The Little Prince and the Fox

At 5am I woke up to pee, as I often do in the wee hours of the night or early morning. But this time, I didn’t go straight back to bed, despite my tiredness. The moon was full last night. And we had just had an abundant snow fall throughout the afternoon and evening. I had been waiting for such a coincidence of events for a couple weeks, at least, looking forward to the beautiful shine of the full moon on the pure white expanse blanketing everything. And last night I saw it. Even if only through the big front windows of the house because, unfortunately, I was truly too tired to get dressed and go out for a walk at that time. But I promised myself that if I get another full moon on a clear night over a beautiful expanse of snow like last night, I’m going to go out for a walk in it. I might even be able to do it this evening before going to sleep… 

Nevertheless, the promise of the snow storm ending by 5am and leading up to a clear night in perfect synchrony with the return of the full moon — that promise was held and I was able to enjoy it. 

Another promise was held last night. One to myself that I made in summer of 2016, about six months after moving from Europe to California, and that I sealed with a ring that I still always wear. I promised myself that I would never again put myself in the conditions of having to make an important life decision influenced by a romantic partner or romantic feelings in a way that would be limiting of my own identity or deepest needs/dreams. Which effectively meant, and means, that if there were someone for whom I feel in a strong, special, or romantic way in a moment of my life when I actually need to work on personal issues of my own and/or make an important decision along my path for which I need to reflect on my own, I would ask that person to wait. 

And last night I did it. I asked my dear non-binary friend back in California who would have wanted to visit me here already in two or three weeks to wait. I also told them that I’m scared; that I would like to see them but need some extra time and space on my own now; that this decision is also hard for me and scary because I’m afraid of losing their friendship if I ask them to wait. And they replied that I wouldn’t lose their friendship, that it’s always okay to take time. 

I really hope they mean it. I’ll have to take the risk anyway. A lot went unsaid, at least on my part, a lot that I wish I had said, or had said differently. So I might write them a letter. I don’t really know how they feel about me and our friendship. There might have been a lot left in between the lines in our conversation last night, or not. Nevertheless, I kept my promise to myself, I followed my gut feeling, and despite this being a very scary and lonely decision for me, I know this is what I need to do for my own good (as well as the other person’s) right now. 

Here and now.

It’s snowing again — technically, we’re in for another snow storm until tomorrow morning. I made it to the climbing gym and back just before it started today. 

I actually like this alternating, varied winter weather. Snow storms last only a couple days, blanketing everything in a soft layer of white. The temperatures drop below freezing for a few days. The sun starts shining again while it’s still cold, and then the temperatures start rising again up into the 40s or even low 50s. The snow on the roads and fields slowly melts, at least partly. The trails become a fun mix of mud, ice, snow and dirt (quite tricky!), while the mountains on the horizon remain blanketed in their white coats. 

During the day or two of heavy snow falling, we all stay indoors, but then, as soon as it stops, we’re all outside, enjoying the outdoors again. And then this cycle repeats itself, once every week or ten days or so. 

I like it. I love it. And it resonates well with my present state of mind, with my heart’s own current cycles: the waves of grief, the sadness, the spontaneous reflections, sitting with my emotions, the need to relax, to slow down; and the exuberance, the love for nature and the outdoors, the joy of being in a place that is somewhat familiar to me but mostly still new and exciting. And all my emotions, although very profound and intense, all so calm and much more tranquil than ever before. 

I’ve been here three weeks now, roughly a fifth of the time I have planned here, and I still feel it’s been one of the best decisions of my life to take this particular, maybe unique, break. 

Cat therapy is REAL — at least, for me it is! 

My host family has an adorable cat, Gaia. 

When I first met them, almost six years ago, they also had Gaia’s brother Helios, and during the Christmas holidays of 2016-2017, I took care of their house and both their cats for a couple weeks. It was the first time I had ever really done cat-sitting and I remember how blissful (and healing) it was. 

And it’s the same now. Gaia has always been very cuddly. Even when Helios was still alive, she was the one who’d always come and lay in my lap and snuggle with me as son as I sat to relax. She did it last summer here, too, even with my whole host family present, and she’s doing it again now. 

It’s amazing how blissful it can be to just sit and relax with a cat in one’s lap, stroking it while it purrs. 

Maybe it’s also this sitting with Gaia purring in my lap that is helping me to sit with my emotions, literally as well as figuratively, with more and more ease?!?

… and here’s another one today…

“… that’s what grief is — a yearning for that one last moment of contact that would settle everything.” [‘Wintering’ by Katherine May]

It’s snowing again. After a week of sunshine and progressively warm weather, this soft white blanket falling over the world feels nice, soothing, and especially gentle — something I really need today for my own “wintering”, for some recovery of my own. 

After some events this past week that have been very troubling for me and the breakthroughs I had after breakfast, in rapid succession, yesterday and this morning, today’s psychotherapy session was hefty. As I’ve mentioned in a previous post, I’m ready and even eager to address some older, deeper issues of mine, but sometimes they get triggered and/or clarified without my trying, like a volcano erupting. In the past two weeks I feel like I finally started doing the heavy-lifting in my therapy sessions, and heavy-lifting is tiring. As an athlete, I know my body benefits from the right amount of weight-lifting: it helps strengthen me and thus avoid serious injuries, in appropriate ways/quantities. But it’s also tiring and not really fun. 

Last Sunday, I had a fall out, almost a fight with one of my dearest friends in California who was temporarily looking after my pet snake that I couldn’t bring along to Colorado with me. This event really upset me, for days. But apart from pain and anxiety, it also triggered self reflection and, ultimately, some deep and invaluable understanding about myself, my past, my behavioral patterns and relationships. 

After this fall out or break up or fight with this particular friend happened, I realized that I have found and lost many friends and other types of relationships along my winding path: but while some of them ended painfully, others just faded almost unnoticed, despite maybe having been just as deep or important. What was the difference? What brings on the pain for me in some relationships ending but not in others? 

I realized that the key was conflict. 

I am terrified of conflict. It might be the thing I fear the most in the whole world. Because when conflict arises between me and someone whose acceptance or affection or approval is important to me — be it a friend, a romantic partner, a family member or a coworker — it is intimately and indissolubly intertwined with rejection. If conflict arises between me and a person whose approval/acceptance/affection is important for me, then I feel responsible for the conflict, as if I were its only cause; I feel that I’m a “bad person”, a “monster”, and that as such I will be rejected. Although rationally I may very well know this is not at all true, this vicious circle feeds on childhood trauma so deeply ingrained within me that it’s really hard, almost impossible, to keep at bay. And I had never articulated it so fully, so completely, so openly as I did today: first, while journaling this morning; then, with my counselor’s help in my therapy session; and now, opening up here. 

I have also come to understand that profound, unfathomable, almost cosmic or existential sadness from earlier this week: it was grief. And grief precisely in the sense outlined by author Katherine May in her wonderful book ‘Wintering’ that I’ve just started reading. 

Yes, for me grief really is “a yearning for that one last moment of contact that would settle everything.” And that’s why I was feeling so abysmally sad this week: because of a conflict with a cherished friend who was then avoiding me, thus refusing me that “one last moment of contact that would settle everything”. This, in turn, brought up old feelings of rejection along with the unhealed wound from another relatively recent conflict and/or rejection (or something that felt as such to me) with another person who in some weird, confusing ways was dear and close to me, and with whom I wasn’t able to get the closure that my heart would really need. The closure that, for me, would come only from “that one last moment of contact that would settle everything”. That settling of everything which for me would mean the confirmation of “not being a bad person”, the confirmation of “not being a monster” — which wouldn’t need to come necessarily from the other person telling me as much explicitly, but rather from my own actions, doing one last thing which for me would finally represent “that one last moment of contact that would settle everything.” To help me feel good again, once and for all.

—————————————————–

[Opening up like this is terrifying, but much less terrifying than conflict is for me. This opening up, especially after having done it with my counselor this morning, is therapeutic and I know it will eventually bring me full healing. One step at a time, one layer at a time. And now that this scary step of writing here is taken, now it’s time for self-care: time for the warm, cozy self-care of “wintering”.]

I’m still on my runner’s high from this morning: it was my best trail run, yet (in wintertime here)! 

Dinner with my host family, some good sleep, and an early energetic morning, helped dispel yesterday’s sadness — and an emotional breakthrough after breakfast clarified it. [I’ll write more about this when I’m ready to do so.]

So today has been a really good day, confirming how much I not only love it here but also love the aspects of me that come out here. The winter and/or the mountains here seem to be toughening me up again, giving back to me parts of myself that I had lost or forgotten. The weird weather and temperate climate of coastal California, and then the isolation during COVID as well as the super long recovery from my own illness throughout 2020 and half of 2021 — it feels like all these factors took away some of my toughness, some of my readiness to always get out there no matter what the weather is like, how could (or hot) it might be, despite a runny nose or slightly weaker ankle. Now I’m doing things more readily again here: I’m pushing myself more while also respecting my body & mind & soul more. I’m getting out there no matter what, unless it’s really unhealthy or dangerous for me to do so (like a snow blizzard). I’m running in all temperatures and on all sorts of terrains that I had never tackled before, yearning steep trails and the woods. It takes so much focus to run on these trail here in wintertime because the terrain is so tricky, but I love it because it takes me to some other level or type of consciousness: I connect with myself as well as my surroundings in a way that I had never before experienced. I’m seeing and feeling new parts of myself while also, somehow, reconnecting to parts of me and my relationship with the mountains that I had lost or forgotten for so long. I love the way I feel here: I love the aspects of me that come out here. And I love the fact that, although most of my training sessions here are heftier than in California, I have much more energy throughout the day even to do my intellectual work (probably thanks to the limited amount of stress I have here). And last but not least, I love my body: having come into & come out with my non-binary/trans gender identity really helped me overcome my body-image issues; but the “toughness” I feel within me coming out in this environment puts me even more at peace with every little aspect of my body, with that overall boyish strength rounded off by the female thighs…

I’m not saying the fear or sadness are all gone, suddenly. But today I got some wonderful reprieve from them, thanks to being in the moment, being present here & now, focusing on the trail I was treading today. One step at a time.

I’m feeling terribly sad. 

I’ve been feeling sad in a sort of cosmic, unfathomable, maybe existential way for the past few days. And also afraid. But mostly sad. 

Last night, as I watched the end of the movie “Don’t look up” with my host family, tears streamed uncontrollably down my cheeks, and it felt like such a relief. I would feel the need to cry some more, to be held safely and warmly and cry. But I cannot manage.

I love it here and I’m feeling physically well and even mentally much better than just a few weeks ago in California. When I go running or hiking on trails or even driving down the roads here, I feel like I’m in a different state of consciousness or a different person or a different version of me from California. Maybe that’s why I’m sad, because every change also entails some loss?

I don’t know why I’m feeling so cosmically, so existentially sad. Or, rather, I can see many different reasons for being sad and/or afraid, but I think the true reason is buried deeper and thus harder for me to see at the moment. All I can put into words for now is this feeling of deep, deep sadness, like a bottomless ocean, dark and unfathomable — somehow quiet and yet holding some turmoil in its lonely depths.

If I had to make my decision now, I would stay here. In Colorado. 

I just had a conversation with my host family confirming that I can stay here until the end of May and even into June, if necessary. That means just four months here… And it feels like too little in this moment. I’m really enjoying it here, I just feel so well here. And it’s not that I’m feeling well here only now: I also remember how well I felt here last summer (as well as in summer of 2019). I know that I feel well here almost year-round. 

I also realize that part of my well-being here is in some ways biased: on one hand, because I’m staying in a lovely house with very nice people; on the other, because I needed a change from California. 

So come the spring or next summer, I might be ready to move back to California (or move to some other place)… but at the moment I really cannot see that happening. At the moment I’ve been thinking of ways to make it possible and sustainable and realistically satisfying for me to stay here at least for a couple years…

I’ve been running in the snow. Literally running not only on snow-covered pavement but also on snowy mountain trails in the snowy woods. It’s so beautiful!

I never thought that I’d actually be running in the snow some day! I’ve done several different types of winter sports and enjoyed snowy weather for most of my life, but even up to a few months ago I couldn’t have imagined that I’d be running in the snow one day. And yet I am now, and I’m loving it! Another new experience at the beginning of this new decade (my forties)! And my body (particularly my sensitive respiratory system) seems to be able to take it well. I actually feel healthier here than in California and I think the clean, dry mountain air here is better for me than the coastal damp weather… And I seem to do well with altitude, too. 

So, although I’m keeping my mind and options open and I’m not making any decision until April, at the earliest, for now, Colorado wins.

Wednesday evening and yesterday morning I shoveled piles of snow: five inches of snow had accumulated from the snow storm on Tuesday and Wednesday, and I needed to clear the back driveway to get my car out of the garage and drive to the airport. The back driveway is about 25 square meters (~270 square feet)… Five inches on a surface area of about 25 square meters is A LOT of snow! I had never shoveled so much snow in my life (and hadn’t shoveled any snow at all in a decade)! It took me over an hour, close to an hour and a half, of hard work — a real workout! But I must admit that I enjoyed it — maybe because I don’t have to do it every day!?! 

Shoveling snow is tricky (at least for me). You look at it and it doesn’t seem so bad: nice and white, smooth and shiny, it almost looks friendly. Then you start and you realize how HEAVY snow is (“of course”, says the physicist in me, “water has a pretty high density!!!”). And then the piles start getting too high and the snow slides off them, so it becomes something that feels like a civil engineering project as you raise each shovel-ful of deceiving white fluff and ponder very carefully where to place it next. As the driveway starts clearing up, the snow piling up more or less neatly on the edges, pride and/or hope seep into your heart until the shovel hits something hard which isn’t the pavement… Now you’ve struck ice. This might be the trickiest part of it all. The ice is inhomogeneous, sleek and slippery in some spots, thick and rough in others: but everywhere simply too hard to do anything about it except be careful of it. 

However, this workout-chore gave me plenty of satisfaction.

Today, I started a different type of “snow shoveling”. 

Since starting psychotherapy around a decade ago, I’ve done several rounds of it in various countries (& languages) and with several counselors who used different methods/approaches, and tackling different aspects of my life and emotions. In the past couple years here in the U.S., I’ve done some counseling intermittently, mostly to address contingent issues or difficulties that arose at the moment, focusing more on practical ways to overcome them or deal with them rather than digging into the deep causes. 

Moving away from the setting that had grown familiar to me over the past five years cleared space in my mind and heart, and toward the beginning of this week I felt a desire that I recognized, that I had felt very intensely for the first time 8-9 years ago: the readiness and even eagerness to tackle older/deeper “stuff”, to dig into the “real issues”. 

So today I started this new process, or new phase: in this morning’s session, I started shoveling the snow that lays over my soul. And it was no lighter job than shoveling the snow off the driveway the other day. The snow covering my soul is just as deceiving, just as heavy — and the layer of ice under it, stubbornly covering my heart, is just as tricky as the ice on the pavement. This is going to be a hefty job. There’s just so much of it: A LOT of snow. So much I’ve never told anyone, not even my closest friends or romantic partners. So much I shut inside me, so much I buried deep down inside, so much I’ve been carrying around. I’ve been able to function efficiently in practical ways: getting through school as far as my PhD; finding good jobs; moving, traveling, learning a bunch of languages, adapting to new places and many countries; enjoying vacations and adventures and fun times; growing professionally; pursuing my hobbies and interests; meeting people and making connections. But in deeper relationships I have always struggled: when it comes to real closeness, that’s where the hard challenges arise for me (and I had to restrain myself from writing, “that’s where I fail”). 

It was hard work today. And it’s going to get harder — it’s bound to get worse before it gets better. But just as shoveling the snow in the driveway, I know the effort is well worth it: once the deceitful snow has been removed and the tricky ice has melted, then the road will be clear and safe for my car to drive out, taking my heart for a ride in the world with some passenger(s) sitting next to me, at last!

My emotions are all over the place. After the snow storm on Tuesday & Wednesday, today I experienced a storm of emotions.

I spent my first week here in Colorado alone in my host family’s huge house while they were still away —house-sitting for them and totally enjoying the solitude. I hadn’t felt so happy and peaceful and grounded in ages as during this week spent alone here in Colorado, enjoying this therapeutic winter on my own and yet not feeling lonely. I was enjoying this solitude so much that I was even a little concerned about having only one week before my host family came back — my “host mom” got back today, the rest are arriving tomorrow. I was also a little worried that my non-binary/queer gender identity might be an issue in some ways (when I was here last summer I was still coming into myself and hadn’t officially come out, yet). 

This morning, I was a little anxious while cleaning up and putting everything in order in the house and trying to prepare it as clean and neat as possible for my “host mom”. And then, I got on the road early because of all the snow we got in the past couple days — I worried about getting to the airport on time, blablabla. 

So I got to the airport stressed out already. 

Then, I walked into the terminal to wait for my friend at “Arrivals”, and started feeling more and more uncomfortable at each step. I haven’t been in an airport, not even near an airport, in more than two years, since January 2020 just pre-pandemic. And I have been avoiding places, especially indoor spaces, with many people almost completely. So being around relatively lost of persons in a place that is effectively indoors and that tends to be big and confusing and bustling regardless of COVID made me feel very uncomfortable, like an animal in a totally unfamiliar and even threatening place. And then I started noticing how many people were not wearing masks, or were wearing them below their nose, despite the mask mandate. That’s when panic started building up. First it felt like anger, actually, fury. I was besides myself with anger that there should be persons disregarding the rules and no one there to enforce the rules. I’m still almost shaking from anger now: who are they to decide that they are above the rules and can ignore the mask mandate and walk around with their face uncovered and maybe even talking in a group of friends?!? Who the hell did they think they are?!??? 

But besides, or underneath, the fury, there was also fear in me. Not so much fear from getting sick, at this point; but rather that fear that stems from being in an unfamiliar situation that feels threatening precisely because it’s so unfamiliar… I’ve gotten totally unused to being around so many strangers… I had to wait for my friend for over half an hour and by the time she called me to let me know where exactly I should meet her, I was in tears, on the verge of breaking down from what really was a panic attack. All I could say when we met was, “Let me help you with your suitcase — I need to get outside immediately”. If we hadn’t met up then & there, I would have sat down and cried and cried and cried. It was her matter-of-fact affection that helped me get myself together and calm down and drive us both home. 

That’s when the next part of overwhelming emotions started — fortunately positive ones, this time. It was wonderful to see my “host mom” again and it was just so delightfully evident that she was happy to see me, too, and grateful to be able to talk with me. Although rationally I know we enjoy each other’s company and my host family has repeatedly stated that they are delighted to have me around any time, in the past six months my heart had forgotten what it actually feels like to be with them — how familiar and comfortable and warm. And then, there was a brief moment when my “host mom” was on the phone confirming that we had gotten home safely and in naming me she not only called me by my gender-neutral nickname instead of my (gendered) full-name, as she used to until the summer, but she also phrased a sentence about me to make it gender-neutral. Honestly, I cannot remember exactly how much I’ve told my host family about my coming out — I think I had told them only about my gender-neutral nickname, thinking that I’d tell them the rest when I saw them this winter. But the fact that my “host mom”, whose native language is not English and is actually a very gendered langue, the fact that she seems to be much more receptive to the topic than I thought she might be… this is a huge relief and an additional warm feeling to my heart. 

And just sitting on the couch and chatting with her was so lovely… it reminded me of how well I felt here last summer, of why I’m back here now even when my host family is around, and in general how good it feels to be around people whom we like and who like us back.