New friends

Entering our 7th week now in Colorado...it still feels like we are groping around in the dark, or in the blinding sunlight to be more accurate. Today is the day I enroll Z in school. I'd have done it yesterday, but the events of the day gave me some reason to pause and rethink my original plan. We moved here, to this most coveted and costly neighborhood, to be eligible to attend Whittier school, the oldest continuously operating school in Colorado. Zoe's friend Jordan is enrolled there, and his family loves it. For years we have felt like an extension of their family. We have traveled together, conquered fears, drunk our way through traumas and obstacles, and pulled close together during hot summers and cold, miserable winters. Now we hardly know them. They haven't visited us once in the time we have lived here. Our only time together was on their terms, their turf. It's no longer a mutually beneficial relationship. Even Z feels let down.

It was these friends who suggested we rent a studio from a nice couple who I happened to meet just as I was leaving a party back in May. If that was our parting gift, I am grateful. We did rent that studio, and in genius fashion, the homeowners rented their adjoining home to a delightful family of 5 from the east coast. Their daughter is my daughter's newest and sweetest friend. Their sons are a whirling dervish of grinning and mischief-making, and their dogs are a couple of geriatric piles of love. We're still getting to know them, but all signs point to us having a spectacular few months nestled into our mountain hideaway on a cushion of friendship as we grow new roots.

And as far as growing roots, this could mean shifting our original plans a bit so Z and her new friend can attend the same school. Nothing would please me more than to see Z with a partner in crime as she embarks on the 4th grade in a new city. Today I'm making the necessary calls and filling in the necessary paperwork to get the ball rolling.

Then it's time for me to settle into my own new routine! Living off of my savings this long was a frightening possibility, but now that my leg is healing...I need to push ahead.

You have the right to remain silent

I can't remember the last time I felt so detached. I was lying down looking at the clouds today, thinking about how it felt to be 9 years old in the summertime. On a typical hot summer Saturday my parents would be reading or sleeping upstairs, while my brothers and I watched tv, played with Legos, or rode around the neighborhood on our bikes. It felt like a wonderful gift to be surrounded by my family at home.

When I chose to sell my home and quit my job, I wanted it to fall early in the summer. This, I hoped, would allow me some time to be close to my Z as we both adjusted to our new environment. I was told "just get here!" And that the rest would work itself out.

I know you can't predict everything in life. I thought I could plan my pregnancy in order to have a Pisces child, who would be sensitive and musically gifted. Ha! Or better yet, a Cancer like me, so we could snuggle up in our little shell and surround ourselves with art. I certainly don't regret that fate gave me a Virgo child, in fact I couldn't be more grateful for her, exactly as she is. This summer, though...I'm curious how fate will reward my patience. I'm keenly aware of my disabled-ness right now. Deep down I feel vindicated for freeing myself of an unfulfilling job, and reaching this mecca where anything is possible, and there is no history to hold me back. But here I sit, taking in the same view day after day, all plans on hold indefinitely.

I'm succumbing to the idea that I will begin emptying my savings each month. And because money is a concept I don't grasp in a concrete way, I feel nothing. I should be guarding my prize, that's what I'm told. I should invest my savings, and aggressively go after a partnership or business opportunity so I can continue my financial growth. I really should be doing that right now. Instead of daydreaming and journaling.

Lies and how to inhabit them

We have art so that we may not perish by the truth. -Friedrich Nietzsche

So that's it? That's why I'm lost without a book or a film character I can latch onto? I guess it's fair. At least I have something, a life preserver, to keep me from drowning in all this truth.

A life saver, like the one my brother nearly choked on as a toddler. Or at least that's the artful version that is filed in my memories. Mom said he choked on a life saver, a green one, I remember the cylindrical package, and even the fresh taste of the one I'd just eaten, and he couldn't breathe and the firemen's shoes got our carpet dirty but it didn't matter because they needed to save him fast. A life saver almost, well, how's that for irony.

I need a mountain of art, an ocean, a galaxy filled with art to distract me from the pain of seeing all the truth, or is it lies, that surround me every moment I'm awake. Lies engulf me the moment that sleep leaves my eyes. Burning, searing pain. Joan of Arc on the stake.

Give me that art then. Just load me up with it, squeeze it over my eyes, stop this burning, for chrissake.

Reinventing Susan

I started reading about how narcissistic people manipulate you into giving up your boundaries and basic rights. Nothing new to me, as I was married to a classic narcissist for 7 years. I could write a novel about the gaslighting (there's a name for that specific type of abuse that made me start to lose my mind), the frustration, the helplessness of watching him work his way through superficial relationships, and finally the breaking point when he could no longer face himself and turned to drugs and club kids to soothe the pain. My cue to exit.

For some reason, we all repeat patterns in our lives and I am guilty as anyone in this area. It's constructive if you take the time to be mindful of the patterns, and to take actions to break the cycle. So I'm posting these rules for myself to reread and ponder as I embark on a new pool of friends. Try to remember, Susan.

You have the right to be treated with respect.

You have the right to express your feelings, opinions and wants.

You have the right to set your own priorities.

You have the right to say “no” without feeling guilty.

You have the right to get what you pay for.

You have the right to have opinions different than others.

You have the right to take care of and protect yourself from being threatened physically, mentally or emotionally.

You have the right to create your own happy and healthy life.

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.