Emotions

One of the benefits to long haul trucking is the time spent behind the windshield.  Hours of silence that can be used to process and think.  I'm a contemplative person by nature and enjoy this opportunity immensely.  I was raised in an emotional vacuum and one of the challenges I have had to face is "what are your needs?"  Inability to identify and feel your emotions essentially leaves you unable to know who you are, let alone know what you need.  I started with journaling my thoughts and feelings in a notebook, struggling to identify what is really going on inside with all these sorrows and aches and longings and confusion.  It takes work.  There are often emotions behind the emotion behind the emotion.  I found that once I had really dug to the core emotion, something would click and expand in me almost like the emotion itself was saying "Yes!  You found me!  You named me!"  It's a strange, freeing and healing experience.  Anger is a typical surface emotion.  I would even challenge the idea that it is even an emotion - more like a tool used by an underlying emotion to give power to that emotion.  A very useful tool, yes, but hopefully not the only tool in the toolbox.  That would be like someone trying to fix everything in the house with a hammer.  Not always the most effective nor beneficial.  But discovering the emotions behind the anger can be very helpful.  It changes your perspective from "I'm feeling angry" to "I'm angry because I'm feeling betrayed."  Much more productive, because then the act of betrayal can be addressed.  The same can be done with frustration or anxiety.  To say "I'm anxious because I'm afraid of being alone" is much more helpful than simply identifying the anxiety.  Emotions are very powerful and can often send the mind into thought looping paralysis.  Unpacking all this takes time, effort, and practice.  It's a function that wasn't given to me as a child, and like a muscle, begins to get easier and stronger the more you practice it.  But the peace of mind, the clarity, and the self-awareness make it very worthwhile.  Then the question of "what are my needs?" become answerable.  You can also then discover your own path and live your own script.

A Trajectory

I have done a few cycle tours and the most recent was cycling the ring road around Iceland in 2016.  These experiences have been a life metaphor for me.  Every mile, every hill is conquered by one pedal stroke at a time, and the day is filled with the exploration of the moment with very little thought or concern for the destination.  The route is generally well planned, and the daily mileages carefully calculated, but in the end, the joy has been the journey.  You feel every inch, every breath of air, every smell.  Every bite of food is well earned, and every night is a pleasant respite from the days' work. It's rewarding, and after a week or two of being on the road, you happily retrace your route on the map amazed at how far you've gone.  What a tangible way of viewing life.  Days may seem to all string together into one long trudging effort, but the key is to see the trajectory.  Look how far you've come!  A year ago I arrived back in Canada with a broken down van, a few boxes, and a very hostile relationship.  Alone, no job, and no ideas, my spirits were pretty low.  Tackling one obstacle at a time, I renewed my commercial license, got a job, and started to whittle away at debt.  I weaned myself gradually off antidepressants.   Hours behind the wheel gave me hours of time to listen, think, and process.  Many days were discouraging, but slowly I have begun to grow in courage, hope, and confidence.  I still have far to go; I still have days of sadness and despair - but the fact that I am writing about it is significant.  I have come so far.  An upward trajectory - if I can continue to make the next year just a little better and healthier than the last, I will be OK.

Immersion

Slowly and gradually you notice your hands begin to open.  You no longer clench them tightly around memories and dreams but begin to accept the reality of who and where you are.  Sometimes the pain is so crushing that it becomes physically hard to breathe, but in those moments you remind myself "I am here.  I am alive, and this is all part of it."  Change brings with it all kinds of challenges and obstacles, but every one is slowly and deliberately faced and accepted.  They are all steps; small, important steps along the way.  Life has a way of pulling you forward, and you simply need to accept the flow.  People begin to appear and speak into your life, and moments become sacred.  In the process, you begin to really learn who you are.  Emptying does that.  Letting things go leaves only the essence of your being.  The true self begins to emerge.  And it begins to feel safe like you're finally coming home.  It's a good place, not free of sadness, but peace within the solitude within the sadness.  There's a strength in it.  A solid ground.  A foundation.  You begin to hear your voice.  Your heart begins to establish defined boundaries, not out of the pain, but out of authenticity.  This body, this mind, this heart, is who you are.  All you have is the moment, and you immerse yourself in it.  There is beginning to be some form of purpose and clarity in it.  And that is enough. 

Seeds

The biggest obstacle to entering into this space is the patience to trust.  Settling is tough, and it takes a while.  I had the opportunity to witness the outrageous spectacle of a desert bloom.  All the bleak, barren desert was transformed seemingly overnight into a wash of color as far as the eye could see.  Painted ladies, a beautiful orange and black tipped butterfly, appeared by the thousands.  A stretch of dead wasteland suddenly burst into life.  Millions of seeds, waiting dormant in expectation, suddenly became something new.  It was amazing.  There is a story in the Christian tradition of Jesus responding to the human propensity to worry.  "Consider the lilies of the field," he says.  "They neither toil nor spin, yet even Solomon in all his glory didn't encompass beauty like they do."  In other words, pay attention to the world around you.  Its cycles and seasons are as evident as the cycles and seasons in your own soul.  We are all made of the same stuff, and connected on a deep fundamental level.  Seeds lie dormant.  New growth takes time.  Take care of yourself, be gentle and nurturing, and the beauty will come.  Trust in the process.  In that there is hope.

Space

In this quest for solitude, for quietness, there is a space that slowly develops and grows.  It's a space of being, of unknowing, of comfort.  It takes a while.  It's letting go of all anxiety and bitterness, all regret and guilt.  It becomes simply a space of presence.  Here I am, this is what is real, and this is OK.  The mind becomes quiet.  All the "should haves" or "what ifs" fade.  Life becomes now, not the past or the future.  The pain takes on a different hue; it is not any less evident, just not as sharp.  Not as dark.  It becomes part of who you are.  A companion that sits with you.  It's familiar. It's welcome.   Perhaps at the bottom of all this is that the fear has lost some of its power.  There are still so many questions, so many uncertainties, but confidence in your inner strength and power has gradually replaced the paralysis.  Emotions still rage at times, but you find yourself observing the moment around you a lot more.  The morning birdsong.  The wisp of dew on the windscreen.  The setting sun.  All of this whispers into your soul that all is well.  Everything has purpose.  And beauty is not in the memories, but right in the middle of this space.  Right here.  There is an ancient story in the Hebrew tradition of exile.  Jeremiah writes "Settle in.  This will take a while.  Build houses, let your children marry, and do your best to prosper those around you."  This settling in is the beginning of space.  This moment is uniquely and gloriously entirely yours, along with the all the questions, difficulties and pain.  It's all part of it.  It all belongs.  

The Process of Season

I love the idea of seasons.  A continual cycle of spring with all of its promises, summer with its easy, relaxing days, fall with the glorious joy of harvest, and the snowy winter covered in quiet, secluded contemplations.  Years cycle past and every one becomes another notch on our calendar.  Endless.  Continuous.  Lately running the long stretch of highway between Canada and California the effect of season has become even more pronounced.  The California landscape never really suffers the indignity of winter - unless you venture into the Sierra Nevadas that reach over 7000 feet and experience the exuberance of an overzealous snowfall.  But eventually even at those altitudes the green slowly starts to creep in, the flowers bringing color to the edges of the highway, and the sounds of summer echoing through the forest.  It's beautiful, encouraging, and heartwarming.  I love it.

But the seasons of the soul are not as enjoyable.  Here is pain, uncertainty, and confusion.  Nothing is simple or straight forward.  When life disintegrates and you're left staring at an empty horizon, the questions come much faster than you can process.  Time slows to an agonizing crawl and every moment becomes a struggle.  Futility.  Anger.  Everything swirls around and through you like fog.  You become lost.  The distinction between seasons are blurred.  Are things still dying or is everything dead?  Are the days gradually warming towards a new spring?  Is this new growth or simply a patch of grass that survives the cold and refuses to lose its color?  The process of emptying becomes endless.  Every emotion becomes a journey of identifying, naming, processing, personifying, and in the end, welcoming.  Hello loneliness.  Come on in.  Throw your bags of pain, sadness, and betrayal in the corner by all the winter boots.  Come settle at the table, and let me make you a cup of tea.  It's a miserable day outside, and we've got days of bleak weather ahead of us.  But we're warm, the fire is crackling, and the kettle whistling.  We're safe here, and we'll be OK. Eventually, the days will lengthen, the eaves will begin to drip with the afternoon thaw, the sun being a little brighter and a little warmer.  Trust the process of season.  Spring will come, with new birth, new life, and new hope. 

Home by another way

The years have rushed past, life exploding and disintegrating, and suddenly I find myself reduced to a solitary life confined to a truck and miles of highway.  The kids are scattered, and my tax forms present my status as separated.  My time has become hours of silence, contemplation, and recovery.  Recovery to discover my essence and value.  Contemplations of God, family, and love.  Silence.  Emptiness.  Letting go.

These processes are never simple, painless, or easy. I happened upon something I wrote in a draft years ago:

 "We have been following a trail through a dense forest for the last two years.  Sometimes the path was steep, sometimes strewn with roots that threatened to upend us, sometimes wide with dappled sunlight glistening through the overhead leaves.  But today we have emerged into bright sunlight at the edge and are facing a grassy meadow that is gently beckoning us forward.  Today our lives are changing, and though we don't yet see the path stretching off into the distance, the path is as sure as it was in the dark forest.  And one thing we do know; the path before us will be different."

Prophetic to be sure.  Dark forests, dangerous footing, indistinct direction.  Moments of joy and clarity, coupled with dark nights and despair.  It's all part of it.  It's all important.  And it's all leading us home, even if by another way.