Caren Ware's Blog

July 28, 2010

The Flight…

Filed under: Uncategorized — Caren Ware @ 11:11 pm

Good word for how I have gotten to places in my life…flight. 

A real mix up on the bookings made my son and I have to drive 2 ½ hours to fly out of San Diego, while the flight I got my daughter left directly from LAX.  When in San Diego, there ended up being no flight and the attendant  rushed us on a commuter plane to get to LAX in time to connect, ironically,  on the same flight as my daughter.  All that detour took over 8 extra hours and we ended up on the same 14 hour flight to Sydney from LAX.  The inevitable travel wearies were already setting in before we even left LA! But that’s travel and I thrill in it.  Much the same way I take on the oppressing consequences of being in charge of running races, which are live performances that demand reaction regardless of what happens.  It is not like I can tell the entire pack of runners to come back and start over if circumstances shut down timing equipment…and it happens all the time. It is not like I can control the legs of a travel journey.  They are in motion, a live stage, and I just deal with it.  Much like life.

So I opted to take on the extra challenge of traveling with my kids.  “He who travels alone, travels fastest”. I knew this, but was willing to take the added needs and wishes.  I had been in life flight a long, long time.  And I and my kids  needed to repair some consequences from that.  The combination  of grappling with life and letting them in on that process would set the stage for this continent’s marathon.  We were headed OUTBACK, wherever and whatever that means. My son said traveling with me was always an adventure.  I am sure being raised by me was too. He said I had to see this clip.  Look it up.http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8tTaOAUbI5A  It became the joke line to set of our trip. “See with your eyes, mom. With the real ones.  Not those crazy eyes…the real eyes!”

So 14 hours on a flight.  I was ready to let life’s lessons come pouring in on me.  NOT.  I sat crunched in that seat, numb, unfeeling, emotionless.  I had spent a long time in that state without one brain wave.  I asked my son how long we had been flying.  One hour.  13 more to go.  Wow.  I better entertain something.  So I tuned into thoughtless media and occupied my time with watching an Australian flick “Beneath Hill 60”.  It was actually a good flick, a true story about an OUTBACK man in his late twenties that worked the mines.  As World War I heated up, he felt more and more obligated to enlist and help.  What he ended up doing, was be placed underneath German enemy lines.  He became the instrumental force in digging to the Germans and blowing up their entire hill they were gunning  from. This did not come without being a part of the losses, intensities, beyond frightening years of war.  As life has the greatest of meaning in relationships, the film shared  those and my heart did have emotion.  It over felt every crushing loss of a person.  The film was meant to do that.  And of course, it had the ‘girl’ back home factor.  And back in the day, the man had to ask permission from the parents to “write” to the girl.  To be interested in courting the girl.

 All this had nothing to do with me and; yet, yes, there were feelings in me.  All over the map feelings. I was feeling a lot.  Mostly criminal.  Rat.  Scum.  How could I have turned my back on a marriage.  How could I shut my feeling door on a man who had given me that kind of courting even in a day when that wasn’t done.  My husband had been to Vietnam.  He had a high school sweetheart that had married his best friend while he was away at war.  He had taken a lot of years to get beyond the interruption of Vietnam,  and when I met him he had become a committed Christian, was ready to devote himself to a wife and family, and I was his choice.  He was thirty three when I met him.  I was a serious and focused 19 year old college student.  We decided age did not matter.  And it didn’t.  We set a life in motion and became each other’s devoted marriage mates.  And we struggled, but none mattered.  We had each other.  And we had God’s glue to cement our focus.  I was happy to pour myself into the challenge of making a family, a home, a life worth living for this man.  There was a lot I didn’t understand.  We struggled.  Mainly, financially.  But we were struggling with something else.  A lot of something elses.  I came from a family that… and he had inabilities that and some disability that…  It is all so riddled.  All so mixed up and gnawing, but the pressures of juggling infants and toddlers with barely income, housewifing, becoming the bread winner , trying to stay in the game with education, creating a home based business that would allow me to be around for our kids.  This making us an on the go, on the road family…it was too deep, too personal to even grasp.  It was too confusing, because there are  many wonderfuls  that are far beyond what most ever experience, and yet…the void.  It was there to begin with and  the years piled on to make it something I could no longer avoid.  I had set up some complicated and, yes, some destructive ways to compensate. Yes, grapple.  Grapple.  I  will leave it at that. Overwhelming.  My emotions threw the switch to off and I went back to having my brain stall out at zero.

 Movie over, I tuned into some mindless, slow-moving movie with English subtitles.  It was about 4 very, very overweight guys that had a Japanese restaurant crew train and turn them into Sumo wrestlers in a small Israeli town.  Wow, if that isn’t turning the volume of your brain off.   I still had 9 more hours to kill.  So I started pondering, or brooding.  One of the two.  I couldn’t help, but ponder about a guy that was patiently watching me from the sidelines.  He  was a few years ahead of me in the heartache area of coming through a divorce.  I appreciated his  all-knowing and knowing enough to let me just be…hurt and exploring. I couldn’t let go of the heart-felt loss  of “my voice” whom I had pounced the all to instant, “save me, be my rescue” pressure on by running right into that relationship from a torn apart situation .  It was all too close to the core to even share.  So I turned on tunes and Jordin Sharp rolled out lyrics that said everything for me.  The song ” Tattoo”.  Yes,” voice” somehow I may have rolled all the losses into wanting this one relationship to work like non other. Bet that was deal breaker pressure for any potential relationship. The quick pushing me away produced hundred fold hurt, sincere panic, and desperate emotion which was new and news to this capable, determined, make it succeed, get it done lady. Melt down. I didn’t want to hear that Caren needed to get to know Caren.  I was so lost I didn’t know how to find anything.  Let alone myself.  So “voice” despite the crumpled person you got to watch dissolve through the pangs of divorce,  I will always have you written on my life.  Your shared experiences became windows and doors for me.  I fell into you like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid leaped for their lives in that movie. They were willing to die trying for the chance to live outside of a fugitives life.  An unknown destiny from a cliff into raging waters because what behind them was sure death.  I couldn’t keep living like I had.  I leaped.  For years I had been in flight.  Living like my own emotional fugitive. My relationship with the trainer was a blaring symptom of that.  I adored the man.  I valued his honesty, his willingness to be a life coach, as well as, a physical trainer.  My body came around with his help, but so did my sense of womanhood. That was a story in itself.  My own way ofnot  dealing head on with life had created a mess.  I couldn’t keep running away any more. I was deeply aware that a change was needed. And that kind of change comes from contemplation, peace, resolve, time with self, and a lot of hard work, and yet, a grace to play and a grace to just be and develop. A freedom to enjoy life for what it was and could be.  So this trip to a continent is involving flight, but I think a very different kind for me.  I am soaring into new things instead of fleeing from them.  And, by the way, I am absolutely terrified of the mileage involved in a marathon.  If I ran so tired in an 800m race, what am I going to do plodding along dusty roads in the OUTBACK.  We will only see?

TrackBack URI

Blog at WordPress.com.

%d bloggers like this: