It’s always a surprise treat when my friend Adrena comes into town from Oregon to visit her family and friends. Although she grew up in the area, I only met her through Instagram about 7-8 years ago, when I wasn’t even living here yet. After I returned, we managed to meet up for a few walks on the beach when she’d happen to be in town. Here is a photo she took of me on the pier the first time we walked… one of my very favorites ever.

I’ve written about Adrena before. She had lost her teenage son (and nephew) in a freak RV accident while on vacation…right before Vernon was to go on to the hospice phase of his life. I remember so clearly phoning on the short drive from my hotel to the nursing home one day, as we both shouted in tears at the awfulness that a friend was in such similar pain. Perhaps this brought us each out of our own numbing shock and we were able to express something bigger for a few minutes. I’ll never forget that phone call. Experiencing something so extreme at the same time bonded us in a remarkably deep way. Now when she comes into town once or twice a year, we try to meet for a beach walk  if possible, and its always a very honest, gratifying hour or two—not one precious moment is wasted on small talk.

Yesterday morning we met again. We only had an hour and a half, so I drove to her hotel with coffee and tea and we marched with intention down to the shore. Both Adrena and I are still getting used to living with the post-trauma versions of ourselves.  I’ve been seeing a new therapist who is working with me on ‘redecorating’ my head-space, reframing some mindsets that not only aren’t necessary anymore, but are causing problems.  So the concept of hyper-vigilance (the fight/flight mentality) that we developed in traumatic situations was fresh on the brain for me. Of course, I knew she would be able to relate.  We laughed as we walked, realizing that we are both in places in our lives that we are literally redecorating. I have yet to put more than one piece of artwork on the stark white walls of my new home and she is re-modeling her home of nearly twenty years. It’s okay to take the time to figure out what will serve us best in these spaces as we move into the future…just like its ok to take time to look at our thought-lives and and begin to recognize that much of our coping strategies are not working well for us anymore. For example, we are both becoming aware of the subtle need to be prepared for the inevitable worst all the time. We both struggle with the annoying idea of hope in many ways. We both have a hard time in believing in the best possible future, given that we know so well how the bottom can fall out horribly at any given moment. That’s our experience…so it has become our map. Maybe not a very good map, but one that’s hard to let go of, its been so hammered in to our psyches. It’s quite humbling to acknowledge, to be honest.

HOWEVER….we also have some really great things in common. We both have learned to look for (and find!) the magical moments of connection that bring us joy each day, the small surprises of great beauty that bring us into wonder and take us out of our cynicism. We’ve come to a place of greater appreciation and care of the living people in our lives: our close friends near and far, the children that are still with us. We are grateful for our healthy bodies and try to be active with them. We treasure what good things we have available to us right now. We have learned that life is both/and…not either/or. 

Over our hour together, as we walked and shared notes of how far/little we have come since we’d last seen each other, we gathered tiny treasures that caught our attention.  Shells and sea-glass mixed with bright micro-plastics washed up on the beach.. We found funny toys strewn in the sand and spotty litter. Part of an animal’s vertebrae (we think.)  The natural and the unnatural together. The beautiful and the weird. The right and the wrong. Both/and.

Here is a little still life we made with our collected gifts of the sea. (I especially love the hyper-vigilant army man ready for the possibility of a dinosaur attack—which can CLEARLY happen, here is photo proof!)

“I do not believe that sheer suffering teaches. If suffering alone taught, all the world would be wise, since everyone suffers. To suffering must be added mourning, understanding, patience, love, openness, and the willingness to remain vulnerable.”
― Anne Morrow Lindbergh, Gift from the Sea.