Green Flags and Silver Linings

I've noticed that most people come at life with suspicion and an expectation of what will go wrong.  We "prepare for the worst" and "listen to our gut" to weed out any "red flags."

This propensity to go towards the negative really doesn't serve us so well...though it may well have back when we were living in caves and looking not to be eaten by wild beasts.

I myself have spent the majority of my life as a self-proclaimed pessimist, using the excuse that if I expect things to go badly, at least I can't be surprised except in the case where things go quite well, and then am surprised in a most pleasant way.  Doesn't that make sense?  In our ego-filled, avoid-pain-at-all-costs mentality, it sure does.

However, these last few years, I've been slowly moving the needle in the other direction, moving towards not only a less negative view, but actually embracing possibility and potential!  Dare I say, I've begun to expect AMAZING things to happen?  And have started appreciating the lessons learned when things don't go as planned or as hoped?

Aside from my own disbelief and failure to recognize myself these days, I am enjoying this rewiring of my brain that I've been undergoing.  It's really quite a lot more fun and gratifying, and it feels good, darn it!

So now, I've shifted from red flags to green.  Instead of looking for warnings and signs of danger, I am not only looking for but FINDING many signs of possibility and feeling gut feelings that lead me towards the good and the nurturing and the positive.

Here's an example.  I'm going to back up a little and share a sad story.  My dear Dad, Bert, passed away a year and a half ago, just four days shy of his 90th birthday.  At his memorial service, we told funny stories and shared about his life.  And one of the musical pieces we played was Louis Armstrong's "Wonderful World."  Dad really loved Armstrong, and he really loved that song.

Since then, that song has come to be a "green flag" for me, signaling Dad watching over me and guiding in me in the right direction or in some cases, pushing me towards something I am not 100% on board with.

Only days after his memorial service, my sister and I went to dinner.  Our relationship had been rocky and iffy for a while, and it was a slightly awkward meal.  As we left the restaurant and walked to our separate cars, we gave a wooden hug to one another.  I turned to walk towards my parking space, and heard a faint piece of music.  It seemed it might be coming from another person's car, but I looked around and couldn't find the source.  Could it be coming from the gas station across the street?  No, it felt closer.  And wait, I recognize that song!  It's "Wonderful World" and it's Louis singing it!  What???

As I opened my car door and started to slide inside the driver's seat, the sound seemed to follow me.  I then realized my iPod was still in my purse.  I had downloaded the song to be used at the memorial service.  Now, my iPod was off, OK?  But somehow, it had come on and to that exact song.  Sure, maybe I nudged it in my purse somehow, maybe during that stilted hug.  But of all the hundreds of songs?  I texted my sister right away (she hadn't pulled out of her space yet).  I shared what had happened, and we both agreed Dad was reaching out to us.

OK, let's first get something straight.  I do not go for "signs" and don't really believe in spirits or angels.  I'm kind of scientific and agnostic and all that.  But I had to admit, this felt like...well, a sign.  Dad wanted us to make the effort to repair our relationship, and it felt like he was applauding our effort.

So, perhaps that was all random and pure chance.  I can actually resonate with that explanation.

But then, so how do you explain that when I went to see my daughter last weekend to say goodbye, I had another sign?  My daughter and I have really had a rocky road, and since Dad passed, we have barely spoken.  That story is not a story for today, but suffice to say, our meeting was also quite awkward (for me, anyway).  We went to lunch at a Thai restaurant in downtown Richmond, and as we sat waiting for our food, side by side at a counter looking towards the street, in an almost parallel-play type of set-up, I heard the canned music.  Usually, it's Thai music right?  Or whatever ethnicity the restaurant you're dining at is.  This was covers of songs, and it sounded a lot like Rod Stewart.  And he was singing...you guessed it.  "Wonderful World."  Not once, but twice (was the music on a shuffle and looping back?  Did my daughter and I need a second smack in the head?)

So now I was thinking, boy Dad really wants me to make bridges here.  And I want that too, of course.  But the coincidence (or not) of this song appearing again (twice!) was notable.

OK, so maybe you're thinking this is sort of odd.  And if it is Dad, maybe he nudges me to fix family relations only.  But nope.

As I disembarked from my plane in Portland, wondering if I'd made a huge mistake, but mostly excited if exhausted, lugging my poor kitty in his carrier with my aching shoulder, in search of the baggage claim area and the car rental kiosk, I heard a grand piano playing.  Sure enough, the Portland Airport has a classy grand to greet you as you land.  (Hey that rhymed!).

You already know the punchline, right?  That happy, cheesy piano player was playing none other than Dad's song, and I literally KNEW Dad was saying, "go for it, kid."  He approved of my adventure and the risk I was taking, and he was letting me know he was there to watch out for me.  I looked over my shoulder (where I've envisioned him smiling at me) and whispered, "thanks Dad."

White Canvass

There is something about flying literally above the world that gives you a freedom to think outside of the boundaries of your earth-tethered life.  As I took off from Reagan National Airport, leaving DC and Northern Virginia behind to find new adventures in Oregon, I cried some mostly anxious tears (with a salting of mother-child separation), and then, attempting to hide my tears from my seat mate, looked out the window, wiping away the traces with my ninja tissue.

I saw the earth growing smaller and the city and its drama and its history and its roots diminish beneath me.  And then, as if on cue, the clouds we entered began to obscure my view of the highways and the buildings and the life I'd known for 54 years.  And as I pondered the meaning and tried to think of intelligent pithy things to think and say about it, the clouds grew denser, creating an entirely blank, vast, white canvass.  The symbolism wasn't lost on me.

This life I was headed towards was completely unknown and unwritten.  My planner/Type A self had of course arranged lodging and transportation, and I had a vague idea of initial steps to take...find a home, buy a car, get connected to people ASAP via church, Toastmasters, the local Chamber of Commerce, etc.  But other than that, I didn't really know what to expect, and I didn't have a clear vision of what my life would be.

I feel radically blessed because most people who move are going towards something--perhaps a job--or away from something--maybe a relationship.  Or at least I've imagined that's what they do. 

But I have been given the golden ticket.  I have a means of income that doesn't care where I do it from, and in fact utilizes its mobility as a positive vehicle of growth.  I can do my job in Virginia FROM Oregon, and also create new possibilities in Oregon as well.  So, it's not a job I'm going towards nor do I have to worry about finding employment.

The only significant relationships in my life are my children and my friends.  I'm not going to lie. Leaving them was HARD.  But distance doesn't end our connection in any way.  It only makes it logistically more challenging to touch.  I feel completely open to any new relationships I may encounter, be they of the friendship, business, or romantic type.  I'm not going specifically to look for a husband.  But I am open to the possibility of meeting any number of possible partners.  I'm not intent on finding a new best friend.  Yet, I'm anticipating all the new friends and acquaintances with the fervor of a new book by a favorite author.  What will the characters be like?  How will they enhance the story?  And in this case, the story is MY LIFE. 

Lots of people asked me before I left, "Are you so excited?"  I think I am only beginning to truly realize the expanse of this new chapter and the potential for growth in my heart and mind as I experience the NEW.  

Orphans of the World

Remember the movie "Sleepless in Seattle?"  Actually, I don't remember much about it except that Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks played the same characters they played in "You've Got Mail."  But the title is what I recall, and what I relate to this moment.  Except I'm not in Seattle.  I'm still in Virginia.  And I've definitely had a few sleepless nights.  My favorite one?  When I realized I'd used all my comforters and blankets to pack my belongings in the pod, and I stood in my empty room staring at my tiny twin air mattress and thought, how's this gonna work?  And then I got practical and put on layers and used my thick wool coat as a blanket.  Except it kept slipping off all night, along with the cat, who was my true source of warmth, and I really didn't sleep much.  But anyway, it's not Sleepless in Virginia that I want to talk about.  Actually, I am currently Homeless in Virginia.

Today was the day.  I closed that door (literally and figuratively) for the last time.  I signed the papers and handed over the keys.  I read the final number and wished it were being wired today instead of next week (because I've managed to rack up some bills during all this hullaballoo).  And then I drove away.  Little Bo kitty went with my son, Gray, in his truck to spend the day while I ran errands, had lunch with friends, and slipped in a chiropractic appointment (air mattresses plus packing plus bad back equals chiropractor agreeing that I am a "hot mess").

And I thought, I don't have a home.  Not here, and not in Oregon either. Oh, worry you not, I have a place to sleep.  The kindness of friends has been overwhelming...lunches and dinners and a room with a bed, and when I get to Oregon, I've got my sister and her husband to put me up when I need.  But, I don't have a home.  For the first time ever.  It is truly a different and unique feeling.  There is no where to return to.  I, however, am adaptable!  I can sleep on couches or guest beds or foam mattresses or air mattresses or futons.  It's all good!

Bo is another story.  This poor baby.  He spent all of this morning and into the afternoon wedged behind the toilet at my son's father's house.  I brought him to the friend's house where I'm staying for the next few days, and guess where he went?  Behind the toilet.  Eventually, I thought he might be cold and lonely, so I dragged him out, his claws attempting to find purchase on the tile floor, and brought him into my room, setting him gently on the bed atop that same wool coat/blanket.  I pet him and cooed at him and told him what a good boy he was for a good 10 minutes.  And then I slowly stood up (my back creaking and protesting at the awkward position I'd just been in) and he immediately dove for the pillows and burrowed into them, making a nest cave kind of thing.  And there he's been for about 4 hours now.

I'm a little concerned.  He hasn't had anything to drink all day, and he hasn't used "the facilities" either.  I did coerce him into eating his dinner (which is imperative since I crush his seizure meds into tuna twice a day to prevent said seizures).  But he's dug himself even deeper, and I wonder what I'll find in the morning.  Hopefully not a urine soaked pillow.

And sadly, poor guy, the torture will continue for at least a week.  After several days here, we go on the plane.  This, I am sure, will be traumatic...for me if not for him.  I did ask the vet for sedatives...for me.  Once the long day of travel finally ends, we'll be at my sister's, and then at an airbnb, and then, hopefully, at our new home.  So he's got a lot of pillow-burrowing to do over these next weeks.

I think that he and I represent different ends of the coping spectrum.  We are both experiencing a lot of change and uncertainty in a short amount of time.  We are both out of our element and depending on those who like/love us to make sure we're safe and cared for.  But while I've accepted that discomfort and change will be the feelings du jour for a while, he has not "leaned in" to all of this, to quote Brene Brown, and is suffering from the self-inflicted pain of resistance.  I fear his path will be a lot rockier than mine.  Then again, he doesn't have to do anything but sleep it off while I figure things out, so it may be that his tortured existence these next few weeks is still far less labor-intensive and requires far less mental energy than mine,

Let's Make a Deal!

My head is absolutely spinning. I just experienced the height of modern-day basement sale frenzy over the online posting of all my furniture on a yard sale site.

Holy Moly!

This is not your average yard sale.  And may I say, I have schlepped many a box of knick knacks and boxes from the attic out to driveways and yards and street corners over the years, and you plop your hiney down in a camp chair with a hot cuppa something, and you smile as people slowly drive by to see if you're worthy of their uninterested poking and prodding of your slightly used but unwanted stuff.  And then you get nickeled and dimed to death over pot holders and beach umbrellas and those custom window blinds  you bought that were about an inch too narrow for the window.  And then you spend hours outside, sometimes in the heat, sometimes in the cold, sometimes fruitlessly making a few bucks and then having to haul it all away to Salvation Army in the end, which you could have done in the beginning and only had to lift it all once and had the rest of your day ahead of you.

But this?  This?  It's pure insanity.  Have you tried this?  You post pictures and descriptions of your belongings on a Facebook page and within seconds, your phone is dinging and that number in the toolbar of your Facebook page is counting to 10 and 20 and 30 messages that you have to respond to, and people ask you things like, "will you take $25?" for a solid wood dresser and mirror that you asked $50 for even though it's worth $100, or "do you deliver?  I'm about an hour away"...um, NO.  Or you mainly just get lost trying to track who asked first and wondering what the etiquette is about giving first dibs to people who say they want something, and then don't respond to the answer you just gave them, and meanwhile 5 other people ask about the same item but you have to say, "um, it's not sold, but it's also not available at this moment, can I get back to you?" and then you realize what you just said and you know that there is NO WAY you can possibly remember who you said what to in what order and THEN some lady yells at you the next day because you sold the gardening cart that she said she wanted and then she went dark on you while someone else was like, "hey I'm down the street, can I come pay cash right this second?".

And I'm no slouch.  I tried this once back when I first put the house on the market and did some judicious decluttering to make the house seem more open and appealing.  I learned from my mistakes.  You definitely need to write down who you talked to and how much they offered and when they said they'd come get it.  And you learn to say phrases like, "that's a firm price" or "it's yours if you can come get it today" and "if you can haul it yourself, I'll take that price!"

So I did.  I wrote down every first acceptance and how much we agreed on and the person's name and when they said they were coming to look at it.  And I was working that mouse like crazy responding to every inquiry and saying yes it's available or no it's sold or I'll let you know if the person doesn't pick it up (cause that happens a lot too.  People say they're coming and then...don't.  And you've already taken it off the site and told people it's sold, and so you have to put it back on or reach out to those people you said were in second place in line).  And then you have to remove the picture or mark it as SOLD.  And because I posted on my personal Facebook page AND the online yard sale page, I had to do it twice with each item.

And oh Lord!  The revolving door that was my house this afternoon and evening!  People coming and going and texting me and calling me and the money that exchanged hands!  And just because it rains when it pours, I also had a client drop by and a friend bringing me soup in the middle of it all.

And now it's about 6 hours since I first posted everything, and I've sold 3 book cases, a sectional sofa, an end table, a pub table and chairs, a credenza,  my dining room table and chairs, my entire bedroom set, another bed and another dresser, three standing lamps, an extension cord (!), and a toaster.  I also gave away for free one Humpty Dumpty garden ornament, one piece of wall art created by a four-year-old preschool class in 1993, one white serving platter, and a shoe rack.

And I'm not even done.

I love that technology can help with this process and speed it up and help me accomplish my to-do list, but honestly, I'm exhausted, and I really didn't like getting yelled at over Facebook messenger when someone was more responsive sooner than someone else.  Mostly I'm grateful that I conquered this beast that, frankly, I'd been avoiding due to my anxiety over using technology in the first place, and letting complete strangers know where I live and invite them into my home.  One lady kept looking at things that weren't for sale and asking if she could have them.  Like, for example, my car.  She kept saying, "I really want a car."  Yeah, um, well, see, I'm not selling that, and I kind of want/ need it myself, see...

Let's hope I can find furniture in Oregon as fast as I was able to sell it here in Virginia!