On the Ride Of Your Life, Sometimes You Have to Hold On

The porch and yard and driveway are covered in leaves and twigs that have shook loose from their oak trees. The rake is locked up in the owner's storage unit, and even though I predict the fruitlessness of this, I sweep them off with the broom anyway, knowing that a gust will bring them right back to settle out side the window where I sit on my yoga mat. Nature rules supreme here.


“As I let go of the need to arrange my life, the universe brings abundant good to me.” Deepak Chopra’s voice soothes.   I am once again in the middle of a 21-day meditation challenge; the fourth and final theme of the year is Abundance. This week, centering thoughts circulate around letting go of expectation and anticipation. 

I have been forcefully trying to arrange my life this past week.  To "get it together" I chastise myself, scouring Craigslist for housing in Los Angeles, applying for countless jobs online, writing friends and colleagues to let them know I'm available, that I am in need of a little work, knowing the seeds I'm planting are a little late in the season.  My last job of the year has been rescheduled to next April, and my end of year budget is tight.

I haven't had to send up a flare like that since Mountain View Apartment days, circa ’96, when all of the residents were out of work, behind on the rent and steeped in college loan and credit card debt. That, I silently say to Deepak's voice, is something to be thankful for.

I know I am just anxious. Trying to arrange things. Waiting for responses, hoping for a germination and forgetting that it is the end of the year, and the time for tying things up, and storing them away, making room for 2013.

I recently heard a report on NPR that 85% of resumes submitted online never get a response. Spiders crawl through submissions, picking out pertinent words that someone has keyed as necessary and important. If a resume doesn't have X number of those words, it gets auto-deleted.  It would be nice to be acknowledged; such as a form letter sent via Internet “Thank you for your application. You’re not qualified, etc.”  But this ether. This unknowing, this silent phone make it particularly difficult to obey Deepak’s mantra today.  

Maybe the silence is what I need right now.  “Be in the silence”, I will myself.

When the alarm went off on Thanksgiving morning, it was Tony Bennett I woke up to. "Life is a gift" an aging but familiar voice was crackling out. Half awake, I know the day is going to be filled with missives of gratitude starting with Morning Edition. I was not feeling this gratitude. I turned off the radio and opened my computer; bracing myself for the inbox cluttered with email blasts from various organizations I've donated to, an unoriginal choice of words ("thanksgiving" "giving thanks" or "gratitude") in the subject line.  Delete. Delete. Delete.

No doubt, I was grouchy. I am sick of making a gratitude list every day, and that this feeling of defiance should come on THE day of "THANKS"… well let's say the irony was not lost on me.

I brewed a pot of strong coffee, decided meditation would not work for me today, sweatered up and headed down to Lecount Hollow with Pepper, skeptical that his puppy poodle joy wouldn't be enough to change my attitude in time for dinner at Deb's later. The ocean hits the first sand break hard, broken buoys and clumps of seaweed litter the beach, signs of a storm. There is no land to see beyond where I stand. This is the edge of the world. I like that this is a jumping off point, a place where adventure is imminent and that these miles of protected shoreline are constantly changing, reflecting the order of a world in perpetual motion with unpredictable results.

For years, I try to live by the principle of staying present, keeping it simple.  When I’m cranky like today, sometimes this means adopting the simplest tactic of "Stop, look and listen" a jingle lodged in my brain directly from childhood, from Saturday Morning Cartoons and the animated PSAs that would run between Lucky Stars commercials and Batman.

Simple gratitude to me can be sheets on the bed and a ceiling over me. That morning, I wanted a hot bath in one of the Dorchester Hotel's deep marble tubs.  And that thought alone, the memory of my last trip to London, mysteriously caused my brain to shift gears to a Kentuckian who lent me a gentlemanly hand with my overhead luggage on the plane back from Maui last February, and the car Vanessa arranged to pick me up at the airport when she got a last minute gig, and couldn't come herself.

When I stop and look down, I see three sets of footprints on the beach with me, one hot-blooded soul who has shed their shoes, and another with treads and those of a bigger dog than Pepper. I can see their silhouettes by the wreckage of Marconi Station.  

I am not alone, I think and smile to myself. 

After dinner, my now antiquated LG phone beeps and Deb picks it up. We have the same one, and she says "It's yours", handing it over to me. There is a new email, and I glance at the subject line which states "Happy Thanksgiving". I quickly read through, and then stop and re-read it. The message overwhelms me, filling me with gratitude and awe.  

The universe has a way of turning things around.  It must be those constant revolutions around the sun, keeping us off kilter.

"I am grateful for everything in my life, knowing all is in perfect, divine order."

Deepak Chopra's Centering Thought of the Day my last morning in Wellfleet was a good swap for what I was feeling, which was regret. So it was gratitude I thought about during my morning walk on Lecount Hollow, the beach I've come to call mine, before I had to drive to New York in a few hours.

Rolling waves were falling against a soft, hazy backdrop, breaking between 12  - 15 seconds apart before finding the shore.   The glassy water made it difficult to distinguish seals from the surfers bobbing in their gleaming black wetsuits.  I felt bad that Sgt. Pepper wouldn’t be dodging the Park Rangers and sea gulls for who knew how long.  

I do have a lot to be grateful for. In fact, I would wager to say “a lot” is an understatement.  In the last four months, I’ve unearthed a goldmine of knowledge, about the future I want to create, what makes me happy and what it means to detach with grace. 

A few things that came to mind while I walked towards the Whitecrest embankment. 

1. The “Fact of the Day” scribbled on the dry erase board by the four teenagers who made up our squad of Life Guards.  Along with water temperature, shark sightings, and the levels of mung were quips like: "100 % of the people who don't smoke will die" or “Joe likes popsicles more than ice cream sandwiches”. They never ceased to make me smile.

2. Rachel, the counter girl at Sweet and Savory Escapes who would wave and smile when I walked through the door, scooping a perfect ice cream cone for me, pretty much on a daily basis since Tracy and I first went there in May. I am a creature of habit, keeping my selections to Salted Caramel, Coffee, Deep Chocolate and Pomegranate Chocolate Chip. Sugar cone, of course.

3. Susanne at The Farm Gallery, for always remembering that I love Paul Scarbo Frawley's irreverent art and Asya Palatova's vocabulary teacups with words like “Ontology” and “Tango” delicately glazed in pastels.

Peter Scarbo Frawley, Corona typewriter on paper, 1970

4. Petra and Rolf at Eastham’s GLOW Yoga. They got me through the dark days of spring and into Bikram (a tiny bit). Special shout out to Rolf, who made me fall over with laughter during class when he, in tree pose, told us with a beatific smile, "We're all going to die, right, so let’s try to find the balance while we're here".

5. The Wellfleet librarians who always held recommendations for me, and unbeknownst to them, helped me realize a long ago New Year’s resolution to borrow instead of buying books.

6. Genevieve, of Truro Yoga, a student of one of my favorite teachers, Shiva Rae, who leads a 90 minute+ classes which always began and ended with her infectious giggle and a sense that you were exactly where you needed to be.

7. The Mermaid at the Mermaid Grange, artist Julia Salinger, who, despite the stoic New England attitude surrounding her, piles up her silver hair and studs it with starfish and covers her arms and shoulders with body glitter. I always say one should sparkle!

At the Weidlinger House

8. Peter the architect’s staid sideman humor, original word jokes, and the world of modern architecture I never would have known existed. Hidden among overgrown pine trees and tucked away off the dirt roads on National Park lands are dozens of disused and neglected summer homes designed and once inhabited by Paul Weidlinger,  Jack Hall and many others.  I also appreciate that he left New York City for a quieter life, and because of his love for modernists, (“They were hopeful”), started the Cape Cod Modern House Trust, saving important architecture from falling away to the elements. Also by being an example of blending his career with two things he genuinely enjoyed.

9. Chatting with Joe McCaffery of Narrowland Pottery and the painter Paul Sugg  about the "Born Here/Wash Ashore" histories, and their penchant for soft serve cones despite their gruff, salty exteriors. 

10. Polly Burnell's sunny, positive attitude about everything, (“I think I’m a Buddhist” she confided in me, while at the same time eyeing a trio of aircraft approaching and finishing with “God, I hope those aren’t UFOs”.) A sister in Rickie Lee fandom.

11. The fried scallop roll (hold the roll) recommendation from the sullen counter girls at P.J’s. Like Savory’s ice cream, it became a staple for me. 

12. The plumpest, juiciest oysters on the half shell as well as the staggering amount of butter Chef Eric Jansen of Truro’s Blackfish uses on his bone-in rib eye entree. 

13. My neighbors Trisha and Richard, who made me feel so welcome, allowed me a spot in their garden, shared their harvest over long lunches that always began with a cup of hot coffee and warm milk and who are living the life I want when I am a septuagenarian, spending two months in Kauai during the winters, eating from their garden, creating art and being happy souls.

14. The light. The light. The light. 

Peter shared with me a ritual he created with his nieces to commemorate their summer vacation. The second to last day, everyone would write down what they loved and what they could have lived without, and then burning the folded slips of paper in a big beach bonfire. I have not said good-bye to the ocean, to the bay, to the librarians, or anyone, preferring to slip out of town quickly and quietly. 

I tear up thinking about my daily routine there. The lingering winter I witnessed blossoming into spring and the scents that it brought- lilac for May, peonies in June and roses heralding the quick arrival of a heated summer in July.

The traffic was beginning to come to a standstill where U.S. Route 6 narrows into two lanes, a cheerless reminder that while everyone is arriving for their vacation, I am leaving.  It gives a strange sensation, like I am going in the wrong direction.

The people I’ve come to know, Trisha, Polly, Joe, Paul and others, assured me that I will be back, giving quick hugs or pats on the shoulder with "You're part of Wellfleet now". 

That seems certain.