It’s not just sorrow from a returning wave of grief that I have been feeling in the past week or so. There’s something deeper, older. Something that had started resurfacing this past spring, around March. I only have inklings of what it is but I know it’s really important: I know I’m getting to the “core of it”. 

Part of it is unwanted attention. Something I’ve been experiencing my whole life and, especially having being socialized as a woman and being an attractive female, I was conditioned to accept as “okay” or even “good”, as an indicator of my “value” or “worth” (although I always instinctively & viscerally rebelled against this idea). 

In the past months since moving away from California, especially last spring and this past week or so, the insight into unwanted attention and the traumatic effect it has had on me for most of my life has been growing in clarity. 

I’m not ready to go into it at the moment. There’s still too much wrapped up in shadows and fog and pain for me now. 

For now, all I want to say is that in last night’s online gender-support meeting the topic of unwanted attention came up repeatedly even for other non-binary/trans members in the group and I felt really heard and understood in a way that had rarely happened to me before. Which was nice. 

Two other nice and somewhat healing, or at least soothing, things came up in the group meeting last night, after my share. 

I mentioned my recent feelings of loss and sorrow and heartbreak, and the decision of seeking professional help to do some counseling to get unstuck and/or to heal from these feelings/situations/patterns. In response, one person at the meeting said two lovely things: on the one hand, although it is sad that I might never see or hear from one or two of those persons in California again and that I will never have with them the relationships I would have liked or hoped for, although there is definitely loss in that, it’s also good to remember that I was a different person then, not as wholly or authentically myself as I am now, and that I am much happier and healthier now; on the other, that there are things from which we may never heal, that we will always carry as “baggage”, as part of our experience and even of our own selves, things (persons, relationships, feelings) that make us who we are, and that’s okay. 

Even this pain is mine, and it makes me who I am today. 

———

“… Yes, I am wise, but it’s wisdom born of pain” 

———

“… Love is destruction

But this war is mine

This war is mine”

Zen and the art of motorcycle riding

I love summer storms. It’s one of the many things I like about Colorado (& missed when living in coastal California): four definite seasons. 

Now I’m sitting at home relaxing after a late lunch, having gotten home on my motorcycle, after a slow, powerful swim at the pool, while it was already drizzling but just in time before the storm really rolled in. I love this safe, cozy, satisfied feeling. 

As I prepared myself & my bike for the ride home outside the recreation center, not letting the rain make me panic or rush, going through the methodical movements of putting away the lock, strapping down my bag on the back, and getting on my jacket and helmet and gloves, in that exact order, a thought struck me, a memory: the book “Zen and the art of motorcycle maintenance” by Robert M. Pirsig. 

This is one of my absolute favorite books. I can still remember the bookstore where I bought it in Reggio Emilia. 

The first time I read this book, I was doing my PhD, over a dozen years ago. At the time, I didn’t ride motorcycles, yet, but I already dreamed of doing so and of taking long road trips, cross-country trips on my own bike someday. 

I reread the book for a second time five or six years ago, shortly after moving to California from Europe, in what was (& is) for me the “move of my liberation”. At that point, I knew I’d get my own motorcycle ASAP, and was already planning to get my license for it. 

For the first three years in California, before the pandemic started, I rode my motorcycle for hundreds of miles every summer and even during the other seasons whenever I had enough time to go on some trip (apart from using it regularly as an alternative to my bicycle to commute). I’d ride for miles, on my own, often camping, exploring new places, and visiting friends along the way. It made me feel free and empowered. But it also cleared my mind, like the spring cleaning of a cluttered house, especially at the end of the academic year every summer. 

Going through the methodical movements of preparing for my ride home today, it struck me with a new clarity that it isn’t only the adrenaline, the speed, the sense of freedom that I get from riding my motorcycle which grounds me and unclutters my mind: it’s also precisely those small methodical gestures, like a ritual, when I prepare to ride. 

Robert Pirsig in “Zen and the art of motorcycle maintenance” tells the real story about a cross-country trip he took on his motorcycle with his son one summer: a trip that was meant both to help himself heal from serious mental illness and to heal his relationships with his beloved son (who was very sadly murdered a few years later). Pirsig described his relationship with his motorcycle as grounding and healing: not only the riding and traveling, but also or mainly the maintenance of the motorcycle. For Pirsig, too, the methodical gestures, the routines, the rituals of motorcycle maintenance were grounding, healing: literally a life-line for the mind (or the brain?). 

Now I see it clearly how similar it is for me, too. In these days that I have been feeling very profound sorrow and some anger as a wave of grief hits me again and as I struggle with little anxiety attacks that probably come from the overload of emotions and/or from weaning myself off the anxiety/depression meds, in these past days being around my motorcycle has been extremely and wonderfully grounding for me. Not just the riding, but also the rituals around preparing for the rides. And, in fact, I’ve been reminded of two situations in California, on in June 2018 and one almost exactly one year ago, when I had meetings with two (different) guys with whom I knew I would probably have upsetting or difficult conversations: on both occasions I purposefully rode my motorcycle to the meeting. Because I knew that no matter how those conversations would go, getting ready to ride back afterwards would get me back into my Zen place. Not only because of the focus and speed from riding; but also from focusing to prepare for the ride. 

Being around my motorcycle, connected to it, is a life-line for my mental health: it brings me back to my Zen place, almost instantly, like active meditation. 

Maybe this in one of the reasons I love my bike so much, in such an intense, visceral way… 

From “A man called Ove”

Lately I’ve been reading, almost devouring, the book “A man called Ove” by Fredrik Backman. 

In the past few days I read a couple passaged that really touched me deeply, that resonated profoundly with some emotions that have been resurfacing more intensely for me recently. 

‘”She’s the only teacher I ever had who didn’t think I was thick as a plank,” he mumbles, almost choking on his emotion. […]

He’s silent. And then they both stand there, the fifty-nine-year-old and the teenager, a few yards apart, kicking at the snow. As if they were kicking a memory back and forth, a memory of a woman who insisted on seeing more potential in certain men that they saw in themselves. Neither of them knows what to do with their shared experience.’

[…]

[…]

‘Maybe their [common] sorrow over […] should have brought the two men closer. But sorrow is unreliable in that way. When people don’t share it, there’s a good chance that it will drive them apart instead.’ 

Controlled meltdowns

I guess I can be proud of myself: despite one partial and one nearly total meltdown, I managed to get myself safely to my friend’s house and then all the way back home riding my motorcycle for half an hour each way on the freeway. 

It started as a hard day already this morning. I dragged myself out of bed past 9:30 AM and struggled with feelings of being tired and overwhelmed and also concerned about the swelling on my ankle from the wasp sting I got yesterday evening. So I skipped the swim workout I had planned and just did chores and slowly got myself ready to go to my French climbing buddy’s housewarming party. 

On my way to his place, I stopped at the grocery store to get drinks and asked a shop assistant for help finding something. He didn’t know where the item was so he asked a colleague if she “could please help this lady”. Immediately, I snapped, “This person — help this person, not lady”. He was very taken aback and tried to apologize, but I ignored him and stormed off in the direction that had been indicated to me by his colleague. That was my first, partial meltdown of today. I know I was rude and that he probably meant no harm by calling me “this lady”, but I just cannot take it anymore — or, at least, couldn’t take it today. I understand that people are brought up with a binary view and taught to say “lady”, “m’am”, “miss”, or “sir” to be polite and show respect. But I’m just so fed up with having to be the one who is understanding about society’s binary view and misgendering. I’m fed up with being misgendered so often just because I have (small) tits and I’m fed up with always having to ask to be called something different from “miss” or “m’am”. It’s upsetting to us non-binary/trans people and once in a while it’s okay for cis-persons to have to bear the weight of their misgendering. 

At that point, I realized I wasn’t in the best of moods to socialize today and I strongly considered to just go home and spend the afternoon by myself. The weather also looked a little stormy so I was undecided about riding my motorcycle all the way and back. But I definitely didn’t want to drive my car, it felt like such a waste, and I felt itchy to ride, and my French climbing buddy said the weather was nice at his place, so I decided to go. 

I enjoyed my motorcycle ride there but still felt grumpy when I got to my friend’s place. After changing out of my riding gear, I joined the party in the backyard and felt completely overwhelmed by the crowd and loudness — music playing and over twenty people, mostly in beach-wear, chatting loudly and playing with water guns and water balloons. Moreover, they were all strangers to me except for my friend and his girlfriend. I felt like a fish out of water, with all my social anxiety bubbling up. 

My buddy came to my rescue and then a couple other people introduced themselves, helping me out of my social anxiety moment, and I fell into a pleasant conversation with a nice guy (and his girlfriend joining on and off). Then, California came up and we exchanged opinions about it, and found to have similar impressions of it. I said something about it and he replied that, interestingly, all the women he had talked to had said something similar and all the men the opposite. That really rubbed me the wrong way. And I think it was the last straw for today. When we finished the conversation as food was being served, I told him that I use “they” pronouns & identify as non-binary, not as a woman. He was very nice about it and got the reference to his previous comment about men vs. women, but still I had no desire to make more efforts to socialize at that point. 

I took a break inside the house and even went for a short walk around the block to try and get myself into a “good sociable mood” but just couldn’t do it. So I decided I would eat something and then head back home (my body needed some food before the ride). I got myself something to eat and discretely sat in a corner of the backyard where I could go unnoticed. My French climbing buddy, whom I had told I was having a tough day, saw me and asked if he could join me, and then asked how I was doing. At that point I broke down in tears — meltdown. I realized that being seen as a woman was unbearably upsetting for me. I just couldn’t put up with it — it made me feel naked in a horrible way, almost traumatizing. 

On the one hand, since the pandemic, I simply struggle with crowds of people, even outdoors sometimes. On the other hand, I realized that I’ve gotten unused to be at settings/events that don’t explicitly include either climbers or trans/queer/non-binary persons (or scientists, at my job): those are the spaces that feel safe and comfortable, manageable and known to me now. I cannot handle anything else for the time being. 

As my friend walked me inside and sat on the couch with me, asking me how I’ve been doing and catching up a little since we haven’t seen each other in over a month, I felt his affection towards me and my gratitude towards him. But I also realized that I’ve been through so much lately: the emotions from my trip to California in July are still raw; my recent move, all the changes of the past months and the changes I’m still going through and expecting for the upcoming months — it’s A LOT. And today all this along with a crowd of strangers playing loud music and beach games was simply too much. 

I needed to get myself home safely, possibly before the storm rolled in. 

So I donned my riding gear again and headed out. Sorry to not have met my friend’s housemates, especially the gay guy and his queer friends. But I’ll hopefully meet them sometime soon when I go over for dinner in a smaller group. 

For today, that was enough — and my French climbing buddy, who’s also a motorcycle rider, understood my mental/emotional state this time as well. 

So I got on my bike and rode home. Keeping my mind focused on the road and feeling the wind, the speed, and the tricky edge on which my brain was balancing itself precariously today. 

Watering the garden

This evening I watered the garden of my owners’ house again: this is the big responsibility I have here while they’re away this summer. 

I’ve never been very good at taking care of plants but I’m really loving tending to their garden. I love the smells that come up and out of the soil, out of the leaves and flowers the moment the water hits them. I love the immediate gratification one gets from this activity. I love the connection I feel to nature and everything around me —  including the bunnies running around all over the place. 

In general, one of the things I’m enjoying the most staying in this place temporarily for the summer is the close contact with nature, being surrounded by it so easily. Even if it entails contending with rodents nesting outside, wasps stinging me while I’m watering the garden, and constantly having to watch out for mountain lions and bears on my trail runs, I love this closeness to nature, this feeling of being part of it — albeit a very vulnerable part — immersed in it. It makes life feel so much more real somehow. I just love sitting outside at night to read my book with a headlamp, listening to the loud crickets (who are now in mating season and jumping around all over the place during the daytime!), looking up at the sky and seeing a shooting star now and then. 

Today, I also watered my own garden, the garden of my soul. 

It wasn’t a super productive day of work in terms of my scientific job. But I did lots of small things that are extremely important to me. 

I tended to friendships. I reached out to counselors to inquire about starting psychotherapy to help me get unstuck from my inability around romantic/intimate relationships. I had a visit with my primary care provider to finalize the steps to wean me off the meds for anxiety/depression which I no longer need. I scheduled an appointment with a psychiatrist to be properly evaluated for ADHD & autism at the end of the month. I followed up with my endocrinologist re. HRT & thyroiditis. I took my motorcycle to get serviced so now I can ride it safely. I ordered an extra safety device to add to my rock-climbing gear to give me & my partners/buddies more peace of mind on our outings. I started taking concrete steps towards my next non-scientific project. I ate plenty of food despite not exercising, as one should on the “rest day” to build strength, without feeling too guilty about it. 

I took care of myself and of important things & persons around me, close to me. 

And it feels good: watering the garden really feels good! 

Mental health thermometer

I’ve always liked activities that entail speed and/or danger or risk. 

Only recently, though, have I realized how much the fact of being able, or not, to do risky things is a very accurate thermometer of my mental state, even of my mental health. 

In June I was still too tired and mentally fatigued to be able to do anything other than easy climbs on top-rope. Now I’m back out there, leading many of my climbs and pushing the grades on hard routes. And feeling calm and focused when I do. 

Like I feel calm and focused when I speed in my car or down a steep ski slope. 

But maybe my motorcycle is the most accurate thermometer of all for my mental state. 

After being sick with the very first round of COVID in the spring of 2020 and having to go through a long and tough and slow recovery, I went for over a year without riding my motorcycle. I just couldn’t get myself to ride. And when I finally did get back on my motorcycle in the late spring or early summer of 2021, it was a huge effort. I hadn’t simply lost practice: that came back very quickly, almost immediately. I struggled mentally: I felt fear that I had never felt before and had to really struggle to keep it under control; I had a hard time focusing, and overall didn’t enjoy it as much as I used to. I still liked it but it also felt like a huge effort and like a part of me had disappeared. 

Now I know that I was struggling with depression and/or anxiety then, for which I ended up taking medication and eventually even leave from work for six months at the beginning of 2022. 

My mental health came back, almost imperceptibly at first, but then more and more steadily. 

I’ve been feeling really well, really healthy and whole, really like myself again even mentally and emotionally for a couple months now. And now that I’m finally well, finally my healthy self again, now I can understand, see, feel how unwell I was before. Really unwell. 

I’m enjoying my motorcycle rides like in my pre-COVID times again, and it feels so wonderful! 

I don’t know which is the cause and which the effect: do risky, dangerous, fast activities make me feel well because of the chemical high they induce and then not getting enough of them (like during my long COVID illness & slow recovery) causes some chemical and/or neurological imbalance in my brain that entails “mental illness”? Or do I need to be mentally healthy (even at the physiological, chemical and/or neurological levels) in order to be able to have the courage and focus to do risky things? 

My ability to focus and perform often increases with pressure. At school, at work, in a storm out in a sailboat, rock-climbing, motorcycle riding, going fast — the need for focus, the speed, the risk all calm my mind. On the other hand, being able to do these things, or not, is a clear symptom of how well my mind is doing… 

While I’m extremely grateful to have my mental health back, I’m also curious to know what exactly is going on in my brain, why it functions this way, especially as I discover more and more people who function is a similar way…