Chasing Two Rabbits

Tags

Dealing with Adoption, memoir, procrastination, writers block, writing

I find myself taking an unintended sabbatical. May is nearly gone and the only writing I’ve accomplished is writing haiku and journaling. Two books — a memoir and a novel — are calling me, but to move forward on either, I will have to quit chasing two rabbits.

Project #1 is titled All the Right Places. Project #2 is a novel that will tell what happens with Clara and Dottie, characters in The Hand of Ganesh, after their return from India. Because I am trying to focus on two goals at once, I’m progressing on neither. A bit like my friend Jennie Cooley’s painting, “Chasing Two Rabbits.”

In early May, I spent a week in California. The meandering mode began in San Diego. With my son, I climbed a peak called Black Mountain. I walked around lakes in the neighborhood, reconnected with teenage grandchildren, read Jennet Content’s fascinating book 109 East Palace and listened to Bonnie Garmus’s Lessons in Chemistry. I highly recommend both books.

I’m getting my ducks in a row.

Ducks, coots, and croaking frogs made my daily lake walks a delight. I’d visited the lake on previous visits but never encountered any birds with blue bills. Ducklings wandered up to me, followed by Mom and Dad and looking for a handout. I could hear but not see the frogs. One bellowed loudest. My 12-year-old grandson told me that one was “Jeffrey.”

Conant’s documentary work was especially rewarding. I worked in the 1990s as a technical writer at Los Alamos National Laboratory. It was rewarding to read Conant’s version of “the city that never was,” the human interest inside story of the Manhattan Project. She unveils the bigger than life story of J. Robert Oppenheimer and write about the scientists that created the atomic bomb, the so-called “gadget.” In producing a radio program titled “Los Alamos Then and Now” I’d learned a lot. Conant’s book opened my eyes to much more.

The week of vacation should have been a perfect time to work on the memoir, to start that novel. Right? Wrong! I had not brought my writing materials or my spiral notebook of ideas. Instead of applying myself to All the Right Places or (working title) The Ganesh Girls I played online bridge. Instead of writing fictional scenes, I watched “Queen Charlotte” on Netflix and “Great Expectations” on Hulu.

When I returned to Santa Fe, the month was only half over. I could have plunged into writing projects. However, there was the lure of Farmers Market, where I sell my books every Tuesday morning. And then, there was the Santa Fe International Literary Festival, with fascinating speakers, literary luminaries. I’d bought tickets to hear John Irving and Gillian Flynn, both of whom turned out to be fascinating presenters, talking about their latest novels and their respective writing processes.

Beadwork by Albuquerque artist Lujaqui.

The Tuesday morning Farmers Market in Santa Fe’s Railyard District offers crafts, jewelry, woodwork, leather creations in its indoor artisans pavilion. Outdoors, you’ll find produce, plants, vegetables, baked goods, fresh eggs and much more. My book table is located inside the pavilion.

Then, there was the vegetable garden to plant, the wardrobe changeover, the garage organizing. The copier broke and I’d have to buy a new one or learn to use the scanner that came with the printer. A memorial service for a friend who’d died, an anniversary party, a dinner invitation. Finally, I gave up on May.

June first, however, will begin a new writing regimen. The secret will be to chase one rabbit, not two. Right now, I believe that will be the memoir. No more MAYandering!

Join Elaine on Mondays for reflections on the writing, hiking and the outdoors, Santa Fe life, and the world as seen through adoption-colored glasses. Check out her newest novel The Hand of Ganesh. Follow adoptees Clara Jordan and Dottie Benet in their  quest to find Dottie’s birthparents. Order today from Amazon or http://www.pocolpress.com. And thanks for reading!

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More than a Memoir

Tags

Brother, families, memoir, Sister, Tribute

Little Brother by Sallie Bingham

“Again” is even sadder than “was” — it is the saddest word of all.”

— WILLIAM FAULKNER, The Sound and the Fury

Thus begins Sallie Bingham’s latest book, a powerful, poignant account of her younger brother Jonathan, his life and  untimely death. Part of the prestigious Louisville, Kentucky Binghams, the author depicts her family’s life, one of wealth, accomplishment and privilege. Jonathan, adored by his sister, was of a loose thread in the tapestry.

The family comprised a socialite mother, an involved-in-politics father, and five children. The children were well cared for but seemingly not as consequential as the parents’ very important lives. Jonathan was born in 1942. His father, a friend of President Franklin Roosevelt, could not be around when his third son entered the world. Writes Bingham, “The birth of a third son could not compete with the possibilities unfolding for father.” It seemed, as I read on, often moved to tears, that Jonathan became an increadingly shadowy figure, part of the family but not really.

The Binghams owned both the Louisville Courier-Journal and Louisville Times newspapers. Their modus operandi was one of high-powered achievement and forward motion. Jonathan, it seemed, couldn’t keep up. It was at Harvard, his sophomore year, that the young man’s life appeared to begin unravelling. His biographer sister describes him as becoming “destabilized.” Jonathan dropped out of Harvard. When at home, he was moody and detached. He spent hours in the basement. He had, he claimed, “invented a cure for cancer.”

Jonathan was 21 and planning a party in the barn, a Boy Scout reunion. There was no way to have lights in the barn, so he decided to do it himself, He climbed an electrical pole, grabbed the wrong wire, and was immediately electrocuted. He joined what Ms Bingham titles “the dreadful list,” close family members who’d died before reaching age fifty. The deaths, she notes, were often suicides.

Bingham gathered notes and diaries, interviewed Jonathan’s friends, and wrote Jonathan’s story as only a grief-stricken and caring relative could. She wrote it so that Jonathan’s brief time on earth would not be forgotten,

Her book Little Brother will remain with me for a long time. It is a sensitive, loving commemoration. Bingham’s story of Jonathan will resonate with any reader who has a “little brother” relative in the family, someone who is not quite connected. The memoir, in addition to being a poignant and beautifully constructed read, serves as a reminder to pay attention, to be kind, to notice.

SALLIE BINGHAM: A long and fruitful career as a writer began in 1960 with the publication of her novel, “After Such Knowledge”.  This was followed by 15 collections of short stories, novels, memoirs and a biography, as well as plays. She is an active and involved feminist, working for women’s empowerment, who founded the Kentucky Foundation for Women, which gives grants to Kentucky artists and writers who are feminists, The Sallie Bingham Archive for Women’s Papers and History at Duke University,and the Women’s Project and Productions un New York City. She lives in Santa Fe, New Mexico.

Join Elaine on Mondays for reflections on the writing, hiking and the outdoors, Santa Fe life, and the world as seen through adoption-colored glasses. Check out her newest novel The Hand of Ganesh. Follow adoptees Clara Jordan and Dottie Benet in their  quest to find Dottie’s birthparents. Order today from Amazon or http://www.pocolpress.com. And thanks for reading!

Adopting another Culture

Tags

1960s, Acculturation, adoption, Adventure, Arizona, Chinle, memoir, Reservation life

Into the Canyon – Seven Years in Navajo Country was the best memoir I’ve read in years. Because author Lucy Moore and her husband discovered the Southwest during the same year I did, the book captured my interest immediately. Moore begins the story by describing their relocation. After graduation and marriage, she and her husband Bob loaded up their Ford Bronco and drove from Cambridge, Massachusetts to Chinle, Arizona. Fresh from law school, Bob would work for the new legal services program on the Navajo reservation. He was to be a lawyer practicing in Chinle, Arizona, the first ever for the Navajo people. Lucy had to carve out a role for herself, which she did with gusto, courage and a wonderful sense of humor.

As the book progresses, Lucy describes the huge gaps between the Anglo perspective and Navajo ways. This is the thread that created the most interest for me, and it also makes the account extremely rewarding. Bridging the differences and acculturating offered constant challenges It was fascinating to see how Lucy met them. Though she left Navajo country to rejoin the “outside world,” her seven years with the Navajos is very much still in her heart.

I’ve lived and loved a Southwestern life for half a century and have a keen interest in the Native Americans of New Mexico and Arizona. Lucy Moore’s memoir enlightened and delighted. Her experience was total immersion. The closest I’ve come to that might have been my several years of teaching ninth graders at Santa Fe Indian School. (The fictionalized version of that experience is my latest novel All the Wrong Places.)

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Join Elaine every other Monday for reflections on adoption and life. Your comments are invited. Currently accepting guest blog posts: If you have an adoption story you’d like to share, please submit your idea and contact information to deardiaryreadings@me.com

Adoptee Stories —>Share YOURS

Tags

adoptee, adoption, Celebrating Adoption, Contest, Guest Posting, memoir, national adoption month, Pros and Cons, Reflections

This Fall, I am inviting first person stories to my site.

When the publisher of The Goodbye Baby suggested a Goodreads book giveaway, I seized the opportunity to relaunch my memoir. Rather than”A Diary about Adoption,” it would now be subtitled “Adoptee Diaries.” The book comprises four decades of my personal journals as I came of age, as I accepted the reality that the wounds of adoption had to be healed. It’s been a fascinating journey, one that has shaped my life and continues to impact future writing.
In that spirit, I am opening the door to the adoption stories of others. These must be first person accounts, submitted online (see instructions below). They can be written from the point of view of the adoptee him or herself, parents wanting to adopt a child, birthparents searching or in reunion with their biological children.
The submission period runs throughout the rest of September and early October. Acceptance for publication is up to the editor. During the five Mondays of November, I’ll publish the best of the stories, and I will also send you a present (one of my published books) by snail mail.
If you’re adopted, here are the questions to consider:
* How old were you when you were adopted?
* Was it an open or closed adoption?
* Were siblings adopted with you?
* In what ways has growing up adopted affected you? Why? Or, if being adopted has not affected you, why not?
* Did you meet your biological parents, and if so, how did that go?
* Do you feel that adoptions be open? Why or why not?
* What misconceptions about adoption have you encountered?
* What is the most positive aspect of your personal adoption? Negatives?

Story entries may also include accounts from those who want to adopt a baby or older child, birthmother/birthfather experiences, accounts by adoptive parents.

Your personal account can range from 250 to 400 words. Please edit carefully before submission. Avoid an angry or accusatory tone; keep your approach conversational. Humor is always welcome. Remember that your story may make all the difference to readers who might be struggling with “being adopted issues.” Deadline is October 20. The top five submissions will appear on TheGoodbyeBaby website during November, which is also National Adoption Month. Please indicate whether or not you grant permission for use of your piece in a future book.

Along with your story, include a brief bio and a cameo photo. E-mail queries and submissions to deardiaryreadings@me.com.

Excavating the Real You

Tags

adoption, Adoption recovery, Authenticity, Diaries, Gratitude, Liberation, memoir

Self-discovery demands some heavy lifting!

“I am the only person in the world I should like to know thoroughly.” -Oscar Wilde

Do you find it natural to be yourself or do you hide behind a facade?

What does it mean to be “authentic”?  As an adult adoptee, these are the questions I’ve grappled with for a lifetime. This quest for “authenticity” may not be true for every adoptee, but for me it is central.
That said, for the past five years, I’ve been on a quest for truth in defining myself. In my case, there was always the feeling that a biological child would have been the first preference of my adoptive parents. Even though assured that I was “the chosen one,” I grew up fearing I was a substitute for the child that might have been.
Ever since I could hold a pen, I’ve kept a daily diary A lifetime of chronicling every day generates many volumes. Four years ago, I decided to dig through my journals, particularly those from childhood into early adulthood. I pulled out the sections that pertained to growing up adopted and turned them into The Goodbye Baby-A Diary About Adoption (AuthorHouse, 2012). I’d written guidebooks (Santa Fe on Foot, The Santa Fe Trail by Bicycle), books about WWII (From Calcutta with Love, Beast of Bengal) but never a book about my own journey.
The diaries, 40 small volumes of “notes to myself,” revealed how being adopted

Decades of diaries became my memoir, The Goodbye Baby

shaped my decisions and my life’s trajectory. With a sense of Duty to Self and the hope of helping other adoptees, I opted to “go public” with the past in all its aspects. I was able, after publication of The Goodbye Baby, to move forward. It was liberating; it was necessary; it was illuminating.
Whether you were adopted or not, I’d like to offer guidelines for a personal “excavation.” To gain a better understanding of how YOUR past has shaped you, be willing to do the following:
1. Dig with your pen. Trace your life. Consider the choices you have made up until now. Is there a long-buried dream that calls to you? Perhaps you now have the wisdom to make alterations in your dream so that it can come true.
2. Write a brief personal history. This could even take shape as an outline, to be expanded into a future memoir. Recall the home of your childhood, fast-forward to your teenage years, more ahead to your first home. This need not be comprehensive. Instead, pick details that resonate in memory.
3. Adopt what Henri Nouwen calls “The Discipline of Gratitude” Use your daily life as a cause for celebration. In the extreme, this could mean taking the worst moments of your life and turning them into blessings.
4. Finally, reorder your priorities. This requires peace of mind and clarity. With modern life’s fragmentation and the intrusive nature of technology, however, this task is more important than ever. Use meditation, yoga, and days spent in silence —whatever it takes—to realize what’s most important.
 In the final analysis, by excavating to see who you really are, you’ll be able to identify what truly matters in your life. It may be the most important journey you’ll ever make.

What has helped you in finding your true self? Please share your comments!

 

Advice from a Tree

Tags

Adoptee Recovery, adoption, Bookmarks, Catana Tully, Dealing with Adoption, Diaries, healing, memoir, Resourcefulness, San Diego, Simplicity, Trees

“When the Student is ready, the Teacher will appear” -Unknown

This California tree overlooks sun-baked terrain.

Stand tall and Proud
Sink Your Roots into the Earth
Be Content with your Natural Beauty
Drink Plenty of Water
Enjoy the View!

-by Ilan Shamir

LIKE THE REHABILITATED ALCOHOLIC, the recovering adoptee must be ever vigilant for signs of backsliding. Nature, I have found, provides opportunities to gain clear vision, to strengthen, invigorate and purge. For example, a grove of Eucalyptus trees near my son’s home became a psychological springboard. For one week, I strolled daily under the majestic giants, stopping occasionally to write in my journal. It so happened that in the journal was a bookmark that spoke directly to my heart. Quoted above with the permission of http://www.YourTrueNature.com …is the lesson. Sounds simple, but it is actually profound. Yes, I’m following advice from a tree, delivered by a bookmark!

Join Elaine on Mondays for reflections on adoption and life.

TWO YEARS AGO, motivated by the desire to provide a “tell-all confessional,” I published The Goodbye Baby-A Diary about Adoption. Through the Internet’s large, rambling “adoption community,” I’ve met dozens of other adult adoptees, many of whom have written about the same hard lessons of growing up adopted. The response from my readers has been gratifying, but even more beneficial has been the freedom allotted by pouring the angst into a book and journeying forward with courage and positivity.

And yes, it is possible to leave the past behind, to move on. But let’s get real. No matter how much analysis, clarification, self-appreciation and education the adopted self receives, the demons return. Thanks to the support of my readers and the excellent adoption memoirs I’ve read, especially Catana Tully’s Split at the Root, I am able to recognize the demons and combat them.

Hope comes from many sources. Who knows where or when the next beacon will appear? While taking a

If we take the time to listen, Nature awaits us with answers.

beautiful walk on one of San Diego’s many urban trails. I realized that the answers to adoption issues, and maybe to anyone’s issues, need not be complicated.

So here, with the clearer vision of one who’s fought the demons for years and come to an armistice, is the message: Letting the past take up too much of today is not a good idea. Learning is a daily challenge, but one that makes life worthwhile. The rewards are never guaranteed, but when they do arrive, we are able to emulate the tall, proud, healthy tree. My gratitude is deep, I’m drinking lots of water, and I’m working on the rest.

Would I do it Again?

Tags

adopting a new attitude, adoption, adoptive parents, Authenticity, Dealing with Adoption, Diaries, healing, memoir, struggles

“What’s Done is Done and can’t be Undone.” -Stephen King

Nowhere is this more true than with publishing a memoir. Let’s be honest. Maybe it isn’t always a good idea to reveal the past. Perhaps it is worse if the “revelation” is in written form, an intimate expose, a confessional, a putting of oneself under the microscope? In other words, why would I present excerpts from my daily journals?

And yet, that’s just what I did when publishing an adoption-focused memoir, The Goodbye Baby-A Diary about Adoption. I culled four decades of diaries and transcribed the passages that showed me growing up as someone who felt herself to be a burden, a girl who had to hide behind the facade of being successful and “normal.”  Twenty-three years of grappling with the need to reveal what it felt like to grow up adopted. This act of daring or craziness (or both) accomplished my goal.

Diaries from the past directed me to a better future.

The reactions to the book have been surprisingly favorable. Other adult adoptees, birthparents, adoptive parents, and readers interested in adoption issues have welcomed the The Goodbye Baby. Coming out with my angst-filled past has opened doors. Now that I realize what happened to me isn’t that “special,” the book has led me to a wonderfully supportive online adoption community, many members of whom are shining lights, providing inspiration and serving as mentors.

As one of the bright stars in cyberspace, Deanna Shrodes, wrote in a blog post, “You wake up and you’re still adopted.” She is so right; the facts remain. However, having come face to face with those adoption demons empowered me to stare them down. Talking was not enough. Years of therapy, while enlightening, never enabled me to separate from what happened so long ago. Coming out with the story, which I never could have done without the therapy, cleared the path for divorcing the “poor adopted me” syndrome.

“Happy and grateful” is the image much of the world has of the adopted child, or rather of how the adopted child SHOULD feel. Most adult adoptees I’ve met are grateful for being removed from foster care, the orphanage, or whatever dysfunctional situation. But happy? Perhaps not totally. Something has been lost that can never be replaced.

In answer to the initial question, would I do it again, the answer is YES. It was much better to come out with a book containing my personal truth about adoption than to deny its effect. Now, as I burn the final pages of the diaries themselves, I realize that I no longer define myself as an “adult adoptee,” but as an adult. I’m free to live my life.

Join Elaine every Monday for insights into “Life after Adoption Recovery”

Goofy gets the Boot

Tags

Adoption recovery, Creativity, De-cluttering, Diaries, Liberation, memoir, Purge, Simplify, Streamlining, Stuff

“Our life is frittered away by detail. Simplify, simplify.”
― Henry David Thoreau, Walden and Other Writings

A year ago, I decided to get serious about re-purposing my old friend Mickey Mouse. I sold Mickey, Minnie and a host of other stuffed toys.  Because they were smaller, I kept Bugs Bunny and Goofy. Now even they have to go… I’m  once again de-cluttering.

Staging yet another garage sale is the only way I can escape the “too much stuff” syndrome. All of May, I’ve been walking around my house, collecting things with which I must part, labeling, pricing, and stacking said stuff in a spare room.
This personal de-acquisitioning campaign started with the publication of my adoption memoir The Goodbye Baby-A Diary about Adoption. It was so liberating to review four decades of past emotional “baggage” and then burning the diaries themselves, I realized that my too-much-stuff problem could be tackled. The late diaries went up in smoke, and that gave me courage. It was OK to get rid of something that had once been precious. In publishing my “diary book,” I’d saved the essence of those journals, which was all I needed: First the diaries, then the house and everything in it. There was no turning back.
My house is too big and yet not big enough. I have, from time to time, had grown children temporarily moving back home. Finally I gave up on having a guest room and declared that part of my home as the re-launching pad. Gone were my extra cabinets and shelves, dressers, bookshelves and desk drawers. I knuckled under and gradually removed my stuff from “their” space.
Do I get my precious storage space back? I wish! The adult child moves on but the stuff remains. This situation has forced me to take a serious look at all my now “extra” ousted-from-the-guest-room belongings. Turns out that a few friends, for various reasons, are  also being overwhelmed by possessions.  As a last resort, we’ve scheduled yet another garage sale.
This weekend my friends and I will be selling our excesses. Whatever doesn’t sell, we will give to charity. Our motto: This tyranny of things is exhausting and we’re not going to take it anymore.
Must sign off now, as the kitchen and dining room tables are loaded up with items that must be priced and relegated to the garage sale mountain.
*Use it or LOSE it.
*LESS is MORE.
*Empty is BEAUTIFUL

Join Elaine every Monday for reflections about life after Adoption Recovery.

Goodbye, Mickey Mouse

Tags

Creativity, Decluttering, Diaries, Liberation, memoir, Purge, Simplifying, Streamlining, Stuff

Things are in the saddle and ride mankind, said Ralph Waldo Emerson…

Stacked up for the Garage Sale of the Century

*Use it or LOSE it.
*LESS is MORE.
*Empty is BEAUTIFUL.

I have decided to get serious about re-purposing my old friend Mickey Mouse. I’m also getting rid of Minnie and a host of other stuffed toys. You guessed it, I’m de-cluttering.

A good friend was having trouble selling the family home. She’d already bought a small, perfect condo and needed to make the old, now-too-big house more attractive. She had multiple garage sales, sold and gave away more than half of what she owned. The family home started looking more beautiful. In a few weeks, furnished only sparsely, it sold.

After 38 years spent living in the same home, I started been buying books about simplifying. I’ve purchased containers for organizing and drawn up schedules for downsizing. I’m perpetually “gearing up” to purge, but instead of ridding myself of disorderly possessions, I spend too many hours keeping track of them.

Truth be told, all the organizational tools undermined me. Purchasing wondrous bins, cute cubes, file cases and photo boxes ended up creating – guess what! – more clutter. But this tyranny of things is exhausting and I’m not going to take it anymore.

Writing my adoption memoir The Goodbye Baby-A Diary about Adoption gave me the reality check I needed. It was so liberating to review four decades of past emotional “baggage” and then burning the diaries themselves, I realized that my too-much-stuff problem could also be tackled. The late diaries went up in smoke, and that gave me courage. It was OK to get rid of something that had once been precious. In publishing my “diary book,” I’d saved the essence of those journals, which was all I needed: First the diaries, then the house and everything in it. There was no turning back.

I’m not selling my house,  but I was so inspired by my friend’s example, I vowed to halt this unhealthy servitude to stuff. Point one: the home office. I’m sad to report that after eight hours of dredging, I have yet to reach bottom. Only myself to blame, however. A serious office supply addiction ended up burdening me with envelopes enough to run a third world country for a year, pens and pencils that filled five shoe boxes, reams of white paper, hundreds of partially-used spiral notebooks, and three-ringed binders enough for a every grade of a school in Nepal.

Nothing to do but soldier on! I now look at STUFF as an enemy that smothers me, crowds me, muffles my creativity and keeps me from writing. I’m getting used to the beauty of EMPTY. A drawer with nothing in it. A closet with just a few hangers.

Must sign off now, as the bed is loaded up with a mountain of junk that has to be labeled before removal to the garage sale department. Otherwise, no sleep tonight…

Dueling with Demons

Tags

abandonment, adoptee, adoption, memoir, positive thinking, private demons, self-esteem

In her book The Primal Wound, Nancy Verrier discusses the invisible injuries of

Edgar represents the dark side- fear of eternal abandonment/ Photos by Beth Stephens

adoption. No matter how nurturing the adoptive parents, the adopted child feels the pangs of what seemed like abandonment. Because of my post-WWII closed adoption, I’ve harbored “separation wounds” for many years.
In my case, the thinking has gone like this: “If you love someone, he (or she) will abandon you.” First, my birthmother, then the men in my life. The symbolic bad boyfriend of my entire life is a disagreeable character I call Edgar.
I met this DEMON when we were both young, he stayed with me during two marriages, and he hovered over me when, between two marriages, I dated reasonable, basically good men. Edgar managed to ruin everything. Herewith, an excerpt from The Goodbye Baby-A Diary about Adoption…

Whenever I think I have finally been healed from the wounds of adoption, life serves up a reminder that I am not. It is the opposite of “looking through rose-colored glasses.” When one looks through the glasses of being adopted, everyday events are reminders of loss, betrayal, or abandonment. Through reading all my diaries, I became very aware of the unremitting prevalence of “adoption bruises.”
There are metaphors I find helpful in understanding the wounds of my adoption, including disease and death at sea. When troubled by having grown up as an adopted child, I let insecurity and self-doubt take root. Reason eludes me. I have given that negative emotional state a name—Edgar. Like burning flames, Edgar is fueled by his own energy. Like fire, he feeds on everything, which he transforms into negative thoughts about my past, present, future. Edgar is a demonic artist who paints the world in stark tones of black and gray. Like a disease, Edgar undermines my physical well-being. Edgar lurks, waiting to arise when I am feeling healthy and balanced. When my spirit starts to wane, he is poised for the kill.
Edgar is always keeping score. His message to me: To be considered worthy of living, I have to prove myself “good” every day. If I do not, I might, metaphorically speaking, be sent to an orphanage. Never mind that I lived in foster care for only the first few years of my life. No matter that I should be well over the feelings of abandonment from that difficult beginning.
Fire burns everything in its path. Self-destructive memories add to Edgar’s growing

Fighting the demon: a do-it-yourself project!

stockpile of ammunition. Edgar thrives on drama and misfortune, not just mine, but the world’s. As a disease, the dormant, carcinogenic Edgar lurks until a failure or dashed hope comes along. Given this rocky life journey, the arrival of fresh calamity does not take long. Disappointment appears and then malaise sets in, a pervasive feeling of things being awry. My stomach feels queasy, my shoulders ache, and my limbs are leaden. “Uh oh. Here’s Edgar,” I think to myself.
There is the Death at Sea Edgar. I am managing to feel on top of things, treading water or perhaps just swimming along. As in the movie “Jaws,” a painful memory or a nagging doubt comes bubbling up to the surface and threatens to devour me. Though it looks like a shark, it is just a blow-up plastic, pretend monster. Unlike a toy, it is powerful and aggressive. The higher it rises, the larger and stronger it becomes. In order not to drown, I must punch down the Shark Edgar, beating him into submission so he will sink beneath the waves. But being Edgar, he keeps rising up.
The best solution for the Disease or Death at Sea Edgar is to walk my labyrinth, to meditate, or to take a short hike in the hills near my home. Action and movement allow me to change gears, to keep from going down “the slippery slide.”
This circuitous path led to liberation, and the ability to begin the second part of my life. Ultimately, this path yielded resolution to the enigma of my own personal labyrinth.
The adoptee paradox: How to acquire the skill to beat down the blues, the sadness that never completely vanishes? Taking arms against one’s adoption issues requires vigilance, determination, and maybe even resignation. Ultimately, I had to accept Edgar, “adopting” him as the ugly monster that will never be tamed but must be kept in his place. That way, we can both live.