Saturday evening I started writing about the Boston bombings. I was struck with an urge of creativity and began a piece that is harsh, raw, brutal...just like the reality of what happened to the people who were injured during the explosions. Not being squeamish, I sought out and found the worst of the worst pictures. I do not know what prompted me to see such horror, or to witness the kind of pain, shock, awe, terror, horror, bravery, and response that all the people who were there saw and dealt with. But for some reason, I just needed to see it.
Last Monday, prior to the bombings, I had risen early and gone to Kettlebell. I had gone to work. At lunch, I couldn't decide whether to run, or walk, or lie on a rock and do some grounding, or whether I should drive the 20 minutes up into the Jemez and soak in the cold river. After some deliberation, I decided that cold-soaking is what I wanted, so I headed up into the mountains. When I do this, I experience several levels of emotion. Guilt for driving so far for such a short period of time. Guilt and some worry for not telling anyone where I am going. Protectiveness over what I'm doing and the reasons for doing so. Excitement for the rush I get every time I set myself down in cold water. Peace at being in the car alone for a little bit of time. Contentment at my own thoughts and my ability to discern them.
I arrived at the river and was surprised to see the Forest Service gate open. Due to the parking fee, I decided to park on the highway, which always feels a little exposed, despite the peacefulness of the mountains. I hiked a short distance up stream, began to feel a little uncomfortable, like I shouldn't head up so far, turned around, and ended up at the same spot I was in last time. Only on this day there were no floating ice bergs and most of the snow had melted. I set down in the water and kept my Vibram barefoot shoes on since the water was so cold last time that my feet were numb for over an hour. I was surprised at how well they insulated my feet.
The wind was howling and blowing fiercely all around, even in the narrow chasm that makes up this portion of the river. I watched trout bite at the small insects flapping around on the surface of the water. I heard a tree crash down the hillside, which made me jump, and I quickly tried to discern if it was a tree or a bear. I decided it was a tree, and settled back in for a little longer. The cold water makes my skin tingle in a pleasant way. The sun was bright, despite the roaring wind, and warmed my shoulders and face. Finally, I felt it was time to leave, so I got out, air-dried, let the sun warm my whole body for a few minutes, and then headed out.
On the drive back to town, I kept feeling a strange sense of foreboding. I've felt this before. I didn't know if it was my financial worries, the wind leaving me unsettled, the continued drought that terrifies me at a deep, unexplainable level, or my work that continues to be uncertain and shifty. I felt like crying for a little bit, and even had tears well up in my eyes as I passed through the Valle Caldera and wondered at its amazing beauty.
Back at my office, my co-worker asked if I'd heard about the marathon. I quickly got on to the news and saw what was unfolding. Instantly I recognized that hyper-premonition feeling I've had for other hard-to-fathom events such as Boston: the bombing at the Olympics, Columbine, the Cerro Grande Fire that destroyed my home and my mountains. My intuition had sensed the events, even though I didn't know what was happening on the other side of the country.
Because I run, I felt an indescribable feeling of devastation about the Boston bombings. I couldn't understand why anyone would target an event like a marathon. I don't know why anyone would target any event or place anyway, but a marathon is such a feat of endurance and physical ability that is seemed blasphemous for such a tragedy to take place at one. That same morning I had heard an interview on NPR with people from Newtown, CT who were
running in honor of each of the children killed during the Newtown massacre. The interview had made me tear up on my way home from kettle bell, the first time I'd teared up that day. I must've cried twenty times before the day was over.
Speaking of tearing up, I'm certain that I've been undergoing all sorts of hormonal issues lately. For the most part, I'm pretty even keel. But lately I've definitely felt like I've been on some sort of hormonal roller coaster, at least compared to how I've been for years. I seem to be fluctuating each month. Lately, I've felt somewhat flat. Like something is missing. And I feel more easily saddened by things that I might not bat an eye at otherwise. This is different than the pregnancy-related crying over diaper commercials...the sadness feels like it's swimming on the surface; easily touched.
I read way too much, lately, and so I've been attempting to self-diagnose, which is seemingly a waste of time. I think my pregnenalone is low, my progesterone is low, my cortisol is high, my estrogen is high, but not too high. These conclusions are are inconclusive because I haven't done any hormone panels. The fact of the matter is that I have very few symptoms of hormonal imbalance. My only real symptom that seems to cross each and every hormonal issue is irritability. Anger. Lack of tolerance. Grouchiness.
These symptoms are emotions. But they tend to feel overwhelming when I can't pull myself out of them. Lately, it seems, I've been pissey more than I've been happy, and that is very much not like me. Everything else related to hormones is relatively stable. I sleep well in general. My menses are as regular as ever, PMS symptoms are typically the same, and not in the least debilitating.
So, really, I need to get my blood drawn. I need to consult with a real doctor who can make a real determination. I want to know what I can do to eliminate the never-ending grouchies.
But so many other things tend to fall into play. A job that is uncertain. It's been 18 months of not knowing whether I'll be employed for the next month. I've been told again that come June 1st, I might be out of my current job because our program is $12 million short and subcontractors will be the first out the door. Never mind the 20 or 30 managers and other highly compensated people who have nothing to do.
That sort of stress is precisely why I'm working on launching my new business, which I have worked hard at, but still need to devote a tremendous number of hours on, which is also stressful, but important. I want to do what I want to do. The business now has shape, and I needs to put the pieces together.
So I need time. Time to put it all together. Time to complete my book proposal to coincide with the launch. Time to get my website developed and flushed out. Time to put my packages together.
Time does seem to be spinning ever faster, and I wish that I could slow down the clock whenever possible to eke out the most of every minute and hour.
Tomorrow, I will sit down and create a priority punchlist, and see what I can get done.
Finally, I've been feeling an urgency to get my shit together financially. I tend to ignore things and then they bite me in the ass. It's time to stop ignoring things, and get some issues taken care of, to be responsible like the adult I am.
While reading
Thich Nhat Han today, I realized that much of what I've been experiencing the past month or so is rooted in fear. I've not been observing, acknowledging, and moving on.
Thus, it's time to be more mindful. I cannot walk the walk if I'm off floundering around and not being mindful. I needed that reminder today, more than ever.
Here's to moving forward.
