Tantra Lake

Not a bad little neighborhood where we landed. Last night I demanded that Z walk with me to this spot a few minutes from our home. We watched the sun set behind these mountains as a juvenile goose made its way toward us. One feather poking up from its back, which made us smile thinking about an old cartoon Z used to watch as a toddler, where a crotchety old penguin had the same single feather-sticking-out problem. A male mallard started swimming toward us. Then more geese. 17 to be exact. And 3 more ducks. And signs to watch out for baby turtles underfoot. I've always dreamed of living in a place like this. Even our cats seem happier here surrounded by new bird calls and cool dry evenings with the windows open.

A real bugaboo

It's helpful to Google my sprained ankle symptoms, and to know that there's not much a doctor can do for this particular injury. I have been feeling anxious about being away from my hmo network, and this was a scary wake up call that an unexpected injury or illness could be very costly. It's terrible to think about. But at some point today I need to get my health coverage figured out.

This really put a damper on my "I'm moving to one of the fittest places on earth and I'm going to shed fat and gain strength and look like I belong on Runner's World magazine!" It will have to wait. Meanwhile I can use the time for more practical matters, like applying for jobs and healthcare. "I'm going to use my free time to apply for jobs and healthcare!" doesn't roll off my tongue the same way, unfortunately. The bright side is that I'm self-directed now. If I remain in this mindset I'll never have to "work" again.

Welcome to Boulder

Yesterday I learned the term OIB. Only In Boulder.

I went on my maiden mountain hike through one of the most beautiful mountain preserves I've ever seen. We (4 adults and 3 kids) hiked over snow packs and mud and sweet little white wildflower patches to arrive at Long Lake in Brainard Lake Recreation Area. After about 2 miles of slippery, snowy conditions in my Keen sandals, and with only a few steps to descend down to the beach, I slipped. The weight of my backpack, filled with ice and beverages and snacks and weighing at least 20lbs, brought me down fast. And with a loud crack in my ankle, I was down for the count.

The pain was familiar. About 24 years ago I took a spill while jogging and ended up in about the same predicament. My ankle had hyperextended and I was forced to crawl home on my suburban street. Overwhelmed with pain, I remember entering my parents house and sobbing like a toddler from the pain. As the least accident prone of three kids, I had never been to an emergency room, and it was clear that my military-trained father wasn't about to take me there. Rest, ice, compression, elevation. Those words were repeated to me yesterday by savvy hikers who rallied around me so I could get myself off the sketchy slope where I had fallen. Within minutes I was being carried down by men with big shoulders and big hearts, who handed me ibuprofen, an ace bandage, and kind words of encouragement. Next a soft spoken couple offered me their ski poles, since it was clear I'd have to get myself to safety using my own strength. Dale and Jeff, it turns out, live no more than a couple blocks from my south Boulder apartment, and were happy to loan me the poles and return them once I was safely home.

My hiking companions fed me beer and "roast beast" sandwiches (with giardinera, no less), and some cbd, which to those in the know is a natural anti-inflammatory and anti-anxiety balm. A young bearded man living out of his camper happened to be nearby. When he heard I had just rolled my ankle, he trekked back to his camper and returned with a natural healing gel for athletic sprains and tears. He didn't want the tube back, didn't ask my name or for any repayment. I slathered on the gel and got myself to the car. I made the drive home with all 3 kids, amid gorgeous views and glowing cloud formations. After a cool bath, I retrieved my antique cane, which I uncannily had saved instead of donating like almost every other random item I had owned before this move. I wrapped my swollen ankle tightly, iced and elevated, and after a glimpse of the impossibly bright Solstice Strawberry Full Moon, I let my daughter tuck me in for a well-deserved rest.

Only In Boulder.

The last Monday

In honor of my fellow blogger who quotes the songs that speak to her current mood, I leave this as my way of explaining/excusing my exit from Joel Oppenheimer. I changed Jo to J.O., for obvious reasons.

Will you say you love me J.O.?
How am I supposed to know?
When you go under the waste
What am I supposed to say?

I see people on the floor
They're slidin' to the sea
Can't stay here anymore
We're turning into thieves

If I stay here trouble will find me
If I stay here I'll never leave
If I stay here trouble will find me
I believe

J.O. I'll always think of you
As the kind of child who knew
This was never gonna last
Oh J.O. you fell so fast

Hey J.O. sorry I hurt you, but they say love is a virtue don't they?
Hey J.O. sorry I hurt you, but they say love is a virtue don't they?
Hey J.O. sorry I hurt you, but they say love is a virtue don't they?
Hey J.O. sorry I hurt you, but they say love is a virtue don't they?

I see people on the floor
They're slidin' to the sea
Can't stay here anymore
We're turning into thieves

I see you rushing now
Tell me how to reach you
I see you rushing now
What did Harvard teach you?

I see you rushing now
Tell me how to reach you
I see you rushing now
What did Harvard teach you?

I see you rushing now
Tell me how to reach you
I see you rushing now
What did Harvard teach you?

I see you rushing now
Tell me how to reach you
I see you rushing now
What did Harvard teach you?

Long strides

When I was asked to come for an interview in Boulder, I didn't ask questions, I just booked my ticket and came. The five days leading up to my appointment were filled with anxiety. The only way I could soothe myself was to think that I was surely qualified for the position and that soon I would be notifying my boss that a better opportunity had come along.

That didn't quite pan out. The meeting was great; I am such a fan of the work that art therapists do with families and children, and this center is no exception. However, I learned that I am overqualified for the job, and that had I already moved in and formed a network in Boulder I would be more desirable for this position. I was given a full hour of the director's time and she sent me off with a good luck. I know I'll return to volunteer at some point, but I'm not expecting anything more.

Now, the real magic. Since I would be driving through Denver on my way to Boulder, I requested a meeting with a woman who runs a paper conservation lab. She responded coolly but nevertheless I was thrilled to be allowed a peek. I arrived early, casually parked the car in front of the building, and helped myself to a coffee next door. I could already feel myself easing into this fantasy of starting a new career in this historic section of town, in this old crumbly building that oozes with character.

Beth greeted me warmly, and appeared more relaxed than in her photo. She showed me into the library, where we talked about techniques, experiences, career paths. She described her earlier career in art therapy, and wished me luck with my upcoming interview. As she showed me out, I reveled at the ping pong table she converted into a portable work station, covered with folders containing artwork exactly like I pull every day to work on. In the course of talking about fellow conservators, she left me with numerous names of people who would be happy to speak with me about my aspirations. And what's more is that she recommended creating a business identity of my own, so that others could hire me as a subcontractor. This was something I had fantasized about but never fleshed out fully, assuming that getting set up on my own would be too big a burden. But to my surprise, Beth informed me that setting up a business is relatively cheap and easy in Colorado.

This was a bombshell. I know that my brother set himself up this way to do web design, and that everyone who has pulled this off says it's the only way to go. I'm in the best position now to make this work, and I even have names of conservators to align myself with. All that's left is doing the work. It's so simple.

I can't help but notice all the self reliant women here who are doing the work, making a life here like pioneer folk, blazing trails and helping others along so they can experience all there is to enjoy when you set your sights high. It's crazy but I'm starting to feel like I'm being reborn as the mature self I always wished I would become.

Good night, bike. Good night, mixer. Good night, moon (-shaped led light).

As I sipped a long-pour of vodka and soda, I listed some things on the facebook garage sale site. I didn't expect it to get so much attention! I woke up to a dozen messages, people wanting appliances, tables, shelves, bikes. One by one I scheduled pick ups, and now I'm about $150 richer. And mourning the loss of my precious stuff. Trying now to take a few moments to think of how my stuff will give others pleasure as it did for me.

The bike, though. That was my form of transportation when I was carless in the late 90's. I spent every evening on the lakefront riding further and further from my home base, till I was able to do the 30-mile Bike the Drive. One summer I logged 1000 miles riding to and from my job in the south Loop. Then, after handing the car over to my ex in the divorce and before selling our home, I rode 15 miles from Rogers Park to my parents' home in Mount Prospect, in a symbolic act of strength in the face of sadness. I listened to Bon Iver and Of Monsters and Men as I made my way west, reversing the trip I had made so many years earlier to settle in the big bad city. It was a pattern I would repeat for the next 3 years, visiting my old haunts for a sense of closure. I took up running and made destinations out of schools I had attended, parks and pools where I'd spent my younger years, the filthy bar where I'd shared my misery with grown-up childhood friends, and homes where I had had my first sleepovers, make out sessions, babysitting gigs, piano lessons. I had a rich and rewarding childhood. I loved being able to relive some of my greatest memories when I was so deeply saddened about the course my life had taken in my 30's.

About 7 months ago I decided to wrap up the old days. As my daughter's godfather reminded me today, the times, they are a changin'. It's time to make some new memories and let the old ones stay in the past, to patina and gather dust. Soon I'll feel a pull to explore new words, and to give my daughter all the joys I never knew as a child.

The deed is done

And today is part deux, telling Christina and the others about my departure. Michael was my moral support this week as I began dreading the conversation about leaving the company. He was right, it does feel so good to be on this side of it. I gave my friend Dan an early heads up, and realized that he too has been feeling disenfranchised. I sincerely hope that he finds empowerment as I did and makes his own path toward happiness. He is so close, but lets his guilt hold him back.

The technical skills I learned at JOI are numerous. The interpersonal skills I learned will serve me well. But the trauma of never being fully able to express my frustration will haunt me forever. Before I came to JOI I had never even heard of codependency. Now I know it intimately because of having been surrounded by people whose tendencies toward this unhealthy behavior were fully realized in an environment of manipulation and power struggles. In recent years I've had the fortune of seeing myself and my situation from an outsider's perspective. Had I started out that way, I would have built the proper boundaries to protect myself from the damage caused by others' jealousies, resentments, scheming. But I chose to dive in, even married into the JOI employee family. I wanted acceptance and I wove myself into the tapestry of Oppenheimer history, gilded as it was by intellectual attitudes and waspy superiority. And once in, I became aware of who knew what, how we were all being led where they wanted us, how this was one huge narcissistic game and we were the pawns.

Fast forward 14 years and here I am, making one  of my final commutes into the city that I used to love. Looking back on how this experience changed me. How on the one hand, my first day with this company coincided with meeting the man I would marry and with whom I would have my only child, and how I wouldn't trade that gift for anything in the world. But how on the other hand, my former director, a clinical sociopath who admitted that she envied my success as a mother and professional, distorted my perception of this business and of my capabilities as an art restorer. She did everything in her power to take away what happiness I took from this job, denying me opportunities for growth and travel. Because of Zoe," I was told I could not travel for work, in spite of my explicit requests to help out on overnight jobs which would have greatly empowered me in my career development. Today, however, I am enjoying the humble achievements of a 20 year stint in the art business, embarking on a bright future with a clear conscience, having only risen higher in my mind's eye in spite of her repeated attempts to drag me down.