Social Security

 

Peter didn't think he'd live to be 30 and today, he's more than double that age. Why didn't he think he'd reach 30? He did crazy things. Pushed the boundaries of what was safe, what was comfortable...all without giving it much thought. 

Let's see...there was skiing Mount Washington, where you had to bring in everything you needed to hike to the summit, spending the night in a lean-to and jumping off a cliff-face to start your descent, on skis!

There's the dream of living in Africa, that became a reality...twice! And when his poor mother, who had to endure so many of his reckless actions over the years, asked him what he hoped to accomplish by joining the Peace Corps and accepting his assignment in Africa, his response was "I'm going to hunt lion." 

He's the guy who turned over rocks wherever we went. When our friend said, "You keep turning over those rocks, you're bound to find something!"Yup, that was the point!

But it wasn't just to experience adventure in the wild. No. His life was made up of dangerous moves in life, as we know it. Danger followed him whether he wanted it or not. 

An innocent action like making a U-Turn in the middle of Hoboken while an enormous dump-truck barreled toward us, nearly broadsiding my side of the vehicle, sent my life flashing before my eyes. 

Driving down the road in Botswana, a male ostrich bee-lined it to our truck, determined to hit us for no known reason...and he did! Full-body contact against Macallan's side of the Hi-Lux, feathers flying, 7 foot wings flapping, tumbling down the asphalt road! It was horrendous. Then, he got up, shook himself off and ran away as if he had completed his task and was now free to go about his day. What?!?

And then there's the time when he plugged his ears while pumping gas at the gas station here on St. Croix. Some guy had music blasting from speakers. That guy took offense, as if Peter's response insulted him, when in reality, the loud booming triggered Peter's tenitus. White guys have been killed for less. 

Quite honestly, I never know when he leaves my sight, if I'll see him again. Or if I'll see him again, alive. No matter if it's going to the post office or riding his mountain bike or taking his kayak fishing...I never know...

And so, for him to live this long, is a surprise to him...and me. What's ironic is that he'll probably live to 100, as his grandmother and father have most certainly passed on the longevity gene. Both living life to the fullest all the way to 98 and 99! 

And think of all of those years! All of those years where ANYTHING can happen, and it most certainly did. Like the time when we were first dating and we were headed down the shore. There was a traffic jam so Peter got out of the car as I shouted, "Peter, what are you doing? Where are you going, Pete?" He just trudged up to the front of the cars and saw that a guy was pushing a snapping turtle across the road with his foot, but being a turtle, it was taking it's own slow time...well, we had a beach to go to and this guy and this turtle were cutting in on our date, so Peter walked up, picked up the turtle by it's tail and flung it into the creek it was headed for! (Yes, we know now, that could very well have hurt the poor guy. Sorry, fella.) The kids on the side of the road cheered! "Pete! Way to go, Pete!" The cars waiting to proceed honked their horn. And Peter got back into the car and acted like this was a normal thing to do.

As I found out after being with him for over 40 years now, this is the norm. Not looking for danger, but having it find you. I didn't think that was a thing. But here he is, 65 years and counting, so far, so good...

Because life is good. With so many adventures under his belt, there are still so many more waiting to happen. What's amazing about it all is that at this point in his life, he must see that he's being looked after. No matter what daredevil move he makes; confronting a cobra who had eaten all of Macallan's baby bunnies; taking a job as a manager of a game reserve in Botswana; moving to St. Croix hit by 2 Category 5 hurricanes, he was going to be OK. He would live to be 100. 

His mom was terrified of everything. She had lost her father when she was 3 years old, and she feared for her children's lives. So, as a high school guidance counselor, she set them up to be professionals who would live stable, boring, secure jobs while her youngest son dreamed of living in Africa. 

It's OK, Grace, I'd like to tell her. You did good. You instilled your sense of security, he is still that engineer you made him into. But what you didn't know, but I have come to realize is, no matter what we do to try to protect him from himself, danger follows. And lucky for him, so does this magical shield that keeps him from doing any real damage to himself or those around him. 

And do you know why that is? I just found out myself. It's because the universe recognizes the need for those that push the limits of comfort - the brave, the bold, the crazy...and rewards their courage and valor with protection, with security. 

So, happy birthday to the unrelenting madman! Here's to many more years of doing your part to make this a "Cruel, Crazy, Beautiful World"! Go make Johnny Clegg proud!

Practicing Peace

I live in fear. 

Mostly, it stems from my abandonment trauma. It’s inherent. It manifests physically with things like shingles, stomach issues, vertigo. It is emotional in that I feel victimized, nervous in cars, skittish when floating in the sea, an uneasy feeling all around. 

I think the emotional fear could be an intuition. I feel there’s something “bad” that’s going to happen. It sometimes happens to me directly, to someone I know but mostly, it’s a general misfortune that happens in the world. 

For weeks, I was feeling uneasy about floating in the sea. I love it and wanted to keep up with my tan and with my shingles, it was one of the only things that felt good. But while I was excited and happy to see turtles, fish jumping, stingrays, I also felt uneasy about just what was swimming with me. 

I would head to the beach early and wait for Peter. Common sense told me not to swim alone, but with others swimming nearby, I sometimes would go in before he arrived from his bike ride. But in the back of my head, I told myself, you shouldn’t be doing that…why? I didn’t know. 

As weeks went by, I gathered up the courage to admit I didn’t really want to snorkel, even though outwardly, I said, “Maybe next time, we should bring snorkel gear.” We were planning to move to Colorado and I would miss the easy access we had to the water. Thus, the main reason I tried to swim every day. I wanted to take advantage of the sea at our beck and call. 

But something made me nervous and every time someone would bring up snorkeling, I’d feel a dread. So, finally I admitted, "I don’t want to know what is in the water with me.” 

Then, someone died. Was it a shark? Was it a boat? No matter. Something took her arm off and part of her breast. 

I start to hyperventilate just thinking about it. 

The fear subsided…but only slightly. 

Was I anxious because of the ICE incidents that were growing and including none immigrants?
 

I thought so…but then, a person was found unresponsive in their vehicle here on Stx. Was it a murder or natural causes? A week or so later, three people were killed at the dump where RuffStartSTx’s originator goes to feed stray dogs…and one of them was the guy who helps her. I’m certain, he saw something he shouldn’t have so he was killed. Is Katie safe to go there? I don’t think she is. 

So, here I sit in my comfortable little house surrounded by my loving pack and with Peter puttering around in the next room and I feel the fear has disappated. 

But I can’t stop crying. 

I see the heinous acts of violence by ICE and feel every injustice. 

I have been watching the progress of the Walk for Peace and I bawl upon reading shared encounters, seeing photos of the monks and the followers. Why? I don’t know. 

What I do know is that their images and the words of those who are following them give me hope. There are many people who are not hateful, are equally disturbed by this administration and want to affect a change. 

 What I have learned from the words of the monks is that their sacrifice should not go in vain. They are walking 2300 miles not for the spectacle, but to encourage anyone who wants some relief to practice peaceful existence. Let us be present. Give of ourselves. Not harbor resentment, regret, retaliation. 

Trump and his administration spreads anger, hate, fear. Getting mad at their actions just adds to the discouragement and breeds the negativity. Stop getting mad at them and start spreading love. 

Can I stand up to the thugs on Social Media? From our home on this tiny island? Living in fear when there’s little I can do about it? 

No. 

That’s where my fear comes in and why I live with such anxiety. 

With each step, the monks are reminding us not to dwell on the injustices. Instead, spread joy, bring happiness, live in love, live with love, live in the moment and spread kindness and understanding. 

So, that’s what I’m going to do. Do as the monks are doing and focusing on each step, each day, each encounter and bring to them my unique positive energy.  

Peace. Let's promote, propagate, promise Peace.