Getting "out there"

It's day 5 of my year off and I'm starting to coalesce to my new lifestyle. After just a few days, it's been more like "captivity" than really "living here" until now. On Mother's Day, Mom and AV came over for dinner and AV remarked that he would feel totally claustrophobic if he had to sleep in my master stateroom. I explained that in fact the cocoon-ness of the room is what I love about it. Being snug as a bug in a rug describes the experience of sleeping there, perfectly. For me, that phrase rings of a certain sweetness and tenderness and you can hardly say it without a smile on your face -- and that's just exactly how I feel about being in my cocoon -- it's really a comfort. But once you're awake, true, the boat in general can start to feel a bit confining.

This morning I listened to a story (on NPR, of course) about a new documentary film coming out. It's about a family of 11, mama and papa and 9 -- NINE - kids, who lived the majority of their lives completely off the grid in a 24 ft. camper, living a life of surfing and travelling.

The interviewer asked how they could live in such a small space together, and one of the (now adult) sons responded that indeed they each had only 1 square foot of space for their personal effects, and true, it was very cramped, but all they had to do was go outside and they had all the personal space they needed in the world. His response struck me as such a positive response to this loaded question. He went on to say that one year when they were living in a pretty remote coastal town in Mexico his father, who was a physician by trade and a graduate of Stanford Medical School, gave one of the children the ocean for a birthday gift that year. I though -- who gets the ocean as a birthday present -- such an incomprehensible, infinitesimal, life-altering "gift"??? In his own hyper-eccentric way, the father taught his family a completely different way of living that most people will never remotely come close to experiencing.

This story resonated with me, and I immediately opened up the boat's windows and stood out on the bow and "gave myself" the Marina. This gift to myself immediately opened my senses up to all the activity going on around me that, until this moment, I'd been pretty oblivious to -- like the sky filled with feathery cirrus clouds and golfers whizzing along the paths of the golf course across the waterway. I saw a few people milling around, spending time on their boats and enjoying the nice weather. There's also some major construction going on here at the marina, too. They're building an upscale retail center as phase 5 (I'm guessing) of the Grande Dunes Community -- which is intended, no doubt, to attract the well heeled of Myrtle Beach (there are many) and to continue the reinvention of this slice of Myrtle Beach as a much more upscale tourist destination -- distancing itself from the "Redneck Riviera" identity it's taken on over the past 20 years or so. It quickly dawned on me that I'm going through a similar transformation, but the artists' renderings of my transformation are still a work in progress.

In these first few days I've been a little freaked out in general, something akin to that fear of leaving the house -- agoraphobia? (or is that the fear of spiders?) Either way you know what I mean...). It probably has more to do with the constant roar of the Harleys of Bike Week that's keeping me from getting out much, thanks to that little incident the other day more than anything. But each day I've taken baby steps to getting in sync with life without a job and being away from the cozy nest and daily life with Gary at the house.

For years, my identity has been intimately intertwined with my "career" since I graduated from college in 1994. It's not easy to let go of that, and convince myself that I am (or at least have the capacity to be) so much more than "my job". That is to say, I know who I am at the core, but I've never had to verbalize it in such a way as to truly define myself any other way. The world at large doesn't know me as I know me, so now I have to reinvent (reintroduce?) myself, letting go of the easy labels such as "Abby from the Marriott" or "Abby the Wedding Queen" or "Abby the superstar Catering Girl", which are now simply a part of me.

I'm still "Abby from Charlotte" and "Abby - Gary's girlfriend" and "Abby, daughter of Fran (and AV) and George (and Connie), sister of Ele (and sister-in-law to Will) and Aunt of Finn" but now I have to define myself in a totally new way like "Abby from Slip C-2" or dare I say, "Abby the Writer in Slip C-2" -- but that's still a label defining something I do, not a descriptor of who I am. Frankly, I'd be quite happy with "Abby - the cool chick in C-2 who sits on the back of her boat with her laptop all day" but the key words here are "the cool chick". Unless I speak to people -- they don't know that I am, in fact, "the cool chick of C-2". Instead, I'm just the laptop wielding person who hasn't taken a shower (yet) today and who has a bike on her swim platform but hasn't been seen riding it since she got here, and to whom people politely wave ONLY because it's customary, and so on...

So I guess what I'm getting at is -- I have a need for "presence". Without having a presence, I feel invisible -- and I HATE that, because I know I have a lot to offer, it just takes a while for me to be comfortable with "strangers" unless I have the opportunity to shine a little.

So in these past 5 days I've started making mental notes of things I do and think about and observe that are fundamental to who I am, no matter where I am or what I'm doing. This provides a mental/emotional safety net for me during times of transition -- to be as fully aware and present with my thoughts and observations as possible. This is a concept that I've dealt with before. I even have a copy of the book "Wherever you go, there you are" (or something like that) on a book shelf at home which I've had for years. Clearly, transition and/or transformation is not new to me, but very different each time I go through it.

Simple things like being able to get an NPR station on the radio, which I have listened to for years, thankfully provides a sense of continuity for me. My life has changed drastically in the past week, but being able to turn on the radio and hear the familiar voices and being able to enjoy the intelligent discourse and the human interest components -- that is a fundamental need that I am hard pressed to live without.

So now I think I'll go make a tomato sandwich then ride my bike around a little, and GET OUT THERE! See you 'round! : )