Monday night I spent some time on FaceBook, going through and making sure that I had necessary personal contact information recorded, birthdays written down, and had answered all of the messages that were still waiting for my in my FB in-box. Then I deleted all pertinent information (which probably doesn’t protect my personal information in any way, but for some reason still felt good and right, as though I was enacting some sort of cord-cutting ceremony), and then with somewhat unsettling easiness, clicked the appropriate button to permanently delete the account. When you do this, you are given two weeks, of during if you log in, permanent deletion is reversed (and you start all over). This, I know, won’t be happening. On Saturday, as I was in preparations for the departure (which were, oddly and honestly, a lot more than one might think), I wrote the following to a dear friend and fellow The-Artist-Way-er regarding my thoughts and experience of the decision (back story–I previously deleted a many-years-long FB account in May of 2010 when taking her The Artist’s Way class in Seattle during Week 4 aka Reading Deprivation Week) :
I am suddenly coming back to that place, but it’s new or deeper or more experienced…than I was at when I took your TAW (The Artist’s Way) class in 2010 when, after reading deprivation week, I really woke up to how I had not been awake, and made the decision to get rid of my smart phone and facebook etc. I can look back now and see how SO present I was in my life after that and how things suddenly began moving in such a clear direction and swiftly (so much more swiftly than I think I was prepared for). That was such a huge gift that I got from the class and I am so grateful to be able to recognize that feeling and understanding that is happening again now (that I had somehow lost when I got back on FB later that fall…how that felt I mean, and the clarity of direction and full trust). When I moved to NYC, I had conviction, but looking back I don’t think I realized at the time, when I arrived here, how scared I was. I had not prepared myself to be “lost” (refering to “A Field Guide to Getting Lost” which I just started reading yesterday, *synchronicity*) and to let that be an okay place to be. I look back and see that I felt literally lost, like I had no bearings and I didn’t know how to get them (I didn’t even know where to get a 4 pack of toilet paper that didn’t cost $5), and instead of letting that be an okay place for me to be, I eventually starting swimming again for the shore. When we moved out here I took this massive step, not a baby step (like Julia Cameron recommends), which wasn’t the wrong thing to do…I just didn’t prepare myself with enough of an anchor within myself (and missed the fact that I needed to do so) before “heading out to sea.” So I reached out for my old anchors, which I’m grateful were there (for sure otherwise, I might have drowned), but now I’ve realized I have and can count on my own. And I can still enjoy and appreciate and visit with all of the other “boats” out there (that have been so conveniently gathered on FB for me as one giant anchor) whenever I want, and despite The Man professing otherwise, I don’t have to stay in the port to do so, and I will get to experience and discover a lot more “sea” if I undo the knot of the rope that keeps me there.
Yesterday was an uncomfortable day as I would say withdrawals reared up knowing I am cutting the cord and standing my ground in not getting pulled in to distractions. That place, like at the beginning of reading deprivation week, were one tends to be and wants to go to the habits, but since they can’t they are sort of in limbo with not knowing what to do. This morning I woke up with “That Feeling” that I immediately recognized again from when I took your class and this beautiful new found refreshing and glorious hope that I had not seen in quite some time.
So this is where I am. Some anxiousness exists in not going to the habit, not unlike when I quit smoking cigarettes, still feeling pulled towards the comforting physical feeling of the action. Also somewhat still in that in-between space where at times I find myself twiddling my thumbs, that place of change that feels good and healthy and right, but is still unknown and unfamiliar because it is not where I am used to being. (Re)Learning to be there and to allow myself to fully dive in and enjoy.
In other news, I had an appointment with an orthopedic surgeon this past Monday. Very unexpected to me, he said I needed to be excused from work until at least April 6. Apparently I also have a herniated disc in my neck, as well as some other thing(s) going on in my arm that I didn’t really fully understand. The good news is the sling is not necessary anymore as it has helped my healing progress as much as it can to this point. This is good news primarily because it has been a huge source of frustration, with me throwing private mini (or not so mini, and sometimes not so private) tantrums in my attempt to complete simple tasks with one arm. I begin physical therapy today, which I am terrified of, and feel unsure that this is even a good idea before my MRI (of which I have an appointment for next Monday). But I am choosing to be trusting and moving forward, and have forgo any thoughts of even considering new or different or any employment (my workman’s comp has been severely insufficient and I have a big fear of re-injury and/or further damage to my body by going back to waiting tables) until my treatment is complete. So for now I am focusing solely on my healing, writing, acting and artistic work.
Regarding lovely synchronistic events, I’ve had some beautiful one-on-one connections since departing from Facebook, which is especially great since wanting such connections was a major motivating factor in the decision of my account deletion. One was with Liz, an elderly woman with a bad hip, who lives on the top floor of our third-floor walk up. She has two cats that look exactly like our cat Dylan (whose pictures she has taped to her front door donning Santa hats) and “hides” three additional cats, that she rescued, in her apartment. As it turns out we actually share a wall and she says she can sometimes hear Jack and I sweet-talking to our kitties. When I apologized for the noise, she insisted that she likes it and that her kitties do, too. She can barely, and definitely not swiftly, get up and down the stairs, but still drives out to Long Island City regularly to feed a community of feral cats that she discovered and also creates for them makeshift shelter. I’ve also had great conversations with the cashiers of my local Trade Fair grocery store on 30th Avenue, to the extent that it feels like old friends or (good) family. Then just last night, Jack and I ventured out into our neighborhood (for the first time in a long time) and ended at this beautiful, brick walled, wood furntiture-ed, candle lit, totally “New York” bar called Sweet Afton. There, we ended up in a fascinating conversation with the table next to us about our latest obsession, Breaking Bad. The couple had been sitting at their table enjoying drinks and playing Scattegories when I heard him say that he was getting distracted and pulled in to our Breaking Bad conversation; I heard “Breaking Bad” and said, “what? Breaking Bad?” and that was the beginning of…well… the beginning.:)
Lastly, while out, Jack and I were talking about how much we love it here in Astoria. There is this aura that is almost like West Seattle, except more alive with diversity, culture, and blue collar energy. Astoria is so deeply embedded in its roots and yet still continuously evolves. But not in the new ugly condo, corporate America kind of way, rather more like the old school, artistic, neighborhood folks kind of way. I love the European cultural aspects, where people of all ages are out late at night on park benches having conversations, and even on the coldest of winter days are still enjoying drinks, coffee, desserts, and good conversation at outside cafe tables, as if the outside temperatures are powerless. I love the accents, the languages, the nuances in behaviors and communication, the abundance of ethnic foods, bakeries, mom-and-pop stores, affordable restaurants, actual trees, the both old-school and youthful feel, and with all of this the still incredible ease and quickness of getting to and from the city. Last night I asked Jack if we could live anywhere, with absolutely no regard to money, would he want to live in our favorite area(s) of Manhattan; and he said no, he would want to stay right here. And I said, me too, even if I were ridiculously rich and/or even famous and could choose absolutely anywhere, I can’t imagine a better place to live. So grateful for the synchronicity and Universal supply and support that led us to this truly magical place.
The Search for my Treasure 