Back from the brink

I'm tentatively breathing in the sunshine deeply right now.

This is big. BIG big.

I think I looked into that abyss on Saturday, and then somehow managed to scoot back from the edge on my own.

I didn't self destruct.

I didn't do anything reckless.

I didn't run away.

Instead, I may have coped. I know, I'm surprised as well.

Saturday was darkness. I gathered up my boys and fled my family to the comfort of our home. I went through the motions of helping the boys video and text a goodbye message to their grandmother. I comforted as best as I can, which isn't very well. Then we each retreated to our own corners of the house to process in our own ways. For me, I faced the abyss.

I though about going and getting beer, but I'm not an alcoholic and the idea of drinking to forget turned my stomach. I thought about running away from everyone's grief. If it can't touch me it can't pull me down. An enticing thought.

So, I drafted my blog post in an effort to make myself at least recognize my actions for what they were. Then I opened up a new tab and began searching trails. I found a likely escape but needed more information, so I checked the library to see if it had a guidebook. A branch across town had it, so I decided to go get it right then and there.

I couldn't go home. The urge to keep driving off the edge of the earth was too strong. I loaded up an all time favorite album (Counting Crows, August and everything after) and headed out of town. Stereo full blast, letting the music's story of sinking down into mental illness wash over me. And somehow, I started to see beyond the abyss.

I'm not sure, but I think that cold abyss of no meaning is bottomless in one dimension, but that you can jump over it to the other side. The y-axis is infinite, but the x-axis is not, if you will. As humans, we travel linearly along that x-axis until or unless we slip off into the infinite abyss of the y-axis.

I suddenly realized, I don't know if we slip onto the y-axis when we die. I know we can do it when alive, I've nearly done so many times. But is death really the abyss? I'm not about to go all religious or new age or even very philosophical. My mind is better suited for science and reason and perhaps even math than those silly things. But matter is matter which can't be destroyed, as far as we know. It can change, it will change, but that ability to persist and to change must mean it isn't in the abyss.

Is our consciousness matter? Energy perhaps? Shit, too deep for me, but I'm just barely wise enough to realize that this line of thought -- jumping over the abyss -- gives an inkling of hope. A reason to laugh at the darkness. A reason to run back instead of run away. A reason to keep dreaming and doing and living -- all without hiding.

So I went home. I cried myself to sleep (shh, don't tell anyone). I woke up, and I laughed and lived and achieved.

This morning my Mother-In-Law passed away. Thank you, Scarlet, for being a momma to my one true love. Thank you for creating consciousness out of matter so that we can keep this train careening down that x-axis from one generation to the next. Thank you, for helping me finally overcome the abyss.

Hello darkness, my old friend

I'm a horrible, selfish human being.

And it is what it is.

My love is too far away facing down death, and I have retreated, as I do, when the darkness threatens. I can't do death. I can't look into that abyss, even tangentially from afar as I am now. Because when I am reminded of the abyss that awaits us all, of the end, I lose drive. I lose hope. I begin to wonder why, which then becomes why bother. And then I why bother myself into very bad decisions.

Right now, my urge is to run. Cut ties with all those I care for and all those that care for me. I keep this number low anyway. Is this because I want to keep my escape routes open? Possibly, probably. Mo is going through the most gut wrenching of losses right now, and I'm looking at trail maps. Wondering how long I could survive living in a Prius in winter and hiking long trails each summer. Planning routes and meals, mentally paring down the few objects I'm even remotely attached to.

In my head I am running away from the abyss that awaits me.

Because deep down inside I know there is no reason. No point. We are here simply because of an evolutionary fluke that gave us both form and consciousness, but not enough of either to make a dent in the slow burn of the universe. All that awaits each of us is death. All the meaning we think we amass in our lives will be nothing in the great time span of the universe. For even the universe will one day end, rendering even it's very blip from big bang to last eclipse forgotten.

Yes, I'm selfish. For when others die it isn't their death I mourn. It's my own. And from that rises my most primal instinct -- fight or flee. You can't fight the abyss, so I simply seek to flee it for a little while.

I'm sorry.

My Compact: The No-Buy Half Year

Doing things like a "no-buy year" always seem kind of gimicky to me. Yet, looking at our finances and everything we have going on, it may be a good time for such a challenge. I want to treat it more like the Compact (a la the Nonconsumer Advocate) rather than a gimmicky buy everything I need the day before starting and then save up all other purchases for the day after the challenge ends.

So why a half-year, then? It seems like a gimmick, true, but I have some reasoning in there. I like, nay crave, logical beginnings and ends, and July through December is exactly 6 months. Further, beginning in January, our life of the last 10 years will begin the drastic transformation of listing and selling the house. I will need to make adjustments to our Compact, but I want the experience of living it for six months first so it can help guide me through what is sure to be a challenging time. Finally, I believe we can do anything for a short time, and psychologically it can be easier to create a habit in small increments. In this case, the habit is not buying it.

The Compact differs from the No Buy challenge in that the Compact is not specifically a no buy, but a not buying new lifestyle. What both have are exception lists. Here is my current exception list, combined to meet the differing aims of these two challenges:

1. Bills, of course. Although, I will assess monthly to look for ways to save costs.
2. Items that bring down fixed costs permanently. For example, we will be buying new phones to save money in the long run. As much as possible, though, these will be second hand purchases (in the above example, we're planning on refurb phones).
3. Necessary clothing -- used with the exception of underwear/socks. No random clothing buying though, purchasing only occurs after a closet purge proves the item is actually needed.
4. Pet care, medical needs, toiletries -- obviously!
5. School supplies and books -- second hand or digital as much as possible.
6. Limited entertainment -- generally, the Compact doesn't limit experiences. Yet, to me some experiences are a true consumerist activity as well as a financial drain. So my stance for my challenge is to limit experiences that cost money. This means coffee out becomes a rare treat instead of the norm. I'll buy passes to hike or camp in fee areas, but we won't drive into town for a restaurant meal. Nights out for a movie or a drink will be rare treats and done as inexpensively as possible. Beyond my $5 student Hulu/Spotify subscription, we won't pay for movies/TV/music at home.

I don't want to set strict budgets -- strict budgets don't necessarily make new habits, as I've learned in the past. Instead, the goal is to be mindful of where we spend money and why. This doesn't mean I won't be monitoring expenses -- we are technically living well below the poverty line, after all.