I’ve always been a little – sometimes a lot – older than the friends I hang around with. So I figure some folks might be wondering how it’s going following my recent stroke… What it’s like to live with the realization that a portion of my brain is, literally, dead.

The most pertinent fact is that my stroke is over. Actually, it was probably over by the time the EMTs showed up, but then there was the whole diagnosis and treatment protocol and investigation and followup plan. But now, six weeks later, that episode is as much a piece of history as my first driving test.

Physically, I’d like to say that I have no lingering aftereffects. Sensation returned to my left hand over the first 48 hours, and that numbness had been the only significant aftereffect.

The psychological impact was more lasting, manifesting in several flavors that’ll fill the balance of this blogpo.

Betrayal

Easily the most prominent emotion has been the feeling that I was betrayed by my body. For sixty years, I knew in my bones that my body could thrive and succeed no matter what outrageous demands I placed on it. Eating like a 14 year old? No problem. Bike 150 miles in a single day? Piece of cake! Going out drinking and nightclubbing until 4am and getting up at 6am to facilitate meetings with Fortune 500 clients? Easy-peasy! Work 80 to 120 hours per week for nine months straight on a death march project? BTDT.

But completely out of the blue one morning, the body I’ve relied upon all my life suddenly betrayed me, with no warning, while doing nothing more strenuous than walking down a staircase, something I do dozens of times every day.

I can’t tell you how much of a shock that was. I’ve been through the classic responses: anger, grief, bargaining. The only one I missed was denial, because it just wasn’t possible to ignore.

Mistrust

Trust, once broken, is difficult to restore.

Even after the hospital sent me home, I didn’t feel that I could just go back to a normal life. Even though that episode was over, I didn’t trust that I wasn’t still in imminent danger. I still felt that I had to stay vigilant, on guard against anything that might come up, even though I know that I’m not in full or direct control of my body’s health. Once bitten, twice shy.

Hyper-awareness

Because of that, I’ve been hyper-aware of every little niggle that arises… and in a 61 year old body, there are plenty of them.

I have developed some neuropathy in my feet, and any time a body part “falls asleep” sets off stroke alarms in my head. And that pain in my armpit: could that be a lymphoma? The stitch in my side kinda feels like a kidney stone, or maybe diverticulitis. The pain in the opposite side is probably pancreatic cancer, or maybe just liver failure. And my chest pains might be a symptom of atrial fibrillation, which is a huge risk factor for stroke.

I’m not normally prone to hypochondria, but nor am I used to waking up one morning and having a stroke. Even after consulting my physician, I can’t say for certain whether all these maladies are complete fiction, or real but minor discomforts, or something far worse.

Fear

What does the future hold? How much longer will I live? The truth is that I have almost no information and very limited influence.

That’s hard. It’s a cause for anxiety, uncertainty, and unease. In a word: fear. Raw existential dread. Not something I’ve ever had to face directly, so it’s one of those unpleasant “learning experiences”.

During the day, there’s enough stuff going on to distract me from all this, but the fears are more insistent at night. Keeping one’s imagination in check is a full-time job!

Living a normal life in this midst of all this is not easy! But then, what’s the alternative?

Fortunately, every morning I get up and notice that I don’t appear to be fatally ill. And after six weeks of evidence to the contrary, my worst fears have weakened to the point where life has started to feel normal again.

Coping

What helps? Good question.

Has my longstanding meditation practice helped? Somewhat. Meditation taught me how to distinguish between skillful thoughts and unskillful thoughts as they arise; that I don’t need to give full credence to everything a fearful mind envisions; and how to short-circuit the mental proliferation that can fuel unnecessary fear about the future. It also allows me to see that my moods and emotions are intensely charged interpretations of one possible future – not reality itself – and that they are essentially both transitory and empty of real substance.

That doesn’t mean that I’m able to dispel all my fears, especially in the dark, lonely silence of a late night, with nothing to think about other than my body, its ephemeral nature, and its treacherous sensations.

The thing that seems to help most is the simple passage of time. As I mentioned above, day after day, the worst case scenario doesn’t seem to happen. And that data has slowly piled up into an irrefutable conclusion that I seem to be mostly okay, at least in this moment.

Not that I feel like I can trust that just yet. But it does seem more and more plausible as each day goes by.

Conclusion

I am subject to aging. I am subject to sickness. I am subject to death.

These irrefutable truths are hard to face, and they’re a rude awakening that every one of us will have to come to terms with, at a time and in a manner we do not control. And this society does a shitty job preparing people for this immense challenge.

I’ve had a conceptual understanding of these truths since my sister died following a stroke fifty years ago. In my life, they’ve been reminders of the preciousness of life. Now they’re more omens about the precariousness of life. My life. My very finite life.

The following text was composed in my hospital room, 72 hours after my episode, and shortly before my discharge home. Be warned that you might not want to read this at night, alone, or if you're prone to existential dread. Sorree!

I had a stroke.

I can't possibly begin to communicate what those four words mean to me.

I used to have an older sister named Martha. When she was 21 years old, she was newly married and a brand new mother. One night, in the middle of the night, she had a stroke and fell into a coma. She was placed on a respirator, and her husband and my parents were in the terrible situation of making the ultimate decision.

At the time I was only nine years old, but the loss of my sister left a deep permanent impression. I can't imagine what it was like for her to wake up in the middle of the night and what she went through. Nor can I imagine what her husband went through that night. Since then, I can’t count how many nights I’ve layed awake, next to my sleeping partner, with the horror of that memory playing through my mind.

I also had a grandmother, who after her stroke was left perfectly lucid, but anytime she tried to speak, all that would come out is, "Beh beh beh beh." Stroke is sudden, unpredictable, and absolutely devastating.

Those fearsome memories come back to me very often both in the day and the dark nights when I'm awake alone. So I've always been highly sensitized about stroke: its symptoms and causes, its devastating effects, and how vanishingly quickly life can change or be entirely snuffed out at complete random.

I can't describe to you the visceral horror that stroke has been throughout my life. It has always been my biggest dread of all.

I had a stroke.

The good news -- that you all want to hear -- is that somehow, miraculously, mine was vanishingly small, and at this very early point in my recovery, it seems likely that I will regain full functionality. So in a sense, I'm okay.

That doesn't mean that I will continue to be okay, or that I can simply resume living my life as if I hadn't had a stroke at all. For the first time I will be on long-term meds: blood thinners and statins, which have unpleasant side effects. And there's going to be a whole battery of follow-up tests and procedures. Although stroke symptoms last a long time, both recovery and the risk of recurrence can last years. It will take time to see if and how I can resume all the activities that I used to do, including cycling and kyūdō. And I'm finally going to have to start eating and hydrating like an adult.

For now, although I appear mostly okay physically, I can't begin to describe the mental and emotional impact on someone who was sensitized to stroke as a child. If you've survived one stroke, you're much more prone to have subsequent ones. That has doubled the dread that I've always felt and tried to manage.

In my meditation practice and in my personal philosophy, I've often referred back to my sister's death as the thing that defined my relationship with life and death. Her passing taught me at a very young age that death is very, very real; that it will take every one of us; and it can come without any warning at any time, no matter how healthily we live. That has been the justification for my attitude of enjoying every day as much as possible, realizing how precious and ephemeral each moment of life truly is. I've always considered it a blessing to have learned that lesson so early in life.

Of course, acknowledging death is a completely different thing when it's happening to you, when the proximity of death is part of your present-moment reality. And now I somehow have to figure out how to cope with this sudden increase in dread for the rest of my days, however many or few remain. It's hard. And it's inescapable. And it’s final.

Of course I'm thankful that for now I'm recovering well. Throughout my life, in many ways I've been incredibly lucky that things always worked out well for me. And I guess I have to thank my luck as well for this dreadfully ominous warning being such a benign episode. My stroke could very, very, very easily have resulted in major disability or death. So I'm incredibly appreciative of my miraculous good fortune... at least this time.

And I have the deepest, most heartfelt gratitude for the caring presence of my life partner Inna. She is the irreplaceable foundation of my life. But I’m also concerned about what'll happen when either one of us dies, since we're so dependent on each other. So to my many friends: if I were ever to predecease her, my dearest desire would be for those of you who care about me to reach out and offer your friendship and support to Inna: the most important person in my life, and the person whose life would be most impacted by my passing.

Having said all that, I don't have much of a way to end this post on a positive note. Facing one's own mortality is grim work. It’s very easy to face toward life and be thankful, joyous, and share as much love as one possibly can. But it's also wise to see, know, and come to terms with what the ultimate future holds for all of us. And now that death has gently tapped me on the shoulder and gotten my attention, it's time to start taking my own mortality very seriously.

With a heart and mind full of love, joy, and dread.

Twelve days in Austin. It was the best of times; it was the worst of times. Our goal was to secure housing, so let’s see how that went…

Prologue

When I left Boston in 2015, my goal was – after fifty New England winters – to move somewhere beyond the clutches of the Snow Miser. The reason behind my temporary stopover in Pittsburgh was to test whether Inna and I could make a partnership work (which we happily have done, for the past seven years).

Between our differing requirements and a lengthy delay due to the Covid-19 pandemic, we took years to decide where we’d like to relocate to. But after a visit this past April, we finally found a location we could both agree on: Austin, Texas.

The next step was a followup trip to look for an apartment. When Inna’s Austin-based Circling community scheduled a four-day workshop for mid-November, we decided to extend that visit to two weeks, spending the balance of our time house-hunting, then flying back to Pittsburgh on Thanksgiving Day.

Walking the Path

Walking the Path

Q2 Stadium

Q2 Stadium

360 Bridge from Mt. Bonnell

360 Bridge from Mt. Bonnell

Mt. Bonnell NOTICE

Mt. Bonnell NOTICE

Wendel Interior

Wendel Interior

Wendel Interior

Wendel Interior

Wendel Backyard

Wendel Backyard

Wendel Brook

Wendel Brook

Sat November 12: Travel

Our flights down (via O’Hare) were fine, with only minor drama when our motel prematurely charged Inna’s credit card for our entire stay before we’d even arrived!

Wanting to be as central as possible, the motel we booked was located right underneath the main I-35 expressway. It was a dark, musty affair that was pleasantly inexpensive, except for the day of the University of Texas football game, when the daily rate jumped from $80 to $300!

Meanwhile, Google Maps did its best to keep us on our toes by insisting we take “Exit 236: Dean Keeton Thirty-Second Minus Thirty-Eight and a Half Street”. I’m not sure but I think that would be “Negative Six and a Halfth Street.”

After pizza at Love Supreme, we made supply runs to Dollar General and Trader Joe’s.

The evening was completed by the Pan-Mass Challenge announcing this year’s fundraising total: $69 million. That is the single biggest donation that the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute has ever received. But it raised questions in my mind about how and whether I will be able participate in the event an 18th time next year, after our relocation to Texas.

Sun November 13: House-Hunting Day 1

Sunday was surprisingly cold (-2°C). We would have a few nice days in Austin, and a few showery ones, but temperatures were mostly a bit cooler than normal.

We headed to our first house appointment and met up with Alexandria, the awesome real estate agent we were using as our point person. We visited four units (4801 Ave. H, 1700 Perez St., 2200 Spring Creek, and 8607 Dawnridge Cir.), and accidentally checked out another from the outside (1126 Hollow Creek). Three were clear “nos”. Perez felt dark and a bit small but was a maybe, and Dawnridge wasn’t bad except it was quite a ways out of town.

After the shortest “30-minute wait” we’d ever experienced, we had lunch a the Bouldin Creek Cafe followed by a relaxing stroll down the bike path along Barton Creek. Then back to the motel to look at tomorrow’s itinerary.

Dinner was Chinese from TSO, a strip mall take-out joint where the door surprisingly opened directly into the kitchen, with no real pretense at a commercial “front”.

Mon November 14: House-Hunting Day 2

We hit three houses on a rainy Monday. 1309 Corona was cheap, dark, and claustrophobic. 11633 River Oaks was just way too far out, and next to a future development project…

And 3510 Wendel Cove. After two days of everything being on the flat, its hilly neighborhood was a bit of a surprise. After seven years cycling in insanely hilly Pittsburgh, I jokingly cried, “Veto!” when we encountered a short but steep rise on Hart Drive on the way in. But it only got worse, as the house was at the bottom of a very steep cul-de-sac. In spite of that, I really liked the house. Inna was a little more skeptical, since it felt a little dark and awkward, but we put it on our list of possibilities. More about that later.

With house-hunting wrapped up, we lunched at Clay Pit, our favorite Indian place, then stopped at the Book People bookstore. Unfortunately, Inna slipped and injured her ankle in the wet parking lot, so we spent some extra time coming down from that. I took the opportunity to pick up Sayadaw U Tejaniya’s “When Awareness Becomes Natural”, plus volume one of the “Cat Massage Therapy” manga as a gift for our tireless catsitters back home. I quickly read the latter in-store while Inna rested.

Inna requested a quick trip to Amy’s Ice Cream, then we stopped at the H-E-B grocery for an ace bandage and two frozen peas “ice packs”. We returned to the motel and let Inna rest and treat her painful ankle while researching more houses to visit.

Tue November 15: House-Hunting Day 3

On Tuesday morning, Inna’s foot was extremely painful and wouldn’t bear weight, so our first order of business was buying her a walking cane at CVS.

We only saw two places that day, because our third (on Blueberry Trail, aka “Blubbery Troll”) had been taken off the market that very morning. 1403 Springdale (aka the Pizza Hut) was decrepit due to being designated a historical property, and thus highly regulated. And 5202 Downs was an interesting but cheap and idiosyncratic modern unit (with 6-foot ceilings upstairs!) that someone had plunked down in their backyard as a cash grab. I bumped my head three times during the viewing!

Then, with the rain having passed overnight, Inna wanted to go back to Wendel Cove to check it out on a sunnier day, since it seemed to be our reluctant top pick. We spent a lot of time hanging around and thinking it through before coming to the conclusion that it was probably our top choice so far. Our showing agent, Alexandria, was incredibly patient and helpful, as she’d been all week.

I captured and showed Inna a video of the little stream that runs through the backyard that reminded me of my childhood home back in Maine. Coincidentally, Inna had also received a video: her mother had sent one of Pittsburgh enduring its first snowfall of the year. The timing of the contrasting videos made a silent but persuasive point.

As we left, we drove down a tiny private road off the cul-de-sac with another five houses (one displaying a Buddha statue). There were three deer hanging out in the road, and they showed absolutely zero fear as we drove up and turned around. That probably means no vegetable garden for us!

Then we drove around to get a feel for the area. We stumbled into a very shishi neighborhood called North Cat Mountain, and randomly drove up a street called Ladera Norte that was extremely reminiscent of Pittsburgh’s infamous Dirty Dozen hills. In fact, it features in Austin’sTour das Hugel, a 200 KM bike ride that includes 3,600 meters of climbing, which took place a week before we arrived.

We ate lunch at the Galaxy Cafe on Mesa Drive, then ice cream at the Amy’s in the Arboretum. Then we test-drove from Wendel Cove to Hyde Park, where Inna’s Circling studio and my meditation group are located, which was shockingly quick and easy.

We chose to spend the rest of the day at the motel, to give Inna’s foot a rest. We considered filing an application to lease Wendel Cove that night, but held off after Alexandria told us there wouldn’t be any benefit to being the first applicant. Instead, we both spent time scouring Google Maps and adding interesting features to our map of the neighborhood. At this point, I felt pretty good about where we were in the process.

Wed November 16: The Bad Day

Inna had a terrible night, so I let her sleep in late. Her foot was still bad, we were running out of house rentals in our price range, and the anxiety of making such an important decision was weighing on her.

We did look at one owner-listed place – 5113 Stone Gate – but it was a little run-down. We drove around Hyde Park a little bit, but Inna remained somewhat anxious, so I decided to bring her up to Mount Bonnell, a wonderful overlook that I’d been to a couple times, but was new to her. Being outside and seeing the expansive vista over the Colorado River seemed to ground her again.

Unfortunately, things went poorly from there. We tried to get dinner at one Ethiopian place, only to find it permanently closed. And a second one – in a windowless trailer – looked like an abandoned strip club. We finally stopped for dinner at the Oakmont Cafe on 38th, where we paid $60 for absolutely terrible food.

After that, we gave up and drove back to the motel. Inna called and messaged friends for support, which helped a little bit. But aside from Mount Bonnell, it had been an exhausting and emotional day.

But our trials weren’t over. At 2AM we were jolted awake by a group of four men slamming doors and screaming their lungs out in a foreign language outside our door and in the room next to ours. It was intensely aggressive and went on for more than an hour. It was so terrifying that I got out of bed, hid our computers, got dressed, and sat up with Inna’s cane in my hands in case I needed to defend us. Needless to say, we were both sleep-deprived and nerve-shattered.

Thu November 17: Solo Wandering & Mariposa Sit

After four days of house-hunting, we switched gears. I dropped Inna off at her Circling studio for the first day of a four-day workshop. So I had four days on my own, and my own list of things I wanted to accomplish.

My first stop was Wendel, where I walked up Wendel Cove and down Hart Lane and back, just to experience the hills. There were some people outside, a grey and white cat loped across the yard, and a cyclist passed me after coming down the next street over (Westside Drive).

Next I drove 5 miles up to Q2 Stadium, where Austin FC, the local MLS team, play. I stopped in their team shop and picked up a tee shirt and a magnet, feeling uncomfortably unfaithful to my beloved New England Revolution.

Two miles over, I checked out the Trek store on Research Boulevard, where Nathan and Dino gave me some great information about local rides, and even other shops! They suggested I also peek into the Specialized shop that had apparently sprung up in the Domain® pedestrian mall since our previous scouting trip six months ago. I got a good vibe from the place, and hope to join the group rides they run every other Saturday.

Another two-mile drive brought me to the Domain®, which was really difficult to park in. The Specialized store was tiny, but serves as a corporate anchor while they look for a larger space for a full-service shop, since Trek had bought out the shop that was their former Austin HQ. They too offered lots of awesome ride pointers, and specifically recommended the Hill Country Randonneurs.

Then it was time to meet Inna, because we were going to use her lunch hour to visit one last house – the intriguing 5308 Sendero Hills – which had repeatedly put us off due to “renovations”. It was indeed just as bizarre as we’d thought, with its very own palm tree, a big unbroken wall facing the street, chicken coops, exposed cinder blocks in the interior, and the residue of shattered windows in one bedroom! But it was both too far out of town, too expensive, and way too much space for us.

After returning Inna back to her workshop, I checked out the Anime Pop shop, which had the usual manga plus a wall full of figurines. Then the H-E-B in Allandale and early dinner from Sap’s Thai. It’s worth noting for future reference that half of Austin’s Thai restaurants serve entrees that are meat-only, and half serve the expected meat/veg mix; I’ll have to memorize which.

I went to Mariposa Sangha’s Thursday evening meditation and dhamma talk, which – like the one I attended in April – was led by Paul Schlaud, who remembered me from that visit after prompting. The topic was gratitude, and – as in April – I once again got the last comment of the night in.

Afterward, I picked up Inna and we headed back to the motel. Our neighbors were still there, as evinced by the stench of pot, but they were a little bit quieter this night.

Fri November 18: Day Off & Applying Ourselves

I dropped Inna off at the studio again. After a couple days to think it through, she seemed ready to file an application for Wendel Cove.

I spent the day hanging around, cleaning up the motel room and delighting in reports of heavy snow squalls in Pittsburgh. I enjoyed having no errands, no driving, and no rushing around. It was nice and quiet for a time after our neighbors moved out, until they were replaced by some anime girls playing loud rap music that triggered a throbbing headache.

I picked Inna up in the evening and made a quick stop at the Central Market before going back to the motel. Inna told off the neighbors and I made to turn in before she hauled me back out of bed to complete the frustratingly-long online lease application process, which was so invasive that it even required us to supply our body weights! Then the secondary application for our cat, which required both front- and side-view photographs, as well as proof of vaccinations, which was stored at home, 2,300 kilometers away. Frustrating and insulting!

Then it was my turn to have a restless, anxious night. At least the neighbors didn’t blast their tunes when they came home in the middle of the night…

Sat November 19: Half-Day Retreat

After surviving the night, my morning highlight was finding an active infestation of ants in our bathroom. At least it wasn’t bedbugs…

After a visit to the motel office, I dropped Inna off at the Circling studio early and headed off to Mariposa, where I’d signed up to join their monthly half-day retreat, which in this case was on cultivating kindness. In my emotional state, five hours of meditation was either exactly what I needed or the worst thing I could do to myself.

When I arrived, I met Carolyn Kelley – their lead teacher – for the first time, which was pleasant. Although I didn’t really know any attendees, they seemed to comprise a mix of all levels of meditation experience. During the periods of walking meditation, I chose to do standing meditation, which Carolyn asked me to explain in the end-of-day discussion. My response was that for me, being in an unfamiliar building with unfamiliar people would have been awfully distracting, pulling me out of a meditative mindset. Overall it went well, and it was great to finally touch base with Carolyn.

Afterward I picked up a pen at “Paper Place” to replace the Pilot G-2 I’d lost somewhere along the line, and some food at Central Market.

Returning to the motel, I noted that no one had fulfilled our morning request to spray the room for ants, so I chased down a staffmember and stood over him while he sprayed. Fortunately, the insecticide they used wasn’t too stinky…

While Inna spent the evening at karaoke with her Circling friends, I ate my “cowboy casserole” – a mediocre dish of pasta, chicken, and picante sauce – and figured out my plan for Sunday. Then Inna returned and we enjoyed a blissfully quiet night after Inna had skillfully negotiated with the motel staff to not put anyone in the neighboring room for a couple nights.

Sun November 20: Anime Austin

After dropping Inna off for her final workshop day, I made a quick run to Book People to see if they carried the Barron’s financial newspaper (nope).

Then it was out to a Holiday Inn to check out the last day of the Anime Austin convention. It being 10:45am on a Sunday, there were very few people around, and most of the vendors weren’t there yet, so I just wandered around the tables, seeing what was available. It was mostly just acrylic charms and artwork, and the tee shirts were the only thing that I might consider picking up for myself. The panel discussions weren’t really of interest, so after browsing the area I decided to leave. It was a waste of my admission fee, but I don’t mind spending the money to support the hobby.

Next stop was the Barnes & Noble at the Arboretum, where I finally found a Barron’s (they were stored behind the cashiers). I sought out a Circle K convenience store to fill the rental car with gas, but had to find a second one when the first one had apparently closed.

Then a quick stop at Randall’s, which appears to be H-E-B’s main competitor, before hitting up Panda Express for lunch. But the Panda Express didn’t have my preferred dish (black pepper chicken), so I punted and stopped at Fire Bowl Cafe, which offers fresh stir-fry with your choice of carb, meat, veggies, and sauce. It was a delight to finally get some vegetables into my system.

I spent the afternoon at the motel before meeting Inna at the Circling Studio, where I briefly went inside to be exhibited to her friends. Then “dinner” at Amy’s Ice Cream and back to the motel, where a new set of neighbors’ television kept us awake late into the night.

Mon November 21: World Cup & Rest Day

While Inna slept in, I woke up at 7am to watch the first World Cup footy match in Group B: England vs. Iran, which was a 6-2 blowout.

We had pretty much exhausted both the local rental listings and our stamina, and there wouldn’t be many new listings showing up on Thanksgiving week. And with an application already filed for Wendel Cove, we essentially suspended our house hunt. So we had three full days left to fill before our flights home.

At 1pm I watched USA give up a disappointing draw to Wales in their first game. They would eventually advance from the group stage but be eliminated in the “round of sixteen”.

When I taunted Inna with the prospect of visiting Austin without hitting up her favorite Mexican restaurant, the inevitable happened, and we wound up having a huge and delicious dinner at Lupe’s just off Mopac.

During our meal we received our first of several followup information requests regarding our application; this one asking for my drivers’ license, a second month of pay stubs from Inna, and clarification that she wasn’t switching jobs. Inna aborted her evening plans (meeting up with Steven and a Circling session) in order to respond.

Around 11pm a woman started screaming her head off in one of the nearby units, but that thankfully lasted only about 45 minutes before quieting down.

Tue November 22: Killing Time

We woke to another information request: this time for a note from Inna’s boss on company letterhead, confirming that they would let Inna keep her job. The already-frustrating application process was truly out of control.

Having done most of the running around I wanted to do, I let Inna drive the day’s agenda. With limited parking downtown, I dropped Inna off to visit her employer’s local office. It was three floors with a very open street-level entrance, with kombucha on tap and many social and friendly people, which was an improvement over what we’ve seen in other cities.

We stopped at the Vegan Nom food truck in East Austin, then crossed the river to visit the Cosmic Cafe and Beer Garden and Summer Moon Cafe. Then back to the motel for an afternoon nap.

At 7pm I drove her to the Circling Studio for an evening session, while I picked up pad cashew from the Pad Thai restaurant. Then fetched Inna, a quick stop for Mozarts at Central Market, and home.

Wed November 23: Last Day

Although it was quiet overnight, it was my turn for an anxiety-filled night, which wasn’t helped by yet another information request from the leasing agent, requiring us to enter our online banking usernames and passwords! What the fuck? What an incredibly worrying, exhausting, invasive, and demeaning experience.

Inna’s plan was to visit two Circling friends, so I dropped her at the first and went back to the motel. Then I picked her up and dropped her at the second, planning to have lunch and visit a local comics/game store.

My first stop was Thai Fresh, which was inexplicably closed. My second stop was Shake Shack on Lamar, but there was no parking nearby. What’s a guy gotta do to get a meal in this town?

I punted and drove down to Tribe Comics, but spied Jersey Mike’s Subs in the same strip mall, so picked up a chipotle cheese steak before responding to yet another information request; this time verifying our intended lease date. Meanwhile, Tribe Comics seemed like a pretty good and friendly game store, although it saddens me that strategy games and miniatures have almost completely disappeared.

After picking up Inna, we gassed up the car in preparation for tomorrow’s departure and made a final dinner out of the “safety provisions” we’d bought days earlier.

And around 5:30pm we received an email from Wendel Cove’s management company saying “CONGRATULATIONS! YOU ARE APPROVED!” Of course we didn’t have a lease – that would be a lengthy and equally exhausting next step – but we were well on our way to taking up residence in a brand new home in Austin!

And it was a wonderful and ecstatic moment to end our trip on.

Thu November 24: Thanksgiving Homecoming

Between Inna’s still-painful foot, it being Thanksgiving Day, and Austin-Bergstrom’s reputation for long lines, we packed up early and made our way to the airport, doing our usual dance of dropping Inna at the Departures curb with luggage while I circled back around to return the car and hoof it back to the terminal.

Despite both of us getting spot-checked by the TSA, we got our gate 2½ hours early, so we grabbed morning snacks and I went and checked out the terminal’s outdoor patio.

Our layover was in Washington Dulles, where we had to walk from one terminal to another. Inna’s foot held up well; she declined a passing people mover, but we were still glad she’d brought her cane along. I “enjoyed” a Thanksgiving dinner of a Terminal C Pizza Hut personal cheese.

The flight into PIT was short, I retrieved the car, and we made our way home to an enthusiastic reception from the Biggie. But an hour later one of our electrical breakers decided the Thanksgiving holiday would be a great day for a fatal failure, leaving us without power except for some jerry-rigged measures taking advantage of our current apartment’s unbelievably random electrical system. Patchwork repairs would take four days to be fully completed.

That, too, was kind of a poignant way to punctuate our trip.

3510 Wendel Cove

With the trip covered, let me tell you a little about the new place.

First, the basics. 2 bedroom 2 bath 2 floors, 1,530’, built in 1986, 2-car garage. Rent is appreciably less than the other houses we looked at, which is a big bonus coming from the very inexpensive place we currently occupy.

It’s a somewhat modern, idiosyncratic, open layout, with a fireplace and a bizarre towerlike second-floor “flex room” overlooking the open living area below, and which will probably serve as someone’s office. One bedroom, bath, and the flex room are all on the second floor. The somewhat dated kitchen is a little segregated from the open space, which is good for my sensitivity to cooking smells. Lots of big windows and natural light, but shaded by a number of trees. A small deck, back yard, and a brook that runs behind the property.

Other little bonuses are that there are windows (that open!) in both showers, and the only wall we share with the other half of the house is the back wall of the garage. It seems safe and free of the animal and insect problems that one has to consider when living in Texas.

It’s very close to the Mopac expressway, but quiet because it’s in a cul-de-sac, with a sizable hill in-between. It’s very near our desired destinations, and there are lots of nearby attractions, including shopping, library, groceries, post office, medical and vet.

It’s in a neighborhood labelled as “Highland Hills”, between the better-known Allandale and the Northwest Hills. It really feels like a suburban oasis, while being within an easy couple miles of everything you might need in the city. And it’s about a 8 KM bike ride to my meditation center, or about 11 KM to downtown, using the Shoal Creek trail.

The only minuses I could list would be that the interior is almost unbroken beige; one of the shower windows was very poorly and amateurishly painted over; and we’re going to have to figure out how we can set up the space to provide the kind of together-but-apart work spaces we’re used to in our current place. And I should also mention the rather absurd hill, which presents a minor psychological obstacle in leaving home.

Epilogue

So there were some real challenges this trip, especially the noisy motel we stayed at and the insanely invasive and humiliating lease application process. There was also Inna’s painful foot injury, which ironically paralleled my slicing my finger open on a broken glass in the middle of our earlier visit last April.

But in the end, our quest to find an acceptable place to land in Austin was successful. I outright love the house, and despite Inna’s initial skepticism, it has grown on her, too.

As of this writing, we’ve only just gotten the lease signed – which was a whole separate story – and is only the first of a huge number of massive to-dos before we are finally settled in. But it’s still an immense step on our way to new lives in a new city. We’re excited to make a home of it!

So we have a global health crisis on our hands. The COVID-19 virus has eluded even our harshest attempts at containment, and there’s no prospect of either a preventative or treatment, other than for associated diagnoses such as pneumonia.

With an unknown number of infectious but asymptomatic carriers wandering around, Inna and I have taken the only measure anyone can do, which is complete social self-isolation.

No more Monday or Wednesday meditation groups, and I prematurely ended my brief stint as a CMU brain research subject. Inna has cancelled a business trip, two seminars in Austin, and plans to take the salt cave women’s group she leads online.

We don’t plan on leaving our apartment except for safely isolated outdoor activities like hikes, or emergency grocery runs. We’re pretty well stocked with supplies, having each made major trips before our lockdown.

Thankfully, cycling will still be a good option for me, although I’ll curtail rides of more than two hours, rather than replenish at the usual convenience store.

It’s very reminiscent of the widespread lockdowns following the 2001 World Trade Center attacks, and the shelter-in-place order that followed the Boston Marathon bombing in 2013. It’s the same scope of disruption, and the same sense of separation from general society.

In the meantime, the stock market—which had been on a tear so far this year—has experienced unprecedented volatility. Like a good long-term investor, I’ve sat tight and gritted my teeth, and even made one opportunistic buy, but it’s nerve-wracking watching your money vaporize. Where I had been crowing about my growing wealth in February, in little more than two weeks I’ve experienced massive losses that bewilder the imagination.

Between the stock market’s gyrations, the fear of illness, the social isolation, the wholesale cancellation of all group activity, and the drama surrounding the Presidential primary elections, there’s been a surfeit of emotion to process, even for someone as stolid as myself.

No one likes uncertainty, and no one likes anxiety, but the situation is unlikely to change for several weeks, if not months. Rather than venting that discomfort in random ways (like a completely pointless run on bottled water), it’s important that each person discover how to accept their anxiety and be okay with it.

For me, my meditation practice provides a reassuring guide: acknowledge my feelings and my fears about the future, then take refuge in what’s happening at the present moment, because none of those fears have manifested in my present-day, lived experience. Life really isn’t that bad, so long as you have the mental discipline to stop the mind from fabricating and getting lost in wild doomsday scenarios.

And I’m blessed to be sharing my space with a partner who also manages her internal state with great insight and wisdom. Viewed from a less fretful perspective, this is an opportunity to deepen our relationship while also getting some goddamned housecleaning done!

Be well, my friends.

Mixed Nuts

Apr. 1st, 2010 10:48 am

Somewhere in my travels I came across this contrarian secret about Buddhist teacher interviews: if you express anxiety or confusion at an interview, the teacher’s job is to reassure you and give you confidence; whereas if you show up confident and in control, their job is to present you with deeper or more difficult challenges, to spur you to undertake greater effort.

The latter was my experience in a recent interview I had with Michael, one of the teachers at CIMC. I began by telling him that I was fairly satisfied with my life and that when I meditate, no pressing issues seem to come up for me.

I told him that in general I am on top of things, using my planning and organizational strengths to mitigate the risk involved in anything I commit to or undertake. When that happens, he suggested that I examine the energy level and the motive behind the actions I am taking, because sometimes that impulse to have everything under control is driven by fear or anxiety, rather than wisdom.

He then asked whether I had any suffering in my life or any deeply buried insecurities or fears. While my life is generally quite good, of course even I have a couple things I keep way down in the murky depths. Without getting all personal about my own particular demons, it’s important to be able to allow those feelings to reveal themselves, rather than to instinctively suppress them, so that one can then make choices and act out of wisdom rather than reactiveness.

So I left that interview with a bit more anxiety, and more of a sense that I need to do a better job admitting and facing the things I fear, rather than burying them. Joy.

Later that week we held another dharma movie night. I had proposed the animated film “Waking Life”, which is stuffed with philosophical meanderings. Even though it’s mostly a bunch of talking heads, and not everyone is as fascinated by philosophy as I am, I expected people to find it thought-provoking. I might have even hoped it would receive as positive a response as my book club selection had.

But before the movie began, we got into a discussion of our next book club selection: Mark Epstein’s “Open to Desire: The Truth About What the Buddha Taught”. When I was asked my opinion, I was honest: I think the book is logically flawed, ridiculously deluded, and dangerously misleading. On the other hand, a couple people enthusiastically loved it, and wanted me to explain why I disagreed with it. As the only person to openly criticize the book, I was on the defensive, and at a disadvantage because it had been a month and a half since I’d read it, and I didn’t have my notes to refer to. So that unexpected discussion left me feeling a bit singled out.

Then we started the movie, which got a predominantly negative reception. In fact, about a third of the way in, four people (out of nine) got up and walked out of the room, spending the rest of the evening outside on the patio rather than watching the rest of the movie. While I have no problem allowing people to make their own decisions, and I know that disliking the movie isn’t the same as disliking me as a person, I still had some emotional turmoil to work through as a result of their surprisingly blunt rejection of something that has a lot of personal and philosophical meaning to me.

In between those two events, CIMC had a dharma talk by Winnie Nazarko that related to creativity. While the talk didn’t touch any nerves for me, one point she made has stayed with me. In general, people engage in a meditative practice because they’re looking for something, whether it’s the answer to a personal dilemma or relief from generalized existential angst. Winnie emphasized the importance of knowing what your overriding question is, so that you can judge whether or not you’re on the path toward an answer.

When I considered that question for myself, two responses came immediately to mind. The first is my familiar refrain of how to live my life such that I will have no regrets on my deathbed, as I discussed here. The other is to learn how to make decisions which are more consistent with my deeper sense of personal ethics and reflect the person I aspire to be and the kind of world I want to manifest. I think it’s a positive sign that those answers came so easily to me, because it shows that I have a clear understanding of why I practice and what I hope to achieve.

And last night at CIMC Maddy held a dharma talk on generosity, and how it is the basis of practice. As we age, we have to let go of everything we have—our possessions, our relationships, our health, and eventually our lives—and the essence of the spiritual path is learning how to be at peace with that process so that we can both live and die with grace and fulfillment.

If that is so, then acts of generosity are a good way to see if we can let go of our possessions, and what it feels like to do so. By exercising our ability to see beyond our attachment to material possessions, we are practicing and becoming more familiar with the kind of letting go that we must all eventually become accustomed to facing.

On top of that, generosity is a truly ennobling act that is a demonstration that one cares about others’ suffering. And it provides fulfillment beforehand (in contemplating giving), during (in the act of giving), and afterward (in the memory of having given). There aren’t many actions one can take that are so pure and have so many positive effects, both for others as well as for oneself.

Wind Shorn

Mar. 19th, 2008 05:03 pm

Wow. I’m alive. I would have put money against that not too long ago.

It’s really funny how most flights are fine, and then some flights are just cursed.

Case in point: Tuesday’s American Eagle 5162 from San Juan to St. Thomas.

The boarding process went pretty normally. Once everyone was seated and ready to go, the flight attendant (male) came on to tell us that we’d be delayed because only one of the two pilots had reported. The missing crewman arrived after about fifteen minutes.

We finally got out onto the runway for takeoff, but we never got up to speed and wound up aborting the takeoff. Apparently an indicator light had gone off, and the pilots decided to abort and tinker with it a bit before going on.

After another 15 minutes or so, we did successfully get off, but from then on it was a 30-minute roller coaster ride, as our little ATR 72 prop plane got tossed around in the wind. The airport at St. Thomas recorded sustained 25 mph winds and 35 mph gusts, and it was much worse aloft, with the wind coming over the island’s high ridge and directly across the airport’s one runway.

Making our approach, the little commuter plane was tossed twenty feet in a random direction every few seconds. Everyone knew we were going to crash: some swore, some assumed the crash position, and others—myself included—had a death-grip on their seats. The flight attendant (male) who was seated facing us mouthed the words “OH MY GOD!” We somehow managed to get within about ten feet of touching down, but we were traveling sideways above the runway at 200 miles per hour, and the pilots gave it the gas and thankfully aborted the landing.

However, even climbing out of the area was a terrifying ride, as the plane was thrown around in the crosswinds. It didn’t seem to be getting any better when the pilot announced that we were going to swing around and try again. It was at this point that I accepted the idea that we were 90 percent likely to die.

So we turned and made another approach, and it was just as horrific as the first. Thankfully, we didn’t get within 1000 feet of the ground before the pilots waved off again. Within a couple minutes, they announced that we were headed back to San Juan. That was a relief, although I was concerned about the winds in San Juan.

That was a bit prescient, because the approach and landing in San Juan were pretty rough, although nothing like the imminent death that landing in St. Thomas had been. I had chills and was shaking from head to toe as we deplaned, and I was looking forward to a long break in the terminal while the airline waited for the weather in St. Thomas to improve.

Just ten minutes later, American Eagle had us re-board that death trap. As I stepped onto the stairway, I thought for sure that it would be the last time I would touch the Earth alive.

And then we waited. Eventually the flight attendant (male) announced that a party of four had left the flight, having missed their connection (in St. Thomas???) to Las Vegas. But that meant the airline had to unload all the luggage, retrieve the departed people’s bags, re-weigh the remaining bags, and load it all back into the aircraft. Wait, wait, wait; for about an hour. The only good thing was that it delayed my certain death, and gave the weather more time to (dear god please) improve.

We left San Juan, and the 30-minute flight to St. Thomas was noticeably smoother, although it might have been a bit rough by normal standards. Everyone’s nerves were on edge as we made our approach, and everyone prayed and assumed the crash position. It was really rough, but there seemed to be a 50 percent chance of our getting down safely.

The rear wheels touched down and one of the more religious women started clapping. Her friend shushed her immediately, knowing that getting two wheels down hardly equated with safety. We stayed on the rear gear for an uncomfortably long time while we waited for the gust that would push our wing over and flip the aircraft, but it never came. The pilot eventually slammed the front gear down and we stayed down. Then, after another long moment of waiting for them to activate the air brakes, the flaps came up and we started to slow.

It might tell you something that the first sound to be heard after we touched down was the sound of our flight attendant (male) clapping over the airplane’s intercom.

The flight, which was supposed to land at 12:12pm, got in at 3:05pm. And even on the ground, outside the airport, the wind was blowing a gale.

Sadly, I’ve got at least two more of those flights to go, and you have no idea how much I’m dreading them…

Today is election day in many jurisdictions across the US. Please go vote.

I find it serendipitous that this comes just a couple hours after the release of this Associated Press article, which I’ll cite momentarily. I’ve had a political rant coming, and that article was definitely the last straw.

Now, I’m not particularly radical politically. Sure, I have liberal views, but I’ve had occasion to praise certain administrations, even when their policies have been right of center. Nixon, although Vietnam was his downfall, was an absolute foreign relations master. I think Reagan, for all his problems, did a good job bringing the country together after the wandering Ford and Carter years. The wiser Bush, despite the Iraqi war, also was competent in the area of international relations. I can live with Republicans, when they’re intelligent, competent, and rational.

So the current administration of Baby Bush comes as a very rude shock to me. It seems that every time I listen to the news, there’s more and more evidence that George Bush is not merely thoroughly inept and stupid; not merely hateful and criminal; but singlemindedly intent on doing the most evil things conceivable.

Consider the following facts.

  1. The United States, under GWB, invaded another sovereign nation and deposed its legal government, in direct violation of international law.
     
  2. He did so with full knowledge that Iraq did not, in fact, possess any weapons of mass destruction.
     
  3. He did so against the counsel of the United Nations, the entire free world, and significant domestic protest
     
  4. The administration allowed, encouraged, defended, and continues to defend the unabashed torture of prisoners at Abu Graib, in violation of international law.
     
  5. The administration has imprisoned hundreds of noncombatants at Guantanamo Bay, without charges, withheld due process of law, and tortured them, in violation of both international law and the U.S. Constitution. Independent international inspection of the facility has been prohibited by the US government. Bush has allowed, encouraged, defended, and continues to defend these actions.
     
  6. There have been several stories recently that detailed how the government set up dummy front companies which leased private jet aircraft to the government for the exclusive purpose of extraordinary rendition, i.e. moving prisoners, held illegally, to jails outside the US so that they could be held and tortured without being subject to US laws forbidding such actions.
     
  7. The US has admitted the existence of several covert CIA-run prisons across Europe after the International Red Cross discovered their existence.
     
  8. Even after all this attention, the administration is still publicly trying to retain the ability to torture anyone they want, without due process. While Congress is trying to pass a bill to further specify what kind of treatment constitutes torture, the Vice President of the United States (and this is a quote from the AP article) “is seeking to persuade Congress to exempt the Central Intelligence Agency from the proposed torture ban”. According to GWB, torture should definitely be illegal… for everyone but our secret police.
     
  9. None of those items above are disputable; they are publicly-known facts. But here’s the kicker. This quote from the AP story shows the true measure of this administration’s evil intent. When asked about the secret CIA prisons in eastern Europe and Asia, this is what the President of the United States said: “Anything we do … in this effort, any activity we conduct, is within the law.”

Come on, people! “Anything I do is, by definition, within the law”. That is not representative democracy. That isn’t even limited monarchy. That is outright, unabashed dictatorship. He couldn’t have said it plainer if he’d claimed to be Holy Emperor Bush!

That isn’t America. It’s not Abraham Lincoln or John Kennedy. It’s not FDR, and it sure as hell isn’t Thomas Jefferson. That’s Louis XIV and “l’etat c’est moi”. That’s Napoleon Bonaparte and Julius Caesar’s “vini, vidi, vici”. That’s Genghis Khan and, yes, that’s Adolph Hitler.

The Pledge of Allegiance says “with liberty and justice for all”, not just for legal American citizens. The Declaration of Independence says that “all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights”. George Bush would change all that, and have us treat any man who differs from us with hatred and fear. That’s the world he lives in, and he would have us all live in. But it’s not America the brave or America the beautiful.

Torture, illegal imprisonment, invading other nations under false pretenses, and brushing it all under the carpet with the excuse that anything the government does is, by definition, legal. These things are all being done in your name, people.

Where is the fucking outrage?

This administration has openly resorted to illegal invasions, illegal imprisonment, and illegal torture camps. Think what a comparatively small infraction it would be to rig an election.

Go vote, while you still can.

I always feel some degree of trepidation relating my philosophical revelations. Either they sound like trite, self-evident aphorisms, or they take so much abstract language to relate that they come across completely flat on paper.

Last night I had another interesting revelation. Like the others, it’s going to take some background.

Many Buddhist sects express some form of belief in reincarnation. Throughout his multiple lives, a man must attempt to perform meritorious acts in order to accumulate positive karma and promote one’s future wisdom.

In addition, nearly all schools of Buddhism promote a belief in the unity of all life, some dialect of the concept that we are all truly one in essence.

The point of these tenets is to help adherents overcome the problem of ego. Buddhism stresses compassion above all other values, and modeling compassion requires a certain suppression of the ego’s belief that it is more important than anyone else. It is difficult to express true loving compassion while we’re busy defending our ego’s self-conception of us as somehow special, better, and more important than everyone else.

However, I’ve always had an innate aversion to both of these concepts. I couldn’t explain why, other than indicating a stubborn belief that we are nothing more than bio-mechanical organisms that live briefly and die, and our consciousness, in whatever high esteem we hold it, dies with the meat that houses it. And although we have self-evident dependencies, we are not “one”.

Okay, that’s the background. Now let’s set the scene for the revelation.

I am presently reading “The History of Surrealism”, a horribly dry but authoritative account of the movement, originally written in French by Maurice Nadeau back in 1940. Here is a particular passage where Nadeau speaks about the movement’s primary leader, André Breton.

Life and the dream, he had shown, were two communicating vessels, in which events were homologous, it being impossible for the individual to assert that the latter was more real than the former. This time he went further: he abolished any frontier between the objective and the subjective. There exists, according to Breton, between man and the world, a perpetual and continuous correspondence. There exists, above all, a continuity of events which can be antecedently perceived and whose correspondences remain invisible. Yet self-analysis permits their observation.

Upon reading this, a couple things struck me.

First, the last two lines are a fairly concise statement of a Buddhist approach to life: there is something to life that is beyond its appearance to our mundane senses, and contemplative meditation allows us to access that. Now, the surrealists had a general familiarity with Buddhism, so this isn’t necessarily an independent observation, but it did put me in the mindset of interpreting this passage from a Buddhist perspective. Which led to the following.

It seems to me that Breton, as depicted in this passage, is a bit strident in his insistence upon some existence beyond objective reality. I felt this was an expression of a powerful fear of death, of the very impermanence that Buddhism teaches us to accept.

Or does it?

Breton’s unchecked ego brought him to this conceptual argument in order to bolster the idea that he would somehow live beyond his meat. But in reincarnation and the mystical oneness of all life, Buddhism also seems to provide psychological crutches that allow the overpowering ego to avoid facing death!

In a word, Buddhism’s concepts of karma, reincarnation, and the oneness of all life, while helpful in allowing the individual to suppress ego in order to cultivate a healthy sense of compassion, can also be viewed as the sheerest vanity, providing the ego with ample ways of rationalizing away the blunt, absolutely immutable fact of our impermanence and death.

I find this particularly ironic, because Buddhism is all about mastering one’s ego and accepting the fact that we die. To realize that such an obvious, ego-driven aversion to death can be found within Buddhism’s core tenets was a real revelation.

If you haven't noticed, there's been one common thread in the three journal entries I posted this weekend. In the first, I described the revelation I experienced when I set my fear and jealousy aside in my first truly polyamorous relationship, and how it enabled me to act selflessly and from a place of of love rather than fear in my current relationship. In the second, I criticized our culture where women fear men and treat every man as if he were a rapist. In my most recent post, I express my frustration with the fact that we've let our fears run rampant, leaving us vainly seeking affection in a culture where expressing affection is not acceptable behavior. If you haven't gotten it by now, the common thread is that people act out of fear, not love, and allow themselves to be self-destructively controlled by their own fears. Fear rules almost everything we do.

And yet, in this modern day and age, it is entirely likely that within our lifetimes we will identify the mechanisms in the brain which control our fears. For the first time ever, we will have the opportunity to be free of our fears through medical or pharmacological means. Without fear, we would be free of our insecurities, inhibitions, possessiveness, jealousy, anger, and vindictiveness.

Imagine for a moment what a person might be like if they weren't slaves to the constant, irrepressible fear and insecurity that pervades modern life. Wouldn't it be fascinating to study someone who was immune to fear? How would they interact with the world? For me in particular, I'd love to see how they would manage in our society where fear is the base assumption we all live under. What amazing simple, selfless acts might come as second nature to such a person?

But let's not stop there. Imagine a whole community of such people. How different their society would be! But in what ways? Would everyone be able to put their jealousy aside and celebrate their love's loves as I do? Would women stop treating men like assumed criminals? Would we finally be free to express our affection for one another without inhibition, and accept others' affection for what it is, without fear? How bizarre that world would seem to us, who think that living with fear somehow makes us more "sophisticated" than those who have overcome theirs. What would our world be like if we could eradicate fear as simply and effectively as we have polio?

And would we, the lonely, fearful ones, ever have the courage to give up our comfortable, well-known fears for such an innocent, brave new world? Think about it; it's a choice you may be actually called on to make sometime in a not too distant future...

In contrast to the wonderful joy of compersion, being polyamorous isn't always fatness and light. Let me tell you now about one of the biggest frustrations of my life. It's not really about poly per se, but more a criticism of modern western society in general, which has been underscored by my being poly.

Looking back at the times when I've been most happy with my social life, the big thing that strikes me is that in every instance, a group of friends had become close enough to overcome their fears and allow us to freely express our affection for one another. Sometimes that was expressed verbally, and sometimes it took the form of physical touch: hugs, backrubs, holding hands, or more. Those have been very special, magical times for me, when I've been able to establish an intimate connection with people by telling or showing them that they are important or attractive to me, and receiving the same kind of reinforcement back.

But when I looked back over the duration of my life, those times have been brief and rare treasures. When I thought about it, I realized how very strongly and thoroughly our modern society discourages the expression of affection. We're taught from a very early age that our love must be limited to only a few prescribed channels, and we have to control others' affections if we hope to remain in their hearts. We have to jealously guard our lovers, prohibiting them from getting close to anyone else, for fear of being suddenly excluded. We also have to beware anyone who offers us affection, because it usually comes with unwanted expectations and ulterior motives. In short, in America, fear trumps love every time.

As a polyamorist, I find this situation incredibly frustrating. Every day, I meet so many wonderful, beautiful people whom I'd love to learn more about, get close to, and offer my genuine affection for, but I can't touch them or even speak to them of my attraction, for it would violate society's idea of decorum. There is an adorable and talented woman in one of my classes, whom I'm attracted to and would love to get to know; but if I so much as told her that I felt that way, it would certainly make her uncomfortable about me: fear. I am friends with a former co-worker who is both beautiful, intelligent, and insightful, and whom I admire and am attracted to; yet she once confided in me that she had totally lost her respect for another co-worker whose only fault was that he appeared to like her: fear. Another friend and I have verbally expressed our affection for one another; yet she is married, and her husband controls her ability to express any affection at all through his adolescent jealousy: fear. Another former co-worker is wonderful to be with and very attractive; yet if I told her simply that, our age difference would freak her out: fear.

How have we come to this point, where I cannot express my affection for someone, because it would cause them to fear me, or the people who also love them to fear me? We have become a society where our fear tells us that all affection must be suppressed, denied, and discouraged if it doesn't conform to a very limited list of specific authorized forms.

We live a society where all of us are lonely and virtually starved of friendship and affection. We have all made ourselves isolated and untouchable, and we refuse to allow ourselves to partake in the bounteous feast that lies right before our eyes. If we were to give up our stupid, juvenile fears, this world could be so much better. To me, as a polyamorist who is free from society's bondage to these ridiculous fear-borne restrictions on expressing affection, this seems to be the biggest tragedy of our lives. It surely isn't the way an intelligent humanity were meant to live.

I say I'm free of these fears myself, but it's only partly true. As you can see, I am still afraid of running the risk of rejection and telling those people I love or desire how I feel about them. I do believe that I am more willing to acknowledge my affections than most people, and I take pride in being much further down the road of allowing others full freedom to express their love, wherever it is directed.

I can only hope that over time I can grow more confident in my own ability to boldly approach someone and tell them forthrightly that they impress me, that I care about them, or that I am attracted to them, despite the fact that our society of fear would have me deny it. I can't change our whole world, but hopefully I can change my own world, and make it a place where affection doesn't inspire fear, but is openly accepted, celebrated, and allowed to thrive.

Frequent topics