Time for a “Keeping It Real” post. . .
Why?
Because last Tuesday, I went paddling with my husband. He’s been biking down to the marina and putting his kayak in the water at least twice a week all through the winter. I’ve felt no temptation to join him — nor any guilt, or disappointment with myself, that I’m not — all those rainy or cold days. Following an online workout on the mat I unroll between the piano and the dining table seemed the more efficient option, done in 45 minutes and no raingear required. Never mind anxieties about getting in or out of the kayak from the steep-ish, often algae-slippery boat ramp. (just Keeping It Real: they are small anxieties, but persistent)
But we’ve had a good run of lovely Spring weather (over for the moment, sadly; it’s been raining steadily all morning), and as Paul headed out to the kayak for the third morning in a row, I realized I was a bit envious, possibly even feeling left-out. I have an open invitation to join him, yes, but besides the “small anxieties” involved in getting my kayak into the water, I’m very protective of my solitary time at home. And perhaps also protective of those lists. Homework for Italian class; Working on an assignment for a Sketching class; Writing and sending cards or letters; Finishing a book; Catching up my Reading Journal; Writing a blogpost; Doing a Workout. . .
Still, the better choice on a sunny Spring Tuesday was evident. I invited myself on the morning’s outing, and after a quick breakfast Paul loaded two paddles instead of one into his cross-body case. Bike helmets securely fastened, we grabbed our bikes from their lockers and pedalled the few kilometres to the marina. Unlocked the kayaks, hauled them the few hundred metres down to the water, and locked the bikes up in their place. Honestly, at this point I begin to feel I’ve already had a workout, but no complaints on Tuesday. Blue skies, just the slightest breeze, and surprising warmth in the sunshine.
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| I took a picture of him as he was taking a picture of me. Except that it took me about two seconds and thirty seconds later, my neck was getting sore trying to face his lens. . . . |
And my apprehensions about getting into the boat on the ramp’s decline were quickly stilled, thanks to a recent scrubbing that’s eliminated most of the slippery algae. Paul helped me lower the rudder, its pulley tending to sticky, and then he headed back for his kayak and I paddled mine away from shore, noting with quiet pleasure how quickly the kinaesthetic memory molded my body to the seat’s contours, shifted my weight to match the water’s movement. I felt so comfortable, in fact, that while waiting for Paul to return I took my phone out and made a short video telling prospective viewers where I was and what I was doing.
When we got home, I posted that video on Instagram, and I invited “followers” to paddle with me vicariously on my Instagram Story via photos I’d taken from the kayak as Paul and I paddled out into English Bay. Then, for the 24 hours that the Story was viewable, I fielded responses. Some of these simply expressed pleasure at the sight of our city from the vantage of the water, an attractive skyline backed by snow-capped mountains against a blue sky. Some mentioned being envious, and/or inspired to get themselves to the water soon as well, or just wishing it were possible. And many responses shared their fear of being in or on the water — and remarked on my bravery or athleticism. . . Enough of these responses that I began to picture myself as A Badass Woman! (A Badass Older Woman, which might be even more Badass, right?)
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| See the “meta” here? I’ve got my camera (phone) in my hand in his photo of me, and ditto in my photo (above) of him. |
But if you’ve been reading here for a while, you know how I feel about Badassery. If you missed my ruminations and rants on the topic, you could catch up hereand here. A very brief recap, though, would be that I deplore and resent the idea that we’re either Warriors or Princesses. And when “Princess” is used this way, the term is not referring to feminist revisions (or recoveries) of a Princess’s potential, nor does it refer to any historical or contemporary representations. It’s used to point at those of/among us who appear hesitant, passive, or indulgent — and those who are anxious or fearful by nature or in response to experience.
I’m not sure where my own anxieties and fears around a range of physical, primarily outdoors, activities began (although I know my elementary school P.E. teacher played a big part). I know I regularly biked or roller-skated down an exhilaratingly steep hill toward a busy cross street when I was 10, 11, or 12. . . but also that I only forced myself, at 12 or 13, to jump from the high diving board because my younger siblings were leaping from it gleefully. I managed twice: the first time, I could only climb along the board on my hands and knees, work myself into a sitting position at its end, and squiggle toward a drop — only because we weren’t allowed to climb back down the ladder, and because a line of eager divers were yelling at me to hurry up. I’m not sure why I thought I’d do any better the second time. Instead, I re-enacted the embarrassment. Hands-and-knees, then sit, then squiggle, then drop. Twice in ten minutes, and then never again.
Over the years here, I’ve written a number of posts about experiencing, confronting, and sometimes overcoming fears: hiking heights; solo cycling; solo travel; and, most recently, last September on one of our last regional getaways, ofkayaking Sechelt Inlet just before a storm. Tuesday’s outing was the first time I’ve been out in the kayak since last September, and honestly, I’d forgotten that episode completely, and for the hour we were out on the water I was A Happy Paddler! Fresh, slightly salty air, gorgeous views all around, a variety of watercraft to admire and avoid and weave around, calm water enlivened just enough by the occasional wake of a shuttling Water Taxi.
Even heading back to that ramp — steeper now because the tide had dropped — I wasn’t too apprehensive letting Paul go ahead, get out, drag his boat up the ramp, and then wait at the edge of the water to help me disembark. I expected it to be awkward and was mentally rehearsing the exit, worried a bit about stiffened hips, but my self-talk was encouraging. . . until he introduced a new plan. Instead of lining up the kayak parallel to the water’s edge, he grabbed the rope at the bow and pulled it straight up the ramp. Now, the kayak’s stern was in the water and the boat was on a slant up the hill. My feet were higher up that hill than my back, and I have to tell you, that did not feel like any kind of a power position.
Also, in case you don’t know this, while the bottom of a kayak does have a flat centre strip, that grounded surface is not particularly wide. If you’re sitting in it on land, it will rock in response to your movement. If you have stiff hips (and they will be stiffer after sitting for an hour, paddling) and are apprehensive about placing a first foot onto slippery concrete (slippery sloping concrete; I really want to emphasize the slope again!), and there is a body of thoroughly wet water right behind you. . . . Well, Some of Us get cranky when we’re fearful. One of Us did. . . .One of Us (the one who’s definitely Not a Badass) got very annoyed that someone who was supposed to help us instead set up a tricky test at the end of what had otherwise been a very successful and enjoyable morning.
I did get out of the boat, and I did it without falling over onto the concrete and breaking my shoulder or wrist or elbow (various joints and limbs were possibilities in my panicky imagination), nor did I land back in the water (realistically, that never would have happened, but again, panicky imagination). I did require a hand, and also if I remember correctly, a push from behind at one point, and probably a stabilizing hold as I eventually became upright. It was all very awkward and, I imagined, terrifically entertaining for any onlookers (I imagined many).
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| The sharp-eyed among you might recognize the red sculpture in the photo above as the one featured in this post |
So Words were consequently Had. We Had Words. Who knows? I might have had more words than he did, and some of mine should have stayed in my back pocket (my son’s Grade Four teacher introduced this term to my lexicon: back-pocket language, because she understood that sometimes these words got used on the playground at recess, but it was important to tuck them away in your back pocket when you came back to the classroom).
And the Helper felt aggrieved because he had, obviously (I say that in considered retrospect) only been trying to find an easier way (it took some time, but he has now admitted to me, several times — I might have insisted on the several times — that it was a really dumb idea). . . and, well, I forget where we had planned to pedal to after that, some pleasant café terrace for coffee outside on a gorgeous day, but instead I huffed off home and he went for coffee. . .
He sent an apologetic text an hour later, and we seemed to reconcile over lunch. After all, as he pointed out, it was just a small fragment of an otherwise great morning. . . But. . . Whoops! Did any of you feel that too? Small fragment. Uh. Nope. It would have been a small fragment . . . . If I’d been Badass! Which we know I’m Not! Turns out that small moment was still rankling, probably because it triggered a lifetime of small moments. . . Which, in turn, triggered another prolonged afternoon and evening of marital discord, and it’s even possible that one of us Let the Sun Set on her Anger (except it wasn’t really anger, but fear and frustration). . .
It’s too late to say “To make a long story short,” isn’t it? But I will finally cut to the chase to say that I woke the next morning determined to try again, just as I’d done decades earlier after that first embarrassing drop off the high diving board at the Kiwanis pool.
Happily, a second attempt yielded better results at 60-something than my almost-teen self experienced. The water wasn’t as calm as it had been the day before, but the weather was equally glorious as we paddled east (rather than Tuesday’s west). . . and when we were back at that ramp an hour later, the tide noticeably lower than for my previous extraction, Paul didn’t try any fancy “assists,” nor did I waste time panicking. I doubt I will ever love heaving my lower body through the relatively narrow cockpit onto a relatively irregular or unreliable surface. But I can dial back my subjective assessment of all those “relatively”s and dial up my (reasonable) confidence in my body’s strength and competence and my (also reasonable) confidence that my husband’s subjective assessment is (mostly) working with my safety and abilities in mind.
I’ve bolded the last part of that paragraph to emphasize how non-Badass I am. At least, in my conception of the term. I imagine true Badasses don’t waste time or energy on such calculations. As I wrote in that post about our paddle in pre-storm Sechelt Inlet last September, Enjoyed myself so much . . . that I felt foolish about momentarily succumbing to near-hysteria earlier. . . but also accepting that, given I’m 67 and I haven’t shoved the fears away yet, I might just settle for knowing that this is my pattern, my process.
That slogan “Feel the Fear and Do It Anyway” seems too sloppily general to me, too all-embracing. Surely there are instructive, useful fears; surely some activities one shouldn’t “Do Anyway.” But I concede that “Evaluate your Fear and if it’s not objectively reasonable by measurable standards, Then Maybe Try Cautiously to Overcome It in a Series of Small Steps” doesn’t have quite the resounding ring required to incite action. . . I don’t think anyone’s going to call me Badass Nana anytime soon.
So there you have it. A Keeping It Real post — both on the gritty reality of long-term marriages in which supposedly small incidents can trigger long and unhappy arguments and on the reality of the clumsy and panicky exits obscured by those picture-postcard Instagram images of a Badass Older Woman in her kayak (yeah, sorry, I just can’t keep a straight face when I say this).
I’d love to read your comments on anything here that resonates with you. I’m also thinking about a future post which might consider our collective and individual relationship to fear as we age — and how that affects our physical activity. Thoughts? The mic’s all yours. . . .
Words were HAD!Jesus, Mary and Joseph, as my Irish aunts would say- Man, do I recognize that scenario and the sometimes overpowering need to HAVE them. When what feels quite large to me to then be described as 'a small incident", would most definitely cause me to have to have more words, without doubt. I am not especially fearful about physical things-would not sky dive, ski jump or jump into a pit of snakes, But, if I trusted a person enough to say or show "this scares me' and it went unobserved, or overlooked, or worse yet, minimized. Wow, words WOULD be had…many, many words more than the person who was overlooking, or minimizing my "small espisode" of fear might need to say. I hear you, Frances. Loud and clear.
My fear, (read phobia), of the dentist is immense.Seven times in the last 5 weeks have had to confront that for many uncomfortable sessions in the chair. Been a fair amount of minimizing of that fear by the one I hoped would not. Not a fear for them, you see. It's just a small matter, after all, you see. So they say. Words were H.A.D….then disappointment that, what? I am not allowed any fears, at all, because I handle my life so well and independently most of the time?
Fear is real. We all have our own. I hear you Frances, loud and clear.
Good for you heading out the next day. Think I would have done my exercise at home, read, cooked, and listened to loud music…and carved my own space. You may not be a badass, but you are persitently brave in many ways- and that is plenty good enough.
Typing honestly, but without my glasses, so Lord only knows what this says!
A. in London
A: I was just wondering where you were now, what you were up to, and hoping you were well. Not so great, if you've been in the dentist's chair 7 times in 5 weeks — that sounds close to what I did last summer (two root canals and crowns, ugh!). Horrible, and I hope you're done. That one's a big one for me as well, and I've been known to have tears silently streaming down my face in that chair.
Thanks for the validation and support — he's usually a pretty good fellow and very supportive, but a common-sense approach to fear doesn't always (often?) work.
I have a photo taken last Summer which I received as a Christmas gift as per my request. I am in the foreground, in a kayak along with my son and other family members, on a trip across the channel from Chincoteague to Assateague island. It was a warm but rainy day, in the background you can make out one of the famous wild horses. I was anxious about doing this trip. I had not kayaked in years and then only once before. I wanted the photo to remind my self that at 79 I wasn't done with life yet, I could still challenge myself. Granted my son did a lot of the work, but I was not just a passive passenger. I was proud of myself that day and keep the photo as a reminder. On the other hand after I lost my horse last year I have found myself not wanting to ride again. I was always a nervous and cautions rider, comfortable only on mounts I knew and trusted. Part of me thinks it's fine to let the physical riding go if I want. I can enjoy horses, which I always loved, in other ways. and explore other interests. , Still, I sometimes feel I have lost a part of myself.
I just wrote a whole comment and then apparently then pressed the wrong key only see it disappear. What I said is that I have a photo which I requested as as Christmas gift in 2020 from last Summer. I am in a kayak with my son surrounded by other family members in their own kayaks on a trip from Chincoteague to Assateague Island. I was taken by our guide. It was a warm but rainy day, in the background is one of the famous wild horses. I was very anxious about doing this. I had only kayaked once before and several years ago at that. True, my son did much of the work but I certainly was not passive. I wanted to challenge myself that I was not done yet at 79. In spite of looking waterlogged there is a huge smile on my face. On the other hand sine I lost my mare at age 31 last year I cannot get myself to start horseback riding again. I love horses and there are still ways to enjoy their presence even if not on their back. I was always an anxious, nervous rider and only rode mounts I knew and trusted. Part of me knows it is OK to let it go, perhaps explore other interests in the time I have left. Still, I feel a great loss of who I am. Darby in New York.
I've never been particularly adventurous when it comes to physical activities (other than horseback riding…go figure). I *hate* being pushed or put in the position where I have no choice other than to do something that feels treacherous within my abilities, and yes, Words Were Had. (Though fortunately le Monsieur is not one of those pushy types.)
I'm so glad you were able to recover the joy of being out on the water, and count me as one who is envious. Though I've never kayaked, I have canoed, and that feeling of peace and rhythm as we propel the boat through the water is bliss.
Lovely photos!
Brava Frances! You are brave indeed and you do a lot of things perfectly but,living with a born champion is both wonderful,and sometimes not so much! They are so good that they really couldn't understand the problem,even when they are loving and caring,as Paul is.
I hear you as well-I always need to have a plan,step by step,in case…..and a backup plan,too 🙂
I was not a kind of person who could do sport naturally (as Paul or my ex husband or….a lot of people, really),I was more like a proverbial turtle,but nevertheless I ,sometimes,finished the race first (or,in my case, bow and arrow 🙂 competitions)
Now,more than ever,I need to know in advance a lot of things and this is not clear to people with natural gifts- but,I do my best (or my good enough) and I'm more secure and more happy this way
Dottoressa
"A commom-sense approach to fear" often does not work. Truer words were never spoken, Frances.♡ A.in London
You did good! Forget the bad ass – warier mentality, it is not worth the time and effort. A friend has a daughter and she carries this mentality. She's now riding dirt bikes (through mud, no less) and changed her work to tree trimmer and cutting down large trees (suspending herself in a harness). Regarding boating, I've tried it all and have discovered my preference is for sailing on 30 ft. or greater sail boats. Sailing requires knowledge, skill and some experience. Sailing into the wind at a 45 degree angle or seeing a whale dive under the boat is exhilarating. Sailing in Canada is beautiful. For years we took the month of July to sail from ME to Canada. The coastline is beautiful with many fantastic harbors to visit. A sailboat can be similar to a second home, if that interests you. Out at sea is very relaxing and you find yourself in another world, away from the chaos and demands of everyday life. I find this all very appealing.
Each of us has our own set of fears–usually based on past experiences or sometimes based simply on how something feels physically unpleasant to us–to our body. Whether anyone else thinks we should be fearful is entirely irrelevant. I can understand WORDS being exchanged; feeling your fears minimmized (though gather this is not something Paul usually does). I can well imagine a bit of rage at that trigger point. I certainly would not have been sanquine. Good to hear that you (two) have been able to work through it…but I think you needed that back pocket exchange and the additional time it took to sort out your feelings.
I find it funny that there are things I do/have done over the years that others remark on with horror (e.g. lots of solo travel–internationally and domestically; long distance driving/commuting in intense traffic for 30 years; driving more than halfway across country with four kiddos under 9-one a baby-with no other adult present). The latter has provided me with many funny stories over the years (though not quite as funny at the time)–like hearing a tornado warning on the radio while driving one the afternoon across Ohio and then Indiana (what the hell county was I in at the time??), did I mention a son locking the keys in the car? Or the 13" of snow encountered later the same day while driving around Chicago during rush hour. In April. Good times! Ha! So while you probably won't see me in a kayak anytime soon, there are other areas of my life where I'll take a chance. But let it be my choice. Not someone else's. Keep on paddling, Frances. When you feel like it. 🙂
Such an interesting story! OK – I love to think of myself as badass but I only apply it to things like cooking, doing renos and my job 🙂 This post has got me thinking and, in truth, I feel no concern that I have never been a physical risk taker. OK – you might say that doing crazy yoga inversions, back in the day, was bold, but I had props, classmates and a teacher there to spot me as required. And my proprioception and core strength, in those days, were admirable… I really don't judge my wussiness: I will not climb a wall. I will not walk on a roof (and I will have an anxiety attack on scaffolding). I will not contemplate crossing a wobbly wooden bridge. It's a bit challenging for me to imagine the process of getting into and out of the kayak, even as you describe it very clearly, just because I'm unfamiliar with your landscape and I've been in kayaks only a handful of times. Strangely, water is one of the few things that doesn't worry me. I guess it's cuz you can't fall once you're in it? But don't expect me to jump from a freakin' cliff into the ocean.
Is your anxiety at all linked to the falling (like my limbic anxiety over heights is linked to my terror at falling or jumping)? Or is it more that you might hurt yourself in the process of getting from land to kayak? People are always suggesting that I be more reflective about my underlying fears in an anxiety scenario. People without anxiety have time to suggest shit like that. And, btw, all answers are valid, apparently. 🙂 That you almost immediately got back on the horse, so to speak, is laudable. I'd even call it badass!
What a great post… I may be related to you😀ha!! I have fear of water and drowning, but also a husband who loves sailing and can’t do it enough… I’ve coped for 10+ years and have somewhat calmed my fears but they bubble up periodically and I imagine horrible things happening and lash out in panic… wish I would quit it but at 71, don’t realistically think that’s going to happen! I hate docking at various places because I imagine amused viewers watching us come bumping in as I yell instructions 🤪I’m a shy person who doesn’t like being viewed soo a lot of your story resonates! Love your writing!
Darby: Your post worked! And I'm so glad it did — I love the balance in your approach to aging vis-à-vis physical activities with an element of risk/adventure. The push to challenge yourself, at 79, and then also the letting go of horsebacking riding with the loss of your beloved mare. And, too, the admission that even with this balance, this wisdom, there will be sadness as we surrender parts of what felt like our identities. Thank you!
Susan B: So many different kinds of adventure, of adventurousness. Horsebacking definitely counts! And yes, the peaceful rhythm of canoeing, such tranquility. . . I love kayaking even more because of being even lower in the water, almost wrapped in it, plus I don't have to match my strokes to anyone else's and I'm in charge of steering 😉
Dottoressa: Are you kidding me? You're a champion archer as well? What haven't you done, woman?!
Thank you! Junior champion of Yugoslavia 1973
D. / Turtle
A in London: So frustrating,isn't it? If only common sense could do it!
Susan: Yes! I have friends and daughters of friends who do jaw-droppingly adventurous things in the outdoors — and I'm honestly thrilled to see the possibilities for women SO expanded within my lifetime. But most of it's not for me. Lucky you, to have discovered that you love sailing and to be able to get out on the water in a boat that suits you. Wonderful!
Mary: I love this comment — perhaps we're kindred spirits, because I, too, have seen horror expressed at the driving I used to do with my kids in the car. Once, with four of them, the oldest 9, the youngest a baby, driving a fairly remote stretch of 120 kilometres between any service stations, the engine just died and I guided the car, as it slowed, to the side of the road. . . (a recurrent "something in the fuel line" issue, and luckily, ten minutes' rest while I nursed the baby was enough to let it resolve itself. Engine started again and we were on our way).
Yet that didn't bother me nearly as much as facing a steep rocky climb that my kids or husband or friends assured me was "not dangerous at all." Thanks for the solidarity!
I always envied those who were adventurous, up for trying anything, brave. I was never those things. I finally (I think) have accepted that I'm just not like that. I've always been cautious, wary, slow to warm up, an over-thinker, and a scaredy-cat! Yes, I can push myself – but only to a point. I can clearly see, even before trying something, that I'm just not going to like it or be brave enough to try it and that I'll likely find it unpleasant, even though I may wish that wasn't the case. Again, it's just not me. I always wondered, "what's wrong with me?". I have finally accepted that there's nothing wrong with me, those things are just not who I am. I have other gifts – other things that are easy for me, feel natural to me, etc. It takes so long to accept who we are – at least it has for me. I salute your honesty in your posts. Thank you.
I think there are many levels to badass-ness, and that we perhaps minimize ourselves when we do that "yes, but…" construction. I haven't driven long distances with kids as some of you describe, but I have driven across the US twice by myself, which to my surprise is apparently a level of badass-ness that many of my friends and acquaintances cannot imagine. In turn, I can't imagine trusting my life to a kayak in the middle of English Bay (traumatic experience in a pool as a young child left me with something of a terror of deep water, even though I can swim). Badass-ness comes in many forms and I hope we can honor them all.
And hugs on the extended quarrel with Paul – my husband and I don't fight often, and don't have extended spats much at all, but when we do, they're profoundly unsettling – a disturbance in the force, as it were.
I can add nothing but a "Thank you" to an absolutely perfect post.
I don't comment often but want to add one here. In the kayak-World where I live the word on the situation is this….the water is too cold yet to be safe!!! Only very experienced paddlers in wet or dry suits should be out and even then must have a skirt on the hatch. Also a good idea to have practiced a "wet exit" at the end of last season or in a pool over the Winter. So, I say your fear is quite justified….there are very real dangers.
The other thing I want to add is that "Feel The Fear And Do It Anyway" is not just a saying but a whole book by Susan Jeffers about many ways to mange fear
I think you nailed the nub of the matter – fear and frustration which is expressed as anger. So much easier to be angry than to say I'm frightened. Oh my, a whole lifetime of that transposition. Yesterday, for the first time in almost six months, I got on a train and went to York for the day as my silver classes began again after months of closure. I was irritated and grumpy and cross from the moment I woke up and realised that it was due to being anxious about going on trains and into a city that I hadn't visited for a long time, not knowing about timetables or cancellations. The list could go on. But, like you, I carried on. This covid life has changed us in strange ways, always a level of anxiety bubbling away, no matter how we try. A post about fear as we age – excellent prospect.
When I tried to imagine the situation you describe, I realized that, for me, it would also involve a question of power. When I find myself in a storm, in deep water, on a slippery road, in a strange city etc. I can try to collect my strength, knowledge, and experience to overcome the (real or perceived) danger as well as I can. But if someBODY tried to shape the conditions (and thereby my behaviour)or to tell me what to (not) feel, I would get very testy indeed.
Well I think you are a proper "badass not very much older woman," my friend. That steep incline, feet above your head, from a sitting with legs stretched out position, I can't imagine how you ever got out. I'd have rolled out and probably right into the water.
I also recognize the helpful husband whose interventions only make me crankier syndrome as well. Ha. xox
How about that Dottoressa, eh? She is one amazing woman. And stylish.
Kristin: "I really don't judge my wussiness" — I aspire to this, truly! It might have to do with wanting to maintain a certain image as oldest sibling, with youngsters who were naturally closer to fearless. Or to having a partner who's pretty physically competent and confident in most outdoor activities. . . and also to wanting to do many of those activities because, for example, hiking to a great viewpoint or kayaking to a little island for a private beach or whatever is Fun!
And Yep to the falling! Do not like the idea at all, and this is why I am going to wear out the brake pads on my bike way faster than most. . . In my defense, I've actually broken a bone in a fall, so it's not all my imagination 😉 (one fall, two breaks in my fibula, wore a toe to thigh cast for 6 weeks, ugh!)
Coco: That would be really tough, and I think you're a very good sport! (We had a commuter boat for many years, and I used to drive it occasionally — really hate the visibility of docking. (at least I don't have the fear of water/drowning — kudos to you for persisting despite that!)
Jeannine: Self-acceptance, such a gift! And knowing what we like and how much we're willing to stretch outside of that comfort zone and how much not. Brava!
CarolP: I agree. So many ways to adventure or to be bold — even if sometimes that means protecting our preference for staying quiet and secure! I just dislike a certain image that's associated with the word and tends to focus on the physically brave and the socially iconoclastic. . . The marital discord is unsettling. I remind myself that sometimes un-settling (and subsequent re-settling, in a slightly different place) is a good thing. You would know 😉
LPC: Aw, thanks! Means a lot that you think so.
Anonymous @5:43 p.m. Brrrrr! That holds no appeal for me at all! Diehard open-water swimmers plunge in year-round here, sometimes not even bothering with a shorty wetsuit. Not that I would have wanted to get wet the other day, but unlikely the consequences would have been dire — enough marine traffic that I would have quickly been scooped up and we're never far from shore in the bay. . .
Dottoressa: Wow! Impressed! (but somehow not surprised at your range of talents!)
Annie G: Oh, that ride into York was a bold move! So hard for me to imagine, here still debating whether, in a pinch, I'd even hop on a bus. Haven't used public transit in well over a year now. I suppose it will be Badasses like yourself that will begin to normalize this for the rest of us . . . a ways off here, as we can't travel out of our Public Health Region until the end of May, earliest.
Eleonore: Oh yeah, Power came into this equation. And the micro-politics of marriage are ever fluctuating, subtle, and challenging to confront. . .
Sue Burpee: I really appreciated your comment, because I know you get the helplessness/vulnerability I experienced in that position. And you probably also get how much Paul was trying to help but made things worse . . . and the way that pushed us further apart. As my son-in-law texted me yesterday after reading the post, Paul "lowered the guard; he was close to the finish line [of the kind of expedition that my son-in-law knows is always a bit fraught with possibility for mood mishap] and blew it with the change of exit technique."
Still anxiously waiting for it to warm up enough to kayak here. Our paddling is done in a tandem kayak on prairie lakes and rivers (no white water, mind you!) but I can easily visualize trying to exit the boat on a steep incline with feet above the head. I have yet to find a truly graceful way to get out of a kayak even when it's somewhat more level.
Elaine: It's never pretty, is it?! 😉 Hope it warms up for you soon.
This post resonates physically and emotionally. As a lifeguard forced as part of skills maintenance to regularly dive off the high board into the diving well, or off the lifeguard chairs into the shallower lanes, I never got over my fear of heights, a fear that continued to haunt me on ski hills, on suspension bridges, on glass bottom-gondolas, and on highrise balconies. I no longer feel the need to analyze or explain it.
Wish I could say the same for the micro-politics of marriage! Why is it the "helpful" acts/words that often trigger a long-lasting visceral response? Something patronizing (he has analyzed the problem/situation and knows what is best)? dismissive (he need not consult with me since it's so obviously the right response and he knows me so well)? Or am I just being a first-class bitch (he was just trying to help after all)? Doesn't matter. I suspect, as Eleonore noted, it's a question of power.
Belle
That description of being pulled up, of the incline, of the lack of control — it terrified me. There would have been words, oh my. I always admire you for everything you do and kayaking is one of those things. I used to love to canoe, and would like to try a kayak, but fear it as well, with my own lack of upper body mobility. That makes that scene even more terrifying. I can imagine both the urge to help, and the marital dynamics/power dynamics. it is something my George would have thought was helpful. Somehow, both in marriage, and in some long term friendships, it has been the dynamics of "help" that has wrought the most turmoil. I think you are badass, and one can be badass and a wuss. Although I admit I don't get the need to be badasss, or the dichotomy. It strikes me so much as the modern version of the "virgin/whore" dynamic of women's behavior when I grew up. Now there is a long discussion to have over a cup of tea…
Belle: I never thought of the (obvious, really!) possibility that lifeguards might not like diving, might even be afraid of heights. But why not?
As for the micro-politics of marriage — yep! you get it! It's so tough being triggered by what seems petty yet knowing/feeling viscerally that it matters. . . not going to equate it with the micro-aggressions of racism, but it helps me understand how hard those are to expose and confront effectively.
Mardel: I agree — emphatically! Wuss (princess)–Badass echoes Virgin/whore in interesting ways that could sustain a long conversation over tea or wine.