I was supposed to go to Elkhorn tonight, but I had to stay in because of an accident of scheduling. Still, woods or no, there are few things like a truly warm night in the middle of February, the way the fog hugs the ridges and how the air changes temperature when you move up or down them. Fool's spring. So I'm sitting on my front porch thinking and writing.
I keep stumbling over all these things I want to write or talk about on here, and I know I have to, or they'll go away and I won't have guthooks for this last year. I got out of the knack of year-in-review posts when my life fell apart in 2016, but I do keep tabs of important things I'd like to write about from my year's past. My company was founded by a Chinese woman, so we celebrate Chinese new year as a corporation, and it has me thinking of fresh year things. In truth, I've always considered this time of a year as a better beginning than the traditional one on Jan 1, though I haven't jumped into any rivers since the ill-advised creek I forded week before last on a splashy solo hike with my half-otter dog. I've always loved these burnt end months here between February and April. If they had a taste, it would be raw, green, and electric, like an under-ripe apple or tang of cold sweet smoke smell in the air before a dry snow.
The thing I want to most write about from 2018 is the bear. I've had these recurring dreams about bears since I was in first grade. I remember keeping a diary (even then) and drawing a picture in crayon of the dream, of being charged by a bear in a field of honeysuckle. Then it happened exactly like that last year, right down to the field of honeysuckle. It changed something with me. It was a spiritual moment; I am a quantifiable amount more fearless from it. And really, even when I was very afraid in the moment, I loved the bear. She was a beautiful animal - as brown as sorghum honey with a lighter muzzle and pretty, bright dark black eyes. I've never seen a bear so close that I could look it in the eyes but in the moment, I thought of my aunt, my favorite cousin, my grandmother, my father who all have those black-brown eyes - "shark eyes" my aunt calls them. Bear eyes.
I want to write about my mental health. I feel like I've turned some kind of corner on it, in that I have more symptoms than I used to, but feel strangely in control of them. I can feel myself acting a way and step back to see it, like I'm looking at fractures of glass or a storm from a distance, and change my behavior accordingly. I started having panic attacks this year, and though they seemed focused at work at first, I ended up having them around family and friends. I don't know why, or why the whole experience feels somehow helpful.
I guess maybe the greater lesson has been that I can be having whatever mental reactions I'm having, but I don't stop being responsible for those reactions or because of them, change my responsibilities to the people around me and myself. If I'm acting in a self-harming way because of some symptom of depression, I'm not being responsible with myself. If I'm damaging my relationships with people I care about through my anxiety or stupid baggage, it doesn't matter if I'm doing it for real-to-me reasons, I still have to cut that shit out. On the other side, I feel that I'm able to step back more than I used to and say no when I need to. I have let go of some things.
Gosh... certainly I had a few more things from 2018 to talk about? I went to a perfect show to see my favorite band who played my favorite album. I camped more than ever. I ran a half marathon in 1 hour 50 minutes, which is good! I drank too much, or I drank a reasonable amount, but I took my anxiety meds much less than in years past. I exercised five days a week, and I drank water or I forgot to, or I drank bubble water, or bubble wine, mostly. I spent too much money on cut flowers for myself, or I didn't spend enough on vitamins, but I picked up a lot of trash and ticks and ate so so so much kale. I hiked twice a week more weeks than not. I did some trail clean up. I helped move my friends. I really wanted a few things. I didn't write anything I liked at all. I gave an adequate amount of road head. I didn't get a tattoo. I'm still very sensitive and prone to crying and masturbating.
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