in shock and fear for the future of our country, but mostly, our women.

I decided to tidy up a bit and found an old, stalled, crochet project, tore it apart, then crochected something new and simple for the next 12 hours, practically non-stop. I made dinner; definitely not up to my usual standard, but edible.

During dinner we began to talk around the edges of the situation, but my old and severe stress response manifested and I had to stop before I needed to use an inhaler.

Friday Morning

Still staying away from all outside sources, I know nothing other than that the orange menace won the election. I needed to go to the grocery store, but I live in Trumpistan and I was afraid to see my neighbors in full regalia, or banners festooning homes and businesses.I couldn’t bear to be reminded of what he has promised to do to dismantle this admittedly less than perfect union. How many straight, white, affluent people will be harmed in the next however many years? None, other than his described enemies.

And the women. Dear gods and goddesses! The women!

Friday Afternoon

I took myself to the beach in my ratty and beloved Miata, Scarlet. She’s got some miles on her and is faded and worn, but I love her. I listenred to the wind and the surf, let the sun warm my skin and my heart, and wrote this to share with you.

Now

If you are feeling - or not feeling - similarly, know that I stand beside you. If you have found a way to move through or around all this, or to manage it in a healthy way, please share it below. I know I need some wisdom and direction. I’m sure I am not alone.

Namaste.