Self Care Assignment #2: Take a Break!

I find another way to deal with vicarious trauma is to RUN AWAY FROM IT! Ha, but seriously. The most meaningful way I’ve found to reboot, refocus; return to myself is by travel. Even a small weekend trip into the great Pacific Northwest will do wonders. I spent this weekend in Ashland, Oregon. There’s something about putting miles between yourself and your work, leaving the week behind… Knowing that you’ll be back, you’re not giving up, but by god, you’re taking a pause. When you’re away, nothing really has to be done; I am responsible for no one’s happiness but my own. Time management becomes about, ‘in what order shall we eat, walk, drink tea, journal, read, talk, window shop and see plays?’


(Last year's Mom & Daughter Ashland trip)


I find my sense of wonder, curiosity, passion is actually just below my epidermis. My skin isn’t thickened at all! Its all still there, thank you! Thank god, its still there. I really NOTICE the clove in my tea, I eat apple chicken Gouda sausage, taste yellow raspberry jam under the sun- and it tastes like sun, and sample chocolate cherry tomatoes! I learn that Manzanita is a kind of tree, not just a beach in Oregon, and that it is a beautiful red inside, almost like blood. I notice the light play across the countryside, I notice the minute autumn changes, and comment on the weather, and its not mundane, its with wonder. I get away, and my joy can be found not just in the small daily doses of lunch breaks, and reading books from the library, and being in communion with friends.






Now certainly the goal is that eventually these small daily doses will be enough. My friend’s dad used to give her a spoonful of honey once a day. I believe her and him that the honey did no doubt provide protections, inhibit allergies, etc. etc. provide some kind of remedy. But to me, the health benefits seemed more to do with strengthening the heart, the hearth. I always thought the image I had of them was in fact as sweet as honeycomb, and I can see it as though it is my own memory: a dad-hand, a silver spoon, amber honey, fed with love to a little girl; “a spoon full of sugar helps the…” In this world, protecting a child must feel nigh impossible, and I imagine with a shiver that kind of vulnerable optimism, to believe that this daily ritual would provide a daughter with protection.


(Another joy, watching families enjoy the last day of summer, knee deep in Lithia creek)

So, although running away is less a dose of regular sweetness and love, and rather a gorging of goodness in the manner of baklava and the like, this weekend was just what I needed. Who knew what I needed were plays about singing pirates, deep sleep, spending time with one of the few people I love so much that we can just be quiet together, so ourselves, no need to censor. As we drove through a dark Friday night to Ashland, there was indeed a smoky ashyness to the air, and all the recent forest fires lit the setting sun ablaze- just the color (I now know) of Manzanita heartwood.


(Mom loving the inukshuks. I like that people are drawn to this meditation, of rock on rock and improbable balance and patience)