Wherever you focus, there you are.

Once I was entrenched in a job I hated.  From my office, I cried on the phone to a friend about how miserable I was.

She said to me:

"You worked really hard to get there.  You read the right things.  Wrote and published in that field.  Got the right degree.  Thought about it.  Talked about it!  Seems to me like you're powerful.  Seems to me like wherever you put your focus, there you are.  Imagine if you focused your energy on what you love?"

First I thought:  Shit.
Then I thought:  Oh my god.  She's absolutely right.

Those words inspired me to make a change.  Even though I already had a Ph.D in another field, I enrolled in an MFA program in Creative Writing.  I dove into reading and writing, relishing in it like a dog enthusiastically rolling around in a stinky spot on the beach.  I squeezed every drop of learning and inspiration out of all my classes.  I didn't have a grand scheme.

I just wanted to love life again.

Now I'm the author of four books, and I teach creative writing. 

Over the years, I have become a woo-woo believer in the power of energy.  I think of life as a moving stream.  When we try and try and try to paddle upstream, we sweat like a bugger but don't get very far.  But when we go with the flow, we are in synch with life's rhythms.  We can harness the power of the stream; we can enjoy the moment and be delighted about what might appear around the next bend.  To me, going with the flow means tapping into what we love.  What we love is the essence of who we are.  When we are lined up with our true essence, we are at our most powerful.

It's also about this:  We suffer when we face the direction we don't want to go.

In other words, it was "upstream" of me to keep focusing on how much I hated my job.  I didn't want to be in my job, and I kept talking about that, thinking about that, dreaming (nightmaring) about that.  Once I allowed myself to turn around and face the "I love writing" direction, everything began to unfold.  The details of what that direction meant appeared around the bend.  And the next. And the next.

Of course this is a life lesson to learn again and again.  When I went through a bad break-up of a fifteen year relationship, I wasn't really free until I began to focus on what I wanted, not what I thought I'd lost or how angry I was at being deceived.

At first the focus was on feeling:  I want to be happy!  I want to embrace life!  And then details began to come in focus:  I want a lover who is fun and who is as devoted to me as I am to him.  I want to surround myself with uplifting people who expand my world.  I want to travel, to explore new places.  I want to love my body, my mind, and my spirit.  And if I'm going to change the world, I want it to be because I authentically inspire, not because I attempt to motivate.

I believe that wherever I put my focus, there I am.  The "proof" is what's around the bend--that what I've been focusing on has been proliferating in my life:

1) Finals (this week):  What I describe above led me to a new job, which I've now held for seven years.  I love my job not only because of what I get to teach but also because of the flexibility of my schedule (on campus three times a week) and all the time off (summer's almost here!).  The semester is ending with finals this week.  It's been a stellar semester of teaching creative writing, literature of our campus' visiting writers, and new book/film combos in my Film & Literature course (including The Talented Mr. Ripley, A Thousand Years of Good Prayers, Kiss of the Spider Woman, and The Kite Runner film, novel and graphic novel).  Most interesting and challenging was Kiss of the Spider Woman, an amazing novel that reinvents what a novel can be. The film is pretty great too.

William Hurt won the Academy Award for his portrayal of Molina in Kiss of the Spider Woman

2) Blues fest (end of May):  I'm a kind of weirdo savant when it comes to remembering music lyrics, and I've always known music has the power to transform my mood--to manifest pure happiness into my spirit.  Dave, though, has expanded my enjoyment of music into a wide array of new venues and types of music.  Soon we're going with a crew of friends to dance all day on the lawn in Aptos to the Doobie Brothers (whom I haven't seen live since 1980), Joan Osborne, Los Lobos, and more. 

Seeing the Doobie Brothers with Nancy in summer 1980.

3) So Cal (June):  So many friends, so much time to play together!

4) Mexico City (June):  I've written before about saying YES when people invite us to spend time in their worlds.  So we've accepted our friend Paul's offer and will be hanging out with him, exploring, eating, salsa-ing, and doing whatever else strikes our fancy in the place he loves to live.

5) Family reunion (July):  Every year about fifty of us congregate in the Bay Area to celebrate our connection as family.  This year will be even more exciting because there's a new baby in the mix, little Kennedy (born to my cousin Johnny and his wife Michelle).

Our wedding location

6) Hawaii wedding and honeymoon (July-August):   Going with the (lava) flow has made this a low-stress wedding-planning event.  Yes, I said low-stress wedding-planning...it's really possible! Once we realized we'd be in Hawaii at the same time as Dave's sister and brother-in-law, we decided it would be a good place and time to get married.  On a whim, we sent out an evite to some family and friends to see if anyone might like to join us for an informal wedding on the beach, followed by dinner at a restaurant.  Next thing we knew, more than thirty people had bought plane tickets!  My Kona friend then told me about an amazing, new beachfront venue, the Lava Lava Beach Club.  It just opened and is the perfect place for a barefoot wedding at sunset, followed by an outdoor reception, including Hawaiian music, food, and a hula dancer!  All these details have been falling into place in a way that really makes me feel to the bone the power of the moving stream.

It works!

7) Preside over a San Jose wedding (end of August):  Focus on weddings, and more wedding-love appears.  It all started when my cousin asked me to read a poem at her wedding last summer.  Then I caught the bouquet.  Then my friends Daisy and Tung asked me to perform their wedding ceremony.  Online, I became a minister in about 10 minutes. (I love the democratic flair of that!)  As Daisy and I were exploring writing scripts for the non-religious ceremony and trying to find fitting poems to include, a student of mine just happened to mention to me that she has performed dozens of weddings.  In fact, she was writing a book about it!  She emailed me a plethora of materials, including a fabulous selection of poems that Daisy was thrilled to receive.  (Um....wherever you put your energy, there you are.)

8)  Celebrate my Jubilee.  My 50th birthday is this year, and Dave is already drumming up fun (secret) stuff.  It's been so fun to see how all my friends who are turning 50 are celebrating this milestone.  Clearly, 50 is the new 21.

9)  Caribbean Jam Cruise. 
Us to friends:  Want to go?
Friends:  Hell yeah!
So now it's on.  Another event that isn't planned but inspired.  The details will unfold around the bend.  No stress, just down-streamin'!

10)  JazzFest.  Dave's been a million times but we've never been together.  So what better way to celebrate his 55th next May?  Music!  History!  Celebration!  Love!  Dare I say it again?  Wherever you focus, there you are...

How about focusing on dancing in wild colors?

Poem of Fear, Poem of Love

"There are things in that wallpaper that nobody knows about but me, or ever will."

In response to Meg Pokrass' most recent challenge to write a piece using a set of words she posted on Facebook, I wrote the poem below.

Even though I've been writing all my life, I am still  amazed at how playing with random words prompts the mind to weave patterns.  We can't help but make meaning.  It's who we are.  It wasn't until I was writing the last two stanzas that the connection to Charlotte Perkins Gilman's "The Yellow Wallpaper" came to mind.

Then I could see how the poem is exploring ideas of fear:  fear about trying to fit into your "required" category, fear of change, fear fostered by dwelling in the past.  The poem allows me to see the absurdity of fear--and how we are, in fact, freer than we think (to paraphrase Michel Foucault).

(Word list:  pick, kitchen, frosting, divorce, hood, theory, bone, lipstick, change, alley, shadows, chastened, hug, swerve, hall, curtains)
 

The Yellow Wallpaper

Once there was no divorce.  Mom

stood in the kitchen, frosting a cake

to the bone.  Once there was no

change.  We were chastened by fake

fingernails, by too-bright lipstick.

How could we know bad from good

or pick out shadows from light?  Even the

curtains hung like an executioner’s hood.

In theory, we swerved from all alleys

and walked quickly down halls, skimming

the walls.  All the wallpaper was sallow

and soft as our skin, made for skinning. 

I also wrote a very different kind of poem, an occasional poem for Dave's birthday.  I much prefer living in love than fear, in yes than no.  And this poem says that to me, to him, to you.

A Life of Yes

When I said yes to you I said yes

to life.  Yes let’s move in.  Yes

take me down a snowy mountain,

yes love my body, a fountain

of pleasure.   Yes let’s odyssey.

Yes let’s take the world’s seas

and trees and flowers and animals

and people, people, people fully

into our hearts.  Yes at the bay

I accept the blue stone.  All todays

are ours.  Yes:  husband and wife.

Let’s love each other, and this life.

How to be a Chick Magnet

Taking a walk on the beach, I discovered a partially-burned orange safety cone sticking out of the sand.  A group of revelers had no doubt theorized about whether or not it would ignite, and the answer had been:  kind of. I picked it up, along with a beer bottle, a half-page of a newspaper, and a red party cup then tossed them in a nearby garbage can.  An athletic young woman walking two eager dogs happened by at that moment and said to me, “That’s a beautiful thing, that you’re cleaning up the beach.” 

 

So let this be a lesson:  If you want to be a chick- or dude-magnet on the beach, you don’t have to have perfect abs.  Just pick up some trash.

Here are some other lessons I’ve learned as I’ve embarked on my do-one-new-thing-every-day New Year’s Resolution: 

Use what you have.  I find myself actually opening that can of soup or jar of spiced peaches that have been gathering dust in the pantry.  Or reading that book or blog I’ve been meaning to get around to.  Or dragging a rarely-worn shirt out of the back of the closet and coupling it with unworn earrings I got as a gift two years ago.  The other day I wore purple tights to work, letting my inner poet usurp my academic mien for the day.   Wearing new combinations has made getting dressed for work less like drudgery and more like putting on a fun costume. 

Cherimoya won't annoy ya.

Everything is new.  I’m not only using my stuff more, I’m “using” my environment more:  taking a side-street to see where it goes, walking into a café I usually pass by, ordering a new food or drink.  This makes me feel a bit like I’m always on vacation, because when I travel every café and street is “new.”  And I’m very often trying new foods and drinks when traveling—so why not notice what new things are right under my nose here?  Just yesterday I tried cherimoya at a produce stand and immediately felt like I was transported to a tropical land.

French kiss

It’s fun to be bold.  “Have you ever tried Framboise?” a woman at the bar asked me as I ordered a beer from the bartender.  When I said I hadn’t, she handed me her glass and said, “Taste this.”  I was a little taken aback that a stranger would offer me a sip from her cup.  What if she was sick, or had a raging cold sore?  I said “No thanks.”  But the minute I said “no,” I wished I’d said “yes.”  I’d blown the chance to perform the double-axle of newness:  tasting a new drink, and from the cup of a stranger. Why be fearful?  I had kissed strangers in bars more times than I’d care to admit—and I wouldn’t taste someone’s drink?  Besides, wasn’t she some kind of angel planted before me, supporting me in my New Year’s Resolution?  I wanted to tell her I’d changed my mind.  But my first thought was that I’d look stupid.  My next thought was, so what?  Trying new things means putting yourself out there.  It means not being afraid to be embarrassed.  Or disappointed.  So I turned to her and said, “I’ve changed my mind.  I’d love to taste it.  That’s very nice of you to offer.”  She handed over her glass—and I sipped the nectar of the gods. As a berry fanatic but French-language idiot, I hadn't known until I googled it that "framboise" means "raspberry" in French.  Lips to this seductive glass of deliciousness, it was like being French-kissed in a bar (once again). I blushed.  As I handed her back her glass, she smiled knowingly. 

People rock.  The above is a good example.  Here’s another:  I decided to climb over a railing to get home from the beach on a new route.  A group of guys in their twenties was hanging out near the railing, discussing whether or not they should go over it.  As I began to clamber over, one of the guys said, “Do you always come this way?”  I said, “Nope, it’s my first time today.”  He laughed and said, “Cool”—then reached out his hand to help me balance.  I almost declined, but then I took his hand, thanking him.  His friends ribbed him a little for being “such a gentleman,” and I giggled all the way home.

Presence comes with awareness.  As I do new things, I’m becoming more aware of my habits:  the foods I eat, the routes I take, the ways I decline or accept others’ offers and words, and the ways I think.  I like being more aware of my patterns.  This way, I can consciously decide if those habits work well for me, rather than merely defaulting to them.  Doing something new every day is like turning on my psychic windshield wipers.  I’m seeing more clearly.  I’m learning how to focus more strongly.  And to be more present.  

Back on the horse a month after "the incident."

Everything’s an experience.  When I fell on the ski slopes and couldn’t get up because my knee was severe in pain, after screaming for a minute or two, I realized I had a choice.  I could freak out, or I could chill.  I could resist this whole thing, or see it as an experience.  Seriously:  at that moment my New Year’s Resolution came to mind, and I decided I would try something new-to-me in this very challenging and painful circumstance:  I would relax!  I would watch this new experience unfold.  As the medics hauled me away, I marveled at how I was able to watch the blue sky as I glided down the hill.  In the medical hut, I appreciated the care and skill of the medic.  Later, I appreciated everything Dave did, from helping me hobble around to bringing me food.  I kept saying to myself, “Some good is going to come from this.  I wonder what it is?”  Long story short, my knee healed quickly.  And the good that came out of it is this:  a deeper knowing that I have a choice in how I respond to everything that happens in my life. 

Life is abundant.  There are so many new things to try!  Here’s a list of some of the things I’ve done for the first time since January 1:   

• Drank a “London fog” at Peet’s (black tea, soy milk, and vanilla syrup =  yummy).
• Went stand-up paddling.
• Instead of waiting on the curb for the bus, I stepped into a nearby bar and ended up singing Whitney Houston songs with a Honduran guy.
• Played Frisbee on the beach. 
• Swam in the cold ocean in a wetsuit. 
• Perched myself on a log, and later on a tall rock, to survey the beach. 
• Tried a total-body workout on TV (ouch, my glutes!).
• Held a handgun. 
• Learned Pedro, a card game. 
• Accepted a ride home with a student who happens to live around the corner from me.
• Listened to classical music on my headset on the bus. 
• Went to a goodbye party for a former student headed to the Peace Corps. 
• Ate red snapper cooked in coconut oil.
• Offered my front-row bus seat to a woman carrying a lot of stuff.
• Taught Kiss of the Spider Woman. 
• Looked up “celerity” (one of those words I always stumble across but had neglected to look up...it means "swift").
• Went to the top floor of the library and sat at a gorgeous granite, continent-shaped table. 
• Saw several bands for the first time, each in new venues (Strange on the Range at St. James Infirmary in Reno; The Mermen at the Jub Jub in Reno; and Hot Buttered Rum at Don Quixotes in Felton). 
• Did leg bends while brushing my teeth (I was desperate; it was almost midnight and I had yet to do a new thing that day!).
• Trusted my intuition about introducing ourselves to a couple who had great energy--and as a result have formed a friendship with two really great people.
• Saw a gorgeous IMAX about the beauty of coral reefs. 
• Graded papers in a café down the street. 
• When I stretched out on a patch of grass I usually pass by, a cat sauntered over to nuzzle me. 
• Discovered a bunch of new blogs about people who live traveling the world.  (Two of my favorites are Family on Bikes and Pearce on Earth.)
• Almost turned away when I thought I’d stared at two monarchs in the backyard “long enough” but then gave myself more time to gaze.  

California: Will You Take Me As I Am?

While Dave and I played ping pong at Engfer’s, he marveled at the fact that this morning we were skiing  in Tahoe, and this evening we were taking a sunset stroll on the beach in Santa Cruz.  A guy who overheard said, “You two could be an advertisement for California.”  I like that idea because I love California.  I’ve lived two places other than California in my life:  Yokohama and Seattle.  I had great experiences in both but often found myself yearning for California.  Sometimes I’d play this song over and over to revel in that longing:

Maybe it’s because I grew up in California.  Maybe it’s because I love the weather.  Or maybe California seduces me with her perfumes:   pines and redwoods in the mountains, oak and manzanita in the foothills, brine at the beach.  

Variety.  Of landscape.  And people.  As Joni sings above, California is where "the folks I dig" live.  Take, for instance, the campus where I teach.  We have a 56% “minority”population, with 7% foreign national students.  But those stats don’t capture the vibrancy of hearing students out in front of the Student Union chat in Farsi, Mandarin, or Spanish; or watching the group of lithe Asian guys break-dance in front of the library; or having students in my classes write papers that explore a huge range of life experiences. 

Recently I read a memoir piece written by a quiet, unassuming guy in my creative writing class; in it, he poignantly details his anxieties about adjusting to home life after some—shall we say brutal—experiences in the military, where he served in Afghanistan.  He's just one face among many in the crowd that reminds me that my students have lived a lot of life.

Another student wrote a charming fiction piece about a girl trying to get another girl to fall in love with her—and at the end of the piece she declared, “This is based on a very true story!”  In fact, in that class there are several gay and lesbian students who are very matter-of-fact about it.  They talk and write about their boyfriends/girlfriends in the same nonchalant air as the straight kids.  Now that’s equality in action.

Speaking of diversity, on our drive home today we stopped in Jackson, a small gold rush-era town.  The place is a magnet for leather-clad, tatted men and women on Harleys, who give off an aura of freedom-worshipping tough love.  I asked an old candy store proprietor to steer us in the direction of the best place in town to eat.  He recommended Mel and Faye's Diner.  Then he told a story about how Mel's used to have waitresses on skates but because of some redistricting or change in city codes or something like that (I was distracted by the seductive array of fudge and divinity in the glass case he loomed over), they had to relocate, and they nixed the skaters.  The new diner is located exactly 100 yards south of the old location.

He pointed us in the right direction, which involved walking across the freeway in the crosswalk.  When a car stopped to let us cross, it was almost rear-ended by a huge biker in leather with huge mutton-chops barreling down in a huge Harley.  But Mutton-Chops was no greenhorn bike rider.  He leaned the bike over so far his body almost touched the ground, tires smoking.  In a split second he squealed around the car in an impossible horizontal fashion and then righted the bike as he sped away. 

Now that’s skill.  I was humbled.  My little tumble earlier that morning on the slopes was nothing in comparison.  But I did get back up again and keep going, so I’ll give myself some props for toughness, too.

Mel’s, by the way, has Sierra Nevada Pale Ale on tap (always a bonus for me), a huge salad bar, and delectable burgers with yummy fries for a great price.  Instead of the dining room, we liked sitting in the bar with the bikers, watching two California teams, the Giants and the Padres.  They battled it out in Pac Bell Park, that wonderful California gem of baseball stadium.

In Joni Mitchell's song she's yearning for California and asks, "Will you take me as I am?"

I think the answer is "yes."

Perpetual Vacation

At the Peet’s on campus, I was standing in line thinking my new thing that January morning would be to try something other than my usual drip coffee or chai tea.  A small chalkboard on the wall proclaimed a new drink:  “The London Fog.”   

London, one of my favorite cities.   

I love staying in a Victorian-era hotel, walking through parks and museums (marveling that I can linger before Titians and Van Goghs for free!), and hanging out in dark pubs trying new food and beer.   

This is one of the greatest pleasures of traveling:  so many new things to try, to see, to discover.

London Plane Tree

As I sipped my yummy London Fog (black tea, soy milk, vanilla syrup) I realized I can be a tourist, an explorer, in my own life. The sweet, new taste inspired me to see familiar things anew as I walked to class.  Thinking about a student’s paper I’d just read about the 180 species of trees that populate the campus, I watched the familiar landscape come alive in a new way before my eyes:  a spiny Crape myrtle that would soon explode in bright pink blossoms, a towering ginko, and yes--the pale gray-green bark of a London plane.   

I thought about how as we live our daily routines, we can discover what’s new right in front of us.  It’s like perpetually being on vacation.

New Year's Resolution Update

A ladybug hitched a ride on me this morning. Bike riding along a path, I saw the glossy red bug standing out in relief against my black tights. I was about ready to flick her off when I thought about my New Year's Resolution to do something new every day. I decided my new thing today would be to enjoy the hitchhiking insect, curious about how long she'd hang on.

Every few minutes I glanced down and saw her still there. Each time I looked she was in a slightly different spot. I wondered what it felt like to be her--to be speeding along with me, inching around, gathering information in whatever way ladybugs do: sound? sight? smell? vibration?

Miles later, I had left the remote trail and entered an area with more concrete and cars. I worried she might get squashed if she fell off, or flew off, and couldn't find some flora to land on. So I stopped my bike and put my finger near her. As though understanding my digit was her taxi, she climbed on and I placed her on someone's lawn, near a tree.

This New Year's resolution is assisting me in being more aware, more in the moment. This is because I question what might have been a reflex, an unthinking decision. It's fun to freshen my instincts and insights. Here are a few of the other new-to-me things I've done. Some of them were things I deliberately did differently. Other are things I stumbled across:

* While on a walk, Dave and I discovered a ukulele group playing in a park. There must have been 100 people playing or just hanging out. They were playing "Let it Be" when we arrived, which activated my goosebumps immediately. We hung out and sang with them through a succession of songs, enjoying the great community vibe. Kids played on the periphery, dogs hung out with some of the players, people played mostly ukuleles but some had other instruments. We have since discovered they regularly play Saturday mornings at the beach. It's now our Saturday "church."

* Sometimes my new thing is taking a different route on my walk or bike ride. There's always a little surprise when I do this--an interesting house to see, a different view of the beach, a cute dog or child that seems to be there just for me.

* Sometimes my new thing is saying something nice to someone instead of only thinking it. The other day I as I walked, I enjoyed looking at the lovely, long, full, reddish hair of the three women in front of me who were walking and talking together. When I passed them I turned to them and said, "Are you three related?" They smiled and said yes. I said, "I thought so. You three all have amazing hair." They laughed appreciatively.

* I'm trying new things, like a new brand of yogurt, a new coffee place, a new granola bar. I don't always love what I try, but I'm often glad I did--just for the experience. I'm realizing that when people suggest I try a new restaurant, food or activity instead of thinking, "Hm, will it be as good as [whatever I'm used to]?"--I think "Oh good, that will be my new thing for the day!"

* Dave and I played frisbee on the beach and loved it so much that when we had friends visit we enthusiastically offered that as an activity. We created a new game that involved two frisbees and a tennis ball--so much fun!

* When someone with whom I find it difficult to communicate reacted in a negative way to something I'd done, instead of reacting, justifying, explaining, or otherwise trying to change that person's mind so they'd see me as "good"--I just let it go. I resisted the urge to call ten people who I knew would sympathize with me and find me "right." Okay, I called two--but not ten! And I didn't dwell on details in those conversations. The discussions were quick and light, and helped me move from specifics to a more general space of well-being.

I'm looking forward to seeing what the next few months bring. Will I really be able to pull of doing something new every day for twelve months? Well, I'm not creating any rules for myself. I'm just going to do what's fun and feels right for me.

Here are a few resolutions I found that others made. Each one resonates with me in its own way:

I formed a resolution to never write a word I did not want to write; to think only of my own tastes and ideals... --C. S. Forester

If you asked me for my New Year Resolution, it would be to find out who I am. --Cyril Cusack

I have no way of knowing how people really feel, but the vast majority of those I meet couldn't be nicer. Every once in a while someone barks at me. My New Year's resolution is not to bark back. --Tucker Carlson

Liberator

It was dawn as I drove north on the freeway. Because it was early Sunday morning, only a car or two accompanied me on this stretch of interstate that was usually packed with traffic. The Bay Area sky was smeared with a wash of gray and white. I was driving home.

Well, not quite home. I didn’t really have one of those anymore.

For fifteen years my home had been with my wife, and two months into our separation I was staying with my sister. During my fifteen year marriage, my wife and I lived in a number of houses in two different states, but for the past four years we’d resided in a sweet little neighborhood swelling with old trees and young professional couples, mostly childless since the people raising children tended to congregate in the mini-mansions of the more far-flung suburbs.

Our neighborhood had its official title: Shasta Hanchett Park, and its unofficial one: The Gay Zip Code. The latter name was coined in the 1970s because of the proximity of a number of gay bars and a gay community center; and of course, where there are gay activities, gay people reside. Eventually, most of the gay bars disappeared, while the gay community center formerly housed in a small, dank building blossomed into the Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgendered Community Center and Women’s Bookstore in a large, bright location down the street. In the spirit of further gentrification, the gay baths were now a “men’s water garden” situated next to a bookstore in an unassuming white building surrounded by luscious ferns and a few palm trees. And on a tall pole out front, an American flag flies.

The residential area of The Gay Zip Code neighborhood meant no one batted an eye when we moved in. Two doors down from us lived a single gay guy, and next to him a gay male couple, and down the street the other direction two women with a new baby, and a few blocks over another gay male couple who threw New Years Eve parties that involved mimosas and the playing of Giant Janga—and around the corner from us, a single lesbian who became our friend.

Then my wife’s lover.

Then my enemy.

This how bad it got: I wasn’t sure if my wife was cheating on me, but I knew something was very, very wrong. She had morphed from over-protective to aloof. She spent most of her evenings drinking scotch and watching Xena, Princess Warrior on her laptop with earbuds in. It was clear to me that she perked up considerably when the single lesbian neighbor was around. I asked her if she had a crush on her, and she denied it—while also, with a stone-solid face, telling me one night she thought she wanted to be single. I cried and cried that night, and she held me in bed, frozen. That had become our way, night after night, for over a week.

One day, I was walking my dogs in the neighborhood, and the single lesbian neighbor was walking on the other side of the street. She crossed the street and bee-lined to me. With tears in her eyes, she wrapped her arms taut with ropy muscles around me and said, “I’ve heard you two have been having some problems. I’m so sorry to hear that. I thought you two were the perfect couple.”

Later, when I fit all the pieces together, I discovered that by the time the neighbor hugged me and professed to feel sorry for the perfect couple, she had already started up with my wife. Maybe she really did feel sorry for the perfect couple. After all, she had insider information that the perfect couple was deeply imperfect.

It would have been less painful had she merely lowered her head and charged at me, impaling me with her rhino-inspired spiky, gelled hair.

Interesting that the one who can cause you the most pain—the one you think is an enemy—might actually be your liberator. I began to think of her that way months later, a kind of devil who was an angel in disguise. As someone who helped free me to live a new life of my choosing, to break free from old, unquestioned patterns that weren't allowing me to thrive. But only two months into the excruciating separation, I wasn’t ready to conceive of things with a shred of positive spin. To make lemonade out of these lemons felt akin to making a shit sandwich out of shit.

But as I drove on the freeway away from the ocean at dawn, over the dark mountain pass to merge onto the freeway further northeast toward my sister’s house, I could feel something dawning in me. A certain lightness creeping through my body paralleled the sunrise, the lightening of the sky.

Two months into my wife's and my breakup, I finally had sex with someone else. And not only someone else, but a man. I'd awakened the next morning in his bed, stunningly not hungover. It had been a long time since I’d slept so soundly. Static shocks of energy coursed through my body. All I wanted was to get into my car and drive. With the contact solution and soap rooted out of his medicine cabinet, I did the best to improve my vision, then I slipped out of the house and into my car.

So there I was, post-coital, driving to my sister’s house at dawn, a sensation of new understanding creeping up with the rising of the sun. And suddenly it hit me. After two months of barely being able to breathe through the excruciating pain of loss … after two months of torturing myself with imagining my wife calling me or showing up at my doorstep to beg my forgiveness … after two months of twisting around in a swirling tornado of grief … after fifteen years of a relationship that ended in this … it struck me like a dart in the bullseye of my soul:

My marriage was over.

She’d left our marriage two months ago.

And last night, I left it too.

Fidelity had been the last uncut string. I’d hung on that string attached to the fabric of our love like a dangling kitten whose intractable claw is tangled in a bedspread.

And that fidelity had been two-pronged: Sex. And men. I’d kept both at arm’s length so long that the arm muscles of my psyche bulged.

For the first time since the breakup, I felt a tinge of relief. A smudge of liberation.

I was driving away from the town where I’d had sex with a virtual stranger. I had been reckless. Impulsive. I didn’t have to feel shame or guilt. My body was mine. My mind was mine. My sexual fantasies were mine.

Like a superhero, I’d broken through a brick and mortar barrier that had taken years to construct. It was 6 a.m. on a Sunday, and no one knew where I was. I wasn’t the focus of the attention of anyone specific. I didn’t belong to anyone. Not an individual, not a category. I was in the most liminal of liminal spaces:

A lesbian, but one who has sex with a man.

A woman who loves sex with men but who has lived as a lesbian for years.

Married, but not. A lesbian, but not. A straight woman, but not.

I had spent a night doing whatever I wanted to do, feeling whatever I wanted to feel. I didn’t have to call anyone. I didn’t have to explain anything to anyone. Not even to myself.

This sensation of the in-between and totally unfettered vibrated through my body as I gripped the steering wheel. I was driving, driving, driving. I pushed my foot onto the accelerator: 65. 70. 75. 80.

I sped by California emerald hills that in a week or two would turn gold overnight. Nature’s alchemy.

I had been living at my sister’s for a few weeks. Her house is a mini mansion on a cul-de-sac in a community rife with sports parks, country clubs, California Distinguished Schools, breast-enhancement surgeries, several big-screen TVs and laptops per house, Wii, Nintendos galore, backyard swimming pools fashioned with authentic-looking “natural” rocky boundaries, cell phones for everyone past infanthood, and air-conditioned supermarkets whose vast array of sparkling produce could feed ten Somalian villages for a year. Like most of her friends, she was housewife and mom to her three children while her husband worked at a technology-related job, raking in bucks big enough to support this lifestyle. It was not how I lived. I was a writer, an artist, an academic, a lesbian, an iconoclast. I lived in a funky neighborhood. I hadn’t thought of it at the time, but I often formed my sense of self in comparison to how others had it wrong. My low-level buzz of judgment about the world my sister lived in probably permeated our relationship for a long time, but we never specifically talked about it. We had the kind of sisterly bonds and tensions that are the hallmark of many sibling relationships.

When my marriage first came crashing down, she invited me to come stay with her and her family for a while. I thanked her but declined. Soon, though, the idea began to appeal to me. I intuited that being around children might do me some good. I was too concerned about the well-being of my young nieces and nephew to mope around fingering a knife or a noose. I felt that being around my sister—someone who’d known me all but the first six years of my life—would be comforting. Besides, I knew she’d like having me around to offer a bit of a buffer in the chaos that is child-rearing. And I was truly grateful for her offer, which would give me not just a house but a home.

When I first moved in, I noticed something about myself. I had held deep in my very being for years a resistance to her vision of life. But suddenly, I was living in her guest room. I had been mown to the ground and didn’t have the vigor it takes to perpetually judge. I just took in her life without internal or external comment. It struck me that the way she chose to live was none of my damn business. And soon, I began to reap pleasures from her world that reached into my injured life and contributed to my healing. It was so very pleasurable to sprawl on the soft wall-to-wall carpeting in the living room, wrestling with my nieces, while my nephew was absorbed in a cartoon that flashed dynamic color and sound into the room. It was pleasurable to open her refrigerator and stare at the abundance, even if I was on the Devastation Diet (meaning I was dropping weight like Oprah on a fast because the knot in my stomach rarely loosened enough for me to swallow much of substance). I loved watching my nieces in a gymnastics meet, their strong little bodies flinging around fearlessly. I loved kissing my nephew goodnight as he sat up with his nightlight on, reading. There was something appealing about the nonchalantly masculine air of my brother-in-law in a white shirt and tie, fresh-faced from a shower, reading the paper distractedly before leaving for work.

My sister encouraged me to enjoy looking good again. She had a lot of great clothes. My judgments about her vast walk-in closet evaporated, along with my general disregard for my appearance.

For years I’d been wearing mostly black, no makeup, and very little jewelry. I’d shunned adornment of the body. It had been years since I’d worn a dress or a skirt. Even though I’ve always looked feminine (or “femme” as a lesbian), ever since I came out as a lesbian, wearing a dress made me feel like I was a drag queen. That feeling had disappeared. It was summer. I bought skirts and sundresses. I bought shorts and flowery blouses in soft fabrics. I bought earrings that bounced against the skin of my neck as I walked. I bought lavender and green and blue eyeshadow, light black mascara, peachy lipgloss. Memories of clothes shopping as a teenager seeped up from my memory, a visceral pentimento of high school: the smell of a leather purse embossed with tiny pink and blue flowers, the feel of tight high-waisted jeans, my favorite lavender blouse that I wore to a dance in the cafeteria, the soft peach-colored tank top I wore with cut-offs over and over one summer.

Memories of summer always involved swimming. I had been a synchronized swimmer for six years, starting in sixth grade. I always loved the water, fashioned myself a kind of mermaid. Swimming in the ocean, lakes, pools; soaking in Jacuzzis and hot springs: I liked it all. But my separation from the world of water had paralleled my dwindling libido during my marriage. My ex wasn’t fond of the water; she was afraid of the ocean, and she didn’t like public Jacuzzis where someone might scrutinize her body…and maybe mine.

So now, I bought a bikini. I hadn’t worn a two-piece bathing suit in almost thirty years. The first time I wore it—bandeau top, splashes of green and blue—I sat next to my sister at the country club on a lounge chair, watching the kids scream with joy as they plunged into the pool.

Their abandon to joy, the freedom in their bodies: It all resonated with me so deeply that at that moment, I realized that I had been assigning the role of Liberator to the wrong person. I was now the Liberator of me.

Being New: My New Year's Resolution

A friend of mine told me that years ago her mother said to her, "Do things in life! You never regret what you did do, only what you didn't do."

I'm sure there are plenty of holes one could poke into that statement (What about that bad stock I bought? What about that person I disappointed? What about that extra drink I took that lead to a horrible hangover?).

But to me, it's the spirit of that statement that's inspiring. My friend's mother (who has since died) was looking back at her healthy, comparatively youthful daughter and telling her that life is to be lived.

Later, I came across this quote by Mark Twain that's in a similar vein:

"Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn't do than by the ones you did. So throw off the bowlines, sail away from the safe harbor, catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover."

That doesn't mean we will always be happy with every exploration or discovery. But it means we are fully living the journey.

Lately my mantra has been, "What good will come out of this?" When I'm not happy with something I turn my mind to that mantra. Recently, for instance, Dave and I were looking to move to Santa Cruz. After a lot of searching, we finally found a place we liked a lot. We measured where our furniture could go. We imagined what it would be like to live in that spot. And then the place was given to someone else. I was so disappointed. But instead of letting myself spiral down into feelings of frustration, I kept thinking, "I wonder what good will come out of this?"

And here's the good that came out of it:


A place that's even better. A redwood cabiny house two blocks from the beach. We are insanely happy to be here. The place we "lost" now feels like a gain.

I will be reminding myself of this mantra, and of Twain's wisdom, a lot this year since my New Year's resolution is to try something new every day. The new thing can be anything. I don't have a list of new things to try. I just have a mindset that I want to be fresh and open to growth.

Roger Von Oech said, "Everyone has a 'risk muscle.' You keep it in shape by trying new things. If you don't, it atrophies. Make a point of using it at least once a day."

I don't imagine myself doing the equivalent of jumping out of an airplane every day (although I wouldn't mind trying that sometime!). Instead, I want to remind myself that every day is a fresh page, every moment a fresh moment.

The new thing I did yesterday, on New Year's Day, was yoga at the beach.


I've done poses on beaches before but never a complete yoga session by myself in the sand. It was a jewel of a day with a cerulean sky. Part of me was excited to try this new thing on such a gorgeous day, yet I began to notice my mind thinking things like, You might not have enough time since your friends are coming in a while; why not just do your usual yoga in the living room. And what if the ground is too uneven and it's hard to keep a pose? And what if your wintery-white skin gets too much sun? And what if people are watching you?

This mind chatter was funny to pay attention to, a reminder that there's often a little resistance to trying new things. Even positive, fun things. It's as though some of our brain cells are gossipy nit-pickers who drink too much coffee and have worry-lines creasing their faces.

But I didn't engage with these nay-sayers as I pulled on my yoga pants and tank top. I treated them like people who had nothing to do with me. I was a person who was going to try my new thing. I trekked the two blocks down the street in my flip-flops, walked almost to the water line, and flowed through my routine while all around me teenagers played Frisbee, little kids dug in the sand, groups laughed and drank beer, and people jogged by with their dogs. I felt like I was one little piece of the "Amazing New Year's Day in Santa Cruz" puzzle. Like I belonged.

Today, the second day of the year, I've already done something new: Dave and I, with our friends Jude and Melissa who were visiting from Marina del Rey, went to breakfast at Linda's Seabreeze Cafe. All of our new neighbors have been raving about this place, which is walking distance from our new pad. I already have a favorite breakfast place in Santa Cruz, and I just didn't believe that this Linda's place could be better. Trying a new restaurant isn't exactly outside my comfort zone. But this experiment is making me aware of how I respond to new things. I felt a little tightness in my breathing when my food came. The omelet didn't look right, with undercooked spinach pouring out the sides--and was there enough cheese?

I realized that when I go to the other restaurant I love, I assume the food will be great. I don't push against anything there. The omelets there looked familiar. This one looked foreign. I dug my fork into it and most splendid taste spread in my mouth. I dipped my next bite in the homemade salsa. Incredible. Also amazing were the thick-cut peppery bacon, the fresh-baked pumpkin pecan muffins and cinnamon rolls, and the coffee. We all plunged into food heaven as we replayed the time we'd spent together, including a sunset last night at the beach, a nice seaside dinner, and then--last night--Jude on his guitar singing to us in front of the fire. His wife Melissa dubbed our house "The Love Nest."

Perhaps as I focus on doing something new every day, I'll discover that I tend to do something new every day anyway. Or maybe I'll discover that some days go by without my awareness that each moment is a blank slate. Maybe I'll learn more than I ever knew about those little pockets of resistance--how they work, how they chatter, how they may or may not be fruitful. Most of all, though, I want to revel in the richness of life. It's all here for us. We just need to dive in.

"Love is a fruit in season at all times, and within reach of every hand." - Mother Teresa

The semester is winding down, and once again I'm reminded how much I enjoy the rhythms of the academic year. These rhythms reflect the movement of the seasons. Right now everyone's got that sleepy, sparkly holidays-are-here-finals-are-almost-over glow. It feels a little like everyone's bedazzled by the cold air. And by the chance to finish up and start again, which is the promise of seasonal change.

The energy was palpable today as my creative writing students met for the final, which was a poetry reading. We laughed, clapped, snapped, oohed and ahhed over the word play, humor and profundity. Poems came in all varieties: a performance poem riffing on "truth," humorous poems about marijuana ("Ode to Mary Jane") and masturbation; a haiku series featuring a banana, and another about hidden natural environments in San Jose; a poem about family alternating between English and Spanish; a piece about--as the student put it--"relearning how to love someone"; and a poem sung to the accompaniment of two guitars.

To put it simply: I basked in the love! This was one of those magical classes that gels in a special way. Something about the chemistry of the group, an elixir of creativity and connection.

I, too, contributed to the final event by reading a poem. This one is another in a series I've written based on random words Meg Pokrass, a Facebook friend, posts.

Here are the words she posted: door, mother, butter, horsehair, holler, roach, fast, taste, lurid, hops, ironed, accordion, boneheaded, bedcover, mildew, wax, soda, stride, sofa, squares, denim.

And below is my poem. What I like about the poem is that encapsulates the wisdom of some of the teachers I've been following the past few years. And this is the wisdom: Go with the flow. Don't push against things. Honor the seasons.


The Way of Things

Some things turn to butter as fast
as that accordionist’s fingers passed

the black keys. Some things taste
lurid, like hops and wishes and paste.

(Soda erased the mildew in the mouth
when we ate our art projects.) South

of your bedcovers, some things wax
poetic, while others stick to the facts.

Some things strive like a mother
patches things up with denim squares or other

ironed fabrics. That door over there?
It’s blocked by the horsehair sofa but doesn’t care.

Holler at it all you want; it’s boneheaded,
stubborn as a roach. Some things are wedded

to the truth, while others are married to lies.
Things have their ways. Take them in stride.

"Look deep into nature, and then you will understand everything better." -Albert Einstein

I got the best birthday present this year. Dave took me away for a few days for a trip up the coast. On the day of my 49th birthday, we lay barefoot on a blanket on the beach in the cool, sunny day. The waves were huge and the horizon hazy, making elusive where land ended and sky began. In one dreamy moment I was thinking, It doesn't get better than this. And suddenly it did. Because he pulled a ring out of his pocket and asked me to marry him.

Of course I said yes. I didn't have a doubt because I'm so in love with this man. I love the way he and I create together a meaningful, joyous life. The ring, a blue gem set in white gold, was perfect--one I would have picked for myself. It looks like the sky, the sea, the world from afar.

Again I was thinking, It doesn't get better than this--when he said with a smile, "Champagne?" A bottle and two glasses materialized from his backpack.

So I guess the better it gets, the better it gets!

As I've shared the news with people, I've been deeply touched by the outpouring of love. Take my friend Stacey. I told her the engagement news on the phone the other day. She squealed with happiness and said, "Aren't you glad you went through what you did a few years ago? Because you needed to in order to get where you are now. And you certainly wouldn't have wanted to miss out on this!"

And then the next day, I received a poem she sent me by email:

Restoration

How reassuring to know
passionate love
still exists. Where once blackened rubble
now sweet scented blooms
so vibrant
strong
alive
one can hardly remember
that rocky desolation
out of which they grew
old decay
now new
food
for
interminable
roots.

Talk about a friend who's a witness to your life. In this poem, she testifies to the richness of our friendship--and to the incredible resilience of humans. As Camus once said, "In the depth of winter I finally learned that there was in me an invincible summer." We can continue to thrive because change is constant, expansion is the name of life's game.

Over the years, Stacey and I have taken long beach walks, talking through our challenges, the eternal nature of the ocean reassuring us. It's been a while since we've done that. But soon we are going to have many more opportunities because next week, Dave and I are moving to Santa Cruz. I've lived in Santa Cruz before. It always felt like my home. I've enjoyed living in downtown San Jose the past few years with the easy walk to work, to restaurants, to fun events like Music in the Park and the San Jose Jazz Festival. Yet there's nothing like living near the beach and the redwoods, with all the great hiking trails, access to kayaking, and all the other outdoor adventures we love. We'll be living in a condo just two blocks from my favorite beach, and we're close to downtown and--most importantly--a few great music venues! And there's a bus that will chug me over the hill to work, dropping me right on campus my three days a week.

One of the things my birthday weekend reminded me of is that we here in the Bay Area live in an amazing place. Dave planned the whole thing to show me some of his favorite spots. I just packed and went along for the ride. The first day of our adventure, we hiked in Butano State Park, a place of towering redwoods, filtered light, and a zillion banana slugs. For the first time ever, I saw one of those bizarre, bright yellow creatures eating--happily munching on some slimy fungus. Who am I to judge?

Dave then ferried us to a little jewel of a place, Harley Farms Goat Dairy in the coastal town of Pescadero. There we tasted some of the most delicious cheeses that have ever melted in my mouth, bought a few for a picnic, and then visited with the goats who seemed to think my pink jacket would taste as good as their cheese did.

After enjoying the sunset as it cast gold light and shadow onto nature's intricate sandstone sculptures at Pescadero Beach, we ate dinner at Pescadero's renowned Duarte's Tavern. There is absolutely nothing snooty about this place. It feels like hanging out at your most fun aunt's house, the one who keeps food on the stove at all times and who hasn't bought a new piece of furniture since 1963. Should you ever find yourself there, the Cream of Chile soup is a must. We also had a generous portion of cold, steamed artichoke hearts with aioli dip for appetizer. Our fried scallop and prawn dinners were yummy in a down-home-don't-even-talk-about-quinoa-or-yoga kind of way.

That night we stayed in a tent bungalow at at Costanoa, an "eco adventure resort," as they dub themselves. It was kind of like camping but without having to deal with tent posts and blow-up mattresses. The tent bungalow had a wooden floor, canvas walls with windows, and a heated bed--a perfect place to stay toasty while we enjoyed a glass of wine. We then bundled in fat, cozy Costanoa bathrobes and trundled off to the huge communal hot tub. We enjoyed some time alone in the steaming water under the stars until a couple and their two young girls joined us. They'd been to a wedding that day at Costanoa. Little did I know that such wedding conversation was foreshadowing the next day...

... which involved our long walk on Half Moon Bay state beach and the perfect proposal described above. That night we stayed in Half Moon Bay at the home of friends who were out of town. A five-star hotel couldn't have been any better because their pad came with a sweet cat named Digit, and a great deck overlooking the town and sea. There, Dave gave me presents (as though the ring wasn't enough!) including a Kindle Fire--which has since worked as a lovely distraction from grading papers.

That night we lingered over a sushi dinner at Sushi Main Street. We enjoyed both the food and company, as we engaged in conversation at the sushi bar with a local couple who've been married for almost 40 years (they met in high school and attest to the benefits of sharing a life together). Their son used to work at the restaurant, so they plied us with recommendations of what to order next and what other restaurants to visit in the area--and then they handed us a gift certificate for ten bucks off our meal. People like sharing their expertise. And we were happy to be the recipients of their culinary and life lessons.

Because Dave is an aficionado of squeezing the most out of an adventure, even though Sunday was the next day we were not immediately headed home. First, we had breakfast at a locals place where you order at the counter and sit at a rickety table, the walls covered in year-old fliers. I don't recall the name of the place, but Dave devoured a massive and satisfying breakfast burrito, and I inhaled truly the best scramble with cheese and bacon I've ever had. After polishing it off I craved more and wondered if the secret ingredient was crack.

Fortified, we headed out for a hike in Purissima Creek Open Space Preserve. We took a 10-mile loop on a duff-soft, well-tended trail. This place is otherworldly fragrant with the dampness of creek and cathedral of redwoods. We also passed through areas of oak woodland. The hike is challenging the last few miles, which ascend from the creek back up to the ridge. Tingling with the sweet sweat of exertion, we finally got back in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang (our blue Subaru) and headed home. Back to the city that will be our home for a short time until our next adventure calls: that of moving to Santa Cruz, where we will have easy access to all of these coastal riches. In a sense, the birthday and engagement adventure was a preview of coming attractions: a life among the ocean and forest. A life walking the path together--sometimes downhill, sometimes up. And always the trees, with their interminable roots.