Navigating a New Transition
Prologue: 2018
Three events happened in March 2018 that changed the way I had lived my life until then: my best friend of 10 years moved half-way across the country, I fell in infatuation with a 28 year old Indian actor, and I began posting my prose and poetry on Medium. All three things had an equal impact on what happened next.
Eve of Thanksgiving Eve
I woke up on Tuesday November 20 with a feeling of something having changed. It was like I had a deep exhale in the last moments of my morning dream. It was as if a fever had broken. Indeed, the fever that had broken was not being “in love” with this young actor any longer, and a powerful repulsion to writing. Several poems that I had sent out in the days before were published on that Tuesday, and two pieces (about) the Transgender Day of Remembrance and the Thanksgiving Myth were already scheduled to be published. I answered Harper’s Chalkboard prompt Leftovers reluctantly, after which I deleted the Medium App from my phone. The next three days were spent hosting my loved ones, cooking together, missing the ones who were unable to join us, and making the dogs delirious with forbidden treats. On Saturday, when I was finally alone again, driven by an impulse I could not control, I drove a half hour to a fabric store. Walked in, became overwhelmed, had an anxiety attack, turned right around and walked out, driving home confused at what had just happened and why. But I have learned that whether I know the reasons for it at the time or not, my mind and body are in an ongoing process of healing and I trust that something is changing within.
I’m sure there were dreams that night that I do not recall now. Dreams are often the way my mind helps me resolve questions for which there are no quantifiable answers in my waking hours. On Sunday morning I drove back to the Joann Fabrics and spent two hours walking around the aisles, picking up and setting down fleece for blankets, fabrics for clothing, yarn for knitting and crocheting. These are all crafts I have done in the past, the last time over two decades ago. But standing in the store I could not remember how I had managed to do any of it. It became obvious that other dissociated parts of me had created the baby clothes for my children, sweaters for my then-husband-now-ex-partner, denim jackets and purses for Christmas giving, 25 fleece blankets for the graduating class of my first born twenty years ago. This was a new integration, one I was not expecting. The store manager eventually found me wandering and offered to help. We talked and shared stories of trauma and survivorship as people who survive trauma often do, and the LGBT community, of which we were both a part. Not questioning why, I left the store with several skeins of yarn in a variety of thicknesses, knitting needles, and crotchet hooks. With two books on knitting and crocheting for beginners.
That afternoon I researched videos about using yarn in new ways, discovered arm knitting, tried my hand (haha, really arms!) at it. Took an hour to create a cowl and another ninety minutes to create an infinity scarf, and by the end of the evening I had the hang of it.
Sunday I uninstalled all the social media apps on my phone: Twitter, Instagram, Facebook, Medium. I closed my laptop, and did not open it for good again until the New Year. I was logged onto all my accounts so no doubt it seemed that I was online, but I was not. All that week I began arm knitting cowls and scarves, making several visits to purchase more yarn, finally having settled on the thickness and quality that was working best for my projects. I thought I would just make knitted gifts for my children and my bestie, but the whole thing took off like a monster and….well, more on this later!
Fight Night!
Two weeks after Thanksgiving my fierce friend and trauma informed trainer Patricio “Cachuate” Manuel was booked for his first professional fight with Golden Boy Promotions, owned by Oscar de la Hoya. It was in Indio, California, and I went because I would not have missed it for the world. This required me to navigate my cPTSD and grapple with parts of my own past. I drove down Interstate 10, slowed in traffic due to construction and multiple accidents. Misty eyed, I drove past Riverside and Redlands, both towns that have meaning for me. Passed Palm Springs, Cathedral City, Rancho Mirage — all places my ex-partner has lived without me. Exits for Idyllwild, Joshua Tree — places to which he went on dates two years before our divorce was even finalized. Passed (unnamed here) towns where he has lived with his current wife. So much processing happened as I drove, with tears of anger for him and tears of compassion for myself.
As I sat in a block of sixty people at the boxing ring, all supporters and friends of Pat’s, we cheered and chanted as a group, drowning out the boos and transphobic remarks from the other seats. I cried through the entire fight, thanking the Universe for allowing me to come to the desert to support Pat and forcing me to burn out some of my own demons. The fight felt like a metaphor for my life, how I faced massive odds to win my freedom and my voice, how afraid the opponent who had constrained and neglected me for so many years might perhaps feel of my strength and steel today, how intimidated he might be by my agency and autonomy. But the biggest realization was that if I had been with him, my now ex-partner, I would not have met or known Pat, or have witnessed him make history that weekend as he won his fight! In honor of this discovery Valdemar will henceforth be known as KAV here in my writing on Medium, as I do not fear him any longer.
The next morning I met a young man at the breakfast nook of my hotel, and invited him to join me at my table since he was feasting on his cold cereal alone. We talked for two hours after they had closed the dining area down, way past check-out time! He was on a 3-month work visa from India and was very uncertain about how to live his authentic life, surrounded by people who did not share his vision for himself. I wished I could have told him to meet Indira (they live in the same city) but I did not. I hope that someday he may find ways to manifest his dreams and get in touch with me. I said goodbye to the hotel staff, threw my bag in the trunk and blasted the Bollywood music in my car, singing all the way home!
The Great Yarn Adventure!
During four weeks of November and December I had become adept enough at my knitting that I made over 50 scarves as gifts while I binge watched seven seasons of The Great British Baking Show. I asked for (and received) color preferences from each prospective recipient, estimating the sizes myself. Because most of these are infinity scarves, there was some leeway in how they were draped/fit. They were all shipped and received well before Christmas Day. I have not included anyone in the following photographs whose consent I do not have, but my bestie is one of the folx in these pictures! (You are welcome to guess, but this is not a guessing game).
Eve of Christmas Eve Instagram Post: December 23
In 2010 my dog Bunni adopted me. I had never had an animal companion before and was not learned in the ways they needed to be protected. Just weeks after she came to live with me I was driving close to home in the dark, with a collar and leash around Bunni’s neck as she sat in the front passenger seat with the window down. I don’t know what she saw or heard or smelled, but she jumped out of the window of the moving car, albeit a slowly moving car. Her leash was wrapped around my right arm so she ended up being dragged on the street for several feet. Filled with guilt and terror I stopped the car and carried her into the house. I wiped down her fur looking for injuries but did not have the sense to turn her over. She slept with me that night, and it wasn’t until the next morning when I took her to the vet that I found her paws and belly had been scratched pretty badly. Bunni never sat at the window looking out again unless she was in my daughter’s lap being held, or if the window was up. Both my rear windows are always down when i drive on surface roads because Peeku loves to go between them, hanging her head out as she holds on the the arm rests for safety. But Bunni? Nada.
Two days before Christmas I looked in my rear view mirror and this is the sight that greeted me. As soon as I got home, I reinstalled Instagram and posted these pictures and this message for my family. “Bunni accidentally jumped out of the running car in 2010 and got bad booboos. After 8 years of sitting in the back seat, today she began hanging out of the window again, looking out the front windshield, focused and happy. So much healing is happening for ALL the beings in our little family.”
That is the day I realized I had been missing all of Tracy Aston’s lovely Instagram photographs which I will now go back to admire.
My hands free from knitting, I took on a new project for Christmas. I began making salad dressings! Although I am confident in the kitchen, this was a new adventure. Of the many concoctions I made, the Green Goddess has become a hit and many batches have been made, shared, and consumed. The same thing happened with Quickles (quick pickles) and everyone who tried them has loved them and everyone who has asked for them has received freshly minted jars in the last three weeks. For Christmas dinner with my children I made Spanakopita from scratch after almost 20 years. Not a wasted bite! I thought about DiAmaya and wished I could have shared some with her. Who knows what new adventure lies waiting just around the bend? The sewing machine hiding in the closet has been calling to me with her siren song.
Eve of New Year’s Eve
During this week I walked into a liquor store alone, for the first time in my memory. I felt the need to reclaim anything from my past that I had not decided for myself. It is not that I have not had alcohol before, but when KAV stopped drinking 35 years ago, it seemed ludicrous that a housewife (what an arcane term!) of the Indian diaspora, with small children and a teetotaler husband would buy or drink alcohol! I remembered one of my earliest conversations with Daphelba, which was about food, in which she had mentioned Rumchata. I had no idea what that was three months ago. So on my first foray into AlcoholHeaven I bought a bottle each of Rumchata, Bailey’s, and Kahlua. No straight up bourbon, rum, or tequila. That came later. May I just say that my nightly cup of tea/coffee has been greatly enhanced since this discovery! Although I assure you, it is not enhanced daily. Now I have rum, tequila, and cognac in the house to make toddies, just in case it gets cold outside. One can never be too prepared! Wine, alas, still makes me fall asleep so I am wineless in LA (not Seattle).
Writing/Publishing in 2018
Right around the time this story began, I sent a gajillion pieces of prose and poetry to a literary editor. Last week I received from her several pages of feedback filled with thoughtful insights and measured compliments, plus many new ideas for formatting my work in print. I am now going to begin the arduous task of sifting through what to include in this book (or compile more than one book), and the equally difficult prospect of testing my imagination by envisioning how I wish this book in print to look. Not writing for 2 months that allowed other creative parts of me to resurface has also reawakened the perspective that it matters little if my work finds life in print or not. In the end of life what will be important is whether I healed from my past, whether I was true to myself, whether I learned to become happy. It is possible that writing and posting on Medium is the incubator from which the concrete in print will emerge. Writing is not my pastime or my avocation or my hobby. Second only to having raised my children, it is what gives me joy and gives my life meaning. That is how my writing wishes to be treated: with love and respect, but also with wild abandon.
I have never (not ever!) done a year-end review, even just for myself. This New Years Eve I sat myself down with my Rumchata shot and my dogs and wrote what I had lost or gained in 2018. I made a conscious decision to make joy my priority, as I have done unknowingly in past years. For playing on Medium, this means reading what I wish to, not what I feel compelled to. So I can’t wait to get back to reading humor from Harper, Roy, Jack and Mark and laughing my head off. When reading poems about romance or sexual love makes me uneasy, I will save them for later when I am able to read them, or not read them at all, without apologies. If longer fiction taxes my time, I will set it aside for later. I gained over 70 followers in the 2 months I went MIA but does that effect my writing? Not a bit! Because the reason for new people following me has little or nothing to do with my own writing. It will take me a while to catch up with all the reading I have been missing A Maguire, Julia Kantic, Annie Caldwell, Elizabeth Helmich, edh lamport, Jake Rosenberg, Dennett Zarina Dara 🥀💃🏻…and all the other wonderful writers I have missed, and I may not fully get it done, but I will give it my best effort. I hope to send out new pieces to all my editors… Nicholas Petrone, Kay Bolden, DiAmaya Dawn, Meg, Kathy Jacobs, ottaross, Terijo, Darren Stehle as and when I am able to write again.
Just before New Years Matt Stephen M. Tomic found me privately, checking in to see how I was. I was great and continue to be that way! After I checked in to most of my social media on January 1, DiAmaya Dawn and Tracy Aston found me alive again on FB & IG as well. Now when I have finally opened Medium, I see Zev and Farida Haque were also sending me worried messages. It is good to have folx who check in even in my virtual existence. I don’t know how long I will be here, but I’m back on Medium and surfing on the internet for a bit.
Epilogue: 2019
Last night as I prepared for bed I said, as I do daily, “I love you, Juhi.” Really? said Juhi, even more than you love your children? More than you love Bestie? “More”, said I. “I love you more than I love anyone else, and I love you more than anyone has ever loved you.” Then I placed a kiss on my palm, put it to my cheek, turned on my side, wrapped my arms around myself, and fell instantly asleep.
Thanks to Stephen M. Tomic and the Junction.
