Entries from November 27th, 2019

Quit worrying

Wednesday, November 27, 2019

The hardest thing is listening well enough to quit worrying about dying.

–Brian Andreas

As Thanksgiving approaches and Rowan becomes impossibly cuter and more lovable each day, I find myself worrying often about death. Aside from a couple of low points in my teens and early twenties, I have never wanted to die. I am, in fact, terrified of it, not death itself, but of the deterioration, of letting go, of grieving the loss of everyone and everything I love. That or dumbly departing in a flash, with only a single thought before the lights go dark: That was it?

Now that I have a child this fear is greater still. I know my husband would be okay without me–it would be hard for awhile but he’d love again; this is one of many benefits of finally partnering with someone fundamentally whole. But Rowan, he’d have to do without his Mommy. And while I know the village would step in to care for him, the thought of him growing up without a Mommy breaks my heart.

I’m not, as far as I know, any more terminal than always. But the 4 a.m. wakings and feedings give my death anxiety a particularly opportune opening. To ward off this fear I have tried all of the following since Rowan’s birth: buying fancy vitamins and supplements (and forgetting to take them regularly), replacing all of my regular food with keto and paleo food (only to start eating bread and ice cream again within a few days), getting a CSA (the veggies often go bad), buying only local meat (yet still getting some at Publix), joining a gym (and rarely attending), buying an exercise bike (I didn’t use it), buying exercise wear (worn primarily for lounging), swearing to start walking, jogging, or jog-walking regularly (nope), and buying expensive sunscreen (I don’t routinely use).

The truth is there’s no escaping death, and while I can do things like eat “right” (whatever that is), exercise (I’m still hopeful), and abstain from alcohol (thankfully I’m okay there), I can’t control when I get hit by a car or the cumulative effects of all those cigarettes and beers I used to ingest.

I don’t know if the chemical self-abuse started in response to the sexual assaults as a teenager (oh you assaulted me? I’ll show you, I’ll assault myself even harder), or because it was cool and rebellious, or because I’m just prone to chemical addictions. But I do know I imagined in that boozy and smoke-filled haze that I was making an offering to the gods of death, inviting them close but not too close, hoping this would confuse them and and they’d go find someone eating kale and wearing sunscreen.

Now I’m trying to be the person eating kale and wearing sunscreen, but even with just intermittent effort I feel sheepish and exposed, like I’m greenlighting death. Hey, over here! Yeah me with the super greens and SPF 40! I’m stupidly trying to evade you in a game of peek-a-boo where I cover my eyes and believe I disappear.

I’ve got a weird spot on my left breast that is either killer melanoma or a benign birthmark that stretched beyond the size of a pencil eraser when my milk came in; I’m waiting to schedule with the dermatologist until my life insurance policy kicks in this January. I nurse Rowan and sometimes wonder, is he drinking cancer? Then he pulls away and smiles at me, milk running into his endless linty neck, and I dive into his bright blue unknowing eyes, forgetting for a moment that I am mortal, he is mortal, the seas are rising, babies lose their mothers every day, bombs explode, cartels open fire, refugees wait without relief, cut flowers wither and die. I am not an outlier; and death is not an outrage, no more or less personal and natural than birth. Eat the pig, the turkey, compost the flowers, wear my bike helmet, enjoy the pie, buy the life insurance.

Happy Thanksgiving indeed.

Butt-face

Sunday, November 24, 2019

Sleep matters. Pie helps.

A doodle a day

Saturday, November 23, 2019

Yesterday my mom texted me a few of her recent pen and ink doodles. “Those are so fun,” I wrote back. “I miss doodling!”

I miss more than that, of course–a huge blank canvas and the expanse of unstructured time to enter it. But there’s no sense complaining; I hear Rowan waking from his nap, and there’s nothing I’d rather do than respond to him.

But I will commit to this: until the New Year, a doodle a day. I’ll post here, and write a little too.

If you read my blog via email, I hope you don’t mind the extra contact.

Happy holidays!

Notes to a New Mom

Sunday, November 3, 2019

1 Relinquish perfection, even in the most abstract sense.

2 Outsource everything you can afford to, without losing what matters most.

3 Figure out what matters most. Pick three: health, career, family, fun, friends, creativity. No, you cannot pick them all (see # 1).

4 Refuse to be tormented by the sense that you are not doing enough, and if only you did more, you could have everything.

5 Understand that some priorities must wait; others must die.

6 Refuse to be tormented by the fear that you (or your child) will soon die. It could happen, yes, and occasionally it does. But anything potentially instructive about this fear, you have already gained. Persistent terror grants neither enlightenment nor a stay of execution.

7 So you have figured it out, for now: Family, health, and career. It’s okay to grieve for that which must wait–the early morning writing time, the yet unwritten book, the feeling of wanting, no needing, to paint.

8 Be wary of the impulse to perfect what you’ve decided matters most. In all things, go for a B-minus.

9 Best, on the whole, to avoid sugar. It’s not a replacement for self-care, love, or joy.

10 Trust you will return to your creativity and enduring friendships. Until then relish postcards, scribbles, the faintest taps on the wires of connection.

Theme by Blogmilk   Coded by Brandi Bernoskie