Life goes by so quickly and changes so often that I need to pause and take stock of where I am and how far I have gone on my hero journey, the walk of a lifetime.
This is the story of a man who had no love in his life to a man who changed and realized how much he wanted it and now has more than he ever imagined. I never quit on it; it was inside of me, and I insisted on being heard, getting help, and coming out.
Two things sparked this post.
One was the curious new American habit of accusing people of being treacherous and dishonest for thinking differently than they did years ago, a perfect way to glorify ignorance.
The other was my reading of a quote from Georgia O’Keeffe saying she didn’t need to pay attention to flattery or criticism; she had “settled it” for herself.
I thought that if I were ever to be judged by the things I thought and felt even two years ago, I would be hanged from the nearest Maple Tree.
And I felt that O’Keeffe was speaking to me. Like her, I settled it also, and false flattery and cruel criticism go down the drain for me. She is right; I don’t need either.
That is liberating. I am free at last. My Here Journey has become a spiritual one. The first got me started; the second was cleaning up the mess.
The evolution of American politics from a slow but stable radical history of trying to master freedom to the Circus Horror Tent of American life is now a lesson for us in how not to be and what not to be.
Our country was conceived by the deep thinkers who not only fought the American Revolution but imagined, for the first time on earth, a free culture where people could disagree without hating or killing one another or living in fear.
That part has gotten lost along the way, and the future of this fantastic experiment called America will depend on whether we can get that back – all of us, not just the right or the left.
The human brain can handle more than two choices and two ways of thinking, much more than just a left or right. This, to me, is the death of the American Mind.
The goal of a successful politician has become lying, smearing, triumphing, and being the most offensive hater running for office. John Adams and Thomas Jefferson are spinning in their graves.
I have changed so much that I must stop and think these past few years lest I forget much. That’s what I’m doing this morning. It turns out I’m good at finding love. Love is a kind of addiction, really; once you find it, you can never stop wanting more or feeling more.
So I think about love. I know what it’s like not to have any. Without love, life was an empty black hole for me.
There was no love in my birth household and too little in my first marriage. I never saw real love, felt it, or knew how to find it, recognize it, or find it. I first discovered real love when my daughter Emma was born. I didn’t realize it then, but I see and feel it now.
Then, the Hero Journey. I left the familiar, moved to a mountaintop with two dogs, found magical helpers, eventually had a frightening breakdown, and gradually began to recover, to change and rebuild my life. A therapist told me he had never seen a person in his late 60s change as much as I wanted to change. I swore to myself that I would not die in this loveless way, and dogs were not enough for me. “I’ll never quit on it,” I told him.
I left everything I knew behind and found everything I wanted in my own Tornado – pain, fear, regret, confusion, and a complete loss of perspective.
This week, I did something I have never done in my life. I told a man who was neither a lover nor a family member that I loved him. I couldn’t believe I did that. I texted him, “I Love You.” He texted me back, “Love You Too.”
I told Maria about this, and she said it was a massive step for me. She was surprised.
The man was Ian McRae, my 24-year-old best friend, a young shearer and slate worker who wanted to be a poet and who also wanted to be a musician. He has achieved both things, to my delight and encouragement. He has also become my best friend and an unlikely one.
I was never good at making friends; I now have two or three men to have lunch with, and we are beginning to love one another, but none of us would ever say that. It just wasn’t done when we grew up.
Ian and I come from different places and different cultures and are very different people. He’s a country boy; I will always be a city boy.
Yet we are not different in the heart, where it counts.
We are, in many ways, the same people, and we are grateful to have found one another. We play chess every Tuesday, which means a lot to us. (I won the last two games, heh-heh. It’s getting much harder)
When Ian comes every week, we sit in the living room to catch up and take turns making dinner. When Maria is able, she joins us. We talk for an hour or so, as openly and comfortably as I remember talking to any human other than Maria. I am not his father; I am his friend.
He is a symbol of my ability and determination, right after my breakdown, to find love in my life.
I was almost sure I would never find it again.
I learned to live in slow and difficult steps—with Maria, whom I loved instantly and ultimately, to therapy, which I committed myself to for years and years, to my blog, my photography, my farm, dogs and donkeys, our other animals, to Ian McRae and even, most surprising of all, a loving and fiercely narcissistic young barn cat who loved me and thus helped me to love more things—Zip is one, Ian was another.
I learned how to meditate, look inside of myself, face the truth of myself, and change I didn’t like to see.
I learned from love that each time someone loves me, Zip is great at this.
My heart opens up to something else – the Mansion, the Cambridge Food Pantry, other people, and other things. And how can I forget how love has brought me to one of the passions of my new life, my flower photographer?
I love the flowers, not their names, not the garden. I love them. This reveals itself in my photographs and draws the love of many other people to my blog and pictures. I can’t imagine life without them.
Maria taught me how to accept being loved and how to love back. She is still teaching me. This is the greatest gift of my life.
Suddenly, there is a lot of love in my life. I wanted it, was willing to take significant risks for it, and am finding it in one place after another. I must stop and recognize that I own up to it and accept it as a part of me.
Thanks for following me on this trip. That was a kind of love that I often couldn’t see and didn’t want to see. Love, like Maria’s photography, has helped me to see the world anew.
So has my friend Ian. Back to work.
