Tag: nature

Neverland

We live in Neverland, or so we have convinced ourselves. This could never happen. That could never happen. I could never do that. We will never do that. And on and on. But is it true? Who decides what is possible and what is not? We so often point to the “system” these days and throw our hands up in the air. Everyone knows that the system is the problem. Although we don’t agree on the nature of that problem, we do agree that it simply cannot be changed. The course of history is set in stone. All I’m asking is… are we sure?

So many “I could never do that’s,” so little time. It seems to me that I am not wasting any! This past week I have been on a, let’s call it hectic, adventure running here and there. It wasn’t meant to be quite as hectic as it has turned out, but then again- that’s life! Sometimes. I was supposed to head down to Houston to celebrate my parents’ birthdays, squeeze in a few business meetings, and catch up with friends. Then I would hop a plane to Colorado for some business with the U.S. Department of Energy before returning home to Vermont. That was the plan.

Let’s start with the fact that I was very nervous about this plan. My nervousness wasn’t based on my itinerary, per se, it was based on one simple fact- I still have a goatee. If you need a recap as to why, revisit my post “Hairy.” When I wrote that post I was early into growing out my goatee and still had a long list of things I could never do with it ahead of me. I wasn’t sure if I was going to face those fears or not, and I gave myself full permission not to. Here is a partial list of things I could never do:

I could never interview for a job with a goatee.

I could never get on an airplane with a goatee.

I could never go to Houston with a goatee.

I could never face my parents with a goatee.

I could never go to an important business meeting with a goatee.

I’m sure I could list a million things, because the truth is that just about every other thing gives me some form of angst. The thing is that I just didn’t know how deeply ingrained this effort to hide myself has been, nor how successful it’s been. So you can see that this trip invoked a whole slew of my deepest fears. I honestly wasn’t sure if or how I would face them. True to course, I had a complete panic attack the day before I was supposed to leave. Understand that my goatee is now quite prevalent. It’s unavoidable. It makes me highly visible in the exact way that I don’t like to be. People notice me. Ugh.

Mostly what happens is that at first people see my hair hair (the hair growing from my head rather than my face & chin) which is blonde and quite long at this point. Due to that and my stature they immediately register “woman.” Then they catch sight of my goatee and there is this visible moment of complete disconnect. It’s simple cognitive dissonance. They naturally go to their memory banks for an image that they can utilize to make sense of what they are seeing… and there is none. Nope, no images of women with goatees in there for most folks. I get it. It’s interesting to watch it. I am learning not to be bothered by it. It’s nothing personal. Uncomfortable, yes. Personal, no. It gives me an opportunity to work on holding an empathetic space for an expanded sense of possibilities. It gives others, of course, an expanded sense of possibilities for their memory banks. All of that is interesting and doable.

But then there are the wounded parts of myself. The parts of myself that have faced judgement and rejection are not quite so empathetic. That part of myself wants to crawl under a rock, or perhaps kill you. That part of myself feels the sting if that look of confusion turns into any sort of judgy stare or even glare… which on occasion it has. One might ask why in the hell I would subject myself to this. Those were, in fact, the first and only words out of my father’s mouth, “Why are you doing this?” Sometimes, I wonder that too! Yet I know why. So here is your answer. I am doing this to allow the wounded parts of myself space to be felt, expressed, seen, and healed. I am lucky that I have such a tangible means through which to invoke all of the small ideas about the world (and therefore me) that oppressed me in the first place.

Why on earth we humans decided that women are not beautiful as they naturally occur is beyond me. I don’t understand this. Growing up in Houston, Texas and the South in general comes with certain expectations if not demands when it comes to how females are supposed to appear. I never felt comfortable filling that image. This is mostly because I find it to be unnatural, when in fact I appreciate the beauty of raw nature. I think women are beautiful – more beautiful- without all of the masks. I was trained to wear makeup at age 13. I won’t even get into hairstyling. Then there are the clothes, the mannerisms, the not being too assertive or too smart, and on and on and on. Yuck. I found it oppressive, and confusing.

Yet by the time I arrived on the East Coast to start college I would never even think of walking out of my dorm room without a full face of makeup on. That is, until I noticed that for the first time in my life, most of the other women on campus were not wearing makeup. Hallelujah!!! Let freedom ring!!! I stopped it all immediately… the makeup, the hairstyling, all of it. By my junior year I had cut my hair boyishly short. Returning to Houston in this condition was, well, nerve racking to say the least. This is to say that I have dealt with this anxiety before. While nobody had a problem identifying me as a woman on the East Coast, I was routinely asked if I was in the wrong bathroom back in Houston. Ugh. Why can’t you see me??? Do you understand that the messaging is that women are not beautiful just as they are? This is to say that we are not good enough. While I think we have made progress on this front over the last 25 years, we are not there yet. So, yes, I am growing out my goatee as a declaration. Here it is: “I am beautiful just as I am.” Well, that, and… “I don’t give a damn if you don’t agree with me!” Mind you, I have to muster a lot of gumption day in and day out to hold this messaging in my mind. The world has done quite a good job of convincing me otherwise.

Now for that list of never coulds. I have chosen one by one, step by step, to keep facing them. Two weeks ago I went to a job interview with goatee a flowing. This wasn’t just any job interview either. This was THE interview… you know, the one for the perfect job that I have been jockeying for for three years now- a teaching job in the Architecture Department at Middlebury College. Granted, the interview was just for a short, temporary gig for Winter Term. But still. If I didn’t pass this test then I would’t be considered for a permanent position later on. My every last nerve went berserk- complete panic attack. There is some part of me though that is ready and willing to fight for me, to stand up for me, to take back complete control over my own narrative. This part of me said, “You are doing it.” So I did. Although I do have to admit to crying en route to my interview. But you know what, in spite of that initial awkward moment of cognitive dissonance, the interview went great. And… I got the job!

Next stop, Houston. Passing the job interview test helped some, but it didn’t stop me from having a panic attack all over again. In these moments I just stare at myself in the mirror trying to be o.k. with it all and wondering if I can. Then I remind myself that the point is to be uncomfortable, to get the very reflections from others that I am trying to move past. This helps me to invite those reflections rather than trying to hide from them. After some serious deliberations I psyched myself up to move ahead with it. Then the storm came. Tropical Storm Imelda that is. The night before I was supposed to leave, the storm was predicted to make landfall and flood Houston. It is impossible to play dice with the weather. No matter what you do, you loose. I ended up changing my flight to a day later in hopes that the worst of it would be over by then. Of course that didn’t happen. Instead the storm stalled out and arrived a day late and the very thing that I was trying to avoid- getting stranded in Newark- happened. Nature will have her way.

At first my flight was only delayed, or so they thought. I took my extra time at the airport to pull out my computer and start something that I have been meaning to start for some time now, to the point that it had been nagging me like a pesky five year old for days. Sitting there with the Manhattan skyline in full view, I started to write my book. Yes, you heard it here first, folks. Book is in progress. Then they cancelled my flight.

Fortunately, I have friends in Jersey- Mary, my best friend from college, to be specific. She lives in Princeton so I texted her to ask what our plans were for the evening. It turns out that we were heading to Philly for a screening of her husband Jim’s trailer for the movie he is working on. Take that, Imelda! Actually, here is what I really think. I really think that nature takes very good care of us and this was a case in point. Not only did I get to see one of my best friends, but I also got to see Jim’s family who I hadn’t seen since they got married, well, let’s just say some time ago! It was so great. They were all so, so happy to see me and we had a marvelous time together. And it was all so damn comforting, which is exactly what I needed in that moment. The following day I was supposed to be attending the climate strike in Houston with one of my close friends there. I instead went to the one in Princeton. No harm, no foul. And for the record, go, Greta!

As I walked through the Princeton campus to catch the Dinky (train) back to Newark, something dawned on me. Just the day before I had sat looking out at the Manhattan skyline recalling how much I love NYC and have felt at home there since my days at Princeton, even though I have never lived there. Then I ended up at Princeton, which most definitely has been and feels like home to me. Now I was heading back to Houston, the home where I grew up and have spent the majority of my life. From there I would be heading back to Denver, Colorado, which is my family’s home and where my grandparents had always lived during my life. This trip was quite literally walking me back through my entire history, step by step. Such a strange turn of events. Yet it mirrored exactly what I have been doing, walking myself back step by step by step.

When I landed in Houston, what can I say, there it was right out of the gate…. the glare. The glare of a white middle aged male as I walked past him to get to the rental car shuttle. He turned his head a full 180 degrees keeping his eyes on me as I walked past just to make sure that he maximized his full glaring opportunity. I paid no mind. Look, Houston, I know it isn’t everybody, but the truth is that you have some work to do still. You have some work to do on multiple fronts, in fact- social, economic, and ecological to name a few. I get to say this and call attention to it because I am a native. I have earned that right having called Houston home for the last 50 years. It’s true that I have more to say to you than to most places, but that is because I know you best. We are family. I see you for who you are, as you are, in your naked truth. Yes, you are naturally beautiful and full of potential, but as I shared with my greenie friends at brunch on Sunday, it is way past time for you to face your shadows so that your true beauty can shine through. I am not convinced that you will, but I’ll keep cheering for you- from a safe distance.

Most people don’t know what to say about my goatee, so they choose to say nothing. That is how most people, and my friends in particular, show their support. They choose not to make a big deal about it. I am still trying to figure out how to open up conversation about it myself. For the time being, I also choose not to say anything and proceed as I normally would. But you know what has been the best reaction so far, besides the complete loving support that I have received from Shannon, that is? My very good friend Amanda leaned over to me during brunch amidst a whole table of friends and whispered “I love your scruffy.” I just had to say that. Thank you, Amanda! That put a huge smile in my heart.

Finally the last leg of this little adventure landed me in Colorado where I have been doing some important work with the U.S. Department of Energy. I am still in Colorado as I write. All I can say is that I was so tired by the time that I got here that I couldn’t even begin to care anymore… at least not about my goatee! I care deeply about the work that we are doing and feel so grateful that I am able to make a meaningful contribution and that I am trusted to do so. I have many friends in the DOE and you know what, not a single one of them seemed to care one iota about my goatee. They cared quite a lot, however, about what I had to say. They also care quite a lot about me personally and how things are going in my life. The feeling and respect is mutual. And it is this way because we all show up with authenticity and genuine care for each other and for the planet.

Nature is as it is. I am as I am. You are as you are. All three statements are related. I noticed something as I walked through Princeton, then Houston, then a short hike this afternoon in Colorado. I noticed the air. The air is distinct and familiar to me in each place. In each place it has a particular feel, a particular buoyancy, a particular smell. Each one was familiar to me and each one felt like home to me in its own way. That is because the air of each place is embodied in me. It is embodied in me in the way that my body has adapted to it. It is embodied in me in the fact that it has delivered breath and life to me. It is embodied in me in the way that it has delivered molecules that have literally been incorporated into my own body. There is no escaping that we are one with this place and with each other.

Now to end this little story with my original line of questioning. Are we sure that everything is set in stone? I notice that I am evolving, even though I am fundamentally the same person that I have always been and even though I am interdependent on the places and the people who have informed my life. I notice that Houston is evolving, even if not as quickly as I think it must. I notice that humanity is evolving, even if it looks like we are moving backwards these days. More than anything, I notice that we have written the rules that guide what we call “the system.” Nobody outside of ourselves decided that women should wear makeup and should not have goatees. We did that. If you still think that women should not have goatees, all I can say to you is that I have one- quite naturally- and I am a woman. Guess what? We have full power to rewrite ourselves, to rewrite the rules that we have written, to drop what no longer serves us, and to write a new ending/beginning. How do we do so? Step one: face our shadows. Do whatever it takes. Grow out that goatee (metaphorically speaking) if necessary!

Abnoba in Big Bend

I didn’t come to want to be an architect in the usual way. It wasn’t about slick modern buildings, The Fountainhead, or even any of the timeless architectural masterpieces of our civilization. I didn’t discover architecture in a city, even though I grew up in one and became passionately dedicated to understanding and evolving our predominant settlement pattern. In fact, long before I set my sights on becoming an architect, the very first thing that I ever wanted to be was a Park Ranger. Want proof? Here you go:

That’s me in the Ranger’s hat on the right. This was taken at Yellowstone circa 1978 ish. As you can see, I’m ready to take on the world. It’s a good thing, because I’m needing that moxie right about now.

I discovered architecture before I even realized that I had discovered it… in another national park. My profession might mistakenly consider it more artifact than architecture, but the epitome of architecture for me is represented by Mesa Verde. When I first visited Mesa Verde- around the same age as the above photo- I was instantly mesmerized. What touched me deeply was this sense of humans being at home in the world, of the possibility of building a home that was fully integrated with nature. This is what inspired me to become an architect. Never seen it? Here is a photo I took about ten years ago:

I’ve been chasing the dream of Mesa Verde for what feels like a long time now. It is a difficult challenge for a culture and a settlement pattern (the city) that is so very removed from nature. While I’ve spent nearly 50 years growing up in, studying, and working on what our Vermont friends call “The Belly of the Beast” (aka Houston), my home has always been elsewhere. I come by it naturally. My grandfather on my father’s side was a mountain guide in the Colorado Rockies in his younger years. He passed his love of the mountains along to my father. Meanwhile my mother’s family loved the lakes of Minnesota and so they spent their summers in a little cabin on Martin Lake just north of her hometown of St. Paul. As for us, we spent our summers camping mostly near Durango, Colorado, but clearly visiting various parks throughout the country.

These days I find my home in my wife’s home state of Vermont. Perhaps not surprisingly, we have nested a home in the mountains and a home on the lake. I know my grandpas Roy and Sox are looking down smiling the biggest smiles. They would so love these places that I get to call home. Soon they will be home permanently. We couldn’t leave Texas, however, without visiting one of the most phenomenal national parks in the country- Big Bend.

So as I was saying, I am a mountain, forest and lake sort of person. Deserts- not so much. Same for Shannon. I wasn’t exactly sure what to expect. Seven hikes combined for 22 miles and several scenic drives later I can say expect the unexpected. Every single hike was completely different from the other. Each landscape was surreal in its own unique way. It brought me back to this deep sense of how sacred this planet we call home really is. If you haven’t noticed in awhile, slow down and take a look. Please. I’m asking nicely. In Big Bend the wind roars its command while the rain, when it comes, pitter patters the gentle reminder that it has not forsaken us.

Species upon species have called this place home, humans included. Many are extinct. For now I am convinced that only a few roadrunners, two deer, and one jackrabbit (who we saw four times) live there. Big Bend is a reminder that the fate of a place can change radically, from sea to wetland to volcano to mountain to desert. Transformation is the law.

It will be impossible for us to find our home in the world again if we don’t get back in touch with it first. That is why it is so incredibly important to get out into nature. Not to mention, it’s humbling. I have a case in point for your entertainment. On the fourth day we were tired from the previous three days of hiking and therefore decided to take the scenic drive out to the adjacent State Park. There was a short hike called Closed Canyon that we were interested in seeing to boot. The drive and the hike were well worth it. Breathtaking! We had not paid enough attention to the map before we started the hike though. I had mistakenly thought that the hike through this canyon would land us at the Rio Grande at the other end (it wouldn’t). Then all of a sudden we ran into a pool of murky water with a steep slope on one side and a slippery slope on the other. It was an impasse that we had not anticipated.

We joined a rock climbing gym last fall and have enjoyed bouldering, although we are quite the novices and haven’t taken any lessons. Mostly, we just marvel at other people gracefully moving across the wall as if they are lovingly slow dancing with the “rock.” That’s what being at home in nature should look like- a dance. But when I am bouldering, it feels more like a fight for survival! In the gym it doesn’t bother me because there is a mat underneath and I am quite adept at falling onto mats from certain heights. Shannon was intrigued enough by the situation before us that she decided to put her new bouldering skills to the test. It would require climbing in a sideways direction with the first section looking something like a V9 at the gym. In other words, it really was just a slippery slope with not much to hold onto. Mind you, we are still struggling with the V3’s. But if you could make it past that first little section then it looked much easier. There were things to hold onto. Shannon made it across with flying colors. She made it look easy even. I told her to go scope out the next section to see if this was just an anomaly in the trail. She did and reported back that there was no more water and it appeared to go on. She came back across with equal ease.

I, however, was honestly terrified. It wasn’t that the fall was any further than at the gym. It was that there was murky water at the bottom that I imagined a snake might be living in (which may have in and of itself been irrational). I might also mention that I am a good deal shorter than Shannon and therefore don’t have as much reach. I almost walked away, but then was so disappointed to not get to the Rio Grande that I made myself give it a try. Shannon stood on the crevice under me to help support me through the tough section. I made it across! Not gracefully, mind you, but I made it. Then we took the few steps forward to the next drop off that Shannon had scoped out. I immediately saw that there was no way in hell that we would be able to get back up the next drop if we went down… nothing but slippery slope. Then looking further around the corner I saw that there was another drop into a waterway that Shannon hadn’t seen. We were, in fact, at the end of the trail (which had we bothered to fully read the map at the beginning of the trail we would have realized). Well, chalk it up to our first real bouldering experience in nature (although I had vowed I would never do such a thing). Now there was nothing to do but go back.

That’s when the problem set in. Shannon went first and had no problem. I, on the other hand, well… how should I put this. Let me just describe the scene. Imagine me sprawled out in an x position on my belly facing a steep, slippery rock with Shannon scrambling to get back under me as I am slowly sliding down the rock. She yells out “Get a grip!” O.K., well, she didn’t actually say that. She said “find your grip.” But she might just as well have said the former. In a full fledged panic, and I do mean complete out of control I am going to die panic, I yelled back “I don’t have a grip!!!!!” That much was obvious I suppose. Fortunately, she got her own footing in time to catch me and not go sliding down herself. She was then able to support me- freaked out as I was- through the rest of it. While my life wasn’t in any real danger, feeling like it was in that moment reminded me how tenuous life is. Vulnerability is a powerful teacher. And sometimes, quite the comedian. We’ll be laughing about this for the rest of our lives. I don’t reveal this often, but there is a tender reality in the heart of this prickly pear.

On another day we drove out to Terlingua, the tiny knock about town just outside of the park. There is a ghost town there that just happens to have 58 residents, go figure, and a coffee shop (thank God!). Oh, and, an art gallery. We had to stop in. The artist in residence initially seemed like she would let us be, but quickly decided to be conversational instead. She started off by informing us that she always tells visitors that if something speaks to you, the time to buy it is right now. Alrighty then. We browsed around knowing that we hadn’t come to buy art. After perusing the entire one room gallery, the last thing we came to was a stack of her paintings. As we flipped through we both saw it, but kept right on flipping without mentioning it. Then Shannon went back to this painting and read the description on the back. The artist insisted that we pull it out and take a closer look, so we obliged.

The artist, Lori Griffin, proceeded to explain that she had painted a series of goddesses over a sleepless two month period after a loved one had passed away last fall. The goddesses had visited her one by one. Let me start by saying that I am not really a goddess sort of person either, as strange as that may sound. When it comes to resonance with archetypes, I tend more toward the masculine in nature. For example, two years ago we were in Costa Rica on a retreat to celebrate my best friend Micki’s 60th birthday at Mystica, a retreat center run by another Lori, our good friend and Reiki Master Lori Myles-Carullo. (Incidentally, I highly recommend this place!) One night we each pulled cards from a deck of archetypes. I pulled Green Man… alongside a card labeled “existence”. Made perfect sense. Green Man is the ancient spirit representing the birth and rebirth of man from nature. Yes, that resonated with my state of being.

Shannon isn’t into goddesses either. Yet there was something about this one that stopped us in our tracks. The first thing was that she was translucent. And she was in a forest. And you could see the forest through the trees, I mean goddess. Shannon asked about that. Lori explained that this goddess was very hesitant to show herself. She gave only small, elusive glimpses at first. Lori sensed that she kept herself invisible for her own protection and survival. When she finally did fully appear to her, even then she remained translucent. Nor did she seemingly say anything, at least not to Lori. Lori simply painted what she saw. I just listened quietly at first. Then I took over the questioning.

What is this orange in the background? Lori began explaining to me how she had applied the orange paint. No, no, what does it represent? I mean… the forest is on fire! Oh, yes, she says. This goddess is all about the elements: water and wood (trees) specifically, but also stones and fire. This was a mountain scene, even though it isn’t readily apparent in the painting. Then she goes on to explain that she later discovered that there is a goddess such as this in the Celtic tradition. Her name is Abnoba. She was worshipped in the Black Forest region of Germany. She is the protector of woods, springs, rivers and wild animals. Ah. And this butterfly in her hand? Transformation. Yes, of course. The world is on fire and this goddess is serenely, silently standing there holding out transformation with not a care in the world. Well, I said, “we have to buy it.” You can fill in the rest. Here it is: