Hard Truths

On Memorial Day weekend we typically meet long-time friends near Decorah, IA, where we camp and canoe on the Upper Iowa river. Though a 4.5 hour car ride, the trip is worthwhile, restorative, and fun. So was our plan this past weekend.

But on Friday I was bathed in a funk. My weeknights had been more social than is good for me (big events with many people); my back hurt from car travel the previous weekend; the weather for Saturday was predicted to be 50 degrees and rainy (oh how I hate being cold & wet); and doubt had furtively seeped into my skin (what I am going to do with the rest of my life?). When Mark got home, excited to leave for the weekend, I was on the back porch hoping we wouldn't have to go.

We talked at length, and I cried. I slowly realized all my reasons for not going were rationalizations. My shame and doubt tried to isolate me; I wanted to be alone in my funk. Mark told me some hard truths: it feels like mild depression to him; this is how I get when I'm adrift without a schedule; this is how things could continue now that Lawrence's schedule won't pull me back (read: this is an important time to be mindful); it's the initial friction that's difficult for me, but it's vitally important we still take trips, see friends, camp in the woods. He nailed it. I knew I needed to go. I wasn't happy about it at that moment, but I knew I needed to go--to just get up, pack all the foul-weather gear I have, and make the best of things.

We rode silently in the car--me trying to stay mindful of my fear and shame (and lack of control over, say, the weather). When we arrived at the campsite, rain lightly falling, our friends met our van with their flashlights. They welcomed us warmly. I knew this was exactly where I needed to be.

I was completely funk-free by the next morning. No rain. Just cool weather, warmed regularly by the campfire. The canoe trip was lovely--a meditative, yet fun adventure. The time at camp was relaxing. I laughed belly laughs. I listened. I ate delicious food and drank moonshine from a community jar. I was entirely myself, as is. I was hugged by both nature and close friends. I was away from technology that had been sucking my creative energy. I was happy and content. And deeply grateful for Mark. Thank goodness I have a mate who appreciates and supports me, yet also tells me difficult truths. I love this man with my entire (very large) heart: