Happy Harvest! Or Day that the Gods Can’t See You…Kennedy Space Center & Cocoa Beach…thoughts on safeness/stability
Several posts incoming. I got a sinus/ear infection and lost track of time for a few days, on top of regular ADHD stuff.
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Post-Day-Where-The-Gods-Can’t-See-Me!
I don’t have the brain cells to write a whole ass, proper, in-depth, told-as-a-narrative Adventures du Jour today. So probably it’ll be small blurps as I try to sort out my brain from yesterday. Not sure how clear this all will be those of you reading it; it’s certainly not clear for Yours Truly. Which is why I’m writing it down…
Whenever I have to do something mentally difficult, I have to take a bunch of mental filters down. I wrote an email to Kris Rusch the other day about ideas for classes (she asked for some) and brainstorming it was harder than I anticipated. By a lot. I reread my email after she responded, and I noticed that I wasn’t being as clear as I usually am. My email wasn’t word salad or anything, it was just a little unclear. Fortunately Kris knew what I was talking about and got it.
Yesterday I was QUITE unclear. But it all worked out.
In short:
–I went to Kennedy Space Center (KSC) yesterday because I needed somewhere cool and wandery to go so I could have a day where the gods couldn’t see me.
–I do this once a quarter. You could also call this a major Artist’s Date (a la Julia Cameron’s book The Artist’s Way) or “getting in touch with my muse.” Rational thought goes out the window. I am effectively six or so, although I can still drive and whatnot. Ray was saying something about how I was so cute that I was making hearts appear over HER head, and I literally looked up, expecting to see hearts over her head for a split second. Turning off adulthood is just one of the many mental tricks I can do. Most people take drugs to do stuff like this. I just stop pretending to myself that I’m an adult.
–I sang and bopped to the music in the car for two hours there, and two hours back, with the volume on super loud. I don’t do this unless I’m alone. (Too loud for Ray.)
–Splurged on toll roads because there was a bad wreck.
–Toward the end of the drive, I started to freak out: “I can’t do this, I can’t do this, something terrible will happen to me if I get what I want, I can’t do this…” Then I realized that the big orange silo I was seeing was the fuel containers for a shuttle, I broke down and cried as I drove. I cried off and on the whole visit.
–The initial thought I had when I realized I *could* go was that I shouldn’t, I wasn’t allowed. So I went. I think that thought came out of stuff with my mom and the ex, particularly the latter: if I wanted something and he didn’t, he’d hit buttons about fear of being “bad” quite hard. Me wanting things he didn’t want = bad. Only scary people want bad things. I terrified him. Or so he said.
–I freaked out a friend when I got to the KSC, because I sent her a text saying that I was crying my eyes out but I got there. I FORGOT to send her the selfie of me with the shuttle fuel tanks over my shoulder that would have made the text make any sense whatsoever. I called her back and started crying again while I was on the phone with her. Her: “Yes, you SHOULD be crying today. AND ALSO I needed to check on you.” HAHAHAHAHA…sounded like something I would say, so I cried about that too. I felt loved.
–The KSC is a space theme park, with rides, “experiences,” photo ops, and stuff to buy. It is also a museum that has to cater to the theme park crowd. When I first got there, I was sorta disappointed; I was thinking “more museum-y, like the Smithsonian or the Mob Museum,” and not “Universal Orlando.” But I both ended up enjoying the theme park stuff AND realized that some of the museum-y parts were so FUCKING HUGE that they kind of required different context. I’ve gone to the DC Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum (with a bunch of guys from Peterson AFB, which was a gas), but…it’s very hard to say that the DC museum had moments of *delight* the way that the KSC did. The DC museum was never going to change generations of kids’ minds into loving space. Some, sure. But not the mass scale the KSC was attempting to do. The rides weren’t horribly ambitious, but they nailed the sense of wonder thing.
–Because it was part of what I’ve been thinking about lately, I noticed that the museum was internationally diverse but had disincluded Black people somehow. Other than the cost and the extremely white representation, I’m not sure how this was done. MOSTLY the space program was extremely cishet white dudes of a certain educational background. But there were plenty of women there. Just not a lot of Black people. Lots of Slavic languages, some Spanish, some Hindi?, a fair amount of some kind of Chinese (with the sh sh sha sounds).
–Lots of room for wheelchair accessibility EXCEPT for the buses, which you needed to get on to get to the best part–the on-base part with the rocket. There may have been accessible buses; I didn’t ride on one. AAAAAAAHHHHHHH and you get to see the place where they build stuff, which is huge, “the tallest one-story building on Earth,” at 525 feet. Other buildings are taller but have multiple stories.
–There may or may not have been language assistance available (via an app?), but everything I saw was in English only. There were sensory guides for how overstimulating things would be. I thought it was generally overstimulating (which I kinda wanted), but there were lots of places to take breaks.
–I didn’t have time to see everything. I did the building with the spaceport (I did the Mars one, and cried), the bus tour onto base and saw the rocket (and cried), and the shuttle building (and cried). I don’t know how other people do it, this not-crying thing.
–My feet hurt and I was tired but I still didn’t feel “done” so I went to the ocean as sorta-planned.
–At nearby Cocoa Beach, I visited my boyfriend the ccean. He knocked me over multiple times until I got the hang of jumping with the flow. I sang to him but did not come back with a song this time. I also came back with my sinuses thoroughly rinsed, from the inside out. I forgot my suit but they let you just walk right into the damn ocean and get wet, go figure.
–After that I went to a Waffle House along the Atlantic, where the waitress asked what I’d been doing so I told her. What she was really impressed with was that I ordered coffee AND juice. To her that was the mark of a truly special day. She wasn’t wrong. I also ate everything, which she was impressed with. STARVING. I swear I ate lunch at the KSC too.
–More internal stuff from here forward. A lot of this was bubbling but not conscious while I was at KSC, and more conscious at the ocean.
–I spent a lot of time thinking about “safeness” and “stability.” What makes me safe? What makes me feel safe? Are those things the same or different? What makes other people feel safe? What makes them actually safe? Are THOSE different?
–I got to: when I don’t feel safe, I struggle to extend safe spaces around me. I am a hurting unit moving through safe or unsafe spaces. When I feel safe, I *am* the safe space. Physical setup makes a space accessible. People–a network of people, interconnected–make a space safe. I’m not sure whether I need to explain that further. But it feels solid enough of a thought to start testing it in the real world. I can feel both safe on one level and unsafe on another; I can’t remember the last time I felt totally safe. But when I feel safe-er, I have more wherewithal to stand up for others, I do know that. I *can* create a safer space without feeling myself the least bit safe, but it’s a boostrapping operation, draining and unsustainable.
–I figured out recently that my body connects “stability” to my hips, so that when I think about things being unsafe in destabilizing ways, my hips FUCKING HURT. I’ve talked about this before; my hips have been giving me irregular stabbing pains for a while. Sometimes I can release them, sometimes I can’t.
–Yesterday, every time they clenched up I stopped and walked myself through some good “stable” thoughts.
–First one: “You are not hurting anyone. You are not hurting anyone by being here. You are not hurting anyone by getting what you want.” I’m always scared of hurting other people; I’ve been taught to fear my own strengths and desires and to feel utterly loathesome for putting myself first or not pre-solving other people’s problems for them. Being made to fear oneself is a control technique and control is essentially destabilizing.
–Next one: “You don’t have to power through ALL of this without physical or mental rest. You’re doing your best.” When I keep pushing, I lose self-control and start snarling at people. I hate it. So I rested…and didn’t get to see everything. But the memories I made were clearer and happier (or at least more joyful) than if I’d kept pushing and seen everything.
–Last one: “This isn’t what you expected, but it’s what is here and now. What is it? Why is it?” It didn’t seem like it should be a stabilizing thought, but upon further reflection, equanimity is an essentially stable position.
–Out at the ocean, the thoughts about safety and stability became more conscious, and I realized that I must be making safer spaces around me, partly because people were engaging with me. Often when you’re in travel mode it’s *very* lonely because you’re in physical spaces that sort of require that you be treated like cattle. I wasn’t lonely yesterday, because I was engaging with people on a human level. I was safe to talk to. Except in the car or actually in the ocean, that is.
–The other elements I considered at the ocean were more future planning stuff.
–Publishing stuff: I need to get the publishing side figured out. The Killing the Critical Voice class I took helped resolve some mental back-end stuff that was slowing me down, but there are still practical considerations to be made. I’ve been trying to mindfully work through some minor publishing tasks, but they’re a time and brain suck and I could be better using my energy on writing, creating, and big-picture planning. What can I offload? and how?
–Purpose stuff: a friend talked about why he’s writing; I thought briefly on it yesterday and have more to think about. I think my ongoing desire to write ties into creating safer spaces. I used to say “I write about identifying bullies,” but I missed a major one, my ex, which is forcing me to rethink that side of things. I don’t need to beat myself up, but I should rethink “what is my purpose?” on a regular basis, though, at least deeply enough to do a genuine gut check.
–He also made a comment about being neurodivergent affecting his purpose. I grew up on the outer edges of everything, not reviled but never truly welcomed anywhere, never belonging. When people talk about how everyone is a little neurodivergent, they’re not wrong but yes, it *does* piss me off; people are unique and all, but I got to be waaaaaaaaaaaaaaay more “unique” than others and grew up profoundly lonely (and then nagged for not having good friends). I did not have close friends until late high school, and even those I’m not still close with them. People tried to befriend me but they didn’t get it; those kind people have my appreciation even if we didn’t ultimately connect. I thought I was fine with being that kind of lonely. I didn’t think anyone would actually ever *know* me. Part of this is why I put up with the ex; he was an evil git but at least smart enough to follow along with the jokes and have an actual conversation. You all are a blessing to me, because you’re all that AND you’re not assholes. I even get to feel like people get me from time to time. It’s neat.
–Moving stuff: I can’t move out of Florida now, but I don’t want to stay here permanently. So I’m mentally going, “What will I want to have done before I eventually leave?” The KSC was on that unconsidered bucket list, I think. I also want to go to the Keys and to St. Augustine.
–Back to safe spaces again. I want places where I will feel safe and stable, as well as spaces where I can extend that to others, whether they need it or not. I suspect that being “safe” isn’t necessarily about being tough enough to protect yourself (despite a bunch of people telling me so), but about not having to use your energy just to ensure your basic needs for safety are met. Imagine, if you will, being safe and not having to by hyperfocused on defending yourself. What kind of mental energy that frees up.
–I wish I could say Colorado Springs is safe, but I can’t for now. SoDak is also not safe. People who won’t take “no” for an answer and have either threatened to break into my house or who have stalked me live in those places. Do I know where else I’d want to go? No idea. But I did start defining traits.
–I want to be somewhere that’s between people and not-people, where I can access community spaces AND solitude within wandering distance. I’m okay with creating/fostering the community space in order to get this, but I don’t want it inside my living quarters. I want to be in a climate suitable for raspberries. (I’m not sure why this, except “not too cold, not too hot, not too dry.”) I don’t need to be oceanside, but some sort of river or lake something nearby is gonna happen, the same way I will find a Most Favored Tree. I want to be in a space that is diverse, both in the types of people around me and in foodie opportunities. I’m okay with working toward that, but I don’t want to have to fight an uphill battle just to be noble about it. Access to space to garden. Access to woods. Access to art. Access to a reasonable non-Starbucks coffee shop that has a shelf full of random-ass games and isn’t run by religious cultists. A place for Ray, whenever she needs one. Some snow would be nice, but not October-thru-March-hardpacked-streets snow. Higher education institutions within reasonable distance. If I could just make Iowa City not be in Iowa that would be nice. Then again, maybe you only get an Iowa City inside of an Iowa.
–I get that this is a unicorn sort of place, where it’s possible to exist everywhere but unlikely to exist anywhere. A reasonable approximation where I’m able to work toward creating more of what I want is acceptable.
–Honestly, real-world application will require a vibe check. There could be plenty of places I’d love, but I don’t know about them, and sometimes the places I *should* like don’t pass on diversity. Madison is sooooo fucking racist. Otherwise that whole area would be lovely. A lot of the Oregon Coast, same. Savannah. Parts of the Twin Cities. Sarasota, even. (And Iowa City.) Probably what will happen is I go to the Keys and to St. Augustine, then take like a week and bathe in the Smithsonian, and then start getting serious about checking places out.
–Could I work with a flawed place, say in a particular satellite town around Madison? I’d have to walk around the area and suss out the vibe, that is, gather a bunch of information consciously and subconsciously and at least guesstimate what actions I could take or support that would tend to influence things in the direction I want them to go. I get that most people just pick somewhere to live based on where they like to live, not plan for subversive community domination and reformation, lol,” but hey, I can dream, and that’s what yesterday was about.
–I had to stop and cry after I wrote all that down. Do I get to want things? Do I get to make plans that aren’t just making the best of contingency escape/failure plans? Well, not yet because I have to stay put for Ray and I have more research to do, but still?
–Other stuff: going well? Or at least not going badly? I’m having to reflow on multiple things that are going better than expected. Fingers crossed. Frex, as soon as my mind’s clear I need to jump on a cool writing group thing that I’ve been letting slide because I didn’t have the spoons to stay caught up. The publishing thing is going to be a pain for a while and I suspect I’m going to rehash a few mistakes in the interests of getting SOMETHING out, which will be fine as long as I don’t stay stuck there. I somehow missed that while I need to stop and think about how I brand mystery stories, I *don’t* need to do that on the last big horror/sf book, House of Masks. I just need to hire and editor and an artist, and I know where to start with those. Writing classes are going FAR better than expected this year; I expected to bomb out of all the advanced stuff and the fantasy thriller class, and…I’m not? I’m keeping up? In a couple of cases I’m killing it? Why am I even doubting myself on that level?
–There’s an attitude between “I suck” and “I know everything” in writing, and I’m there; I just need to stop falling back to “I suck” every time I get tired or frustrated. (I’m totally going to stick with “I know everything” when assholes get me irritated; the risk that I know less or am a worse person than a clueless jerk is minimal.) I think holding to that middle attitude is a good thing, just true in general. Tricky, but doable: eat humble pie on occasion (but don’t beat yourself up about it), celebrate on occasion (but hold successes lightly and gently). All the things that are going better than expected are coming from a place where I just assumed “I suck” and didn’t do the groundwork for any other outcomes, and am scrambling to catch up.
–Note to self: unapologetically good stuff gets to happen. It’s not just some asshole fucking with you to see what makes you tick so they can manipulate you better later. Amen.
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Midjourney’s rendition of a safe place, with raspberries.
REAL LIFE SATURN V ROCKET!!!!!