Saturday 26 April 2014

Tea, loneliness, wonder

I just had a perfect cup of tea. Darjeeling. With a lunch of dried chorizo and manchego cheese, a sliced orange bell pepper, a small local apple--not wizened yet, even though it's months out of season--and some strained yoghurt. The spice of the chorizo brings out an underlying smokiness that I don't otherwise taste in the tea. Noticing that, and savouring it, that's a real pleasure. I was going to write about the rough week I'm having, but after that lovely tea I went back at work where I had warm, interesting conversations with several library patrons. Yes, I'm ignoring some of the work I have to get to, but it will still be there in an hour, or in the morning. In the meantime, I'll take having real connections with people over having all my tasks completed.

It's been a rough couple of weeks. I'm not drinking. And I'm not going to drink. Still, more and more I'm feeling the big emotional mess I'd kept tucked away for the past too many years. Without wine to escape into, there's nowhere to go but me. On my birthday, I wrote that I was making a commitment to myself to sit with my discomfort, and I'm doing that. But holy, there's a lot of it to sit with! You know? At times--and there have been a lot of those times these past few days-- my entire being is wanting. The other day, after a particularly bad spell of this, I realized that, at the bottom of wanting a glass of wine or a coffee or a sweet, what I really feel is this: I'm lonely. I didn't know this at the time. But after I went for a run in the rain (hooray for rain!) and got a hot shower, my partner came home and I told him about my day, and I couldn't stop crying. And it came to me that, sometimes, in a way that runs deeper than I'm able to express very well, that's what I'm feeling.

Now, I'm not absolutely alone in the world. I have a loving partner, and people who care about me. But this isn't a rational thing. It's something deep and odd, and I don't think it will get cured by meeting some new friends for coffee once a week, or more dinner parties, or anything like that. When I am wracked with wanting, what it seems I really want is just plain not to be the isolated, separate me that I feel I am right there and then.

But we're not so separate as we feel we are, right? Last week I read Barbara Ehrenreich's new book, Living With a Wild God, and I think she's onto some of what might look like answers. She's a committed athiest, in that she doesn't go in for the big g "God" or organized religion, but she's had what can only be called mystical experiences since she was a child, and her explorations bring her to accepting that there is something wild and connected at the heart of life, the big mystery. She's just pointing at answers, not trying to answer all the questions. I'm not going to try to do a mini-review of the book here--just read it if you're interested in that sort of thing. It's fantastic.

I think Ehrenreich's wild god is what connects us all, and it might well be what saves me. Somehow, getting outdoors and feeling part of the pulsing life that's everywhere, the waterfalls in the park and all those perfect tulips in bloom on so many lawns and cherry blossom petals falling on the street in the rain, ravens making strange raven sounds while the crows chase them away from the good food scraps they've found, some stranger smiling and saying hello when I'm bright pink and sweaty from my run, and me just throwing myself out the door into this big life that's everywhere and realizing I'm just another animal and I'm a part of it the same as the tulips and the raven and the smiling stranger--that's the answer, or it's on the way to the answer, anyway.

I'm doing this. And I'm fine, except when I'm not. I'm reading and walking and running, drinking tea and talking with my partner, watching movies, smiling at strangers, admiring the flowers, showing up for my library shifts. I'm living. I know drinking isn't the answer, and neither is eating too much chocolate or developing a new fixation on blueberry frangipane (though the piece I had yesterday was pretty marvellous). I really didn't know how much I had been hiding from life with all that drinking. It's shocking to me. Life is a bit scary, for sure, and I'm finding it hard these days, sober. But it's where the wonder is, and I'm sticking with that.

Peace and joy to you all, and a big dose of wonder. Thanks for reading.


15 comments:

  1. Love this post. Espeically this line: "I really didn't know how much I had been hiding from life with all that drinking. It's shocking to me. Life is a bit scary, for sure, and I'm finding it hard these days, sober. But it's where the wonder is, and I'm sticking with that."

    Life can be scary and disappointing and frustrating. My experience with drinking has taught me that trying to navigate those emotional rapids while intoxicated is a recipe for disaster. It's harder, but safer, to told on tight and wait for calmer waters.

    Thanks for sharing and happy tea drinking.

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    1. Thanks for this. I was leaving a comment on your blog while you were leaving me one! Happy timing there.

      All this emotional stuff is tough, but it's life, and I think we're all better able to do it than we think we are. We're so much better sober, though it can be hard. I'm really glad you can relate to what I'm saying here. It's such a relief to have these strange thoughts and then to find out that other people know what I'm talking about! Hooray for that! Thanks for the moral support. xo

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  2. I love the way you write about food. You should set up a what-I-had-for-lunch-today blog, and I would read it every day :) I am drinking my earl grey as I read this, and thinking how stuck in my tea-ways I am, just buying the same ones over and over out of habit. Why don't people have tea-tasting sessions? With talks from tea connoisseurs about which tea to have with what sorts of food? Excuse me wibbling on about tea when what I wanted to say was how immensely touched I was by what you had to say about loneliness in a way I find hard to explain. When you talked about a deep odd feeling of isolation and separateness from others, I could feel echoes of that in myself. I have felt something like that all my life, often when surrounded by other people: at college with other students, in a big office with co-workers many of whom I would have counted as friends, at home with my kids and my husband about me. I think it's something to do with a sense of secrecy and fear, a reluctance / difficulty / inability to open up. You have got me thinking. Lovely post - thank you - strength and sense running all through it.

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    1. Thanks, MTM! I do love food, so it's fun to talk about it! I drink a lot of the same teas, too, but I try to branch out into new ones sometimes. Still, the familiar taste is a comfort sometimes. I like what you say about tea-tasting! I've really been thinking about that, which drinks go with which food, and I do make a lot of AF drinks to pair with meals--it makes the meal special, and it's actually way better than having wine with food! Maybe I'll write about that some day.

      I'm so surprised and oddly pleased that you (and some others too) know what I'm on about here with this loneliness thing. It's strange, isn't it? I've felt it much of my life, too. I remember when I was 19 or so, a friend made reference to it, saying he had the same thing and he knew it, but still I thought it was rare. Now I don't--I'm starting to think many people feel something like this. But I think the drink numbs us from it and makes us feel there's something to hide, when really being open in the world is such a better way to live. Thanks so much for your comment. it means a lot that people care to read and think about these things. I really liked your post about "hope" but it's taking me ages to get back to commenting about it. I'm still thinking... Glad you're here and thinking with me, though! Take care. xo

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  3. I think I shall read that book; I have enjoyed every book you have recommended so far. Sometimes I think that our inner and outer worlds are all one, and the things that we see and experience reflect our inner selves. We are all part of the same whole. But then it is gone in a flash and I am back to feeling disconnected and alone again. So...I totally get that feeling of loneliness and understand where you are coming from. I keep meaning to add a daily meditation practice to my routine, but it hasn't stuck so far. I think it might help. Thanks for writing and sharing- I always look forward to your posts! xx

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    1. Thanks, Jen. Let me know what you think of the book. Ehrenreich sounds pretty hard early on, but I really did love it. It's interesting what you say about the inner and outer worlds. I like how you put it. That connected feeling does come and go, but I'm trying to be more open to it when it's there. I used to sit with a zen group, and I'm thinking I need to be more regular with meditation, too. I think it would help. Thanks for reading and chatting here. I'm so glad you like my posts! And it's always great to hear from you. xo

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  4. I'm so proud of you that you have dived down into that big pit inside yourself and haven't jumped straight out immediately.. you are sitting down in there .. even though it's uncomfortable.. and letting yourself feel the space. The more time you spend down in that pit the more used to it you will get.. it's not that you're going to 'fix' the feelings.. but you will start to accept and understand them more and be more comfortable with them.. and then they shift a little.. and you climb up a little.. and you understand yourself.. it's a truly beautiful beautiful process… I am really really happy that you are facing it and doing it. Immensely brave and inspiring. I can remember doing exactly the same thing when Mr D came home one day early on in my sobriety and I started talking to him and just cried and cried. It was intense and I had no idea why I was crying but boy I was sad.. and confused.. it's a very intense time but you are doing it and I am really really happy for you. Hang in there (don't drink!) and 't will smooth out I promise. Thanks so much for sharing with us here… big love from NZ xxx

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    1. Thanks. Mrs D! Yes it's really hard but I just know it's life and it's the best way to do it. I didn't realize you'd been through something so similar, but I shouldn't be surprised, as I know you said the emotions were up front and raw in the early days. Well, that's me now! I am sure going to stay with it. Thanks for the moral support, and for helping show me how to do some of this hard stuff. Much love to you, too. xo

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  5. You write so nicely. Thanks for the book recommendation. I definitely am interested in that kind of stuff. What you say about being lonely even tho you have people close to you really resonates with me. I also have that emptiness and I don't like to sit there and feel it, but you're inspiring me to do it. Thanks for this!

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    1. Aw, thanks for the writing compliment, Rebecca. Let me know what you think of the book if you get a chance to read it. And yes, sitting with that discomfort, it's related to that void we know about, right? But we're learning. I hope you're doing well. Thanks for reading and joining the conversation. xo

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  6. The more I encounter loneliness, the more I realise it's got nothing at all to do with having friends or being close to anyone else. It's actually me feeling disconnected from me... like the real me, the wise, kind, loving, eternal me... the pre-booze hound me, the pre-terrified child me. Quitting drinking, and staying still with how uncomfortable that feels, has started to get me back in touch with that part of me. It's something I could never have done while I was numbing out all the time. I was listening to a podcast the other day and heard "no mud, no lotus"... which is a cool metaphor for those of us who are sitting still with our discomfort. It can feel like hell, but it's the way home to our original true selves. Thanks for keeping on writing Thirsty. It's so inspiring and a real privilege to be able to read about your experiences.

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    1. Sue, I hadn't thought of it that way. But it make sense. This isn't the kind of lonely that other people can remedy, somehow, but it being more a kind of me being disconnected from me rings true. And I am getting in touch there, just in little bits but it's real. I just bought a Tara Brach book on your recommendation, and I think she will be helpful in this. "No mud, no lotus" is very good! I'm adding that to the little notes I keep by my desk. Thanks for reading and talking with me here. It's a privilege to me to be able to have this interaction--a big help, and so much more! Take care. xo

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    2. I'd love to know how you find the Tara Brach book. (If you'd rather email me, I'm suekerr dot wellington at gmail). X

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  7. what a beautiful post. have been re-reading it several times today and finding it so uplifting...

    have put Living with a Wild God on my Amazon wish list and will buy for a very-soon treat :) so thanks for that too!

    ad yes, that sense of connection when it comes, sometimes out of nowhere, can be so powerful. Primrose xx

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    1. Thanks so much, Primsose. It's amazing stuff, isn't it? Let me know what you think of the book when you get to it, I'd love to know. xo

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