The Little Prince and the Fox

“Let everything happen to you: Beauty and terror. 

Just keep going. 

No feeling is final.” 

[Rainer Maria Rilke]

To those who might be struggling simply because it’s Monday. 

And to those who might be having a particularly hard start of the week or rough day. 

And to my friends who are reading me and know that this Monday, September 20th, is a particularly tough day for me, not only because it’s Monday but also because of today’s special date. 

For me, today’s definitely a “to-do list day”! And thankfully, it’s sunny and bright!

5:00am. Arys’s alarm clock goes off. No option of snoozing it: Arys turns off the alarm and gets up in the dark. They shiver: it’s chilly. They reach for their running shorts, sports bra and technical running hoodie that they had already left ready the night before, to make things quicker on this early Saturday morning. Then, the usual 10-15 minutes of Sun Salutations to warm up the body and try to wake up. Make a thermos of hot tea for the road, stuff all the extra food into the duffle bag, keeping some dates and almonds and dark chocolate handy to eat while driving, and before 6:00am Arys is on the road, heading to a trail run. It’s still dark and chilly when they hit the road but all the way, as they drive, all Arys can keep thinking is, “I love this feeling and want to do it again, regularly”. 

Before the pandemic Arys used to be an early bird, waking up early almost every day of the week for work and/or exercise. They had found this early-morning rhythm again during their trip in July, having to rise very early for many of their rock-climbing, hiking or trail running “expeditions” — and they had enjoyed it. This feeling of enjoyment and accomplishment, and even of freedom, came back to Arys yesterday morning as they drove to their race. And they’ve decided: they will get up very early and go running on the trails in the morning regularly again, once a week, on one of the two weekdays when they don’t have to be in the office. Deal. 

7:30am. Arys is at the trailhead, picking up their bib, ready for the race and looking around for a friend: one of the fun, adventurous persons they had met on their trip in Colorado in July, who happened to be coming to California for business of his own this weekend and had gotten in touch and decided to join the race impromptu (since he’s a trail runner, too) — and when they spotted their friend, that in itself already made Arys’s day.

8:08am. A few minutes late, the race starts. This time, Arys is doing only the 10km for fun — but still, this is Arys’s first race since the pandemic, since February 2019, and it’s on hilly trails with over 1,500 feet elevation gain in very short, steep stretches. And boy, were those steep stretches! 

Pretty soon Arys find themselves alone on the race course, just a short distance behind a man racing with his two dogs. They recognize the 2.8mile-mark, then get to the 5km mark — good, they’re half way through and start to really feel that they can make it. Despite the effort, Arys enjoy the race but it isn’t until the 5.8mile-mark and the last little half-mile loop that the joy really starts rushing in, like a flooding river, and they feel like they’re flying — and they are almost flying down the last downhill stretch, half a mile in 3 minutes, and into a full-out sprint to the finish line, literally laughing out loud with joy as they sprint the last meters. 

Their joy was so intense, so huge, so bright that they could hardly contain it — and indeed, they didn’t: they let it out spontaneously and shared it with their friend who had already finished the race. Of course, the good result made Arys super happy (they’re competitive, whether they like it or not!). But the biggest sources of joy were other things. One was actually the fact of being there and able to do this: after having been sick with Covid-19 in March 2020 and then had serious hamstring issues in the spring of 2021, Arys thought they might never run again, let alone race. So there was that huge relief and joy. And then the was the lovely fact of being actually able to share this joy with friends: one of Arys’s best friends who is a great runner living on the East Coast picked up the phone when Arys called her right after the race; and then, of course, there was her buddy who had run the race that same morning who stood right there beside them now and even took pictures of Arys as they sprinted to the finish line. And with whom Arys spent the rest of the day — which was the icing on the cake. A hearty brunch after the race; then chilling at the beach; and finally a relaxed dinner in a pretty town — all of this accompanied with such easy-going, heartfelt conversation. 

This person is one of those “meteors”, one of those other adventurers that Arys met and connected with instantaneously on their trip this past summer: one of those “soul mates” that we sometimes seem to just recognize instinctively and instanteneously, as if recognizing an old friend in a crowd. And that “recognition” was confirmed to Arys hanging out and relaxing and chatting after the race, spending almost all day with this person despite the post-race tiredness. 

And once again — like the previous Saturday swimming and then hanging out with another friend or other recent moments sharing a dinner or a climb with other friends — Arys realized, actually felt at an extremely deep level how it is the persons in their life that make a day, an activity, a moment so special, ever more joyful and bright and valuable. 

“Stay grounded, baby, stay grounded”. 

I repeat this sentence to myself often lately. 

There are days I feel as grounded as an old, wise oak tree — so grounded I’m amazed at myself. 

And then there are days when I feel like the tiniest, lightest twig carried all over the place by the scary powerful current of a rushing river spilling over a broken dam. On these days I often feel like I might literally fall apart, like I can hardly hold myself, my pieces, together. 

These are the days when I need to repeat to myself to “stay grounded”: to just breathe in and breathe out; take one step at a time; to just do the next thing that really, practically needs to be done — work for the next day, wash the dishes, wash myself, prepare my meal, take care of my pet snake. 

It’s grief. A grief so old and deep that it feels like a black hole that might swallow me whole. Something has finally given, broken open, like a dam, a door, a portal, inside my soul, and grief is gushing out like a powerful, often out-of-control river. In the past few weeks, there have been moments when I’ve been totally overwhelmed and tears, sometimes sobs, have poured out of me — painful but also incredibly relieving and somehow sweet. 

Boy, there’s something so old coming out, it’s almost unfathomable… how did I even keep it in there for so long?!? 

But then I need to come back to my “here & now”, to live and function in the present moment. That’s when my “to-do” lists are coming in handy. I’m often writing them in the morning, instead of journaling, and then going through them, checking off items as I get them done during the day. That helps me stay grounded, especially when the storm of emotions threatens to erupt any moment. 

– “Prep lesson for Wednesday”: check; 

– “Post on Craigslist”: check; 

– “Call cleaners”: check; 

– “Feed pet snake”: check. 

So grounding…  

Breathe in, breathe out: “Stay grounded, baby, stay grounded”.

One of the aspects I like the most about the yoga class I often attend on Wednesday evening is the teacher’s style: her dry humor, her attention to details, the fact that she gently helps or corrects us in our poses while never losing the capacity to make us smile or laugh even in the toughest series of movements. I like the way she brings us gently into the atmosphere of the yoga practice and helps us (or, at least, me) reconnect to the persons and world around us with some simple but wise words. 

One thing she has said more than once, thanking us for showing up to practice, is “Your presence matters: here in this yoga practice and in the world”.

I like how she reminds us to be gentle with ourselves; how she reminds us, or acknowledges, that with all the crazy and concerning, and sometimes downright horrible, things going on in the world, it can be hard even to show up to yoga practice. 

These words are often a good reminder, if not a soothing balm, to me. 

So for whoever might need to hear it today: “Your presence matters”! 

… And this weekend, there’s a particular “thank you” that I’d like to say to my artist&swimmer friend. 

Thank you for the lovely Saturday afternoon we spent together; for the books you gave me; for listening to me and sharing your own feelings and experiences with me. 

And thank you also for naming “it”: PTSD. Thank you for saying that it seems like it’s PTSD that is being triggered in/for me, because I finally felt that I was being truly heard and validated, I finally felt a true, profound affirmation. 

Recently, I already started writing that some specific situations (and maybe one person in particular) have been triggering old trauma for me or rubbing against old wounds of mine. I’ve also started pondering the idea of doing some therapy or working with a counselor again. But I wasn’t really sure in what direction to seek and I also had a bit of the “impostor syndrome” as I felt that maybe “I wasn’t truly traumatized” or “I wasn’t traumatized enough” — whatever that may mean! So I was sort of stuck: feeling that, despite the huge and often wonderful strides forward and growth in me over the past five or six years, I’m still struggling with some issues that I cannot solve on my own or that I take forever to get over (at least, in other persons’ perspectives); feeling the need for some type of specific guidance or professional support, but not knowing what type to seek, or not feeling “traumatized enough” to actually start working with someone specialized in trauma.

But now I feel unstuck. 

I’ve known for a decade that I have abandonment issues. I’ve known for years that this has been interfering with many of my close relationships. And I haven’t really hidden it from the persons who are close to me. But it hasn’t been until recently that I’ve started having the courage (here’s the courage theme, once again!) to actually use the word “trauma” — and that’s been a positive and important step forward already. But to have someone else, a good friend and wise, well-balanced person that I trust, say it and reflect it back to me — for me that was the ultimate affirmation that I needed. It gave me a wonderful moment of healing yesterday afternoon; and it’s also given me the final kick, or clarity, that I needed to seek support in moving forward, for my “next right step”. Now I know what support to seek, now I know what to do, I see the path. I somehow see the solution, because for me being able to name the “monster”, having words or a name for the issue, is already half of the solution. So yeah, let’s name it! This is PTSD that I’m dealing with.

To feel heard and to see the solution — boy, that’s a wonderful combination! And it all came on a sunny Saturday afternoon with some outdoor swimming and ice-cream with a friend: that’s hard to beat!!! 

There’s this song by Bruce Springsteen, “The Wrestler”, with a refrain that often comes into my mind 

“… 

I always leave with less than I had before 

…”

But it comes to my mind by contrast, i.e. it comes to my mind when I actually feel the opposite, that “I leave with more than I had before”.

One of the main themes of this blog is friendship: when I started writing this blog this past spring, I felt mainly compelled to do so because I felt the need and desire to share my thoughts and experiences regarding friendship, which for me is the “highest” or “best” or “most wonderful” of relationships, but also intended by me in a very broad sense (which sometimes can make things complicated for other people). Over the course of these months, I’ve already written several times about many of my close friends, to put into words the lovely moments I’ve had with them, to treasure and celebrate our friendship, and to thank them. 

Today, I’m going to do so again, and even more explicitly. I really want to say how much it means to me that these persons — some of them maybe reading these words now — are in my life. How much it means to me that we spend time together, talk, listen to each other, have a laugh (or a cry, or both) together, go for a walk and ice-cream, share books, connect. 

It is with you, my friends, that I feel that “I leave with more than I had before”: when I walk or drive or ride home from an afternoon or evening or weekend spent with you, my friends — that’s when that refrain comes to my mind and I feel a full heart and literally like I have more than before that meeting. That “more” has been a hand-made mug or cup by a friend who does pottery, or particular food (knowing my weird tastes and nutritional constraints), or books, a shared meal, an extra plate for me at the dinner table — but truly it’s the thoughtfulness and affection and love going into those objects/actions, the time spent together, the hospitality: that is that invaluable “more”. And for that I wish I could do more than just say “thank you” — and maybe these words here are part of what I can give in return.

Rebuilding. That’s how it feels to me at the moment. Almost from scratch but with a heap of gained experience — or rather, it’s up to me to choose what I want to keep and what I want to shed for this rebuilding process. 

Scary. But also full of opportunities.

OMG, it just dawned on me why that clarifying conversation with the boulderer two weeks ago brought me such a mix of relief and grief (and maybe more grief that I had been expecting)! It’s because the closure with that specific person actually for me was the letting go and leaving behind of so much more, of other people and relationships of my past of which that particular situation reminded me.

So basically, I have been letting go of, and grieving, some very old stuff, almost “losing” some of it for the second time. It’s old grief resurfacing in some ways. And thus more intense grief but also more intense relief. More intense relief because only by letting fully go of those past situations, only by getting true, final closure, only by shedding all that baggage from years ago, from an altogether different phase of my life, only then can I truly be open to what life is presenting to me now. Only this way can I open up my arms and heart to these new experiences and persons and feelings, welcoming and embracing them fully. Scary as it may be. 

Sometimes one same situation can bring me such different emotions, depending on the moment, on how I’m processing it or what phase I’m in. 

In the past two weeks I’ve often been feeling that relief and sadness can be the two sides of the same coin for me. 

Two weeks ago, all I was feeling was a wonderful relief, made even shinier by some joy, pride, sense of liberation and empowerment. I felt that I had made yet another step forward in a very strong and positive way. 

Since then, in the past ten days or so, my feelings have acquired layers and tones and shades — and shadows. I still do believe (& feel) that with that clarifying and liberating conversation I made an important step forward for my own good, my own growth (as well as for the situation with that particular person). I still do believe (& feel) that I put something behind me, at last, that needed to be shed. But taking a step forward and leaving something behind also entails loss, and thus sadness. 

Grief comes in waves, I know. And this grief is not too hard, I know — I’ve experienced much bigger, deeper losses. But this particular grief is also more complex, in some ways, as it has to do with a situation that mixed so many different levels and aspects of my life. 

I think the biggest source of pain for me in this situation is within myself: giving up, and leaving behind me forever, a dream. 

I tend to be an optimist and a dreamer, and sometimes this makes things worse, I guess. I have a hard time letting go of my dreams. 

This is where staying in the “here & now”, plunging myself into the present moment, really helps me: this is why work and intense exercise and being in the company of the right people is so helpful and important for me. Almost a lifeline to keep me connected to reality. A little tricky when “doing my own things in my moment” leads me to involuntarily run into or be reminded of the specific situation l’m leaving behind, but such is life, I guess… After all, there’s two sides to every coin! 

I’ve met someone I like in a way that is very different from anyone I’ve ever liked before (or like at the moment). 

We met within one of the groups of climbing buddies and have climbed together three times in the past few weeks, twice with other persons from the same climbing group and once just the two of us. 

They’re non-binary, in sort of a similar way to me, i.e. they’re generally assumed to be female and people tend to use “she” pronouns for them until they’re told to do otherwise — as for me. But there’s something very gender-neutral or androgynous about this person I like — at least in my opinion — in a way that I like very much and resonate with. 

I feel drawn to this person in a sweet and delicate, yet powerful, way that I’ve never experienced before and that feels quite scary. Because I’m afraid of somehow “scaring them away”.

I’d like to get to know them better, to get closer, but I don’t know how to go about it… I know I can be very forward: I have actually been told by several men that I am “bold” or “brave” and that I “can come on pretty strong”. But those were all situations in which, for one reason or another, I wasn’t afraid of “scaring the other person away”. Now I am: I’m afraid of possibly ruining something sweet and delicate and lovely. I really don’t know what to do and it feels so strange and new to me…