The Little Prince and the Fox

[Trigger warning: Trauma]

‘Trauma results in a fundamental reorganization of the way mind and brain manage perceptions. It changes not only how we think and what we think about, but also our very capacity to think. We have discovered that helping victims of trauma find the words to describe what has happened to them is profoundly meaningful, but usually it is not enough. The act of telling the story doesn’t necessarily alter the automatic physical and hormonal response of bodies that remain hypervigilant, prepared to be assaulted or violated any time. For real change to take place, the body needs to learn that the danger has passed and to live in the reality of the present. […]’

[From Chapter 1 of the book “The body keeps the score” by Bessel a. van der Kolk, M.D.]

But what if the danger never really passes completely?

[Trigger warning: Trauma]

‘Semrad taught us that most human suffering is related to love and loss and that the job of therapists is to help people “acknowledge, experience, and bear” the reality of life — with all its pleasures and heartbreak.’

[From Chapter 2 of the book “The body keeps the score” by Bessel a. van der Kolk, M.D.]

“… 

[…] we both understood

The silent language of the anguish of a heart that sings but doesn’t make a sound

[…]

You were a bright light

You were a fistfight, oh

Nobody told me all the patience it takes

For the sky to open up around me

They said love is grabbing blindly at a pit full of snakes

And wait to feel the only eel among the rows of all the venomous teeth

[…]

You were a bright light

You were a fistfight, oh

Our love is older than the great wall

Our love spins a gun around its finger

Our love has found its way into our mouths before

Cut our teeth until we swallow it whole

Our love hums low beneath the floorboards

Our love grows flowers in the winter

Our love has found its way onto our tongues before

There is more so take a bite and let it linger

[… ]

You were a bright light

You were a fistfight

”

{from song “Fistfight” by The Ballroom Thieves}

In the end, this year I’ll be spending my birthday (my first birthday in Colorado) in quarantine, isolating at home sick with COVID. 

Of course, I feel a lot of disappointment and even anger — the anger was particularly intense on Thursday when I got my first strong symptoms and positive test result. But I don’t want to dwell on those feelings now. Today, I want to revel in the joy and sunshine (real, warm out there in the backyard, as well as figurative) that has accompanied so many birthdays throughout my life, including this one. 

Yes, it is extremely disappointing and frustrating to be spending this weekend at home alone and to get many fun plans canceled. But I can also look at it from the other viewpoint: I actually had plenty of fun plans with lots of people and various groups of friends. I’ve built enough of a life in this corner of the world over the past nine months to actually be able to make lots of fun plans for my birthday, including: drinks out with colleagues to celebrate two or three birthdays all together; climbing with my French climbing buddy here and then dinner & drinks out with half a dozen of other climbing buddies & friends/significant others of theirs (including friends who helped me with my move just over a month ago); plans to go out for dinner this weekend and next week with three different friends, on three different evenings, to celebrate my birthday. It sucks to be missing out on all this now, but the fact that I even had these plans, these persons willing and eager to hang out and celebrate with me, that’s what counts and that’s lovely.

Moreover, it’s not just the fact of having these plans that fills me with joy; it’s also the fact that these plans with people here were easy to make and often came as offers from them. I told my friends here about my birthday and they put it on their calendars and showed up for me. A couple weeks ago, when I went climbing with my French buddy with whom I had climbing plans for the day of my birthday, he asked me if I’d want to go celebrate my birthday with dinner & drinks in the evening as well: he offered me his availability to celebrate my birthday. My other favorite climbing buddy did the same, even offering to invite another friend of his who might introduce me to another fun community (I had mentioned to this climbing buddy that I need a little more fun & socialization in my life now, too). 

And then, there’s all my friends from all over, friends from these past few years in the U.S. as well as friends from years & decades ago, many of them in Europe, all of them remembering my birthday and “showing up” for me from afar. 

I love to get together with friends to celebrate, and my birthday has always been a sort of excuse to do so. And throughout my life, despite all my moving and traveling, all of the changes in country and situation, I’ve had the fortune to be able to celebrate my birthday surrounded by friends and in the company of loved ones. 

A couple years in high-school and college, when I wasn’t in the mood to make plans for my birthday, my best friends from the time organized surprise parties for me, taking me out for dinner and finding ways to celebrate that they knew I’d enjoy. 

At the beginning of grad school I remember having a birthday party at my parents’ house (they were out or away) with all of my closest friends from then, including my sailing buddy/boyfriend as well as friends from high-school, college, and grad school — more than a dozen people around a fun potluck dinner with music playing and jokes flying. 

Even during those difficult years during my postdoc I remember two lovely birthdays — in particular one when all my friends who were living close enough came over for the day or weekend. That was particularly lovely because none of them except one was living in the same town: they all had to drive or ride at least a couple hours, from different cities, to get to the town where I was living at the time. 

And then there are my “California birthdays”. 

The first one I spent with another sailing buddy (“California boy sailing buddy”), sailing and then out for dinner and then out dancing the night away — so much fun!!! 

The following two birthdays were bigger parties, again, in the backyard, taking advantage of the typical Indian summer of that region, with almost a dozen friends sharing potluck, conversation and music — once again, friends from different areas of my life, all mingling for that one day. 

My “COVID birthday” in 2020 I celebrated with a climbing/hiking/exploring trip on my own, and then with tea&cake with one of my closest friends when I got home from my trip. 

And last year’s birthday was a 4-day weekend trip, again climbing, hiking, and exploring, camping in Pinnacles National Park with half a dozen friends — also so much fun and such lovely memories! 

So yes, I had plans for this year’s birthday, too, for this weekend, next week, and through to next weekend, plans that got highjacked by COVID — and that sucks. 

But look at it the other way: I actually had those plans, this year like so many other years in the past. And a celebration doesn’t necessarily have to be canceled: it can simply be postponed! 

And in the meantime, here & now, I can still celebrate in my heart and revel in the affection that I am receiving from all my friends anyway.

“Let everything happen to you: 

beauty and terror. 

Just keep going. 

No feeling lasts forever.”

[Rainer Maria Rilke]

I experience emotions very intensely and often in a roller-coaster pattern. And often I can still get overwhelmed by them. But I have learned to be with them in the moment, to just be in the moment. 

I’ve often experienced very intense grief, sadness, loneliness, pain, even very recently, almost too heavy to bear. But I am learning to sit with it, to weather the storms of difficult feelings. 

Tuesday (two days ago) was rough. So was last Sunday. But the rest of this week is going well. I’m getting plenty of joy from many sources: from the gorgeous sunny weather; from my runs; from the contact and interactions with my friends and colleagues and students and mentees; from my scientific work; from the live arrival of my pet snake from California; from casting my first Coloradan vote. Basically, from being in the moment in each moment. To just run when I’m out running. To just do science when I’m doing my scientific work. To just lecture or mentor when I’m explaining physics or maths to my students/mentees. To just climb when I’m climbing. 

I know I’m saying nothing new. I know this is what all sages of all times and cultures have always said: “be present, be in the moment, and you will find peace”. 

I’m still very far from profound “peace” but being in the moment, learning to do things one step at a time, focusing on what I’m doing in the moment to do my best while letting go of what is beyond my control — this approach or mindset is helping me both to get through the rough spots more easily and also to enjoy the good feelings much more fully/deeply. 

Tuesday was tough. Sunday was rough. But Monday was great, yesterday was wonderful, today is good. 

I’m here and now. This is here and now. And for now, there is joy. This moment is full of joy for me: so with gratitude I will take it and feel it, and make the best of my day with it.

I am happy. And extremely relieved. My pet snake made it alive from California and is now with me here in Colorado: the last (but not least!!!) piece of my “Californian life” is now with me here, in my “new home”. 

Of course, this has a huge symbolical meaning, at least for someone like me who attaches so much symbolical meaning to events and places and dates. 

However, it’s also pure, untainted joy and relief. 

It had been a very hard and heartbreaking decision for me to leave my pet snake behind in California when I moved out to Colorado last winter, although rationally it made the most sense and I knew she was in wonderful hands with one of my best friends in California. Still, I worried about my pet snake and missed her. And when I went to California during the summer to complete my move (getting my belongings shipped) from California to Colorado, I felt and immense joy at seeing my pet snake again and letting her crawl all over me. And I was distraught when I had to leave her behind again, albeit temporarily. 

Once again, though, during the rest of the summer and autumn here, I was able to confine the sadness and concerns about my pet snake to a tiny corner of my mind (& heart) while I dealt with more pressing issues and often more intense emotional roller-coasters. 

Then, this past weekend, my friend & I finalized the details to get my pet snake shipped to Colorado just in time for my birthday. And that’s when the employee at the vivarium, experienced and in charge of reptile shipments, told me that they could not guarantee live arrival of my pet because of the cold temperatures here in Colorado. All of a sudden, I felt my heart sink. 

Had I waited over nine months, had my friends & I taken so much time and pain to ensure my snake would be well for all these months, for me to get a corpse here? Had I simply missed out on the last nine months of my pet snake to never see her alive again? 

We were getting a “warm spell” here in Colorado in these past few days: nearly-freezing temperatures during the night (the real threat for the shipment of a reptile) but balmy sunny days. So the moment to ship my snake was now or next spring — and I just couldn’t wait another six months. 

I was extremely worried and anxious. But with my head & heart, I decided to put it out of my mind: I had made my decision, I had “committed” (as rock-climbers say), and all I could do now was roll with it. And hope that the box I would pick up would contain a live snake rather than a corpse. 

Fortunately, the box I picked up last night did contain a live snake. A sleepy, cold, suspicious, and probably super-freaked-out snake, but still ALIVE!!! 

And so today I have a mission: to turn my own new, Coloradan home into a new home for my beloved pet snake, too.

The other event that has made today an intense day was an extremely vivid dream I had a couple nights ago but didn’t have time to process and share (with my counselor) until today. 

I often remember my dreams and sometimes I have dreams that are particularly realistic and vivid, that when I wake up leave me feeling like they really happened and reeling for a while. 

This latest super realistic and vivid dream was particularly intense and meaningful for me on the emotional level. I was in my hometown in Europe, walking around the neighborhood where I grew up with one of my biggest “California crushes”: physically it was definitely him, but his personality was a mix of (the best traits of) him together with two of my biggest “loves” & most trusted friends. As we walked around, this guy said to me that he was about to go have dinner somewhere and asked me if I wanted to join him. I was happy that he invited me and said “Yes”. Then, as we walked to find a dinner place, he suddenly stopped and asked me if I wanted to kiss him. A little surprised but super happy, again I said “Yes”; and we kissed, and it was incredibly realistic — and then I woke up, feeling like we had really just been kissing.  

Of course, part of the intensity of this dream comes from the kiss feeling so vivid and real, especially given that he & I never kissed in real life. Partly, it was the unfulfilled wish of kissing him coming true in my dream that left me reeling and felt so intense yesterday morning. There is something more, though, something deeper that I was able to put into words with my therapist today and that will remain with me much longer than that kiss. It’s two things, actually, but they are related symbolically: it’s his two questions to me, to both of which I happily replied “Yes”. Those questions were even more of an important & unfulfilled wish or need of mine, even more than the kiss itself. It was the fact that he was asking me, offering me his availability to give me two things that are very important and intimate for me (the shared meal and the kiss) and that he never really offered or gave me in real life (and that I yearned to have with/from him). 

In my life, I’ve often been asked by someone, “May I kiss you?”: a question that has flattered me, made me smile, endeared someone to me, or in other cases irritated me, bothered me or even frightened me. But never have I been asked, “Do you want to kiss me?”. 

The difference is not just linguistic, in the wording: words have meaning. The difference in those two questions is huge (at least for me). “May I kiss you?” is the expression of the other person’s desire, of the other person asking for their wish to be fulfilled, of their asking me to give them something or to do something for them (albeit often in a nice, sweet way seeking consent). “Do you want to kiss me?” (& then promptly kissing me when I reply in the affirmative) is an offer from the other person to me: it’s the other person understanding my need, my desire, my wish and offering to fulfill it for me. Offering to do something nice for me without my having to ask, for once, without my having to make the effort, and without my having to risk rejection (but actually him risking rejection…). 

Oh, sweet dream…!

It’s been one of those BIG days. An intense day and in some ways a day to celebrate. 

Today I cast my first Coloradan vote! Which to me feels like a HUGE step towards making Colorado my new “real home”, at least for the time being. 

Since moving to the U.S. from Europe in 2016, there’s been a succession of important “first times” for me: my first motorcycle; my first car; starting to run long distance and then trail run, hence my first half-marathon (in California); starting to rock climb; coming into myself & out to the world more fully and authentically in the many facets of my identity, including adopting non-binary pronouns and getting my name legally changed. 

I remember how excited I was in 2016 about celebrating my first birthday in the U.S. (or the first one I remembered as an adult, since I celebrated a few here in the U.S. when I was a baby & very young child but cannot remember those, of course). My first birthday in California, my first Thanksgiving and Christmas in California: they were all symbols, milestones that helped me feel more settled and at home in my “new home”, my chosen home. 

I’m going through similar experiences and feelings now: this past weekend I ran my first half-marathon (my “typical” or “standard” distance until now) in a trail race here in Colorado; today I voted for the first time here in Colorado, showing my proof of residence; this upcoming weekend I’ll be doing my first (ever) rope-climbing competition and soon I’ll be celebrating my first birthday in Colorado; in ten days I might even run my first ever 30km trail race! So many “first times”, so many first times that feel important to me, and maybe even more so in this moment that I’m feeling some homesickness towards California and/or struggling with loneliness and melancholy. 

So many new “first times” here that slowly, in tiny steps, build towards my feeling more at home here… slowly but surely…

Was is Coleridge who compared grief (or guilt?) to a dead albatross hanging around his neck? 

In the past couple weeks at my new place I’ve been experiencing renewed asthma symptoms probably triggered by allergens (NOTE: I had never had asthma in my life until after getting sick with COVID in 2020 — I was left with asthma from COVID, which was extremely upsetting in itself, but fortunately the symptoms had subsided in the past year, until recently…) 

There definitely is a real physiological component which is asthma, as proved by the faint wheezing. Today, however, I realized that some of the other symptoms, especially the shallow/difficult breathing and chest  tightness, are also partly emotional. It’s waves of grief coming at me again. It’s sadness and loss weighing around my neck. 

There can be so much pain together with liberation, with the creation of ourselves, with living authentically the life we want as the persons we want to be. 

I love Colorado very much but I also miss California — or, at least, some things of California, for example the gorgeous “Indian summer” they get there around this time of year, and some people who are very dear to me. 

I love Colorado and overall I’m happy here — maybe the happiest I’ve been since grad school or, at least, in a decade. 

But my move to Colorado is also rooted in pain. 

When I visited this part of the world for the first time over three years ago, with a friend in the summer of 2019, I (we both) were doing a trip to try and forget, to get over heartbreaks. It was a wonderful, fun trip with one of my dearest friends, but the motivation of the trip, what had motivated me (us both) was pain, basically. I came here that summer to try and forget, to try and get over a certain person. 

When I came here on vacation in the summer of 2021, I was also healing and recovering from long COVID and burnout from over a year of sadness and fear and isolation and stress. 

When I finally moved here this past winter, I also did it to get away from an unbearable situation in California, including pain. I moved without knowing exactly what I’d do next, after the summer, but then my love for Colorado quickly took over everything and I decided to do everything I could to stay. So, in fact, it was my own conscious, convinced decision to move here (leaving California & so much behind). 

Conscious, convinced decisions, though, are not always pain-free, and mine definitely was not. And I’m feeling all that pain again intensely now. 

Last week was momentous for me: my request for legal name change was officially approved, thus effectively (and unexpectedly early) redefining me to the world and adding a significant step in the “creation of myself”; I went for my second tattoo consultation and got confirmation that I will get another of my drawing tattooed on my upper body in a few weeks, which to me feels like another step in the “creation of myself”; I sent a very important email to a person who’s meant so much to me and whom I’ve loved intensely, to set extremely clear boundaries, effectively closing a door and leaving something big behind me, in the past; I improved in some very concrete and relevant ways climbing, which felt wonderfully empowering and satisfying but also brought back the painful memories and wishes that never came true with two special persons in California; I opened some of my boxes of belongings, which also blasted me with memories, most of which I wasn’t really prepared for or willing to face, yet. 

That’s a lot. It would be a lot even if it happened over a month, or several months: all in one week is almost more than a heart can bear. And it rests heavy on my chest. 

So much of what I left (and am still gradually leaving) behind I truly love(d).