Here’s a journal entry I created in March 2021. Good to look back sometimes.
This weekend, I traveled to West Sacramento to spend time with a friend. The plan was loosely based on drinking – beer, wine, Gin & Tonics, and maybe watching a movie or two. While places are starting to open, we agreed that neither of us were comfortable dining indoors nor gathering with crowds of people. The plan was set, and I agreed to drive up after lunch on Friday to be there for a visit to a couple microbrew beer gardens and a sushi dinner (Friday in Lent after all).
My latest movie obsession is White Nights and this weekend, I finally connected why I feel so absorbed by it these days. I feel like the Baryshnikov character. Free from the confines of The Soviet Union for eight years, he suddenly finds himself back in the country with promises of returning to his ‘former’ life. When the proposal is made, he questions why he should be excited by the idea of returning when he deliberately left / defected, as well as the idea that ‘everyone’ is happy about these prospects. During one particular scene, he shouts that he can no longer fly and dives into a seemingly interpretive dance to a banned Russian singer as his former girlfriend watches him and sobs. To me, he is expressing the feelings of being trapped, the agony of not being able to truly fly and be free. The movements are strong and frantic as he moves across the stage showing anger, frustration, agony and sadness, in response to the music, through the dance. It gripped me and I can’t get the images out of my mind. Likewise, when he begs Galina to help him, knowing that he is not able to free himself from the realities that are being wrapped around him, the desperation in his eyes is obvious. He tells her that he had to leave before because he was choking, and he can no longer play their games.
I finally looked up the lyrics of the song by Vystosky. I can see now why they chose this particular one. No wonder they’re both crying by the end of it.
Capricious horses
Russian title: Koni priveredlivye
By the edge, near the cliff, at the very, very limit
I am beating at my horses with my arm, a whiplash in it.
I’m not getting enough air – drinking wind, the fog imbibing,
And I scent with deadly rapture: I am dying, I am dying!
Just a little slower, horses, little slower now!
Do not listen to the sharp whip, it is wrong!
But the horses that I got are capricious ones
I can’t live to the end, I can’t finish my song.
I will let horses drink – the couplet I will sing
For a little bit more I will stand on the brink…
I will vanish – like a piece of dust by wind I will be blown,
In the morning they will drag me in the sleigh through the snow,
O my horses, walk some slower, show a bit of moderation
Just a little bit, prolong my way to final destination!
Just a little slower, horses, little slower now!
Do not listen to the sharp whip, it is wrong!
But the horses that I got are capricious ones
I can’t live to the end, I can’t finish my song.
I will let horses drink – the couplet I will sing
For a little bit more I will stand on the brink…
We are here: nobody comes late here to greet the Lord of Heaven – Then, why do the angels sing with voices so angry and heavy?
Or the bell does shake from weeping, weeping gently, weeping deeply, Or I’m shouting to the horses that they do not run so quickly?
Just a little slower, horses, little slower now!
I pray to you don’t hurry along!
But the horses that I got are capricious ones
I can’t live to the end, I can’t finish my song.
I will let horses drink – the couplet I will sing
For a little bit more I will stand on the brink…
On Saturday, we made our way to an old sugar mill that has been converted into a venue for wineries to sell their products. There’s a lovely courtyard where two food trucks were stationed to provide snacks and several wine tastings were on offer. We picked one and began to explore the various wines in the sampling. A couple next to us overheard me talking about London to the server, asking if I had traveled there before. I explained that I had actually lived there and missed it desperately. We chatted about travel, exploring other countries, in particular Italy and the fact that they were beginning to loosen requirements for tourists to visit. They were in their early 70’s and had both received the vaccine. We explained that we weren’t yet eligible, but anxious to get it as soon as possible so that we could travel once again. As we finished our tastings, we made to go our separate ways, all of us heading towards the food trucks for lunch. Once we picked up our food, they invited us to join them at a small table in the courtyard for lunch. While we were cautious about this idea and reiterated that we were not yet vaccinated, they insisted that they didn’t mind. So, we continued our conversation about their recent move from San Jose to the area, the charity work the woman did for girls in her native Thailand and his native India, and their families. While Amy and the man talked about housing in the area, the woman and I discussed my visits to India and how I always struggled to adjust to the time zone there. I was traveling all over the world at the time and had a formula for immediately adjusting to the time zone that worked everywhere, but India. I couldn’t explain to her why it was and felt a little worried about explaining my troubles with the culture (which may explain why I struggled to adjust being there). I did point out that I tended to have to go there to fire people, and perhaps that was why it was difficult for me. We laughed and I pointed out that while this was a necessary part of my job, it was never easy – if it ever became easy, then I knew it was time to stop. It was lovely and refreshing. How long has it been since I’ve had long conversations with people that I don’t know about the world outside of the US? At least a year.
Afterwards, we did finally go our separate ways and set off for different wineries. Our chosen winery had a small patio behind it, so we sat in the sun and enjoyed another tasting. The normalcy of it and the slow easy pace washed over me and I felt truly relaxed. Driving back to Amy’s, I listened to the 80’s music on her sound system and watched the flat agricultural lands passing by us. Suddenly, I had this horrible sensation, almost like I was suffocating, and the thought burst into my head, ‘I can’t do this!’ I had this desire to leap from the car and run away. I took several deep breaths and wondered what had triggered this reaction. Was it the easy normalcy of the day? The way I could see myself being sucked back into thinking that this is the kind of life that I could be happy living? Lazy afternoons in a primarily white, middle class American suburb? A place where you can go for your mani /pedi, throw on a pretty dress and lazily move from one winery to another, without a care in the world (beyond whether you needed to make a reservation for dinner or just turn up)? Making conversation with those you meet and talking about inane things like home repairs and why there were multiple police cars descending on the local Lowe’s on Friday night?
I’ve lived that life. I’ve been there. The marriage to my high school sweetheart, the two kids and the dog. The buying of house(s) and routine of dealing with the daily grind – home maintenance, jobs, school, activities, the social scene, church politics. Trying to keep up with societal expectations around what you have and who you are that dominated your decisions and goals; and determined how you behaved as well as how you lived your life. The mask of being white, middle class and achieving all those specific attributes and characteristics that spelled success. However, the reality was quite different. Whether through poor choices or the inability to differentiate core beliefs and values from superficial expressions of going along to get along, it didn’t work. Fortunately for me, I fell into the realization – or perhaps was led there, and I got out. It didn’t mean that I had fully embraced my different path, since I fell into another conventional marriage five years later. I convinced myself that I could do the suburban wife thing and agreed to marry once again. It wasn’t long before I had significant regrets at what I’d done. Once again, I convinced myself that I could be what he wanted me to be, when in fact, I cannot deny my true nature. I can put on the mask and play along for some period of time, but in the end, I can’t be the wife, the church lady, the ambitious career-ladder-climber trying to achieve the perfect job level, financial nest-egg and retire at 62-1/2 years old, filling my life with babysitting grandkids, petty little hobbies and golfing or lunching with friends. None of these personas are me, they are all just masks I put on and parts that I perform.
In late 2012, after much trial and tribulation, I finally had my freedom. My youngest had gone off to college and my career was rapidly advancing. I escaped the suburban American life and flew off into the expatriate life in Scotland. Free at last! Still married, I wasn’t technically free at that point, but effectively I was on my own. I could do what I wanted, when I wanted and express myself in ways meaningful to me. While I was still legally married, the distance between us was more than just the Atlantic Ocean, and even when he reluctantly joined me in the UK, I was traveling at such a pace for business, we weren’t together in the same place at the same time all that much. I wasn’t forced to do anything to address our ultimate incompatibility, or the fact that I didn’t love him, for a long time since being married or not had no actual impact on what I was doing at the time. For him, the status of being married was critical, so we kept up the public façade, with a very different story behind closed doors where he continued to try to drag me down into his pit of agony and despair. At that time, I was flying – literally and figuratively. The sense of purpose and value were so strong, it didn’t matter the reality of my personal life. I was doing work I loved with incredible people. I was traveling like I had always dreamed of and going to new countries that I never imagined I’d be able to see, much less work in. Exploring foods, cultures, new businesses – making a difference. It was both liberating and exhilarating. Yes, there were difficult situations and yes, married life was suffocating, and I had conflicts with my husband as well as the people I worked with, but the overall experience was so amazing that I didn’t want it to end.
It all came crashing down in 2018. By January of that year, I could see the writing on the wall. I spent a business trip with my boss where we both recognized that the current state wasn’t sustainable. Neither of us were happy with the direction of the company, and both of us were dealing with the fact that our short time together was ending. He had greater ties binding him to the company as well as the flexibility of being on a ‘better’ visa that didn’t require him to leave the country if he left the company. I felt greater sadness at the realization that I would soon be forced to go back to the States since my visa was tied to my employment and not at all easy to move to another company. Could I have tried to find another position that would keep me in the UK? Perhaps, but I knew intuitively that my flight was ending and nothing I could do would prevent the inevitable plane crash. While I could try to fight it, I knew there was no point. Better to focus on getting the best possible parachute and trying to determine how to cut ties all around so that I could start over and fly again another day.
While I accepted the return as unavoidable, it doesn’t mean that I was happy about it. So many things came to an end in 2018 that I’m surprised I wasn’t crushed entirely. Of course, the old saying, ‘things could be worse’ comes to mind. I wasn’t destitute, I didn’t have to sell everything and move in with my daughter or sisters, I wasn’t thrown out on the streets. Rather, most of the significant relationships in my life ended or changed dramatically, I hurt my knee so I couldn’t run, and I was caged by a global pandemic and prevented from flying for a time. I am still optimistic that the best is yet to come, and while I am trapped here now, there will be another chance to feel the wind beneath my wings. Through experience, I know that being tied down from time to time isn’t forever. It can feel suffocating, and I must resist the urge to run or to give into the ‘American Dream,’ but there will be another chapter. I am certain of it. I do not need to accept the social norms now, any more than I ever have in the past.
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