Fence Me In

March has been a mixture of frenzied outdoor activity on warm days and cowering in the house on cold ones. We seem to be ending on a bitter note as the wind chill hovers around freezing today. The old adage “If you don’t like the weather in (insert state’s name), wait a minute and the weather will change” could be applied to this entire month regardless of where you live.

There have been periods when we rushed out bundled up in hats and coats to tackle some backyard project, shedding outerwear like strippers every hour before the next cold front blew in with much bluster and fanfare. Even so, we managed to build two screens for our patio from bamboo macheted from our neighbor’s jungle up the street, pound in twelve metal fence posts around the garden for our deer fence and trellis our rambunctious black raspberries in the back of the yard.

Currently I’m learning how to master a jigsaw so I can construct a garden gate and wooden frames fortified with chicken wire for my raised beds. Since our supply of bamboo is endless, we’re also considering more privacy screens and barriers for our little backyard world. As much as I appreciate our open southern exposure on the side of a hill, I crave a little privacy from prying eyes and hungry critters. Establishing boundaries can lead to peace in many ways, from peaceful relaxation in my sequestered outdoor living space to peace of mind when my vegetables aren’t decimated.

I’m also finding that fences provide borders which frame and enhance the views. For example, the bamboo grid on my patio creates interesting patterns with the lines from our maple tree canopy, singling out a particular curve of a branch that would get lost in an overwhelming sky. Likewise, the garden fence will help me focus on a finite space for planting. Rather like furnishing a room, the fence walls control the arrangement while providing some vertical space for growing.

In my research of beautiful gardens, the best designs unfold like a series of secret rooms that reveal their treasures only when you turn a corner or follow a winding path. While it may take years for my backyard to achieve such a sense of private mystery, I can learn, grow and observe on the journey to peaceful refuge.

Waking Up

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The post-election Supermoon of 2016.

The morning after the US election, I woke up strangely calm. I didn’t expect that reaction. And then I remembered; I’ve been through this rodeo before. On a personal level. Ironically, or maybe fortuitously, I’d been studying our president-elect’s particular personality disorder during the months leading up to our national November surprise, trying to get a handle on the kind of panic and physical paralysis I experience every time I hear him speak on TV.

His rhetoric throws me back to my old childhood and even recent adult showdowns with family members who exhibit the same traits. In or out of therapy, I’ve used all the tactics that have played out on the national stage in social media and comment threads. Anger, denial, defensiveness, sarcasm, blame, finger-pointing, compliance, withdrawal, pleading, compromise, escape, negotiation, a blind eye, even an occasional proactive offensive — you name it, I’ve tried it. Some of them seemed to work, at first. But in the end, what little gains I’d thought I’d made were just illusions, part of the narcissist’s great charm in promising you the moon but vanishing before you come to collect at sunrise.

I have neither solutions nor cures to offer. As long as the narcissist is getting what he or she wants, there is no motivation to change. It’s a very hard addiction to break. But what I do know is this: that hunger for the spotlight can never be satiated. The more attention (negative or positive) that is fed, the hungrier the appetite. I can only imagine that the gnawing search for more must be a form of hell on earth. And while I must forgive in order to be set free from the vicious dance I participate in as a narcissist’s compliant partner or even adversary, I will not forget.

What’s at stake is the sanctity of life for all of us, narcissists included. The ones in my life have taught me the hard way that no matter what I do or sacrifice for them, it’s never enough. Instead of beaming all our attention on the insatiable ones, I vote that we focus on ourselves, the stars of our own reality shows. We may not determine our outcomes, but we can control our outlooks. Do we sustain healthy boundaries? Do we care too much about what others think of us? Are we doing what’s important or just marking time, filling up space? Are we aware of the lessons being taught to us, supporting us, warning us? Are we awake?

I, for one, have seen the enemy, and behind all the bluster and bravado, they look just like us. In fact, they are us. We all play our parts in this tango, whether we lead or not. And if one partner changes the steps, the other must react, one way or another. Sometimes we follow, sometimes we break apart. And maybe, just maybe, we find a new rhythm, a new dance.

It’s time to get to work.

Leaving the Nest

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Here we are again at the end of the month and edge of the nest. For me, March has been full of fearfull flights, fledgling emotion, grounding relapse, molting ineptitude and wind. In my travels I’ve seen old friends, learned new history, felt familiar pain, entered fresh territory, shaken off recurrent doubts, and given myself a good talking to on several occasions.

My clipped wings are sprouting new feathers in spite of national extremism, world pessimism, and the personal bogeyman under my bed who grows more aggressive each day. I don’t get up early. I eat like a bird but continue to gain the weight of a collective conscience. I dismiss social media but can’t stop pecking at it. I look for worms in all the political promises. I tweet desperate songs.

Yet, here I am on the ledge to renewal, twigs of shame and muddy negativity crumbling beneath me, what I called home a shell of my former idealistic imagination. I’m ready to look for a better roost in which to lay my hopes and dreams.

Tomorrow, I open April’s door in search of the great birdhouse in my soul.*

*Apologies to They Might Be Giants

Fire and Rain

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Day 16: Fire

A couple of weeks back when I looked over the railing of a bridge and watched flames flicker in the water.

Yes, folks, it’s that time of year again. I’m looking forward to my third go at participating in Susannah Conway’s August Break by posting prompts here on the blog and on my Instagram account. There are no rules, really. Simply take a photo every day for the month of August, based on the prompts or not. I take a photo a day all year long, but you can’t lose no matter how many days you keep this up. And the more, the merrier!