Connecticut

This week I took a trip in a solitary way to Connecticut.

It was good and reviving for me to do this thing...to get on an airplane by myself and go to a good place to meet friends (and their new baby). Alli and Seth were generous and easy going about having me there to visit, and were very willing to share their baby too. I had so much fun with them.

I had been a robot teacher for the past month, very solitary in my work and mentally worn out. Winter has felt very awkward to me this year, and I am longing for spring.

But when I cut loose from the moorings of my tired life in Stillwater, and went to Connecticut, I woke up again. I paid attention to new things and time felt different again. East Coast timing met Daylight Savings and a new baby's feeding schedule. I did not just stay with Seth and Alli. I actually encountered a lot of people on this trip. That's why I resonated so clearly with what Anne Morrow Lindbergh writes in 'A Gift from the Sea'.




"Island living selects for me, but it is a natural, not an artificial selection. It selects numerically but not in kind. There are all kinds of experiences on this island, but not too many. There are all kinds of people, but not too many....It's small circumference cannot hold too many people.

I see here people that I would not see at home, people who are removed from me by age or occupation...My island selects for me people who are very different from me - the stranger who turns out to be, in the frame of sufficient time and space, invariably interesting and enriching. I discover here what everyone has experienced on an ocean voyage or a long train ride or a temporary seclusion in a small village. (Stonington, Connecticut!!)

Out of the welter of life, a few people are selected for us by the accident of temporary confinement in the same circle. We never would have chosen these neighbors; life chose them for us. But thrown together on this island of living, we stretch to understand each other and are invigorated by the stretching.
 
The difficulty with big city environment is that...we tend to select people like ourselves, a very monotonous diet. All hors d'oeuvres and no meat; or all sweets and no vegetables, depending on the kind of people we are. But however much the diet may differ between us, one thing is fairly certain; we usually select the known, seldom the strange. We tend not to choose the unknown which might be a shock or a disappointment or simply a little difficult to cope with. And yet it is the unknown with all its disappointments and surprises that is the most enriching."

So true.

The last time I traveled to the East Coast, I had, literally, close to 50 people in tow. I was 'Miss Christians from St. Croix Prep', having to announce this everywhere to communicate with people, and the itinerary was packed.

This time at the airport I just sat there and watched people walk by. And sometimes when I wanted to, I wondered about their life. I really liked the idea of being anonymous on the airplane. That was a secret thrill of the trip, after living for so many days feeling so known by teaching. I was sick of people studying me for 6 hours a day as I talked with them about history. This was time for introversion.

This mostly happened, but on the flight to Providence, I sat next to a guy named Steve, who is a snowboarding electrician/tattoo artist. And mid-flight, he struck up a conversation. 
What we did have in common was our age, and a similar view about work ethic....in teaching or in tattoo parlors. We talked about our destinations and arrivals. And he vacillated between saying really ridiculous things to his friends in the seats nearby (obvious guy jokes about the trip) and returning to be very thoughtful and serious with me. I found this to be hilarious and evidence again that men and women talk to each other in very different ways. He told me (in a thick East Coast accent) that I had good skin for a tattoo. Nice and white, which shows color well.

Thanks, but no thanks, Steve from Rhode Island. 
This hour of my life on the plane proved again that when you know some one's story, they are no longer 'other'. Before that conversation, he was the guy with the big scary man, the one to my right who took my window seat. That guy looked like a WAY scarier version of one of the burglars on 'Home Alone'. I boarded late, and for all of my boldness in life, did not want to pick that fight. And so I was, for a time, while reading, trying not to look like a molting bird who had to sit between two smelly men recently returning from snowboarding and partying in Wyoming.

It's always interesting to say good bye to passengers on airplanes. In my introverted state, I did not feel the need at all for a formal good bye with Steve from Rhode Island. Especially because he was in guy mode with his extreme sports friends. But I could tell that there was some loyalty in him that had to address our good conversation. He waited until everyone had their bags and would leave in other directions in the airport, and then gave me good wishes for the trip I was about to have, my friendship with Alli, the new baby, and the East Coast. That was very nice of him, and he got crap for doing this in front of his friends.

More from 'A Gift from the Sea'....this time about inward grace.

"The shape of my life is, of course, determined by many other things; my background and childhood, my mind and its education, my conscience and its pressures, my heart and its desires....I want many things, but first I want to be at peace with myself. I want a singleness of eye, a purity of intention, a central core to my life that will enable me to carry out these obligations and activities as well as I can. I want, in fact, to borrow from the language of the saints - to live 'in grace' as much of the time as possible. I am not using this term in a strictly theological sense. By grace I mean an inner harmony, essentially spiritual, which can be translated into outward harmony. I am seeking perhaps what Socrates asked for the in the prayer from the Phaedrus when he said, 'May the outward and inward man be at one.' I would like to achieve a state of inner spiritual grace from which I could function and give as I was meant to in the eye of God."

Allison and Seth really are great hosts. They've got a rhythm and pace to their own lives that is inviting and not presumptuous in any way. They are thoughtful, and can accept help. And they also treat you like a guest. I love this about them, and I have noticed this in all of my favorite people for a long time. We got into this lovely routine where I would hold their baby while they cooked amazing meals together, and then after, I would clean up.

We bought scallops from Stongington because seafood in Connecticut is certainly not seafood in the Midwest. Though I have been squeamish about seafood in the past, I loved cod and scallops while I was there. I refrained from imagining that it was a muscle recently enjoying its life in the ocean. At least while I was eating.


There were lots of moments where we could play with Grace and sit around and talk. And then there were lots of moments where we loaded her up and took her along with us while sightseeing. While there are a lot of people I know who have babies already, these are generally people I have known in my 20s. With newer friends, I am able to readily accept the trajectory of their 20s something life.

Seeing the new baby of a friend from high school feels way more surreal than I anticipated it would. I fully expect to feel this again when Molly and John have twins in two months. I think it's because in that phase in life you are still very much children together. At 14 we were so open with our thoughts and dreams. And we planned our lives in a very decisive and ignorant way.

All of this to say, I would hold Grace and feel that we had talked about someone like her half of a lifetime ago. And I know that's dramatic. At 14 Alli didn't say, 'I am going to have a baby named Grace and live in Connecticut.' But we did say things like, 'Let's make sure we visit each other, even when we live far away, and do fun things like we're doing now, but with kids. We can just take them with us.' And that is what we were doing.

We went to church on Sunday together and I met all of their people, the ones I hear about in e-mails and who have supported them in the last year. We even went out to dinner with them that night. More interesting people I encountered. We ate at 'The Fisherman' near the harbor, and drank local beer that I knew nothing about. Everyone passed around the baby and we talked about things like the Coast Guard and the Navy (instead of teaching and awkward Minnesota winters).
It was all very interesting to me. I met people who build submarines and others who patrol the coasts, and one person couldn't even answer my direct questions about what he did every day. It was classified. But the Coast Guard officer nearby did say that the job this man in the Navy had was military prep in case of the unimaginable. (Oh. Ok, new topic.)
There was one day when I went sightseeing on my own. Alli and Seth let me drive their car, and I went to Mystic, Connecticut to spend the day in a harbor town. But first, I got a crappy haircut. Honestly, it was probably the worst one I've ever had in life thus far. When you walk into a place and they only stand there looking at you for 5 seconds, saying nothing, the gut reaction says 'Walk back out'. I will know this for future reference. What ensued was a half hour of awkward conversation and my exit with a hair style that reminded me of being an 8 year old.

I kept wondering, post-haircut, on this trip why I kept thinking that I looked like an 8 year old. Why not 4? Why not 10? I certainly had a hair style in the 90s that looked like this at those ages as well. Finally, finally, while driving home to Stillwater, I knew that it's because I read 'Ramona Qimby, Age 8', and when I read it, the book cover looked like this.

Just saying.

I've made peace with it now, and it's not THAT short, and I can make it look like a 26 year old actually asked for this, but it was in no part thanks to this woman. She was so scripted...truly I've never met a more scripted person in my life. She was asking questions in a way that implied she knew that stylists should while cutting hair. But it was all wrong. She was defensive and didn't really like her job (she pretty much told me that) and when I responded to her question about what line of work I'm in, she told me I looked too young for the job. I looked like her daughter.

Generational clash, I suppose, but thanks for the confidence, lady. I can teach children, and that's a rude thing to say. Those statements are more about her than me, and blah blah blah, there's all of the self-talk.   Still, it annoyed me.

Now this is where it gets a little crazy. I know most people would ask for a refund or complain or whatever, but my 'I'm not picking this fight with this weirdo awkward woman' solution was to go to CVS and buy a pair of scissors myself. I actually did this with the full intention of cutting my hair on my own to give myself layers. (She did not.) And I was in the CVS parking lot when I realized I had driven over a screw. Alli and Seth's 2009 Nissan Rogue had a flat tire.

I was standing there, thinking about this, all ready to dig out my AAA card, when a local walked by. He was wearing baggy sweatpants and had a beard like Santa Claus and looked to be about 55. He crouched down by the tire, listened to the sound, and asked me if I had a spare. I told him that it was my friend's car, and he gave me a commiserating look, and then we opened the trunk, removed the stroller, and dug out the spare.

And then, all of a sudden, there he was, telling me about the importance of keeping good tires on a car, the last time he changed a spare, and how in the last year of his life he had lost 160 pounds just by walking around town. He used to be 350, now he's 190. (I congratulated him.) When we realized that the tire was just not coming off without better tools, he suggested a mom and pop shop to me. A place in town that had been run by two brothers for over 50 years. These brothers were both 400 lbs. (I wouldn't miss them, he said.) And then he pointed across the street and said, 'It's right there.'

So I shook his hand and tried to say something that expressed my gratitude for the help, and trucked across the street and met these brothers. They ARE 400 lbs, and were dressed exactly alike. And they liked talking about their shop. The tow truck said 'Frank's'. Frank was their dad. They gave me a fair price, and their mechanic helped me fix my car. 

This mechanic and I, see above...we talked about Minnesota, and he said he'd rather live on a farm than by the sea. Shocking! At least initially. But then I thought about my loyalty to all of the good farmers I know and shared the sentiment. The Midwest is a good place to live a life.

After that I walked around the downtown, going into shops that held books and shells and maritime art, and when I wanted to stand by the harbor and look at the ships and the water, I did that too. The East Coast is beautiful, a place I've never been, but have always wanted to see, and despite a really horrible haircut and the morning stress of damaging a car that I did not own, I had a very nice day. Alli and Seth were extremely NOT stressed about this when I told them too and initially felt really bad for me. WHAT?...a relief.

Then there was the day we went to the ocean. I have wanted to see the Atlantic for a long time. The ocean is so beautiful! It shares all of the best colors and seems alive and overpowering and timeless when it moves. I thought about Roger Williams and all of the colonial people who first saw this land and contributed to what Rhode Island is today. (Hello Chapter 3 in my U.S. History textbook.) I thought of the Native Americans who lived there before them, and then I thought about all of the years and people who have called this place home since then. It's a very different part of the country. My regional history begins in the 1840s. And that's 200 years AFTER these people. On this trip, that felt big.

Alli and I took a bunch of pictures at the ocean, and I took off my shoes and let the water hit my feet. Even though it's March, how could you NOT? At one point, when I was way too dreamy for my own good, my shoes almost got swept away. I had to run after them, and this became really funny to me because of course this would happen. Beach etiquette obviously states that when you're packing up to go, and you pause for one last look at the water, you should probably hold onto your shoes. I did not.

I loved the ocean and I have to go back.  I've been to the Pacific before, and liked it. But seeing the Atlantic felt different. I want a full day to just sit there and watch the waves and be like Anne Morrow Lindbergh when she wrote 'A Gift from the Sea'. And I think that this can happen someday. Maybe not in March. But someday.

It was fitting that I saved this book to read on the plane coming home. I had just been to the ocean, and I soaked in the wise words I again found there. There is a timelessness about good writing that though expressed first in 1955, makes sense in 2012 today. I didn't expect it, but here it was, an older person reflecting about a younger generation, and giving some credit that I didn't even think I wanted or needed. But I did. It comes from the section called, 'A Gift from the Sea Re-Opened'.

" Looking back at a book published twenty years ago, written in the midst of a busy family life, my chief sensation is astonishment. The original astonishment remains, never quite dimmed over the years, that a book of essays, written to work out my own problems, should have spoken to so many other women.
...
What then has a grandmother and widow to give the new generation of women? Admiration, first of all. As I look at my daughters-in-law, my neieces, and my young friends, I am astounded at what they accomplish. They are better mothers than I was and they are the admitted equals of their husbands in intelligence and initiative. They have no domestic 'help' in their homes and yet with vigilant planning, some skillful acrobatics, and far more help from their husbands than any previous generation, they manage to lead enriching lives, including special interests of their own. They go out to work or they study; they write or they teach; they weave or paint or play in musical groups; they are often involved in civic activities. Sometimes they do several things at once.


Are they happy - or shall I say, happier than my generation? That is a question I cannot answer. In a sense, I think it irrelevant. Without hesitation I can affirm that they are more honest, more courageous in facing themselves and their lives, more confident of what they want to do, and mor efficient in carrying through their aims. But, above all, they are more aware.
...
Much of this exploration and new awarness is uncomfortable and painful for both men and women. Growth in awareness has always been painful. (One need only remember one's own adolescence or watch one's adolescent children.) But it does lead to greater independence and eventually, cooperation in action. For the enormous problems of the world today, in both the private and public sphere, cannot be solved by women - or by men - alone. They can only be surmounted by men and women side by side."

Great to see you guys!  Thanks for an awesome trip.