Mercury in retrograde

When life lands a punch, it's a doozy. I am over excitement and surprises; I want a nice, quiet little world tucked away from all things that set the boat to rocking. But this is life, and we always have something to contend with, don't we? 

I recently faced one of the strangest experiences that left me feeling incredibly vulnerable, and suddenly, I understand much of what I've always thought I was too strong, too smart, too educated to fall for. I found myself making excuses for another's behaviors, justifying them in some sick way, and Scott had to tell me over and over that the actions I have taken are justified, that I am not blowing them out of proportion, despite what others want to play it off as. I have had to work hard to convince myself that it is okay, and then I look back on patterns of behavior, on patterns of actions, both mine and this other person's, and my stomach wrenches and I fight the gag reflex.

The anxiety that has made me sick, the nervousness I felt, the desperate desire to keep others around, are not good signs. I doubted my intuition, which has never let me down, because I feared making mountains of molehills, of distorting proportions of the situation. And I am ashamed of this and yet still terribly embarrassed that I caused an "issue," even as I was sat down and told over and over that I didn't, that my actions were warranted and necessary.

I sat and endured, buffered, and accepted that this was "how it goes" and that it was "not uncommon behavior."  But I knew this wasn't true; I have had difficult, and I have worked with difficult before. This was not that; this made me uncomfortable, nervous, anxious.  I knew to keep distance between, to defuse and intercede, to quell the storms as best I could. It took this person acting out in front of others and these others' very real concern for me to push me to action. And so I did; I reported the actions as we are told so often to do, I described discussions and interactions, I copied and sent emails, and I described in detail to the smallest minute the incident that made me walk to my car with my keys in hand as a weapon, contemplating if I could get a good hit in with my travel coffee mug, and realizing how very much at a disadvantage I was and how utterly vulnerable at that moment.  I chastised myself for going soft in these years in Oregon. I no longer had my Chicago edge. Perhaps I just finally realized that, truthfully, I can be harmed, even being strong and aware. It finally hit home that something could happen to me, and it made me very afraid.

It is a gross culture of acceptance that I refuse to embrace and bow down within. I was actually told, by a man in a higher position of authority, that I should have done more, could have done more, and that my situation did not "rise to the threat of a risk."  Never mind that all signs pointed to risk, threat, volatility, and more. Another told me that I made myself prey; I cringed as he, in an attempt to clarify a point he was trying and failing to make, yelled and threw a chair to make a demonstration that was appalling, given that I already felt threatened by another.  For the first time, I fully understood victim blaming, even in this small scale that I had to handle, and it made me sick for days. Thankfully, for my sanity and safety, others recognized and trusted my instincts, defended me, supported me and interceded for me. I have defended every action I took or didn't take, making my case as though I were the one on trial and not the one who acted and made me feel this way.

A small part of me hated me for "allowing" this to occur and for being weak. I fought the darkness, the jitters, and apprehension and uneasiness, and the stress dreams for a week. I felt I had rocked the boat, finally sending it tipping over, and I hated that. I worried I was being hyperbolic and simply failing at being able to handle this person and the situations that arose. I worried it, analyzed it, worked it over, and exhausted myself with the amount of energy that one person took out of me. I wrung my hands, stuttered; my voice pitched high, and I struggled to find words to express myself. I was frustrated. I was a wreck.

And yet, it came to an end, if a tenuous and uncomfortable one because others really did not want to deal with it. I am a bit more battered and worn for it, but it is finally over. 

Land of the Midnight Sun

Life is a funny, wicked little imp sometimes. Or maybe that is fate.  Regardless, it has us laughing, crying, excited and anxious at the moment.  We are a bit of a mess, and the emotions run high, rolling in waves. It is manic and disorderly, and I keep imagining us holding hands and jumping. That feeling that comes of jumping from cliffs into deep pools of water--that is what I have felt for a few days now. We are, again, at the point that brought about this blog and will shift its story once more. We are leaving Portland for bigger lands, and it feels appropriate that we begin a new month on this news.

We came back from Colorado in December and realized how much we love the PacNW. We decided at that point that we were going to start house hunting, to really become a part of Portland.  And then, a funny thing began to happen over these last few months. There is a strange Portlandia effect occurring, and Portland is now a curious commercialization of its own brand. "Keep Portland Weird" means that Portland has actually become a diffused mecca for hipster refugees or a "holiday in Goa"/summer camp experience for kids from the Midwest looking for a wild romp before returning home for marriage and children. It is no longer truly edgy; it's just another place where people can be weird, but not really themselves. Perhaps caricatures of weird is more appropriate. It's exhausting and claustrophobic in what feels sudden but probably isn't, if I am honest with myself. Portland has slowly been cannibalizing itself, tearing down historical buildings for apartments and condos, franchising its very Portland establishments, and pricing out and pushing out those who were here.  Portland, for us, is no longer "home".

And this move...it's scary.  It's exciting but terrifying because we're leaving the lower 48. We will be packing up over the next few months and making our way up the AlCan Highway from Portland to Wasilla, Alaska to begin a new chapter, one that is wilder, bigger, and a bit more on the edge. Alaska's motto feels especially appropriate, as I am sure it did for others before: North to the Future.