Last night, while the enlightened in the bubble struggled with their facial expressions I managed my despair. In a place where I’m free my hands are tied.
Be the woman my Father raised! Unbending when they can’t countenance strength in anyone but themselves. Find my place here while they lose their own. I am sympathetic, but we lived so long there. Can’t you pay the rent for awhile?
I believe! in my Mother’s strength of will That spirit which is at the heart of the hard work that built Everything.
Are you threatened by the dream? I never have been. We are in a field at the end of autumn but I can still see an unpaved road, over there. I love how the tall grass looks just before the haying, but
I’m walking toward that road. I wish you’d come with me. We could pay the rent together on a bigger place.
Finally, after a time that was an age long and yet passed in the blink of an eye – again – I’m home.
The concept of “home” is an interesting one. For me, it’s a conscious choice, more than a place or building. I have decided that Brooklyn is where I want to be, and therefore returning to it brings a sense of relief – my mind can rest, my body releases its state of semi-alarm.
Of course, my bed, my kitchen, and my things all are very convincing arguments for “home” as a place.
My first morning back in the US was reminiscent of my first morning in Japan – brilliant sun, the day taking off, a desire to go out and do things – yet accompanied by a feeling of displacement, as if I don’t know where I am or how to be here. This is what being in a new place is.
Even “home” feels new. Although I slip quickly back into the muscle-memory of moving around my kitchen, sitting in my desk chair, moving through my space in the dark, there’s a film between me and these things. It creates a sense of unreality, of floating, not quite being grounded; and in a way it’s very exciting.
I know this feeling will dissipate soon, and likely sooner than I’m ready, but for now, I get to enjoy the thrill of a “new” place.
This is the name I give to the side of me that emerges when there is “stuff to see.”
I planned to visit just one temple, and then go to dinner.
I planned to run this particular route – it’s mapped out on my watch – all I need to do is follow the purple line.
I planned to take a much needed break, and just sit, and be.
But then Explore Mode kicks in and I find myself wandering around in circles through winding city streets or forest paths, cameras out in both hands, finding the little visual gems which are my real motivation for running, for traveling.
A building or a boat or a view triggers the switch for Explore Mode and in the back of my brain a little command center starts making suggestions like “you could take the bus back, but why would you when it’s only a 5 mile walk”, and when the rest of me starts accumulating the fatigue of a day’s sightseeing, “but that mountain is right there, you know you want to!”
As addictions go, this need to walk everywhere, push myself physically to simply keep going, to endure and overcome my more sensible limitations, is not the worst one to have. And to date, it hasn’t gotten me into any real trouble.
It’s why I’m here, in another hemisphere, finding the little moments of life that make me happy. And as long as I have an internet connection, a few yen in my wallet, and feet that keep carrying me, no matter how sore, I think I’ll be fine.
Last night, I pulled all the workouts from my training plan into my Garmin calendar. September 25th, here I come. Berlin, city of my rising breath and expanding heartbeat, I can’t wait to meet you again.
Today, the air seems quicker, despite the depressingly cool, stormy rain. A goal is set, and my path to reach it is plotted. Even the next two weeks of waiting, the internal stillness before training begins in earnest, are now charged with the electricity of anticipation. The layering begins again. That happy excitement grows in my mind, and again I’m ready for the physical effort, for the mental endurance.
Whereas before I was restless, untethered in mind, and unfocused in body, suddenly my spirit has whipped around, a magnet swinging wildly to magnetic north. And immediately all that crazed motion is centered, focused. All the energy remains, but I am tremblingly still.
This is not like before, when after my first Half, I didn’t train for my second Half, and deserved my injury. This time, I’m tapped into some part of me that lives for any challenge. The hard training to come brings trepidation, but I move to meet it, this opportunity to prove myself again.
I don’t know if I’m trying to prove myself to me, or to you. But in my soul, all the glory-infused fantasies again rise up and spur me to dream. I have goals that could be unreachable, and so to protect my pride, I’ll keep them inside until I can assess, realistically. But this feeling that anything is possible, that I can become more than even I have ever dreamed, is what being alive is about.
In reality, and in perception. I’ve let it overwhelm me every day with its undeniable weight.
Ahead of me are massive objects. They block the path; Things I do not wish to contemplate, And realities I struggle to subvert.
Growing older now, life brings less levity, Less immediate and infectious joy. I trade resources and time to buy back those feelings, The sensations of true freedom.
Mental freedom, now, is at a premium. Warped with money and lust, The present tense became purposeless a long time ago. The weft of my life is made of materialism. But sometimes sunlight.
The patterns I live are never pure. From time to time there is clarity, however, And I find that my ability to marvel, Is not entirely lost.
He introduces me to new things, And through my exploration of new thought I find old feelings once more.
Ah, my love, is the end to come so soon after the beginning? I hurt you tonight, and nights before. Master of my waking thought, smother me again in you and take away this disquiet. My differences from you could be our strength, if only I could see It. The Future. To be there with you, I accept culpability for the first time. Honey to my poison, give me time to cleanse my love for you.
During the past few months, I have been seriously considering the wasteful nature of my sewing habit. Although the pieces I construct may remain in my closet for years to come and keep me from purchasing (and discarding) lots of trash clothing in the same period of time, there is fabric waste involved in capturing the volume of the curving, complex human form. Many historical Japanese garments were created with next to no fabric waste; narrower bands of fabric were sewn together in ingenious ways, and gathered about the body with a tie or belt. The inherent simplicity in these garments highlights the elegance of the human form, and incidentally provides a comfortable style of dress.
Pleating to achieve form
I had been considering how to create pieces which are pleasing to wear and look at, and that also use the entire length and width of the fabric. As I began sketching through this problem, pleating the fabric seemed to stand out as the most logical solution. Fabric could be gathered in strategic locations, providing structure and shape, while allowing the remainder of the garment to drape over the body loosely. I hoped this would create a piece with inherent tension in its construction, making it an interesting item to wear.
For anyone looking at my wardrobe, it’s clear I have a strong preference for elongated vest-like garments which provide an additional layer of modesty and security in public against unwelcome eyes, while presenting a strong fashion statement. They can be layered over jeans and a plain shirt, or over dressy clothes, and with a well-chosen pair of shoes, elevate any simple outfit to a flowing, eye-catching ensemble worthy of gliding down the sidewalk in. Whenever I start sewing without much of a plan, I end up making something like this, so it follows that my exploration in pleats would lead to yet another long vest.
Back
When I began sewing, I simply took a square of the fabric and started ironing it in different ways to learn about how structured pleats would work. I had never worked with stripes before, and this proved more helpful than difficult, as the lines in the fabric made it easy to keep everything square and crisp. Soon, an idea and a garment began to take shape. As I pinned the flat, folded piece of fabric to my dressform, the curve of the padded hip pushed against the pleats. Suddenly, a flat surface was forced to adopt a new form by the shape of the human body. The pleats of the fabric expanded like an accordion to create a visually compelling series of valleys and ridges. I began designing a jacket in earnest.
Calculations for cutting and folding the various pieces.
In the end, I still threw some small strips of fabric away. These were cut from the bodice back, which was the only piece not made from a rectangle of fabric. The finished jacket is unique and fun to wear, although I will work on a more clever way of constructing the back next time. For now, here is the result!
Today, unusually, I came to Halibut Point State Park for pleasure. I am here as the sun begins to think about setting. It beats strong and hot on the rocks and my skin. At the end of August in Rockport, the chill is usually much more assertive.
On a tranquil ocean, out where the lobster pots & their buoys wait patiently, the water darkens to a speckled, shimmering, steely navy. Its weight and power are frightening, but they lie dormant – those deep forces which plagued Odysseus and sailors past. All I see of this power as I sit here, passive in the scene, is the relentless assault of strong waves on the rocks, themselves strong, defiant. Waves reduce to frothy white salt; glimmering in the sunset, they meld with the rocks. If I watch closely, for half a breath these two forces merge into one. Land is sea, sea is land. They are indistinguishable in their wild battle.
Less noticeable battles rage everywhere like this, all across the landscape. Gypsy moths lay siege to the trees, wind-driven rain and salt destroy wood and concrete. Each battle of the wills of nature is evidence of the changing ecosystem which constitutes our sphere of knowledge.
My job site, the park’s visitor center, stands back from this pool of surging energy. The concrete tower, now with its dark, vacant slots, seeks more to preserve the battle below it than to infringe upon it. The wind and salt fling themselves against it, the sun beats down steadily despite the cool ocean air, and yet it stands still, a silent sentinel, strong as the rocks, changing slowly. It melds, over the years, into one being with the shoreline. It becomes another rock, worn away and shaped by the forces of nature at the same rate as the chunks of granite which make up the shoreline themselves. At least, we can only perceive that much of its lifetime in ours.
Either way, this piece of public land is left to itself in a way which encourages it to be only as it wants to be. The humans who scrabble in the rocks, pursuing idle leisure in the apex of this energy-filled zone, are nothing more than mammals bound by instinct and desire. This will still be here, long after we have forgotten it from our wandering minds. I am captivated by this place, and inordinately pleased to act as preserver here. I do not care whether my design sensibility has been stamped upon this place. It simply does not matter.
We cannot mimic nature, and so the most we can do is give to our intervention the most appropriate aesthetic aspect possible, then stand back and allow it to become what it will be, like we do for the park itself. The battleship grey we chose for the tower speaks in a strong, steady voice to the ocean at its face, and at its back to the flat, cloud-filled expanse of overcast sky. It must be enough. This energy of this place could not possibly belong to us, therefore we must not change it. We must simply, by enjoyment, investment and collective memory, give it the strongest reverence in our hearts.
Sunset has come, and paints such startling pictures on the sky. Streaks of pink radiate from behind a bank of clouds, past a fluorescent, pencil thin edge. All watching with me stand at attention, watching the warmth disappear from view. Then the spell is broken, and the vulnerable retreat quickly. As the dusk deepens, all of nature proceeds, resolute.
The day last year I started running just for me, with no one else in mind, I started enjoying it.
That was also about the time I stopped caring what I looked like while running, or how fast I was moving and if other people were impressed with my speed. It was about the time when I started running slowly on purpose, so that I would be better rested to run again the next day, and the next.
And then it became the time when those extra pounds I didn’t need melted away, and I started gaining leaner, stronger muscles and being mindful about focusing my energy around my core throughout the day.
I began craving clean proteins and veggies constantly, and feeling slightly nauseated at the thought of processed food. I started drinking more water and stopped worrying as much about my dress size.
So then I started dressing just for me, feeling truly happy in my clothes and in my skin for the first time since before womanhood; started being proud to be my shape, my color, my texture, and all the little tangible things I’m made of.
Today I ran over 10 miles. That’s 4 miles farther than I’ve run before, and now I’m proud of myself in so many more ways that aren’t physical. I’m proving to myself the solidity of my own strength, the power of my psyche over my fears, and confirming that sneaking suspicion I’ve had for awhile that I can, in fact do anything I set my mind to.
I run because it empowers me to be the best version of Vigi that there can be. What empowers you?
