Summer’s End: Disequilibrium and Dreams

Autumn is often a time I thrive in a relaxed melancholy. Time slows, the droning of the cicadas winds down as the Vs of Canadian geese honk overhead. This year it comes on the heels of a summer where I quit everything, flipped the table, and walked away. I was sinking into a low-grade depression and physically felt unwell. Feeling good became an intentional goal.

I stopped volunteering. This is an option that had never occurred to me, from my childhood days of visiting nursing homes to my most recent stint with a voting organization. I have never not volunteered, but I didn’t this summer. This isn’t a permanent state. Community contribution is one of my core values. But the idea that I could just stop, just rest a bit, just say not now was never on my list of things that would be curative.

Tangential trauma was pressing in on me. In July, a writing student I had mentored last year was shot and killed. A 15- year-old girl, shot and left on the street in the middle of the night. In late August, I witnessed the aftermath of a child who had been hit by a car, laying motionless in the street, with a pool of blood around her head, desperate adults crowding around her. Shaking, I pulled over and called my EMT daughter. She calmed me down and I could hear the approaching sirens were on the way. I never felt so useless in my entire life. Since nothing showed up in the news, I can only assume the child survived.

Hot flashes, insomnia, and increasing anxiety plagued me. My discomfort at not being in a state of obligation was underlined with a shit-ton of menopausal misery. I began to have bizarre dreams that woke me at 2am, sweaty and shaken. Cognitively, I wasn’t able to focus and my writing practice went all to hell. Despairing, I went through my usual toolbox of self-care: getting more rest, spending more time outside, solitude, letting go of expectations and taking on things as they come.

There is a moment where you doubt everything you have ever done or learned. This is where the concept of the beginner’s mind enters. For me, it typically means information-gathering time. I did a lot of research on menopause, decided on a treatment plan, went to the doctor and took care of business. Early stages yet, but feeling hopeful. I researched health and wellness issues that had been plaguing me and have put myself through some rehab and habit changes.

Everything is all better all the time. Some things are better, some of the time.

Part of me wants to give up writing solipsistic personal essays as individualism is practically fetish in this country. On the other hand, I am an expert on nothing else. There are moments when I just want to talk out loud. To lay out my emotional wares in words. Just as it is for a lot of people, writing is a way for me to get myself sorted. It is not always successful. This post is pretty much how my brain is working at the moment: unsettled and unfocused. Welcome to my disequilibrium.

I will wrap up this little ramble with the highlight of my summer. The backyard. Meet this year’s friends: