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theartofdreaming1 · 1 year ago

Note

For the weird writing asks and sorry I'm on mobile on the train, can't copy the questions right now but:

4, 15, 16, 35 aaaand 40

Sorry <3

4. What's a word that makes you absolutely feral?

Hmh, I don't know if I really have a specific word like that (or at least can't remember on the spot), but I guess the most recent time I felt like I'd go feral over a word was while watching episode 2 of Pushing Daisies, when we see Ned getting dumped at boarding school and his father's saying good-bye and we get this absolutely cutting narration:

"I'll be back," he lied.

I think I've never felt this strongly over the use of such a simple word as 'to lie" before, but this simple phrase (and word) really felt like a punch to the gut, damn.

15. Do you write in the margins of your books? Dog-ear your pages? Read in the bath? Do you judge people who do these things? Can we still be friends?

No, I can't bring myself to write in books; I once just wrote my name on the very first empty page of a book (I think in pencil, even?) and I have felt absolutely horrible about it ever since (it doesn't help that my handwriting is atrocious). If I want to mark some phrases/passages from a book I'm reading, I write them down on a blank index card (complete with page citation) and put that in the book or I use some tiny sticky-notes 😅

The only exception I've ever made without a guilty conscience was writing the inscription of the ring from LOTR into my edition of Heinrich von Kleist's "Die Verlobung in St. Domingo" ("The Betrothal in Santo Domingo"), which I had to read for school xD

Similarly, I can't even fathom dog-earing any book on purpose! I try to keep my books as pristine as possible, even doing my darndest not to open my unabridged edition of Les Miserablés too widely, lest the spine gets more cracks and becomes even uglier (a very futile endeavour, since it is one of those boring black penguin paperback editions and the book is over a 1000 pages thick and you're inevitably gonna get some cracks in the spine, but I just cannot help myself)

And since I don't like taking baths and don't have a tub in my apartment, I don't read in the bath (I also would be terrified of getting my poor book wet).

But at this point in my life I'm mature enough to take a live-and-let-live stance on these things, so I won't judge people who do this to their books too harshly ;) (I can definitely see the appeal of handwritten margins in books, although the concept of dog-earing a book still makes me wince just thinking of it- but as long as it's not my book, it's fine)

16. What's the weirdest thing you've ever used as a bookmark?

Boy, I'll use anything at hand as a bookmark (although now that I have gotten some of the bookmarks I designed myself printed, I usually have something at hand) and since I'm quite messy, an improvised bookmark can be anything - grocery receipts, return receipts from library books, other books, whole comic book issues, empty envelopes, you name it 😅

35. What's your favorite writing rule to smash into smithereens?

Rules, what are rules? 😉🔨 Honestly, I don't think I consciously follow any rules when I sit down to write my little stories - I just bang my head against the keyboard until the words sound like the story that is lodged somewhere inside my brain;- I once had to take a "Writing" exam in which we had to write a strictly structured 250-300 word pro-contra-essay and it was absolute agony - I like my creative writing to be joyful and free (once it gets past my crippling perfectionism and debilitating procrastination, that is ;)

40. Please share a poem with me, I need it.

I'm always very fond of Emily Dickinson's "Hope":

“Hope” is the thing with feathers - That perches in the soul - And sings the tune without the words - And never stops - at all - And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard - And sore must be the storm - That could abash the little Bird That kept so many warm - I’ve heard it in the chillest land - And on the strangest Sea - Yet - never - in Extremity, It asked a crumb - of me.

#I answer #wurzelbertzwerg #stuff about me

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hvilested · 4 years ago

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Are You a Maladaptive Daydreamer? Here’s How to Quit

Tess in the City

Are you a maladaptive daydreamer? Keep reading. / Photo Credit: Jr Korpa

What Is Maladaptive Daydreaming?

Maladaptive daydreaming is a psychiatric response, often due to trauma. The trend seems to be that it’s a survival technique/coping mechanism that is essentially extreme escapism. Identified by Professor Eliezer Somer, maladaptive daydreaming creates a space where people can escape into their minds while sometimes simultaneously becoming trapped by the coping mechanism which has become maladaptive meaning “not providing adequate or appropriate adjustment to the environment or situation.”

Some of the signifiers that you might be a maladaptive daydreamer; you:

Daydream for many minutes or hours in a way that interrupts your everyday tasks and intrudes upon you actually living.

Find daydreaming a compulsive habit that’s automatic and addictive.

Make facial expressions, pace, mutter, whisper, voice imaginary conversations aloud, cry, or laugh reacting to what you’ve imagined.

Create storybook worlds where you’ve devised all the characters and play them out in your head.

Recycle characters from books, TV shows, or real people from your real life to populate your fantasies.

Are kept awake at night by your daydreams.

Note: Not all of these are necessary to be a maladaptive daydreamer. Frequently, maladaptive daydreamers have a combination of many of the above. What makes maladaptive daydreaming harmful is if it’s intruding upon your day-to-day life and if it’s addictive.

Professor Somer developed the Maladaptive Daydreaming Scale (MDS) which allows daydreamers to rate the severity of their symptoms and gauge the intensity of their daydreams, their ability to control their daydreaming as well as the compulsivity of it as a behavior, the amount of distress they feel by intrusive daydreaming, their perceived benefits of daydreaming, and how much daydreaming impacts their ability to carry out every day activities.

How Do You Interrupt or Quit Maladaptive Daydreaming?

Get to the roots. Treat the trauma. Photo Credit: Jr Korpa

Start Treating the Underlying Trauma

This might not be the quickest method to stop maladaptive daydreaming, but it might be the most effective longterm method. If unhappy daydreamers are more content in their fantasy realms than their everyday life, then it’s important to reflect on why that is. Since maladaptive daydreaming does seem to be linked to trauma in many cases, it makes sense to get to the root of its origins, and treat the trauma. Maladaptive daydreamers can turn to therapy, trauma release exercises you can find on YouTube (the best trauma experts of our time know that trauma needs to be released from the physical body, and it’s best to do this in conjunction with talk therapy and other methods), EMDR, trauma release yoga, other somatic exercises, medication as needed, dance, laughter, community, cognitive behavior therapy, dialectical behavior therapy, healthy dietary changes, abstinence from alcohol and drugs, positive affirmations, positive psychology, spiritualism, and joyous and healthy behaviors. Many trauma survivors who learn to live beyond what’s happened to them use multiple techniques to re-align with their wellbeing.

Identify and Reduce Triggers

It’s important to identify your triggers. When do you start maladaptive daydreaming? Is there a specific time period you usually do it? Do specific tasks like brushing your teeth, listening to music, or taking walks seem to initiate daydreams? Do you find the daydreams are more encompassing when you’re isolated, scared, sad, tired, happy, hungry, energetic? Limit any triggers, and if you do have specific triggers that are unavoidable, use some of the techniques below to interrupt the flow into daydreaming. Remember: just because something has historically triggered you doesn’t mean it has to forever.

Have Direct Open Dialogues with Yourself

Instead of talking to an imagined person in your head, be direct with yourself. You can do this aloud, or in your head, or on paper. Recently as I started getting into a loop, I paused and asked aloud “Do you want to live in your head or in the present?” and then I laughed. I closed the drawer I had left open from some other task, stood up, and returned to this article. Remember to be kind to yourself. Be silly as you correct course. It doesn’t have to be the end of the world that this is one of your challenges. We all develop tools and techniques that allow us to survive, and if they become maladaptive, hopefully, we replace them with healthier coping mechanisms. The fact that you’re reading this article means you’re on course to do just that!

Just because something has historically triggered you doesn’t mean it has to forever. / Photo Credit: Jr Korpa

Switch Gears Into Analytic Action

If you can successfully switch gears into an analytic action, then you may be able to keep yourself there or at least cut the daydreaming short for awhile. According to National Geographic, daydreaming requires the empathetic part of your brain, and engaging with that part of your brain actually disconnects you from the analytical part of your brain (which helps you make reasoned decisions and focus on cognitive tasks, like getting work done). When executive functioning turns on, your empathetic part of your brain turns off and vice versa, so if you can interrupt the empathetic part even by convincing yourself to do five minutes of some task your procrastinating on, that may be enough to lodge you into that task for longer.

Count in a Foreign Language or Recite a poem

Some tasks are so repetitive that they become easy daydreaming vehicles, like teeth brushing. I don’t know if counting in another language works because it interrupts the empathetic part of the brain but when I deviate a daydream while I’m brushing my teeth into specific, focused language then I short circuit the daydream. It might have to do with it also not being possible to maintain two thoughts at once. Maybe this is also why the narrating aloud technique below also works well.

Remember to be kind to yourself. Be silly as you correct course. Photo Credit: Jr Korpa

Narrate Your Actions

One of my techniques to disarming the maladaptive daydream reflex is when I feel myself drifting into another daydream, I start narrating aloud what I’m doing (first person narrative). If I’m putting things away, and I begin experiencing another place, then I might say “I’m picking up this stool. I’m moving this stool across the room. I’m folding this shirt. I’m picking up these socks.” I usually don’t have to do it for too many sentences before I begin to get more grounded in the room I’m actually in. I think it’s also important to bring yourself back to the “I.”

Track Your Time

This may sound extreme, but it works extremely well for me when I remember to do it. Tracking tasks as I’m doing them by the minute grounds me in the present. If I write 8:04AM and that I’ve begun writing next to it, and I begin writing, I might feel myself drifting off if I start playing a song or receive a text that makes me think about something else, but because I’ve already conscientiously thought about time, I’m more likely to return to my time tracking list to keep pursuing my day. So, I will try to do this as specifically as possible while writing minute details to remind myself: oh, this little task I’m doing isn’t actually what I want to be doing, or if I get lost in tasks for too long, time tracking also helps me curb that.

Example:

6:30–6:59: Woke. Brushed teeth. Read some poetry

6:59–7:27: Edited

7:27–7:39: Showered, dressed

7:39–8:44: Journaled, walked for 18 minutes with Nisaa’s book, started eating breakfast

8:44–8:52: Organized files

8:52: Coffee time!

9:00–9:20: Habit Spreadsheet

9:36–944: Ordered Paper and ink for printer :)

9:44-10:32: Work

10:32–11:15: Read

11:15–11:49: Scheduled upcoming events

11:49–1:09: Worked on literary magazine

1:09–1:28: Reviewed goals

1:29: Read

2:00–2:47: Catch up call with a friend

2:47–3:34: Updated some files

3:40–4:12: Organized papers

4:12 — 6:OO: Work

6:00— 6:40ish: Call

6:40ish-7:09: Showered

7:08–7:29: Work

7:29–8:31: Relaxation; read, listened to music.

It may seem an unreasonable way to spend your day writing tasks while you do them but so is imagining yourself in places you’re not and imagining yourself with people you’re not with. I would rather ground myself by taking some extra time to actively stay in tune with how I spend my time than not complete the tasks I really want to get that are important for my work, my writing, my existence! Some other things you might think about if you try this one: write your daily goals at the top of the page that you’re keeping track of your time on (I recommend three big daily goals like Michael Hyatt suggests). That way you’ll remember where it is you want your day to go. I don’t time track every day (I should), but I do find that even doing it for half the day helps me stay on track.

Talk to Your Doctor

Jayne Bigelson and Tina Kelley wrote an extensive piece for the Atlantic “When Daydreaming Replaces Real Life.” Within that piece, they detailed that one of the most effective medicinal treatments for maladaptive daydreaming is an OCD medication/antidepressant called Fluvoxamine. I’m not a doctor, and my first suggestion isn’t typically medication (here it’s the last), but if you’ve tried all other methods, this might be a fair road to take.

We all deserve to be present in our own lives. Photo Credit: Jr Korpa

Conclusion

Maladaptive daydreaming may feel an embarrassing thing to admit you do. I felt a little embarrassed writing this initially, but then I thought about the consequences of hiding. If what helps me can help others, how can I morally be silent? There’s no shame in identifying the methods by which you survived. Learning to be grateful and accepting of what helped you get to where you are creates more ease as you navigate your way out of these mechanisms into healthier states of being.

We live in a traumatized world, and as my therapist once said: “It’s normal to react abnormally to abnormal circumstances.”

That doesn’t mean you have to stay on that course. You can start where you are and learn a new of way of living. And, I will continue writing articles that support your wellbeing. Follow me here on Medium to stay updated on future posts around trauma, wellbeing, and writing. And please, take care of yourself.

#addiction #maladaptive daydreaming #md #mental health #trauma #ocd #intrusive thoughts #depression #stress #anxiety #imagination #be present

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desperationandgin · 6 years ago

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Deep as the Road is Long (Part II, Chapter 16)

Rating: General Audiences

Also Read on: AO3

Previous Chapter

A/N: Surprise! A bonus chapter. I realize I haven't gone through and replied to anyone's comments for the last chapter that was posted. I need to and I will, but in the meantime, I wanted to offer a chapter early as my sincere and heartfelt gratitude. The feedback has been passionate all the way around regarding this story whether readers have been frustrated with Jamie, sad for him (sad for both of them) or firmly on Claire's side. I know I've said this before, but I really didn't think anyone would ever read a story with this specific subject matter; I was just writing it for me. So, I'm really touched and floored at the reception of it all. Here's hoping I stick the landing, and here's to goodbye to Part 2!

Thank you all so, so much from the bottom of my heart. Part 3 begins on Thursday.

December 2016

When the monitors began to pick up the rhythm in which they beeped, when Faith’s breathing changed, Claire knew. She’d yelled, that much she remembers, the screaming for Jamie, for someone to find him. Without thinking, she’d climbed right onto the bed with the little girl, reached out to touch her cheek, to beg her not to go, not yet. There were no life-saving measures performed; that hurdle and those signatures from Jamie to not resuscitate had been taken care of two weeks ago. And so, all Claire could do was hold Faith as she took her final breath, unable to process that it happened, that she was gone. The only sound was the single tone until Jamie thundered in, looking like a complete mad man, eyes wild as he took in the scene in front of him. Never in her life had she felt so much like nothing, trying to apologize while cradling his dead daughter.

Eventually, she’d moved so that he could take over, pulling Faith to his body and crying in a way that was so loud and so guttural Claire thought he might die, too. In the immediate days afterward, she tried telling herself she’d lost patients before, that she’d been the witness to more parents’ tears of agony than she could remember, but even with that thought, she knew this was different. Different because she’d started to fall in love with Jamie and she already loved Faith. The pain, at that time, was unmatched by anything she’d ever felt in her life. Even her husband’s death. When the police notified her of Frank’s accident she’d felt numb, felt nothing for such a long time. When it happened, she couldn’t imagine anything that would ever feel worse.

She learned after Faith’s funeral, there’s always a worse.

She’d been able to feel it, the shift between her and Jamie. Claire knew it was only a matter of time before he told her to go. To his credit, he never said that, exactly.

Your best wasna good enough.

When he said it she’d known he was right; the rest of the fight (could she even call it that?) was a blur to her, registering his words and letting them settle on her heart. After getting on the plane back home, she’d cried (her poor seatmate) until the flight attendant brought whisky minis and an extra pillow. Sleep for the duration of the flight was fitful, but once she was home she’d collapsed in bed and hadn’t moved for twelve hours. The harsh light of day only served to bring into focus what she couldn’t do anymore: treat terminally ill children. Not until Faith died in her arms did Claire realize how many devastating moments she had already been witness to, and couldn’t bear the idea of going through more. She hadn’t stopped second-guessing herself, wondering if she’d done the right thing, if the treatment had been the right course. For an entire day, she’d pored over Faith’s chart and all of her medical records; it did nothing to help, nothing to ease Claire’s mind. She should have recommended surgery or donor stem-cells; anything but what she’d done.

The doubt hadn’t left by the time she returned to work and she knew the second she stepped foot in her office that this branch of medicine wasn’t something she could physically do anymore. That was the day she spoke to her direct superior and decided to take a leave of absence at the hospital, knowing upon her return (if she returned) it wouldn’t be to that wing. All of her current patients and courses of treatment were explained and passed on to the only doctor she knew would give the same level of care - Joe Abernathy. He was a good man, and as they’d hugged, he’d kissed the side of her head, knowing (even if he didn’t know) this last death had done a number on her. With one more sweep of her office, Claire’d left, gone home, and hadn’t returned. She’d always been good with money; it was the one thing her Uncle Lamb had never worried over in regards to her well-being. She had the rest of Lamb’s money to live on for a while, everything she’d inherited when he died, along with Frank’s life insurance money. All she’d done with the latter was pay for the funeral, everything else has been in a savings account, waiting for the day it could be put to good use.

June was spent doing as little as possible, not letting herself drink anymore but not doing much else in the self-care department. Tears seemed to turn on like a switch being flipped; dinner one night was pizza ordered in, and all it’d done was make her sob for two hours before going to bed without eating a single slice.

In July, she decided she wasn’t ready, that going to work wasn’t something she could stomach yet, and so she’d turned in her phone, the phone that technically belonged to the hospital. When she’d finally made the decision to replace it she was asked if all of her contacts should be imported to her new device, if her photos should be. With hesitation, she’d finally said yes to keeping everything; photos of Faith and Jamie. Jamie’s number. She’d kept it all even though looking at the pictures did nothing but hurt.

Finally, in August, Claire knew she couldn’t avoid making an income again, and so she’d applied for and accepted a job as a general practitioner in a pediatrician’s office. Sore throats and objects stuffed in noses, healthy babies at normal checkups, that’s what she could handle. It worked out, it eased her mind, and slowly she fell into a routine again that was hardly living. She existed in the world, and it would have to be enough. She wasn’t making decisions anyone put all of their hope into, she didn’t have to watch anyone suffer because she did something wrong. Weeks passed; she went to work, saw her patients, and went home. Forgiving herself was slow going, but eventually, the pressure in her chest eased just a little.

And then Jamie called.

It was early on an October morning; Fridays the doctor’s office was closed, so she was home when his name flashed on her caller ID. Jesus H. Christ. Mostly, she’d listened after she picked up. His words registered, that he didn’t truly blame her, but the way he’d looked at her when he said it--he’d meant it then. Maybe he didn’t believe it anymore, but he had then. She heard him say she hadn’t let him down around the same time she’d started to cry. He promised to call again, and he had. He’d called the next day, then the next. Sometimes they didn’t say much, just sat on the line with static between them. Other times they spoke in circles around Faith, not saying her name, but remembering.

By the time December rolls around, they’ve spoken every single night since late October, never missing, even if the conversations are short. They FaceTime every now and again, and when her phone rings today, she can see it’s for video. Looking at herself in her phone camera she groans at hair that’s a mess piled on top of her head, the reading glasses she’s wearing and the ratty t-shirt with holes she has on. He’s caught her cleaning, but still, she accepts the call.

“Good morning,” she greets him, holding the phone out. She has to puzzle out what’s filling the screen on his end, tilting her head from side to side before giving up. “What am I looking at?”

Jamie’s face finally comes into view and he sits back. She recognizes the room he’s in, the library at Lallybroch with all of its old books and secrets. “Afternoon, technically,” he corrects for his own time zone. Then, he shows her the book she’d had an extreme close-up of. “I’ve been going through the books, trying to make some sort of catalog so we know what we have,” he explains. “And this one, well. I thought perhaps ye might like it as a gift.”

She can see the author is e.e. cummings and raises an eyebrow. “A gift for me, really?”

“Aye. Because it’s an original edition.”

That gets her full attention, and Claire frowns in disbelief. “Jamie, why would you give that to me? You should keep it. That has to be valuable, or at least mean something to your family.”

He makes a noise in the back of his throat. “I thought that, until I started to read and--” he pauses, looking down at the book in his hand now, swallowing.

“What, Jamie?”

There’s quiet for a few beats before his gaze meets the camera again. “I started to read it and everything reminded me of ye. So, I thought the book should belong to you instead.”

A lump feels lodged in her throat and when she finds her words again, they’re quietly spoken. “Which poems?”

“Och, Christ, dinna ask me that,” he says in a rare show of, well. Not quite embarrassment, even though his cheeks do turn a little pink.

“I can’t take something from your home without knowing.”

There’s a long pause before finally, he opens the book and simply begins to read. She doesn’t recognize the words, but his voice and soothing lilt make her heart, for the first time in months, unclench a bit.

“My blood approves and kisses are a better fate than wisdom. Lady, I swear by all the flowers. Don’t cry--the best gesture of my brain is less than your eyelids’ flutter which says we are for each other. Then laugh, leaning back in my arms. For life’s not a paragraph. And death, I think, is no parenthesis.”

By the time he finishes there are tears threatening to fall from her eyes, and she takes a deep breath, sniffling and brushing any moisture away. “Reminded you of me?” she reiterates.

“I want ye to have it. And perhaps ye could come get it.”

She isn’t sure of what he said, still too wrapped up in the poem. When it registers, she furrows her forehead. “Come and get it?”

Jamie clears his throat, quiet as he waits for it to sink it.

When it does, Claire’s eyes go wide. The last time she’d been to Scotland it changed everything she thought she knew about her life. “You want me to come there?”

“Aye, I do. But if ye canna do it, if I ruined it, if I...what I’m trying to say, Sassenach, is that I dinna want ye to be alone for Christmas. Everyone here would be glad to see ye.”

“You...you would be glad to see me?”

Jamie nods, his gaze intent. “I shouldn’t have let ye leave the first time.”

He’s apologized so many times, tried to make it right, what he’d said, what he’d done. She believes him now when he says she did her best, when he tells her that he knows there was nothing else she could have done. It doesn’t inspire her to pick up where she left off, though. She’s happier now, content to answer the questions of first-time parents and assure them they’re doing just fine. Still, even with forgiveness, she never thought Jamie would ask her back to Scotland, that they would ever share the same space again. She hears herself saying she’ll come, though as she lays in bed that night after purchasing a plane ticket, she can’t quite believe it.

She’d tried, a little more than a year ago now, to wrap her mind around her feelings for Jamie; the attraction was there, no doubt. Now as she lays in bed, she wonders if they fell into one another because he was sad and she took advantage of him as he sought some sort of anchor. If she hadn’t done exactly that, then was Faith the only link between them? Without her, and with her death leaving such a large hole in both of them, would there be anything left with Jamie to salvage? This trip, she knows, will give them both the answer either way.

When she arrives and makes it down to baggage claim she sees him right away; he’s hard to miss, giant that he is. Making her way to him, there’s a moment of not being sure whether or not to hug him before his arms wrap fully around her.

It’s the best she’s felt since February.

“It’s good to see ye, Claire. In person, I mean.”

When he pulls back she immediately feels bereft, but there’s a small smile playing on her lips. “It’s good to see you, Jamie. You look well.”

He walks with her to get her bag, turning his gaze to her. “Speaking of looking well. Were those glasses in the video last we spoke?”

Grabbing her suitcase, she raises an eyebrow. “They were. For reading. I had to bite that particular bullet in September.”

“I havena seen ye wearing them before,” he says, wracking his brain and going through every FaceTime conversation they’ve had since October.

“I never happened to be wearing them. The other day I was cleaning, going through bills and organizing paperwork.”

“Ye should do more paperwork when I call,” he teases lightly, taking her bag from her to carry.

He liked her glasses, and Claire ducks her head a little as she walks behind him a bit, letting him lead the way to his car. It’s still there, she thinks. Whatever it was, the embers are still warm. She remembers how he made her feel, what the guilt was like when he’d told her it was her fault and hers alone that Faith was gone. It doesn’t go away with smiles and conversation, but he is trying to fix it. Day by day, he tries to add another suture to the wound he made. She knows he’s trying, knows he sees a therapist twice a week. He’s trying, and rather than shut him out, her heart tells her not to give up on Jamie.

At Lallybroch, that same sense of family she felt the first time she ever stepped inside envelops her now. It makes her feel connected to something, close to people who’d treated her like family. Instead of Jenny needing to warm up to her, Jamie’s sister greets her like an old friend with a hug, Ian replicating the gesture. The children dogpile her as well; even young Michael who was so small back in May offers her grins and lets her hold him on her hip as they walk to the living room. Claire hadn’t been sure what to expect; everyone still in mourning, maybe because she felt that way for a long while. But there are so many smiles and so much lightness that a peace she’s never been able to find on her own settles against her like a blanket.

This is what healing with family does, and she suddenly, desperately, never wants to let it go.

Instead of staying in Jamie’s room, this time she has her own, and she crashes almost immediately, sleeping through until breakfast the next day. She lets the chatter of family around a table wash over her, and on a walk with Jamie afterward, confesses to him she’s never had that.

Somewhere between the house and the stables, Jamie stops walking, turning to look at her fully before lowering his head. Tentatively, his hand reaches out, index finger hooking around hers. “I ken ye’ve been alone for a verra long time, Claire. I’ve been waiting to say this, was hoping to do it face to face, but…” When he looks at her again, meets her eyes, his own look like a raging sea. “I left ye to go toe-to-toe wi’ the grief alone. I pushed ye away and sent ye home to nothing. That ye found your way out of the dark anyway is a miracle. It took Jenny and Ian both to get me there. So it leaves me to believe one thing about ye.” Raising her hand, he kisses her knuckles before finally letting her go. “You’re stronger than I am, Sassenach.”

There’s a lump in her throat that she can’t quite swallow, and she shakes her head, wrapping her arms around herself. “I’m still in the dark, Jamie. Or at least the shadows. I don’t know anymore.”

“And that’s my fault,” he tells her; not a question. An acceptance. “I’m no’ sure why you're even bothering to give me the time of day, truth be told. I never expected ye to answer the phone when I called, or to keep doing so after the first time we spoke. I can never do or say enough to make what I said right.”

“I changed my entire life because of what you said to me, Jamie.”

“Claire, I--”

“No. No, I need to say this. I need to talk now.” She has no idea where that comes from, but he respects it, and once he nods for her to continue, Claire clears her throat. “I changed my life. I couldn’t stop second-guessing myself, I couldn’t...stop questioning every decision I was making about treatment plans, which meant I couldn’t do my job. And that was your fault.”

His head bows but he doesn’t interrupt.

“It was also your fault that I started thinking about all of the times I might have to go through this again. In my job, the ideal, obviously, is to beat cancer, and I have before. I know I would have again. But one more loss like that...I don’t think I could do it. I don’t think I could go through it and make it to the other side a second time. So, it’s your fault I realized I need to do something different. I need to see the joys of life through a child, not fear and pain and sadness.”

Jamie steps forward when Claire stops speaking, tentatively reaching up to stroke her cheek with his thumb. It’s a light touch, hovering almost. “I hurt ye. And no matter what revelations came of it, that will no’ change. I would spend the rest of my life making it up to ye if I could. If ye’d let me.”

Claire looks at up him, bringing a hand to rest over his that’s still tucked close to her face. “Faith brought us together, Jamie.”

“Aye,” he whispers, slowly moving until his forehead can press against Claire’s. “I will no’ let her be the reason we’re apart. Stay in Scotland. Stay for a while until the darkness is gone and there are no more shadows.”

For a moment her eyes close and all she can do is breathe him in. But she feels herself nodding, nose grazing his.

“Wild horses couldn’t keep me away.”

Through the darkness to the dawn And when I looked back, you were gone. Heard your voice leading me on Through the darkness to the dawn. Love is deep as the road is long And it moves my feet to carry on. It beats my heart when you are gone. Love is deep as the road is long.

Next Chapter

#outlander fic #outlander #jamie x claire #jamie fraser #claire fraser #datril #deep as the road is long #my fic

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humansofhds · 8 years ago

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Laura Krueger, MTS ’17, co-creator of Humans of HDS

“Stories are so powerful: how we tell them, who we tell them to, and to what purpose. They shape and define people and how they understand themselves and others. Truly listening and being present—and conveying and presenting that information someone shared with you well and with generosity—feels like a spiritual practice for me. My goal is always to capture the beauty I see in other people but that they might not recognize in themselves.”

Growth and Influence at HDS

Looking back, I feel that I’ve changed drastically over the last two years, but not necessarily in any sort of “milestone” kind of way. I’ve told people it feels like someone has gone through my brain with a fine-tooth comb: my thinking is clearer, more driven, more assertive. I think that the best way to describe it is to say that HDS has given me the space to become a better version of myself, hopefully on the way to becoming my best self.

It’s so tempting to call out someone specific who’s influenced me here (and there are a lot of options), but instead I’ll just say my peers. I’m constantly in awe of all of the amazing things people are doing and thinking. What they’re learning clearly has stakes for themselves and others, and I’ve appreciated watching people really live into that, whether it’s through activism, how they plan to teach, or whatever kind of ministry they choose to pursue (if they choose ministry at all). But, more specifically, the friendships I’ve made here are some of the best I’ve had; it’s completely cheesy, but I wake up and consider myself lucky to be surrounded by such loving, motivated, and intelligent people.

On Literature

Last year during a particularly difficult period in the semester, a friend and former student introduced me to Mary Oliver’s poem, “Wild Geese.” I’ve always been driven and a bit of a perfectionist, trying to live into certain ideals I imagined for myself. This in itself isn’t inherently wrong, but it has accentuated some anxious or depressive tendencies I have. This poem has helped me re-imagine my place in the world and what I’m meant to do, or how I want to exist on this messy planet. I feel at home whenever I read it (which is often—I used to have it taped to my bathroom mirror).

“You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves. Tell me about your despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. Meanwhile the world goes on. Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across the landscapes, over the prairies and the deep trees, the mountains and the rivers. Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again. Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting — over and over announcing your place in the family of things.”

In addition, one of my favorite memories at HDS was getting to hear Toni Morrison speak through Professor Carrasco’s course “Homeland, Memory, and Apocalypse in the Writings of Toni Morrison and Gabriel García Márquez.” We got to go to all of her lectures and she even came to our class, and it was amazing to just be near her. She has an undeniable presence—she comes across as warm, kind, funny, and compassionate, but she has no patience for posturing or insincerity. There was a fantastic moment during the Q&A portion of one of her lectures where someone asked her, “What brings you joy?” And she said, completely deadpan, “Sex.” Then she waited for the crowd to laugh, and then said: “Oh, I was supposed to say writing, wasn’t I?”

Before HDS and Moving Forward

Like many of the people we’ve interviewed for Humans of HDS, ending up at the School was a bit of a surprise. Towards the end of my junior year of college, I had this moment where I realized that come graduation, I wouldn’t be studying religion anymore, and that was actually upsetting. I thought that I should listen to that impulse, so I talked to a bunch of professors—I was an English and religion double-major—and started looking into programs. Most people recommended schools in the southeast, but none of them seemed like the right fit. There was a lot of talk about faith vs. scholarship (like they were two separate things) across the board, which was frustrating and had never been my experience. But on a whim I just decided to see if Harvard had a divinity school, then I saw that there was a Religion, Literature, and Culture concentration, and the rest is history.

Ideally, after HDS, I would be writing, photographing, and reporting about religious communities. In college I did an immersive journalism project about a Wiccan community in Hendersonville, North Carolina, and loved every second of it. It was easily the most fulfilling work I’ve ever done: It taught me about the power of storytelling, and it’s shaped my life and work ever since. Stories are so powerful: how we tell them, who we tell them to, and to what purpose. They shape and define people and how they understand themselves and others. Truly listening and being present—and conveying and presenting that information someone shared with you well and with generosity—feels like a spiritual practice for me. Even with small interviews like with Humans of HDS, I try to make sure that the person we’re talking to feels comfortable enough to share whatever they like, and trusts me—just as the photographer—enough to capture who they really are. I know I’ve done my job well when someone tells me, “Normally I hate having my photo taken, but I really love the one you took of me!” My goal is always to capture the beauty I see in other people but that they might not recognize in themselves.

Surprises

Most people are surprised to hear that I had a brief stint as a very amateur car mechanic the summer after my junior year of college. I was working as an English teacher in Comer, Georgia, at Jubilee Partners, which is an intentional Christian community. We could choose chores we wanted to do outside of teaching, which was our main purpose as volunteers, and I didn’t ever foresee myself working or living on a farm (although that gets more and more appealing as I get older), so I wanted to get some more practical experience I could take away. I was terrible at it; the first time I had to change the oil in one of the cars I didn’t tighten the filter enough and the oil went everywhere. I thought I’d ruined the car (I didn’t, thank God).

I also grew up going to a Christian youth camp in Leakey, Texas (Laity Lodge Youth Camp)—I was a camper there for 9 years, then on staff as a photographer for two summers, and volunteered the summer in between—and the whole camp is beautiful. It’s in the Texas hill country, so there’s white limestone and cedar everywhere, and it’s right on the Frio River. But I used to love laying out on the tennis courts at night. During the day they would bake (it is Texas in the summer, after all), and at night, after it would cool off, friends and I would go and lie out on them because they were still warm and talk and look at the Milky Way—you can see the whole thing. I’ve had some of my favorite conversations out on those tennis courts.

#literature #writing #Harvard Divinity School #Harvard

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fesahaawit · 7 years ago

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Learning to See the World

Hello and welcome to slow travel week, friends! I’m in the middle of a two-week trip to NYC and Toronto (currently in Toronto), which are just two of the four cities I’ll be spending time in this month. As such, it makes sense that November’s slow living experiment is “slow travel”—and I have a handful of posts I want to share on this topic.

You’ll find two written by me on Tuesday and Thursday. But when I put out a call for guest posts in the summer, I received three related to travel. Based on the stories told and lessons shared, I found all five posts fit so well together that I’ve decided to share them all in one week! That’s right, five posts in one week. Slow travel week. ;)

The first is a guest post from my friend Holly. I think you’ll find it’s the best place to start. And if you like this topic, you might also enjoy Colin’s lessons on travel in Simple Year 2018. Early bird registration closes tomorrow at 12pm (noon) EST. It’s $199 USD (less than $17/month) right now, and will go up to $249 USD in January.

The regret started to creep into my thoughts as I drove the rental car south on highway 2. It was day 3, and we’d left the charming Art Deco city of Napier, New Zealand, early that morning. We were headed to Wellington for an overnight stay before boarding the ferry to the South Island. The spring sunshine cast a gentle light across my husband’s face as he slept in the passenger seat, and I found my eyes drawn to the small cafes of roadside towns, and the signs for wineries and hidden treasures just off the beaten path. I knew we had no time to spare, not if we were to keep to our timeline. But my heart cried out to stay.

I kept driving.

You see, I’ve always been a purposeful traveler. Since my first opportunity, an 8th grade class trip to Germany, I’ve felt the drive to see as much as I can, to make every effort to cross things off of my list and mark them as accomplished. And my type-A sightseeing wasn’t restricted to big international trips. When my family came to visit me in Boston, where I attended university, I marched them all over the city on a blustery day, until all of our feet ached and we opted out of the dinner reservations at the nice restaurant in lieu of couches and comfort.

As I checked more countries off of my list, I stayed focused. On work trips, I’d wake early to squeeze in a run around the city, or stay late to catch the closing hour at a museum or gallery. My coworkers were taken aback when I’d recount my stories of discovery, uncertain how I’d managed to squeeze in so much in so little time. If Alexander Hamilton wrote like he was running out of time, as Lin-Manuel Miranda put so beautifully to music, I traveled as if pursued by the same relentless beast.

This intensity was manageable when I traveled solo, although I often finished a trip feeling tired and strangely dissatisfied. But when I began to travel with my partner—now my husband—it became a point of conflict. Should we stay in our nice hotel room, with the windows open and the sounds of the sea in the distance for a relaxing nap before a walk to dinner? Or should we venture out once more to see another museum, church, piece of history? Whenever I compromised and allowed for the nap, my mind would continue to race, fueled by fear of what I was missing, unsure whether I’d be back in this destination, wondering if I was wasting my precious time.

It wasn’t until our trip to New Zealand in 2015 that I finally began to understand and wrap my head around this fear of missing out and how much it has colored my experience of travel throughout the years. It was on this trip that I began to look at “missing out” through a different filter, and to see how changing my approach to travel would actually allow me to have a much richer experience. I started to understand that the very question of missing out is a false one when it comes to travel. It’s like trying to solve a math equation, and expecting the response to be a poem.

But when I planned our trip to New Zealand, I hadn’t learned these lessons yet. New Zealand had been a dream destination for years. We had about 10 days for the trip, and I was intent on seeing as much of these amazing islands as possible. Even as I built our itinerary, my inner voice started to whisper to me that it was too much. I countered that we always enjoyed road trips. Ultimately, my planning brain won out, and we boarded the plane with 10 full days of trains, tours, boats, cars, busses, and even a helicopter ahead of us, everything planned out to the hour. We would see the main cities, the big attractions, and enjoy a few adventures. We would SEE New Zealand.

By the third day, it began to fall apart.

We spent a full day in the car without enjoying the main excursion planned for the day—exploring a cave. The overnight rain had flooded the caves and the guides assessed it wasn’t safe. We could try again tomorrow, they said. But we had reservations on the other side of the island, so we drove on.

We went for an evening run in Rotorua, the land of geysers and hot springs and sulfur, and spent an evening soaking in the thermal spas. But this relaxation was tempered by the early-morning wake-up and the need to get to the next destination. We both wished we could stay a little longer, see a little more.

By Napier, I was starting to see the impact of the itinerary in real time. Our hotel overlooked the ocean, there were wineries and fine restaurants and a lovely coffeeshop steps from our door. I wanted to stay here, to linger, to experience this town over a few days. Instead, we drove on.

I think it’s important to share that our trip to New Zealand was still an amazing experience. The occasional arguments and the stress of constant movement were overshadowed by the beautiful scenery, the delicious food, the nerdy joy of touring Hobbiton and our delight at the prisma green hills and sheep, sheep, everywhere sheep. We were amazed by the deep orange-yellow color of egg yolks from local chickens, impressed by the free water dispensers and glasses at every cafe, and welcomed by the friendly people at every stop.

But by the time we approached the end of our itinerary, something important had shifted inside of me. I called ahead, and cancelled the rest of our plans. I extended our rental car. I paid extra to stay another night in our final hotel.

And there, in a small town on the southern corner of the south island, I embraced the art of lingering.

We walked the main street. We visited the same cafe for breakfast two days in a row, savoring the coffee and the eggs. I went for a run along the shores of a lake, the forest sheltering me and soft bark carpeting the trail. We sat. We read. We savored. We ate an incredible meal with local ingredients and delicious New Zealand wine. While two days was far from enough time to truly enter into a relationship with this town and its community, it offered me an alternative way of traveling, a different perspective on what I was actually missing while I was so consumed with FOMO, and a vision of how much richer traveling could be.

Several years later, when I think back on this trip, I think it’s meaningful that the two moments I remember most aren’t the helicopter flight to a glacier or the glass of ale at the Green Dragon. The moments that stay with me are the sensation of my heavy heart in the car, driving southbound; and the perfect last day in Te Anau. I learned a lot about the history, people, culture, and nature of New Zealand on this trip; but I learned something perhaps even more important about myself.

This lesson hasn’t waved a magic wand over my life. When I travel, I still experience this anxiety of missing out. I still plan itineraries that encompass entire countries, all of the places and all of the things. But now, I’ve learned to take that plan, and distill it down. I’ve learned to ask myself some important questions that I’d love to share with you.

If I had to choose one experience in this country, what would it be?

How can I find a way to authentically enter into this place?

How can I design my trip—from my lodging, to my transportation—to maximize this experience?

What decisions will help me enjoy parts of the trip that I can’t anticipate from here?

Did I include some buffer time, for an unplanned exploratory run, a rough day of jet lag, an impromptu meeting or a delayed connection?

Is this a trip that meets the needs and expectations of myself and my travel partner(s)?

I’ve also learned to turn these lessons to my everyday life. It’s ironic that my driving pursuit of seeing everything when I’m on the road was mirrored by an indifference to sites closer to home. I’d realize that years had gone by without ever making it to that one museum, or that certain restaurant, or that specific park. So while I’ve tempered my younger travel persona and begun to identify the type of slow travel that works for me, I’ve also tried to engage more intentionally with destinations closer to home. Whether this means prioritizing a visit to a museum opening, stopping to enter into conversation with a local artist, or simply appreciating the diversity of unique, beautiful places within an hour’s drive, I’m slowly learning to truly see what’s in front of me.

As I look back on my past travels and look ahead to those in front of me, I think of the well-known quote from Marcel Proust:

“The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.”

While I don’t intend to stop seeking out new landscapes, I hope that I can carry with me this new sense of perspective that will let me see more deeply the truth and reality in each destination.

Holly is a writer and yoga teacher who recently made the leap to a freelance life in northwestern Montana. She’s traveled to 37 countries so far, and has a relaxed itinerary planned for her next trip abroad. You can connect with her on Instagram and at her blog.

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