What I Have Been Doing Lately

Not sitting in trees, but…

Dearest Reader,

I scratch this out to you from the burnished side of a trip to San Francisco, something that I best do every three months so that I remain sane.  I go there, expel the breath that I have been holding, and then come back to the dry, desolate desert of the state and hold my breath again.  There is, nearly, nothing here that I admire; or, if there is, I forget it in the blasting of the sun and sour moods of the other people sentenced to live here.

“But there’s sun and the ocean and the weather’s so nice.”

It rained this week.  The only time it rains in Southern California is if there is so much humidity in the air that violent thoughts come to mind.  78 degrees F and rain forest humidity make for crankiness.  Pair that with my hatred of the car culture and lack of mom-and-pop businesses here and I sit in despondence.  I feel trapped.  I feel trapped one week after returning from San Francisco.

This last visit to San Francisco was the longest one to date–five days made five hours longer by an earlier flight that Virgin was trying to fill and a runway catastrophe the day before return.  I minded enough because I was going to be a burden on the folks back here (carless, I’m always a burden to them), but I didn’t mind because of all the amenities in Terminal 2 of the San Francisco airport.  I got time to write, read, sit meditation, let someone go, embrace someone else closer, develop a game plan for the next step in my writing, and breathe in a world that accepts me.

Next week I’ll be receiving a travel keyboard for my phone to write in the smallest space, a space that I try to squeeze myself into in a world here that has no problem showing me every shade of animosity.  I’m taking steps to dig my way out.  I’m sitting meditation more, walking meditation more, and trying to love the desert while the dwellers loathe me.  I pray for wind.  I chop green things, tune into new music, take the classes that everyone else calls a podcast, and watch baseball whenever I can find it in any sense.  

Onward.

Yours in transition, always–

JoImage

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