When will I despair

"I do not want this to be a column arguing for despair. No emotion is more useless, and it’s wrong at any rate. If we fail to keep warming below the longtime global goal of 2 degrees Celsius, well, 2 degrees remains better than 2.5. And 2.5 is far preferable to 3. And humanity would much rather have 3 than 3.5. And so on, and so forth. There is no point at which giving up makes more sense than fighting on." - It Seems Odd That We Would Just Let the World Burn 

 I have to say, I have been despairing lately. Even though I am flying to Oregon in less than two weeks, a part of me is sure that the town that I grew up in is gone, totally gone, remade by a new climate. I think this feeling is maybe a little much. I think the trees are still tall and their canopies still wide. Even though the blueberries and blackberries are ripe a month earlier than they were when I was a child, they are still blue, still black, still in the back yard and along the roads.

I was telling myself Ezra's argument yesterday, when I was very sad. But I am not working to defend the global average temperature. I am working to defend the clear summer days. I am working to save the forests near my parents' house. I want there to be water in the lakes. Eventually, these goals will no longer be in reach. Maybe the summer days are already gone. I don't know if it will be at 2 degrees or 3 degrees, but when the rest is gone, what will I be working for? I know all of this is terribly selfish. There are people who are refugees because of climate change - they aren't mourning at 10% change in the growing season (actually maybe that is a big part of the problem!) or the trees that would have become logs anyways. 

When I see the West Coast again and it still looks like home, maybe I'll want to work again.

Journaling and Journey come from latin the word for "day"

 I am having a birthday party.

A pandemic birthday party? A post-pandemic birthday party? A vaccinated birthday party?

Well, that's the plan. June 12. 7 pm. 

Invites are out. Responses are few.

I'll be 28 - I remember SB's 28th birthday. I gave him Daytripper and Hanabi - two gifts that landed very well. It was the last day we spent together in perfect romance, before I had any pain or doubt about it. And now it's three years later. 

That's kind of a dead-end of thought. Not really where I meant to go. 

Back to the birthday - I am stressed about it. I'm stressed about seeing a single friend but multiple?!?! Actually it will probably be easier. I gotta remember I can lean on SB. He is a great host and party-goer. He talks to quiet people and even though he's shy he introduces himself to strangers. And he did a lot of cleaning this weekend - more than me. The pizza will be a hit. We have all of the necessary equipment. 

Nonexisting

 Journaling has been impossible. I open the book and struggle to summarize the very recent past, even the simplest narratives with firm characters, places and events. 

Things are not really happening. Anything I do is just to get to the next act of the play. My desires are dormant, and my human-ness is just brownian motion against the rooms that I am in, and the person I live with.

Maybe I hated Twin Peaks: The Return, because it is too much like Pandemic Life. Everything happens in slow motion, but time means nothing. People are stupid and distracted. Violence is ubiquitous, expected but still surprising.

Sometimes I cry about how I feel, and I'm not sure if I'm feeling self-pity, or if I am just looking for a way to express my sadness. Am I the only one I can feel for? I don't mourn my depression for my sake, I am sad for the people around me who could be experiencing the joyful, creative person I can be. 

This still feels indulgent and self-defeating. I don't see a way to feel better, but I believe that I can make myself feel worse. I am so careful not to make myself feel worse, because there is no way to regain lost ground, not permanently. 

Before a meeting I will be staring into space, lost in the many things I feel I have to do, in a loop of not-doing. During a meeting, like my spine popping in a twist, suddenly I can describe to the others how and when I will do everything they need. I smile and blast energy through the cybersphere. Sometimes it feels like violence. It must be a lie, but in the moment it feels very true; automatic, encoded, the only possible way to be.

SB watches Eric Rosen play chess downstairs. The bling of the Bits, the chipper text-to-speech, is all very familiar.

What is next?

I daydream so much. I daydream about a home that I feel ownership of. I daydream about work that creates community and safety for people I know. I dream about a collaboration with the land, with the cycles of nature. I daydream about a family. I daydream about sex and love and connection and uncertainty. I live in imagined scenarios that play in a stutter, slowly advancing from finish to prosperity. There is not very much real work in these dreams. I dream about what it is like when it is done. 

My brother is safe and happy, and strong. That makes me so glad. 

My parents also seem good, though I have so much trouble understanding them. I want to see them, and reconnect. I want to think more generously about them. I want to fixate less on their flaws. 

SB is a great partner. He is honest, and playful, and brave and sweet.

Edith is a great friend. Sometimes being friends from far away is confusing, and I have trouble because I feel like I have to decide between sharing my true reactions and my utilitarian reactions - the ones that I think she wants, or will advance us past the muddy moments. The answer is always to ask a question, rather than share an opinion. 

This has been a successful moment of introspection. Thank you.

Of course

 Of course the most perfect thing someone can do is write a book. 

One's body is not the soul-made-physical - it is simply not related at all. But, living in a physical world, it is painful to exist so mostly as a nonphysical entity. Writing a book is an act of self-creation, binding your soul, infinitesimally, in the physical world. It is your snapshot soul. A measurement taken of a quantum being, defining its state in that moment.

What nonsense, you may think, and you are right. 

Does it matter what the act is, what it does, or what the intention is behind it? Is the book only what we think it is?

Sorry for the drivel, it sounded better in my head.

Things I want to do in my lifetime

 I was thinking: where could I have a running list of things I want to do in my lifetime? 

A Google Doc? No, it would just get lost.

My notes app? No, I would end up writing other notes on top of it.

And then, I remembered this place!

So. I'll add to this later.

Things I want to do:

1) Start a cooperative business.

2) Live in a beautiful home with a big family (but not a family I had to birth)

3) Work on something that made an impact on climate change.

4) Support journalism.

5) Help educate young'uns.

experience is disconnected from space and/or time

When Kassandra records a 10-minute morning yoga video for Youtube, does she feel the presence of the 276,000 people who will experience it "with" her later?

I wouldn't expect her too, but at the same time, how could she not?

Now that almost all life is digital, it's so hard to have an experience that isn't just internal emotions. 

How can we make memories out of this year?

Today the wind is gusting vigorously. Shelly has turned on the heat. The sky is a chilled cornflower blue. 

It's not a wasted year. I have work and friends to show for it. It is a mostly empty year though, when it comes to memories and experiences.

Tappahannock

We left the city for four days. On the freeway going south, I could see from horizon to horizon. It reminded me of driving through Oregon and California, except the open spaces were full of corn and soybeans instead of grass.

We stayed in a house built in 1751. The strain of historical places in the South is that you know that slavery happened there. A Customs House is better than a plantation house, though, I think.

The house has a second story (almost third story, if you count the semi-basement) balcony that looks out over the Rappahannock River. It's next to a loud bridge, but we watched osprey and cormorants and seagulls for hours. It's high enough that the breeze keeps mosquitos away. It rained every day - soft, cold, drizzly rain that was perfect for the balcony. It dampened the sound, dampened the world, and I wore a sweater for the first time in months. 

I brought a fantastic issue of the London Review of Books. I read almost every word. On the last page, there was an ad for an "aging French rock star" to write you a song, in "English, French, or Franglais (recommended)." Only $200. I'm considering it. 

The monthly farmer's market took place while we were there, and we picked up a few vegetables. There was a Blue Lives Matter bakesale, but most people wore masks. I went into a tiny thrift store and bought new shoes. 

On the first night, our friend made us a curry. Every night I ate it I had wild dreams. I wonder if it was the beet greens, or the coriander, or some other ingredient. Vivid, colorful dreams. 

Our friends cooked a lot. Sometimes it was hard - I'm used to 20-minute meals, and I'm usually quite hungry by the time I notice that I'm hungry at all. But, the food was incredible. The best tacos of my life (and huevos rancheros for breakfast). A fabulous beet salad. We made fondue as well - our friends' first!

We went on hikes every day (except for the first day, our settling in day.) On the first hike, we saw tons of boletes, just past their primes. On our second hike, I saw my first Destroying Angel, plus a Luna Moth just drying its wings for the first time. We hiked to the Potomac River, through marshes and forests and hills and creeks. Each hike had so much variety in trees and underbrush (and fungus!). Our last hike on the way home we saw a black snake and a massive hairy spider. 

I haven't had anyone to tell about my trip, so it's already fading from my memory faster than it would have if I'd told my colleagues and friends. 

So that's why I wrote it here.