(Image is of towering clouds that seem to be stretching upwards)
Back in my lesbian heyday, in my 20s (during the late 80s/early 90s) I listened to a lot of Lesbian-made music. Alex Dobkin, Lucie Blue Tremblay, Ferron… and of course the Indigo Girls, Melissa Etheridge, and Tracy Chapman. At any rate, one of the songs (I swear it’s one of Lucie’s) has the line “isn’t it good to learn to live life slowly”.
In my 20’s I had no concept of what that meant. In fact I’m going to say that until right now, at this point in my life, on the edge of 59, I couldn’t imagine such a thing.
I have always been a busy person. As a child I was chided, scolded, and scorned because I wanted/needed to be doing something at every moment. Reading, drawing, doing crafts, writing… productivity was a necessity. My mom would tell me to get my nose out of a book and go outside and ride my bike or play. I would go outside and read. In fact once I tried reading while I was riding my bike – thankfully my mom saw me and nipped that in the bud.
At some point, probably once I became a parent, reading also became a “waste of time” because I can’t do anything else while I’m reading. Audiobooks are not a good fit for me because I start to let it become background noise and lose interest. Not to mention it is rare that I hear an audiobook where the reader doesn’t annoy the hell out of me, whether it’s cadence or inflection or just doing the voices ‘wrong’. For example I tried to listen to The Golden Compass and they had a separate voice actor for Lyra and it was terrible. Totally wrecked it for me. What can I say? I like the way the voices sound in my head, lol.
But it was ever thus, this need to be busy. This compulsion to make the most of waking hours, to be productive all the time. I’m sure there is a complicated psychological reason for that, having to do with feeling the need to ‘earn’ rest, or considering myself worthless if I’m not producing. Or maybe it’s a simple reason – my daughter says I have undiagnosed ADD. Which honestly I don’t care to investigate. I function very well in my life, and the last thing I want to do is research a diagnosis which will probably not make me feel better about myself; nor do I want to take another medication for anything. I’m good, thanks. Now if you will excuse me, I need to go work on something. Lol.
I’ve never taken naps – even when I was pregnant (with the exception of the intense couple years when I went out dancing at the gay bar three nights a week then have to go to work: I would collapse on the breakroom couch and sleep through my lunch). Being asleep in the middle of the day is a horrible waste of time! Plus, when I wake up, I’m completely disoriented, and I feel like my whole inner clock has been thrown off – same reason I don’t go to matinees. I’ve watched my sisters, my wasband, my children, all just simply give in to their soporific energy and snooze for an hour or two. I’ve always been mildly jealous of that ability.
Anyway, my need to be busy tested the patience of nearly everyone I was around. I couldn’t just sit and watch TV unless I was knitting or mending something. I felt guilty when I did just sit around and play a computer game, or read.
I spent 58 years being productive. Staying busy. Never fully resting. The universe had to give me a staph infection to make me sit still, and I hated it.
But now.
I pulled my travel trailer, Ripple, into the Kankakee KOA, behind a U-Haul. I got it level enough, and I plugged the whole thing in. Did I need help? Yes, yes I did. I plugged it all in, but neglected to notice that there were switches in the power box that turned the power on. Ask for help on day one? Mission accomplished.
That was it. That was all I could ask of myself on that day – I was feeling emotional, I was exhausted, and I just wasn’t ready for more. I did spend time sorting through stuff, re-arranging, etc. but by my previous standards it was not a very productive day.
The next day was water day, where I attempted to connect the trailer to the city water line. I again got some friendly advice (if I wasn’t going to be using my shower, I didn’t need to open up the shower taps – just the sink). I wasn’t ready to deal with the propane (propane scares me, not sure why), so when I needed hot water for dishes, I heated it in the electric kettle and it worked fine. That was about it.
A few days later I needed to hook up the sewer, as my grey tank (sink water) had filled up. It, too, was a bit of a learning curve. My spendy Rhino hoses were not quite long enough, but I remembered the little hose that came with the camper, and adding that extra piece worked. The hose connecters were stiff and hard to connect and disconnect, and the sewer pipe in the ground was hard to open, but I managed to get it done. I ran a few errands, probably. I really don’t remember.
I mounted the spare tire to the trailer tongue, because the mount didn’t fit on the back bumper. Once again had to get out some brand new equipment and also dip into the backup stuff.
In between all that?
What. Ever. I. Wanted.
In and of itself, not having anywhere to be or anything to do is standard vacation fare – but this is different. Even on vacation there are agendas and expectations and things to coordinate – relaxing on vacation has always been a bit of an oxymoron. Here, though, the world has given me permission to take my time in whatever I am doing. I’m realizing that everything I’ve ever done, no matter how small or inconsequential, has been done with a subtle pressure being exerted, and an awareness of time.
So, in a shocking turn of events, one of those days I actually took a nap – the ultimate time-waster. I fell asleep in my ‘zero gravity’ lawn chair, under a tree, in the middle of the day. It seems so simple, so likely for most people. For me it was revolutionary. I drifted off being held by the chair but feeling like I was being held by all the tree spirits around me, cradling me, whispering to me, singing me a lullaby. It was glorious. When I awoke, instead of feeling disoriented, I felt rested. Rejuvenated. Time did not matter.
Another example: lighting a fire. Realizing hey, this fire is just for me. No one is armed with marshmallows and grahams, standing by, waiting for the coals to redden. This is the only task I have, and there is no timeline. I have a box of long matches – not the basic fireplace matches though: these are fancy, in a special box. I think I inherited them from one of my kids who are drawn to pretty packaging. I mean, admittedly it is a very lovely box – but the matches inside are useless. The tip explodes and flames out instantly – it’s nearly impossible to keep the flame going. As match after match flashed and went out, I felt myself getting impatient. Swearing a little. Frustrated. Embarrassed that I couldn’t seem to get it going.
Then the trees said, what’s your hurry?
Then the breeze said, nobody’s watching, and why do you care?
My heart said, nobody’s waiting. This is just for you.
I sat back a moment and pondered this new sensation.
This wasn’t a matter of patience. It was a matter of generosity. It was a matter of abundance. And at this point in my life, as I wait for further instructions from my darling angels, what I have an abundance of is time.
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As I think about my substack posts, and what on earth I’m trying to say, I ask myself questions. This one asks:
How does living life slowly tie into living with intention? Are they one and the same? Does one lead to the other? How does patience factor in? What does it even mean?
For me, living life slowly requires attention and intention. It means remembering that I have time. Of course, doing things with intention doesn’t automatically mean taking your time, as such, but rather taking that split second to think about what you are planning/trying/actively doing. And sometimes the intention itself is just to take my time. Remembering that rushing doesn’t serve anyone.
How does patience factor in? Well, it’s being patient with myself. Patience with my impatience. If I find myself clenching my teeth, or rushing, or just feeling even slightly anxious, instead of saying to myself “Jesus, would you just RELAX?” (Which I don’t think has ever helped anyone relax, ever), I speak to myself kindly. I say “Hey, sweetie, what’s up? Why are you feeling stressed right now? Why do you feel like you need to rush? What is the worst thing that can happen if you don’t hurry up and get this done?” I try to listen to my body – what is tight? What is clenched? When is the last time I took a deep breath?
(Image of my left forearm in the foreground, upon which is tattooed ‘inhale/exhale’; in the background is my laptop on my lap and a blurry glimpse of my messy trailer.)
I had the name of Rufus du Sol’s latest album tattooed on my forearm, as an homage to the group that saved my life. Turns out it is so much more than just a tribute. Inhale/exhale is a reminder to live. To pause. Now that I’m paying attention, I’ve realized I hold my breath, or breath very shallowly, a lot of the time. Probably always have. But now, I remember to breathe. To look around. To ponder. To listen. To examine my surroundings: the sky, the trees, the humans I’m walking the planet with. That breath connects me to my body, keeping me grounded in this moment, right now.
Living life slowly means letting gratitude flow. Not taking everything for granted. Yesterday I left Kankakee and drove to my second stop in my journey, Logan, Ohio. With a new vehicle (Angel, my 2003 Toyota 4Runner, which I am in love with) and my first time towing Ripple with it, I was trying to calm my nerves. I’ve pulled a travel trailer before – in LA traffic, no less – so I knew I was capable, but still, this was bigger and heavier, and brand new.
I put “KOA Logan, OH” in my GPS, and headed out. I expected to be guided straight to the highway, but instead it put me on a long, seemingly directionless route through farmland. The roads were paved, yes, but also not super smooth and not quite 2-lane. Not gonna lie, it was nerve-wracking at first. Lots of four-way stops, lots of corners to turn, miles of bumpy roads. At first I was puzzled. Then I was annoyed. Come ON! This is a six hour driving day! Let’s get this show on the road!
As mile after mile seemed to be getting me nowhere near a highway, I just let it go. Deep breaths. What’s the lesson here? Why would the universe put me on this weird route? What was the point?
As soon as I asked the question, I was awash with gratitude. The purpose, dear one, was to get you used to driving this new car pulling your new home. To see how long it takes to accelerate. How much room you need to stop. How tightly you can turn corners. What speed to go to keep the car from bouncing like a baby goat wearing pajamas. It was a much-needed lesson, served to me on a silver platter on a gorgeous day, and I almost missed it because I felt a sense of urgency. By the time I was merging onto a highway, I was feeling confident and comfortable (and unbeknownst to me, I was prepared for the horrible highway in Indiana. Holy moley! Put some money into the roads rather than legislating against women and trans folks! Just sayin.).
I also had no idea what sort of mileage I would get. It sure wasn’t gonna be 50mpg like I had with my Prius, lol! So when I started getting toward a quarter tank, I started looking for a place to fuel up. I knew truck stops are a preferred place, because they tend to have more space for turning and getting in and out. I also knew from my research that pulling into the big rig pumps poses its own set of challenges: sometimes the nozzle doesn’t fit; sometimes it requires a fleet card, and if you don’t have one you have to pre-pay inside, etc. So I was looking for one that would allow me to pull into the regular people pumps but also have clearance to leave afterward. The perfect place presented itself and I fueled up with absolutely no issue. Another burst of gratitude. One less thing to stress about. I mean, I know the universe has my back, but I know I need to do my part. So instead of being fearful and anxious, I took the time to look it up before I left.
After that I just enjoyed the drive. As I approached Logan, the landscape became hillier, and more tree-covered. It was lovely. Still, both Salty and I were more than ready to be done driving (she does NOT like bumpy roads, and complained bitterly through the entire Indiana crossing)! I was eyeing my gas gauge, which was between the quarter mark and the one just above it. I had 42 miles to go. I seemed to be getting about 17 miles to the gallon, maybe. I don’t know, it’s math (and I wasn’t high so the computer in my head wasn’t on). At any rate it seemed like I might need to stop again for fuel, which I just didn’t want to do. I was tired. I just wanted to settle in. As we approached the last truck stop before our destination, my angels said, “You’re good. You don’t need to stop. We’ve got you.” Oh, boy, there’s a trust fall. I mean, I’m willing to sell my house and live in a travel trailer with no idea where or why when the Divine tells me to, but when it tells me I don’t need to stop for gas… well… I don’t know. Lol. But, I decided to trust it. Because I knew that even if I did run out of gas, there would be purpose to it. It would be a test of my patience, my resilience at least. At most, I could be rescued by my soul mate. And anything in between. It would all be for the good, ultimately. That I knew. So I passed the truck stop with a little laugh, saying, “Okay, Spirit. It’s on you now!”
The final stretch was a challenge for both me and my newfound ‘living life slowly’, as well as the poor folks who were stuck behind me. Narrow two-lane road, very winding and uphill. Just when I thought I was able to pick up some speed, there was another hill, or another tight curve. To the people of Hocking Hills, OH: sorry if you got stuck behind The Ripple Effect, and you are very welcome for the impromptu lesson in living life slowly, lol.
The driveway up to the KOA was a culmination of every challenge I had faced thus far. The road had waves of deep bumps, and went up at a 20-25 degree angle. I was white-knuckling it, both for fear that I was not going to make it, and for fear of what I would find inside the trailer when I finally stopped. I had secured everything to the best of my knowledge, but I knew this crazy final approach wreaked some havoc. I also recognized that before I left I’d have to spend some time with my vehicle user’s manual – I knew there was a button for downhill assistance, but I had no idea how it worked.
With a sigh of relief I reached the summit and pulled into the check-in lot. What a beautiful place! It reminded me of the KOA at the Wisconsin Dells; lots of trees, campsites tucked in between, lots of hills and meandering paths. Very sweet. A young man pulled up in a golf cart and said he could check me in and escort me to my site. What was my last name?
Wonderful! “Baker,” I said. Soon I would be parked, the trailer would be level, and most importantly, I could pee.
The young man looked puzzled. “I’m not seeing your reservation,” he said. “But that happens sometimes. If you wouldn’t mind going into the office just there…”
The camp store/registration desk was lovely, and quite upscale for a KOA. I looked forward to checking it out later.
“The young man couldn’t find my reservation, so he sent me up to you,” I said with a smile. “This IS the Lake Logan KOA, isn’t it?”
The gal looked up, “Nooo…” she said. “This is Hocking Hills KOA.”
All I could do was laugh. “Oh, boy. Well, this is the only KOA that popped up when I typed in Logan, Ohio…”
“That’s the other one,” she said, kindly. “It’s about ten miles that way… you just go down and take a right…”
“OMG,” I laughed. “I wasn’t even sure I was gonna make it up here, and I’m almost out of gas…”
“Oh, dear. Well, it’s really not that far…”
Back in my car, grimly following the young man in the golf cart as he escorted me around and out, I said a few choice words to my angels. Very funny, spirit, very funny. I was officially below a quarter tank, with ten more towing miles to go. I had to go back down that damn hill and when I glanced at the user’s manual it talked about the DAC and using it with 4WD and a bunch of stuff I had no idea about and no time to learn. I was going to have to put it in lower gear and hope for the best. Super fun! Then back down the winding road and hope that my gas would last. Just, wow. Nowhere to go but forward. And down that hill.
As you may have surmised, I made it. The driveway was a lot shorter that it seemed going up, the curves going back were not so bad. Ten miles didn’t move the gas gauge needle, and, as a final gift, the correct KOA was on flat land, nestled in a little valley next to a farm with a herd of sheep. It’s a brand-new KOA, which is why it wasn’t showing up on the map.
Leveling the trailer was quick and painless, hooking up electric and water was familiar and easy. Then it was time to deal with the inside, lol. It was pretty bad. A few good lessons learned, for sure. Make sure the strap holding the refrigerator closed is tight. Anything and everything on the floor can and will shift, given the opportunity. Open the cabinet doors slowly and carefully – pool noodles don’t hold everything back! And make sure anything that holds water is empty, even if it’s sitting in the sink. Things leap around.
Yeah, it was a mess. But it was okay. I just started at one end and worked my way to the other, making mental notes about how to avoid this next time. I was settled in in no time.
Last night I watched the incredible sunset, sitting in my chair, taking pictures now and again. The clouds were layered; in the background a golden ocean, in the foreground, cotton candy puffs drifted by in a stunning parade, all happening in front of me like a beautiful story. I listened to the robins singing their evening song. And then I went to bed. That’s all. That was enough.
Yesterday Jhadina asked “Do you feel like you’re good enough, when you’re sitting in the energy of stillness? Are you worthy of existence when you’re not giving, when you’re not healing, when you’re not producing, when you’re not striving for something? Do you feel safe within that energy?”
The answer is yes.
Rest that is free of guilt - stillness - slowness - is hard for busy me. But I’ll get the hang of it. Eventually.
Until next time,
Rhon