I have enough. I am enough.
Not so long ago, this wasn't true.
When I first returned home from living an adventurous life in eastern Oregon, I was destitute in every way possible: financially, emotionally, spiritually.
I was spent. Broken.
I realized I couldn't face another winter of living in a fifth wheel RV and rarely being warm enough.
But it was more than lack of warmth that compelled me to return home. Despite the companionship of the Mountain Man, I was lonely. It was unrealistic and unhealthy for both of us that he be my only friend.
Back home in the city, I'd had a fulfilling life brimming with community and connection: newspaper reporter, Mighty Woman dragon boat paddler, book group, friends to meet for walking, kayaking, coffee, dancing or other adventures. Before I moved 300 miles to join the Mountain Man, he'd warned me that living in a tiny, rural ranching area would be hard.
I balked. How hard could it be? I've always found community wherever I go.
Not this time. I failed to find community or connection. I was an outsider. A city gal. It seemed I always would be an outsider.
We lived on a ranch seven miles from a burg of 400 people. Amenities consisted of a K-12 school, a postage-stamp-sized post office, a convenience store, a cafe, and a card-lock gas station. We did our grocery shopping and other business in La Grande, 30 minutes north or Baker, 30 minutes south.
I tried to make friends. I tried to find community. But nothing I tried worked, so I stopped trying. I took long walks alone. I swam in Wolf Creek Reservoir alone. I went snowshoeing alone.
My isolation from community grew into loneliness; loneliness grew into discontentment. Then unhappiness. And my unhappiness rubbed off on the Mountain Man. Living away from my community in a 323-square-foot RV turned out to be more difficult than I'd fathomed. Despite our love for each other, it wasn't working.
We'd been happier when we lived apart and met for grand adventures: backpacking to camp among a herd of mountain goats, hiking, spelunking, kayaking, swing dancing, archery, fly fishing, skiing, playing music and singing together.
The day I moved away from him, the Mountain Man and I clung to each other and cried.
Two years earlier, just before I left the city to begin my new life with him, my sisters had thrown me a going-away party. So many friends and family packed into a restaurant to send me off on my grand adventure.
In stark contrast, when I moved back to the city, I did it quietly. No fanfare. I didn't want to draw attention to myself or my failure. In my eyes, I had failed at sustaining a relationship. I had failed at being tough and resilient living in challenging circumstances. I thought other people would see my failure, too, and they'd reject me. So I didn't give them a chance.
I didn't climb back onto the dragon boat with my former team, the Mighty Women. I didn't call my friend, Brenda, and ask her to go contra dancing as we had before. I didn't seek out old friends to karaoke at The Alibi or to take a belly dancing lesson with me.
Instead, I quietly spent time with my family and a handful of close friends. But the rest of the world I kept at arm's length.
Who would want to spend time with me? I asked myself. I'm a failure.
My defeatist attitude thwarted my ability to find a job, which perpetuated my feelings of unworthiness. I applied for many jobs and had first interviews and second interviews, but no job offers came.
Even after moving back home and changing my life again, I was floundering.
One morning I was out of coffee. I needed five dollars to buy a package of coffee to get me through the week, but my checking account was bare.
First, I burst into tears. (I really needed coffee!)
Then I put on my big girl panties to find a solution. I dumped the contents of my wallet on the floor, stacked the coins and began counting. Not enough. How demoralizing to be so broke!
Then I remembered a jar of change I'd found during my move. I dumped the jar onto the floor and began counting the change.
It was enough! A small success.
Eventually, I found some freelancing gigs: writing grants for a food pantry, writing stories for a magazine and the newspaper where I'd been a reporter. It wasn't enough income to live on. After taking inventory of what skills I could monetize, I started a decluttering business. Kind friends paid me to declutter their homes. That helped.
I lived frugally, squeezing every molecule of toothpaste from the tube before I tossed it. I signed up for Medicaid health insurance. I picked up free food from my local Buy Nothing group.
My Subaru's tires kept losing air, so I stopped by Les Schwab to fill them. The attendant who helped me showed me that they were bare. No traction left.
"You shouldn't drive on those tires. It's dangerous."
I called a few tire shops and was shocked by the price tag: $500! Where would I get $500?
So I didn't do anything about it. One morning after arriving at a friends' house for a decluttering job, one tire was completely flat and it had a gaping hole. Before I did any decluttering, my friend wrote me a check for $500 so I could buy tires. I paid her back by decluttering her house over several months.
In gratitude and humiliation, (and more tears) I received her offer of help--and the help of many others. My dear friends, Kathleen and Michael rent me their lovely mother-in-law suite for a very, very reasonable rate. My family gave me Arco gas cards or cash for Christmas and my birthday--and sometimes just because.
About a year after returning home, I continued applying for jobs without success. Then an acquaintance offered me a part-time temporary job at the local community college. Over time, I was given more hours.
Recently I celebrated my two-year anniversary working part time for the college. For the past six months, a steady stream of freelance writing projects have come my way--unsolicited. Opportunity after opportunity has dropped into my lap.
What a difference this work has made in my life! I've paid off my credit card and have kept the balance at zero. I've raised my credit score to "excellent." My checking account has a cushion and I'm building up my savings account. I'm contributing a significant amount of my salary into a retirement account.
I still squeeze every molecule of toothpaste from the tube, but here's how far I've come: I bought two extra tubes of toothpaste when they were on sale.
Like many people, I've faced challenges and hard times. I am certain I will face challenges again. But three years after returning home, I finally can say: I have enough. I am enough.
My successes and my attitude of gratitude have given me confidence again. At last I climbed back onto the dragon boat with my Mighty Women teammates. Gripping my paddle, I reached forward, plunged my paddle into the Willamette River, and pulled the heavy water behind me. Our boat lifted up and glided through the water. I smiled.
The Mighty Woman is back!
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| Finishing an amazing paddle before a midsummer sunset. I'd just surprised a heron, who flew over me, squawking. As the setting sun glinted off the floating homes, I gasped at this magical moment on the river. The Mighty Woman is back, baby! |
