Travel

I just started the Reverb 10 writing prompt "online initiative." They send a writing prompt every day, and you write about it. I found out about it through Sweet and Salty's blog.

The prompt for December 22 is:

Travel. How did you travel in 2010? How and/or where would you like to travel next year? 

I'm not sure how to define "travel"? Is it only travel if I sleep somewhere else for a night? Or perhaps if it would have been advisable to sleep somewhere else for a night? Is there a certain distance from my house that counts as travel? I'm not sure. We drove to Fargo to go to the charming Red River Valley zoo several times during the summer and early fall. Does that count? Feels like a road trip--an hour on the highway. But I feel like the threshold for "travel" should be higher, though I have to tell you that I LOVE those trips to the zoo and they feel like an adventure because we get to go to the (very small but relatively large compared to Grand Forks) CITY of Fargo. We'd go down a little early in the day to hit the Mexican market that serves chorizo and egg, or potato and egg, or egg and cilantro and tomato tacos. We'd sit out front of the store and scarf them down, and then head to the zoo. I call the weekends "Family Days" with the boy to set them apart from school days as something special. And to remind myself that they are something special.

With regards to more travel-ish travels, I flew to Las Vegas in January for the Society of Personality and Social Psychology conference. It's the big conference for my field. It was nice because I got to see many of my friends from graduate school--both those who graduated before me and those who were still students. Vegas, however, was overwhelming. Next time (if ever) I visit there, I need a firm plan for what to do with my time, otherwise I just walk around confused. It doesn't help that I was trapped in bit of an existential funk while I was there. And five days may be a tish too long for me to spend in Vegas. A three-day max is probably advisable.

A few things really stand out about that trip. First of all, my husband and I were having some serious problems at that time (i.e. he was being a moody prick), and I was having a complete and total (self-absorbed, melodramatic) identity crisis. While in Vegas, over drinks and cigarettes with my friend Steph, I told her about everything that was going on and that I was thinking about seeing a therapist. She said, "do it," and then proceeded to tell me about how she almost lost her shit one year in grad school, saw a psychiatrist, took meds for awhile, stopped the meds when she was better, stopped seeing the shrink a little later, and now she's fine. She said it was really nice to talk to someone. End of story.

Y'all know I have a degree in psychology, right? I mean, not a clinical degree (I can't counsel people, nor would I really want to). I don't deal with disorders, and I'm not going to analyze you (any more than I would have analyzed you before I got a degree, anyway). I'm more interested in how people's thoughts, feelings, and behavior are influenced by other people, and how we navigate our social worlds. Rather than making me more likely to seek help, my psychology background actually makes me incredibly distrustful of the profession. I am not a therapy virgin--I saw a psychologist several years ago, and it was largely unproductive. That was largely due to the fact that I didn't want to change.

When I went bonkers during my dissertation, I saw another psychologist (who I LOVED LOVED LOVED) for a few visits. I wish I could have kept seeing her, but 1) we were moving and 2) she works for the university and her role is really to be a short-term crisis intervention specialist.

As I said, I was not a therapy virgin, but to go and talk about my marriage? And really talk about me? And be truthful? And really try to change the maladaptive behaviors that had become so familiar (and suffocating)? To talk about my father and alcohol (because alcohol was fueling many of our problems and my personal problems)? THAT was an entirely different story.

But because of Steph, when I got home, I called our Employee Assistance Program and went to see a counselor. She had a degree in social work. She briefly mentioned Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing as an option for my anxiety, and I forgave her for it. (There is no empirical evidence that it is any more effective than other, less pyramid-schemey types of therapy and it's essentially just a fancified version of exposure therapy; I may not be a therapist but I know what good science is.) I didn't even tell her that EMDR is bullshit because I liked her. She was a good listener and she asked good questions and I felt good, or at least better, when I left her office.

Here's a dirty little secret about therapy--most forms of therapy are about as effective as any other type of therapy. Within reason. Some of it's just total bullshit, of course. Sometimes the therapy is solid but the therapist sucks. Sometimes you're going to feel better after time passes, regardless of whether you get therapy. For serious disorders some treatments are ABSOLUTELY better than others. Schizophrenics don't respond well to talk-therapy, but many DO respond to drugs well enough to be functional. For most existential crises and relationship snafus, however, it's generally the showing up that matters. It's the telling your story and hearing it fall from your lips to a stranger who asks hard questions that matters. It's the FINDING your story and finding your PLACE in the story that matters.

After a few visits, I hauled my husband and I into a different counselor's office (because you can't see the same counselor as a couple that you see solo) and we went for two visits and that was really all it took to get us back on track. It wasn't a magic fix, but it was the little bit of elbow-grease we needed to get unstuck.

The Vegas trip was also noteworthy because as I was flying out of Vegas, I could see the desert landscape, dusted with snow in the high altitudes, and I started crying. I was so homesick for the desert. Even now, that memory takes my breath away. I kicked myself for not renting a car and getting OUT into the desert for a day while I had the chance.

The third reason that the trip was meaningful is because I was socializing with my grad school friends from the other side of the glass. That invisible barrier that separates grad students from faculty was made real for the first time. Their worries about the unknown land of JOBS were not my worries, and I felt relieved to be on the other side. I still have plenty to worry about, and I worry about jobby stuff all the time. But I've actually been through the interview process and I have actually worked as a professor and no one has figured out I'm an impostor yet. Or if they have figured it out, they don't say anything because they are all impostors too :)  I have one less unknown to obsess about.

The next further-away-than-Fargo trip I took was to drive to Minneapolis in April. I left home early in the morning, drove to Minneapolis, spent $400+ at Trader Joe's, packed it all into the car, and drove home. I count this as travel even though it was not an overnight trip. You may say THAT'S CRAZY and tell me that my shopping trip was "expensive". I am here to tell you that even with the gas money and car maintenance costs, it was still fiscally responsible because food is kind of pricey here, and good food is either non-existent or ridiculously expensive. Also, you cannot put a price on the joy that comes from a pantry full of TJ's goodies. The JoJo's cookies were almost worth the trip by themselves. God I love those things. I also bought $100 in soy milk that would have cost closer to $200 here. I don't drink soy milk anymore, but it was a big win at the time.

I logged 10 hours of driving that day. Totally worth it. And I actually love to drive, so it was really nice to just be by myself, in the car, with my music, for an entire day. Spring was springing and it was a nice adventure. Plus, TRADER JOE'S, folks...We don't have one here. Oh, you have no idea how much I miss it.

In June, I traveled to my friend Sean's wedding. Sean was one of my best friends through high school and into college. We met at band camp and both loved jazz. He played guitar, and he was good at it. Hell, we both loved music, period. At band camp, we would sneak off to smoke cigarettes together. Once we got to college, we smoked pot together. A lot of it. We *may* have tried other things too. Maybe. I won't admit to anything, but I might wink at you.

We used to get stoned and drive out on backroads in his jeep listening to Bob Marley. I used to stay at his parents house on Wednesday nights because he and I had an early morning class and I lived 45 minutes away.  He took Women's Studies courses in college before he dropped out. He loved that class. We would talk and laugh our asses off hours into the night. I think he was in love with me, but I didn't realize it until years later. I loved him too, but thought we weren't really compatible. I now realize we totally were, but I just didn't know what was really important at the time.

I hated his fiance--now his wife. I hate his life. I visited him a couple of summers ago and was appalled by his lifestyle. People coming in and out all hours of the night. Too much beer. Too much heavy metal music. Too much of her histrionic personality. Too little ambition. I felt a little guilty, because I wondered if he might have been something "more" if we'd become something more. I wanted to visit him again, especially since I was in Phoenix and he was in Prescott and that's a nice little day trip. But honestly, I didn't want to ever be in a room with his lady friend ever again if I could help it.

When he told me he was getting married, my heart sunk. But I bought a plane ticket and went because I love him.

The wedding was at her parents house (a trailer, but to be fair it was a nice trailer on a large plot of land) and featured guests with white power tattoos, someone in a top hat who I think may have been schizophrenic, a lot of canned beer, Led Zeppelin wedding vows, a bunch of religious stuff even though I have NEVER heard him say a word about Jesus Christ in our 17 years of friendship, a potluck, and no soap in the bathroom for washing hands. Seriously? How do you not make sure that there is soap in the bathroom for a wedding? I didn't stay for the potluck.

When I arrived, I felt out of place because I didn't know anyone. Soon, I felt out of place because I didn't WANT to know anyone. I couldn't wait to get out of there. I felt lucky that I escaped to something better. It sounds snobby, but it's how I felt. Lucky.

As I watched him, I realized he was happy and that he loved her. I realized he was happy with his life. I was happy that he was happy and also relieved that he wasn't really "trapped" in any way. She has a son by someone else, and I had worried that maybe he was doing this out of some sense of duty. Nope.

His happiness also made me feel terribly sad because I knew that the fact that he was happy with this and with her meant that we lived in totally different worlds now. I cried when I drove away (after lying about having to return the rental car that night so that I could leave immediately without feeling bad). I cried because I didn't know if I'd ever have a reason to see him again. And I cried because it's true--you can't go home again. I've known this for years, but it felt like the final link to my adolescence was severed.

We debated traveling for Christmas this year, but I really wanted to be in our home for Christmas. This will be the first year that we didn't spend Christmas morning with my in-laws. I love them. Truly, truly, love them. And Christmas at their house is AWESOME especially when all of Hym's siblings come home. I come from a small family that was always grouchy on Christmas, so experiencing Christmas at their house makes me feel like a kid again. But the boy is almost four and I really wanted to do our own thing this year. I looked into flights that would be before or after Christmas (we are blessed to have an Allegiant route from here to there), but they weren't nearly as cheap as the flights that would have kept us there over Christmas.

I am homesick and I miss my family and I miss the desert. But I am also joyous that we will have our own little family Christmas this year, to start our own traditions and celebrate our beautiful life here. It's the first year that we've gotten a tree, and every time I look at it I am filled with comfort and delight. It smells good. There is snow here. I don't think I've ever had a white Christmas... What a treat!

I didn't address the second part of the question about travel in the upcoming year. I'm okay with that.