Meltdown: What Happened After A Recent Trip And How Not To Let It Happen Again

June 29, 2012 By

Lily and Sam taking a nap.

It’s Tuesday. I just walked in the house after a six-hour plane trip from Vermont.  It was a fast paced and emotion filled trip seeing friends, family members and revisiting old haunts.  I’m tired, but before I can sit down and pull all my lose threads together and get back to my ordinary life I need to make a list of groceries so that Bill and I can have something to eat for dinner.  Out the door I fly, back into the car that just delivered me from the airport and head out to Whole Foods.  I’m back a little while later with fresh local produce and some Thai spiced chicken breasts from the deli counter.

The older I get the more exhausting travel seems to be. I’ve been up since five AM and it’s now three in the afternoon.  I need to lie down for a quick nap, but my suitcase lies open and unpacked in the middle of the bed. Sam is sniffing around in the dirty clothes trying to figure out where I’ve been. The easiest thing to do is to do the unpacking now and take a nap later.  I haul the laundry downstairs and since there is so much of it and tomorrow will be a hugely busy day, I set the washing machine on regular and walk away as the tub fills with water. Upstairs there is a pile of mail for me to sort through and I notice that the answering machine is blinking. There are eight messages to listen to.  My feet hurt. I have a headache and that list of places I need to be tomorrow is attacking me.  I need to take a nap, but there is so much to do. I only have two days to get my life back in order before a good friend comes to visit.

It’s now Sunday, almost a week since I’ve been back. Susan, a friend I haven’t seen in several years left an hour ago. This weekend was the only time we could fit in some time to see each other. We spent our days together talking about what we’ve each been up to, enjoyed delicious food together and stayed up way past my bedtime.  In between conversations, thoughts and feelings about my trip to Vermont kept whispering in my ear, telling me they needed to breathe. They wanted out of my head and onto the pages of my journal. But it will most likely be another few years before I see Susan again and I didn’t pay any attention to what I needed to do.

I’ve watered the garden, checked emails and Facebook and just finished lunch.  My head hurts and my stomach is churning like a cement mixer and I feel my eyes begin to fill with tears. My weekly calendar, a page I print out every weekend so that I know what is ahead of me for the coming week, sits in front of me.  Tuesday and Wednesday, days I always set aside as “My Days,” are filled with things that won’t necessarily be relaxing or creative  There is no time for sitting in the garden, reading or writing the next piece of my memoir.  I’m still playing catch-up and on Friday another very dear friend will be arriving to spend a good piece of time with me.  I so look forward to her visit.  We met two years ago at a writing retreat and we’ve become fast friends ever since, talking by phone every week and trying to come up with plans so that we can get together.

I’m feeling the first pangs of an incoming meltdown.  I start breathing deeply and envision myself on an empty beach. As I inhale fresh air into my lungs I say, “ocean” to myself.  On the exhale, I say, “wave,“ and find myself breathing to the rhythm of waves washing up on shore and then returning to the sea.  This is what I do when I meditate and also when I’m feeling unsafe and highly stressed.  But today it’s a struggle and my mind rushes back to all of the things I need to do before Sharon arrives. I’m shaky and I find myself entering that no-man’s land of panic, all alone and unable to pull myself back.

The tears start flowing. I am impatient with Bill and my world seems to be collapsing around me.  I still haven’t written much about my trip except for a brief blog post, which is more of a travelogue than anything else. It doesn’t cover what being in Vermont meant to me.  I feel as though time has boxed me into a cell without access to paper, pens, or my computer.  I want to write it all out but as I sit down to do it, my Inner Critic arrives, seating herself on my shoulder. She starts hammering, “You’ll never  write your memoir, so why bother feeling so glum.  Just turn the computer off and go clean out the refrigerator.”  My Angel of Sanity, who just flew in says, “Your tired. You need some alone time. Cancel all of your appointments for the next week. Be calm. Trust the process.”  I take a nap, then a walk, wondering if I will ever write again.

A week has passed and all is well.  I had a meltdown.  Sharon knew as only good friends do, that I needed to be by myself.  It wasn’t the perfect time for her either, so we bagged our get-together and decided to do it another time.

I’ve spent the week taking it easy.  Being alone, naps and going to bed early help a lot. I cancelled some of my appointments and I started writing. Slowly at first. A day or two later it began to flow and I feel as though I’ve returned to the land of the living.  Ms. Inner Critic has been banished and my angel is sitting over on the book shelf, looking smug, trying not to say, “I told you so.”

Three days ago Sharon called and asked if she could take me to lunch.  She and her daughter, Amy, were on their way to New York for a workshop/retreat.  She arrived too late for lunch but we had a wonderful dinner together.  They stayed the night and went their way early the next morning.  I loved seeing them and they didn’t intrude on my recovery.   Actually, seeing Sharon, helped a lot.

What I’ve learned:

  1. I need time after a trip like this last one to rest and process what just happened.

2.  I need to take plenty of time to be alone.

3.  I mustn’t fill my calendar with appointments right after a trip.  I need to give myself time to readjust.

4.  I need to be aware of how I’m feeling and be honest with myself and those around me who need to know what they’re up against if they plan on hanging out with me.

I have another heavy-duty, emotionally challenging trip coming up in October, when I go up to Long Island where I was born and spent my childhood. I will scatter my mother’s ashes in the places she loved the most during her lifetime.  And I will hopefully visit with cousins I haven’t seen in fifty years.  Before I leave I will revisit this post and take heed.

 If like me you suffer from overstimulation and have meltdowns when life gets too busy and emotional, how do to keep yourself from going ballistic?

Filed Under: family, Friendships, Memoir, Mental Health, Navigating Through Life, Time, Travels, Vermont, Writing Tagged With: , , , , , , , ,

Rebooting My Creative Process

June 23, 2012 By

Purple Coneflower, © Joan Z. Rough, 1989

A writer is a writer not because she writes well and easily, because she has amazing talent, because everything she does is golden. In my view, a writer is a writer because even when there is no hope, even when nothing you do shows any sign of promise, you keep writing anyway.  – Junot Díaz

Here I sit, trying to get started on my memoir writing process again.  Lots of things have been happening including a trip to Vermont, visiting the places I once lived and the people I love. I’m struggling with time and the need to do everyday things, including some fun, as well as writing.  My old friend fear of failure and revisiting old memories, is visiting at the moment. I just can’t seem to get started. There is always something else more important to do and I find myself saying yes to those many distractions that come my way.

I know what I need to do. Sit down every day and write, no matter what it’s about. As a starter, I’ve begun writing in my journal on a daily basis after a long period of doing it only once or twice a week. I’ve also started a daily meditation practice, which I’d been doing but have let slide for a long time. It’s a must for me, especially now, when I need grounding instead of flitting around the ether like a lost lightning bug.

I have five weeks until my next trip in late July when I go to North Carolina to spend a week visiting with my daughter and grandchildren.  I can write there as I’ll be in a small condo and though they live nearby, we always set aside a few hours every day when all of us get to have some quiet, alone time.  But unless I get a schedule going for myself now, actually doing the writing when I’m there will a challenge.

Before our recent visit to Vermont and after the garden went into simple maintenance mode, I had a great schedule going in which I exercised every morning and then spent at least two hours writing, usually ending up with at least 500 words. It was exciting and I felt very productive.  Since I’ve been back I’ve been in stalling mode.

So here I go again, jumping into the flow, praying that I’ll go with it instead of fighting my way up-stream, which I tend to do when I’m blocked.  Wish me luck and if you have a way of rebooting your creative process, let me know.  I can use as many suggestions as I can get.

Filed Under: Fear, Life, Memoir, Time, Writing Tagged With: , ,

On Mother’s Day

May 13, 2012 By

Dublin Grave, Polaroid Transfer with Water Color.The ois

I wrote the following poem years ago when I was visiting Ireland, once a year, loving the peace and quiet of County Mayo.  I rambled through cemeteries, many forgotten and uncared for, learning about women’s lives by reading the few words on their headstones. Their lives were not easy.   Mrs. Heartwell shows up in many of my poems.  She can be a goofy clown, naive, sad, and joyous, but she is also very serious and filled with compassion.

on mother’s day

the light shines within us
like a candle
an eternal flame

reciting inscriptions aloud
mrs heartwell studies rows
of weathered stones
ponders praying angels
the one with broken wings
guarding tiny patrick

died in his mother’s arms
he was only three

beyond a drooping cedar
blood red roses
scent the path
where the queen of heaven
her tranquil face
etched with lichen
extends her arms
blessing sarah golden

brave soul entered
eternal rest
november sixth
eighteen hundred and ninety four
the mother of eight 

stumbling through thorny weeds
she finds
a rotting cross
bits of broken glass
rosary beads scatter
as she tries to keep
from stepping on
mary shepherd

gave her life 
for infant sophie

jzr

To all mothers out there, Happy Mother’s Day
from me and Mrs. Heartwell!

Filed Under: family, Life, love, Poetry, stories, Travels, Writing Tagged With: , , ,

The Best Of Intentions

May 6, 2012 By

Eggplant in last years garden.

May 4th, 2012

It’s been one of those days.  Even with my list of intentions I can’t seem to focus.  Instead of coming home after yoga class to start writing, I went to the garden center where I bought another dozen or so plants for the shade garden. I found some interesting Hostas, Astilbes in blushing pink, and a colorful collection of Coral Bells.  These last have tiny bell-shaped flowers that are not particularly spectacular unless you’re a hummingbird.  It’s the color of the leaves that blows me away. And in a shade garden, which is mostly green, I like to throw in some odd color variations to keep my eyes interested. Today I found one with lime tinted leaves.  I also chose one with light, autumn-orange foliage and another with dark maroon leaves etched with silver. Next to that last one, I’ll plant another one called “Berry Smoothie,” with soft rose-pink leaves.  They look stunning together.

Thinking that I was almost done with my garden work for the spring, I quickly remembered that I haven’t yet picked out the tomato plants I plan on putting in the raised bed I use only for veggies and herbs.  Last year I filled it with sweet peppers in green, red and yellow. Never having grown eggplant and not knowing what kind of harvest to expect, I put in six plants.  There are only two mouths to feed in this house and we adore eggplant but it seems I went a bit overboard.

By the end of summer we were tired of eggplant parmesan, ratatouille, and everything else eggplant. When I approached friends with a basket of perfect purple orbs, I found out that most them don’t like it. I took the overflow to the local Food Bank where hopefully they found a stomach or two to fill with my gorgeous garden treasures.

It’s three PM, and I realize that I’ve not been attending to the item that was at the top of today’s list. I am doing about the garden, which was not on the list. I feel a bit guilty and annoyed with myself. I am supposed to be starting on a new blog post to be published on Sunday. I haven’t yet figured out what to write about and since next week is overflowing with places to be, I need to be getting one ready for next weekend as well.  Frustration time!! How do I fit it all in when there’s also the laundry, healthy meals to prepare and friends I want to see.

Writing a memoir and trying to keep my blog updated, is not the easiest thing in the world for me to do.  I love doing both but my head isn’t always in tune with the planned time schedule I put together to keep myself on track. And I have so many interests and passions that I’m constantly trying to figure out a way to keep all of them in my life. The garden is one of those and at this time of year it’s difficult to pass up the opportunity to discover an interesting new plants to add to the work of art I’m creating for myself with live plant material.

The list of intentions I put together every evening for the next day seems to be the driving force in my life along with the clock that is always ticking away in the background.  But should it be?  That page of numbered items does help me get things done and keeps me from running after every spectacular idea that blows my way.  But it doesn’t always provide fun or relaxation and I tend to be OCD about many of my projects.

I do know what to do to take care of my problem.  It’s very simple and at the same time very difficult. Bury the list, the clock, my guilt, and annoyance in a mound of compost. Then go do something else that I feel like doing. It doesn’t have to be anything big, just enough to loosen my shoulders and neck.

It might be taking a nap or smelling the unbelievably red roses that grow down the street.  Maybe it’s lunch with a friend or going up on the Blue Ridge Parkway with a picnic basket to watch the sun go down. When I get back from those little jaunts, I know the compost pile will be smoking with heat from digesting all the stuff I buried inside of it.  I’m refreshed and ready to go back to the writing, which then seems to be flowing like a rain-filled river until I get lost again in my life.

Update, Sunday, May 6:

Today I spent 4 hours in the garden planting all those plants I bought and doing a general cleanup. I found a newly fledged baby woodpecker flitting around the garden unable to fly.  I called the local wildlife sanctuary and they sent someone to pick him up.  He or she will be fed and placed in an area with other baby birds and released when he is able to fend for himself.  I have three cats and there are others in the area.  Not a good place for baby birds who can’t fly!

Filed Under: Life, Memoir, Navigating Through Life, The Garden, Writing Tagged With: ,

A Changed Mind

April 29, 2012 By

Bryant Park, New York City ... a lovely place to sit and read.

A while back I wrote a post about my love and addiction to books.  I absolutely love everything about them:  the feel of them in my hands, how when I fall asleep while I’m reading, they settle down oh so gently over my heart, staying open to the page I last read. And their sweet smell often reminds me of the first library I ever went to.

About a year ago my husband bought a Kindle. Wearing my high and mighty jeans, I asked him why in the world he would do such a thing. He advised me that when traveling it would be easier and weigh much less to carry his Kindle in his pocket downloaded with several books rather than to lug along a suitcase stuffed with reads he might not even get to. Being who I am and stuffed into those very tight, judgemental pants, I said, “Well yeah, I get that but I know I will never enjoy reading a book on an electronic gadget.  It looks and feels awkward and it isn’t soft and floppy like a well-worn book.

A few months later after trying to find a comfortable way to hold the Kindle in bed, he gave up.  It fell out of his hands several times onto the hardwood floor as he was falling to sleep. He also didn’t like not knowing how far along in the book he was.  He missed that comforting bookmark that let him know immediately where he was in the story without having to open the pages.  So, off the Kindle went to a friend at Christmas time who still hasn’t used it.  I didn’t say a word.

At work on my memoir, I’ve been reading loads of books in the same genre.  One of the things successful writers tell the rest of us is to read, read and read some more.  It helps immensely with developing our own style and finding our own voice. It can also be very inspiring and we may find ourselves writing immediately after reading a piece that is very moving.  I’ve found that works particularly well when I’m writing poetry. Often when I feel stuck, all I have to do is go to one of my favorite poets and read several of their pieces. I’ll be off and writing in no time at all.

However, my read list on Amazon is most often way out of hand and pricey. Especially if I have 20 books lined up on it. I could go to the library but lately the books I’ve been looking for aren’t available. So when I saw a review written by another writer about a new memoir and it sounded like something I’d enjoy, I took Amazon up on their offer for me to download it for free on my iPad.

A few weeks ago when I went to New York, I not only took along a few books that I was in the middle of reading, I also took my iPad. On the train ride back home, I found that I’d packed those books I’d had little time to read away in my luggage and couldn’t get at them.  But tucked away in my purse was my iPad with a downloaded book on it.

I’m sweating and getting a bit uncomfortable because I do have to tell you that I’ve changed my mind about reading books on electronic gadgets. People like me who are considered by some to be outspoken (: and use words like never and always, don’t like to be found out.  And here I am telling on myself.

I turned the iPad on and started reading.  I read the entire five and a half hours I was on the train. I didn’t quite finish the book, so back at home I put it on top of the stack next to my bed and finished it off several nights later.

I’m still breathing and the world did not end.  I still love real books the most and prefer to read those.  But, I really do get the point about how much easier it is to read a book on a Kindle, Nook or iPad while traveling.  Especially when they’re free.  And if they’re not the price is usually much lower than the newly published hardcover edition.

So the next time I go off on another travel adventure I’ll download another book or books to take along. You also need to know that I’ve traded in those tight high and mighty jeans for a pair of light summer sweats that tend not to embarrass me as much.

Filed Under: Addiction, Books, Life, Memoir, Poetry, Writing Tagged With: ,
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