Another month, another depressing post

Yep, I'm not posting much these days. The depression seems to be taking a lot out of me this winter. I've come to a slow realization that is actually has been taking quite a lot of out me for some time now – years, really. A couple of decades, if I'm going to be honest. Strange to think I've never really noticed the extent of it until recently. Partly I think that's because of a semi-stoic attitude I absorbed while growing up, this inclination to always try to minimize anything that might be going wrong ... a need to keep trying, and appear positive even when suffering, in order to not draw attention to myself or add to other people's burdens. Even when I've been completely falling apart, when anyone asks how I'm doing my automatic response is to reassure them that I'm OK, or at least getting better.

Part of that, of course, is also to reassure myself. It's scary to admit when I'm just not able to cope. Talking about it makes it feel more real; talking about being better makes that feel more possible.

But there is such a thing as denial. This winter, it's true, in the very large scheme of things I really am OK. Overall, though, I have to say ... not so much. I've been reading a lot and going over my old journals lately and am somehow now seeing it all from a different perspective. There have been many times when I've written about how I've deliberately designed my life for a minimum of stress, and I always thought of that as a good thing. Now I'm not so sure. I'm almost 45 years old and starting to see some of the results of my "take it easy" strategy, and am realizing that not only has it kept me from achieving some of the more important things I always thought I wanted out of life, it also has failed in its main (only) purpose – to protect me from anxiety, stress and depression.

I was willing to give up a lot – almost everything – to avoid the kinds of crashes I've experienced before. Who knows, maybe if I hadn't been living this way I really would have gone off the deep end by now. Or, maybe I would've developed more of the kind of strength I'm feeling the lack of now.

It seems pointless to wonder what might have happened if I'd done things differently. All I can do is start living differently NOW. I met with a new therapist this week and am feeling really positive and excited about working with her. She's someone I've known socially, sort of peripherally, for over 10 years, and I've always liked her and felt very comfortable with her, and in our first session I was impressed at her ability to identify themes and trends, and also to point out disconnects and contradictions I wasn't seeing on my own.

I also have an appointment for a physical next week, to check in on my diabetes plan and all the basic blood work, and also to talk with him about my depression. I'm feeling like for now, I want to avoid going back on meds ... although it scares me to think I might crash again. I went on a business trip to Southern California with Mr. A for eight days last week and spent most of the time at the library or reading by the pool – reading about depression, and antidepressant medications, and the brain, and trying to figure out how to get myself well ... And everything I was reading seems to indicate that I'm a damn fool not to take advantage of pharmaceuticals as early as possible. According to what I was reading, depression isn't just a mood disorder – that part is just a symptom. What's really going on is far more serious, and permanent. In super simplified terms, untreated major depression eats away at the brain – these are physical, structural changes that you can actually see. The longer you leave it untreated, the worse it gets, even if nothing appears to be changing ... As I've seen in my own life of late, you can go along for years apparently doing fine, and then one small shock (like getting laid off) can be enough to push you back over the precipice. Antidepressant meds can protect the brain from further damage and even help repair damage that's already been done.

That's the short version. The long version includes side effects, social stigma, long-term safety and maybe most compelling – the question of just who I would be if I were no longer "this way." Am I really ready to try to change this aspect of myself, when I've spent the last 18-20 years designing my whole life around it? And what if I do try to change it, and it won't change? What if I really am stuck being fucked up and having no energy or confidence or ability to concentrate, forever?

I guess if that happens, at least I'll know. This situation didn't develop overnight, and just because I have an appointment next week doesn't mean I have to start taking drugs again if I don't feel ready. I've never really tried St. John's wort, or any of the other herbal supplements that are recommended for depression ... That might be a more comfortable place to start, although I'm not sure I see herbs as being all that different than a pill from the pharmacy. It's all just chemicals, right?

And the fact that I've made a commitment to work with a therapist, and have actually started therapy, is a good indication that I am ready to try to do something about this. Change is scary, even when it's a change for the positive. Not as scary as the road I'm already on, though.

In other news: One of the first things I want to nail down with this therapist is – what the hell am I going to do for work now? The fact that a whole month has passed since I had the idea of getting an MSW, and I still have done almost nothing to move myself toward that goal ... That's disturbing to me. It shows me that there really is something wrong here. One thing I have figured out is that it's unlikely I'll be able to just apply to a program and be instantly accepted. There are prerequisites I haven't met yet, including a requirement that I demonstrate my involvement with related work (and be able to provide references detailing my contributions).

However. Last night I came up with a tentative plan to start moving in that direction. I don't know if it's a feasible plan, or if I'll be able to follow through, but the basic plan is to invest in a certificate as a massage technician, and complete training as a hospice volunteer. Both are things I've wanted to do for years and years, and never had the time. Right now, I have the time and the money, and can be actively working toward both goals within the next two weeks. I have an interview for the hospice training program next Tuesday, and could start the course for a massage certificate on February 2. The massage part is partly just because it's something I've wanted to do, and also because I love the idea of having that skill available to use in hospice work, either with patients or with their loved ones. And with my own loved ones, too. Touch has been so important to me all my life, and especially now, when I'm feeling so disconnected from life.

Another piece of this puzzle is that when we were on that trip last week we had dinner with Mr. A's old boss, and he offered to start sending me some editing work – Mr. A thinks it could average out to be as much as 10-20 hours a week. If that works out, it could be a great way to keep some income flowing while I get my prerequisites and volunteer experience under way, and start moving toward grad school.

So maybe that's a contradiction right there – I just said I'd done almost nothing about achieving this goal, and yet ... that's not really true. I've started therapy (for necessary support while I make these changes), done a lot of research, made appointments, set aside funds for all of the above. I guess I do have a habit of being hard on myself when I talk about things I want to do, because so often my ideas are so much bigger than my ability to follow through. I don't want to give myself even a molecule of credit until the results are in. But maybe now is a good time to practice giving myself the benefit of the doubt, and at least a point or two for having made the effort to clearly frame some intentions, even if I haven't finished (or really even started) acting on them yet.

One final thought. Maybe it seems weird for someone who's been so affected by depression to choose, out of all possible volunteer opportunities, to work with people who are dying. I can't really explain why it feels right for me, but ... well, why does it? Hmm. Maybe part of it is just because I've never seen death as a scary, terrible thing. Especially when you know it's coming, it can feel more like an opportunity, and I think I could be good at supporting people through the experience. The connection with depression, I'll have to think about. I know that when I'm in a bad depression, I often feel a weird sort of longing to just Not Be Here anymore. To just disappear. Or not really to disappear, but more ... to be absorbed back into life. I can understand how it could be scary to die. And also, how it could be a blessing.

I want to figure out what it really means to be here, and not here. I suppose this is something I'll need to get a little more clear on before my interview with the hospice program next week.

P.S. Another exciting thing – I rescued a dog the other night! We'd had an insanely incredible thunder and lightning storm that afternoon, and he jumped his fence and was several miles from home when I saw him jogging along the highway in the dark in the pouring rain, inches away from rush hour traffic, looking for a place to cross. I pulled onto a side road and parked, and went back for him. He was soaking wet and filthy, an 8-year-old Brittany spaniel named Cash. He hesitated a bit, tried to escape under a bridge, then saw the creek was too full and followed me to the truck and jumped right in when I invited him. I called the number on his collar and got him back to his person. I made a joke about wanting to keep him instead of giving him back; it made me feel so good to be able to save him from being hit. Then last night the guy called me back, wanting to know if I was serious about adopting Cash. Apparently he's home alone almost all the time, and the guy's son lives with his mother now and doesn't have time for a dog. He did seem like a really cool dog, smart and gentle and well-trained, though I have my doubts about taking on such an accomplished escape artist. Probably the answer will be no, but I'm thinking about it.

Extended stay

It appears being laid off has left me even more disturbed than I had realized. Several hours into my six-day road trip with a friend, some baggage shifted and as I was leaning into the back seat to straighten it, my friend said something about how lightly I had packed. "I'd never be able to pack just one little bag for a two-week trip."

"Two weeks?" I said.

"Um ... we're going back next Tuesday, so ..."

"Oh. Next Tuesday."

Turns out I had not noticed the actual dates of the trip, and read the "Thursday ... blah blah blah ... Tuesday" part as being the same 4-6 day trip I almost always do when I come here. This is typical of the kind of mistake I might make when my mind is stressed and distracted, but I've never blown it to this degree before. Not that it's such a bad thing, though -- Mr. A is home with the dog and aside from missing them there really isn't any other reason to rush back home on my original schedule.

So I'm here until next Tuesday, and today I'm spending some time planning what I'm going to do. Definitely pump up the tires on my mom's bike, and ride around some. There are hikes I want to do, and friends to catch up with, and lunches to eat at posh mountain resorts ... Also, there's a freelance copywriting project my brother-in-law was nice enough to send my way, which needs to be done by Wednesday.

So the exercise is going to be essential, because my poor mind/body is still freaking out, even though I keep trying to tell it everything is going to be OK. The worst part is the steady stream of rejection dreams -- every night I get kicked out of the car at the side of a road in a strange place, locked out of a building, broken up with by a series of strangely faceless husbands and boyfriends. And it's not just the rejection, it's the humiliation. Almost all of the dreams end with me crying hysterically and begging to be taken back, and waking up drenched in adrenaline and stress chemicals.

So blah blah blah and woe is me, etc. I'm not sure what to do to make this pass any faster, so as usual I'm dumping it all out in this boring online journal in hopes of letting it go long enough to accomplish some work and get some enjoyment out of the day.

On a completely unrelated note: I'm writing this in my dad's office and just noticed the little green plastic wind-up frog I gave him a few years ago sitting on the desk, right in front of a picture of my grandparents. It was just a silly little gift, and he's kept it around all this time. Not only that, but it has a little piece of wire wrapped around it where he's very carefully repaired the mechanism that makes the arms move. For some reason this strikes me as a really sweet thing to have done.

P.S. As for packing too light for a two-week trip, I pack pretty much the same (as much as I can carry without sweating) whether I'm going to be gone for two days or two months, so that wasn't really an issue. I might get some new hiking boots while I'm here though, if I can find some that I like. We did about an 8-mile hike last weekend in some fairly rugged terrain, and hoo boy were my feet killing me by the time we were done. Don't want to repeat that experience, or cut a great hike short because my dawgs are barking.

P.S.2. And another thing -- I'm curious to know why the exact same 6 oz. package of raspberries, with the same label, from the same farm in California, costs $5.99 at home and only $2.48 here. Doesn't it seem like the cost of travel would make it more expensive here, instead of less? Same with the exact same label, exact same farm avocados -- 25 cents each here, vs. $2.99 at home. I will definitely be investigating this situation while I'm here.

The ultimate recycled shoes?

I just don't know if it's possible to get any better than these. I'm intrigued enough to consider maybe I really could construct my own totally rad platforms, to my own embarrassingly exacting specifications. The materials for these are readily available: recycled bicycle inner tubes, recycled cardboard, recycled tire treads. Wearable? Mmmmmmaybe .... or maybe not. On the other hand: Stylie as all getout? I should say so. Check them out here.

No time to write much these days, or at least not much that's well-considered and worth reading. Work has been busy and will continue to be, but that isn't stopping me from taking a long weekend off to go to a birthday party in Seattle, followed by (hopefully) some kick-ass hiking in green and mossy places along the way home.

Later.

Home again

I'm back – just too busy to write. I spent a quick and wonderful weekend in Utah celebrating my dad's 70th birthday, and the moment I stepped back into my California life a gigantic wave of work and activity washed over me, which I am still surfing to the best of my ability.

It's a good thing. Although I don't like being this frantic all the time, it's very satisfying to feel necessary, to know I'm contributing, to finish a few big projects and see that my work is good.

More pictures and activity reports to come; right now it's back to work.

Friday frivolity

Nothing better to take your mind off unspeakable horror than a stupid "pick that bag" contest.

The all red one is the one I have now. I like the basic design and the size. But the red – sometimes it's just not what I want. So these are some other fabrics I've been playing with. The one with the dots is a different kind of bag and I'm not sure it would really work, but it could be promising – it's actually meant to be a baby bag, which in this case just means they've taken a regular messenger bag and outfitted the inside with removable padded, insulated totes for things like diapers, bottles and extra clothes. Or, in my case, for all the food and other diabetes-related crap I have to haul around with me most of the time. I don't know what the layout of it is like inside though; I'm pretty attached to the million little pockets inside my current Timbuk2 bag.

Anyway. Colors.

And tomorrow I'm leaving for a long weekend with my family. My dad is turning 70 on Sunday, and I'll also be meeting my newest little nephew for the first time. I'm glad to be getting out of here for awhile; I could use a little freshening up of my perspective and faith in humanity.

Crush

I have fallen in love with Portland. Like, majorly.

After only a couple of days it was apparent that if I were ever to live in a real city again, Portland would be the one. I love how green it is, I love all the water everywhere, the rain, the sun, the trees, all the people riding bikes, the ever-present safe and secure bike parking, the neighborhoods, the compactness of it, the ease of navigation, the easy-going attitude, the wooden houses that look like people actually live in them ... I liked it very much.

I spent time on this trip not only with my wonderful hosts, two friends whom I've known for well over 20 years, but also with Writermama and Rozanne, as well as Writer's sister and several offspring of a few of the above. Not to mention, during the first two days of my trip, with my own adorable parents and somewhere around a hundred assorted relatives from my father's side of the family. Meeting Rozanne was especially memorable for me, because it was the first time I'd met someone in person whom I'd formerly known only online. She was a great host-for-a-day – even came to pick me up at my friends' place so I wouldn't get lost on the way to the Japanese garden, which was the perfect place to stroll around. Almost nothing was in bloom, so I got to see my favorite kind of landscape there – ten thousand different shades of green, with light and shade and koi and waterfalls, plus the raked-gravel zen gardens and a little mossy Jizo figure you can read about via a link on her site, if you want to go visit over there.

And Writermama ... there's a reason we've been friends so long. I loved seeing her again and remembering all that. She brought with her a leopard-print cotton dress I made when I was about 22 years old, which I had given to her at some point and forgotten all about ... it's still in great shape, and I was actually kind of amazed at the quality of my work – I can say that now that 20 years or more have passed – the button holes are hand-made and all still in perfect condition! And (this is big) I can almost actually wear it again. Hmm! Her sister had a Pioneer party on the 24th of July, which is a huge Mormon holiday that celebrates the saints' arrival in Salt Lake Valley. I brought my own small cadre of post- or never-Mormons, and met several others at the party, and felt more at home there with those people than I have at any party in all the twelve years I've lived here. Don't meet too many of those kind of peeps in this neck of the woods.

Being on the beach with my relatives was a new experience and I loved it. My parents are so sweet and fun and dear, I've been really luxuriating lately in the opportunity to spend time with them, just us three – not that I don't also love seeing all my brothers and sisters too, but the vibe is definitely different with a smaller group, and I really enjoyed this visit. I got some great pictures of my parents at the beach – my mom's cute feet with her first-ever professional pedicure (a gift from my sister-in-law), and my dad taking pictures of everything, and the fog and the rain and the beautiful old bridges that seem to be everywhere on the central Oregon coast.

I loved seeing my extended family again, too. It always feels so good to me to be in such a big group of people that I can totally trust. Growing up as part of that group has in some ways I think kind of spoiled my ability to be around so many other people – I sometimes wonder if I might be more functional in the rest of the world if I hadn't grown up with the expectation that people would, in general, do the right thing and be kind to each other and not say cruel things or undercut each other or compete for winner status at the expense of everyone else ... I find not a lot of groups operate that way where I live now. Not that people are awful, but competition and self-interest seem to be so much more at the forefront, rather than this family ethos (or maybe just our family mythology, though it does really seem to play out in real life as well, not just in how we talk about ourselves) of everyone pulling together, and everyone winning, together.

Anyway ... Oregon. I liked it there. But somehow I'm not feeling like writing anymore right now. I'm still on vacation until Monday, officially, and it's been such a great feeling to totally shut off the part of my mind that reads and writes and analyzes things, and just walk and sleep and eat and look at the sky and visit with loved ones. Just now when I turned on the computer I got this sudden stab of adrenalin and realized again how much I resent all the time I spend on the thing. Funny how living a normal, healthy life for just a few days can ruin you for the life you usually lead, kicking and screaming (silently and without moving, of course, lest you alarm the co-workers or incite an unwelcome revolution). Would it be possible to live in a way that would only require me to spend a few hours a week sitting down in front of a computer, instead of 40-50? What could I do to make that happen, and still have enough money to live on? Besides retire, I mean. That's still a ways off for me.

Yesterday I went to the beach at Bolinas and spent several hours just walking up and down in the fog, and sitting with my back up against the sea wall, listening to the waves and looking out at the ocean, letting the sand and water scrub all the thoughts out of my brain. Lately I like that empty, quiet feeling more and more, more than any other way I feel on any kind of a regular basis. A book I was looking through during my trip says this is the natural state of mind that humans are meant to be in much of the time, whenever they're awake; interrupt that relaxed-alert mindspace too much, and you start to have problems. We're also supposed to sleep a lot more than most people do nowadays – basically, whenever it's dark and for as long as it's dark – and eat very few carbohydrates in the winter, when our genetics tell us we are really supposed to be more or less hibernating. I am not technically astute enough to evaluate their science, but I can tell you that a lot of what I was reading felt just instinctively right to me, and that when I have lived like that – like on this trip, more or less, for example – I do feel much better and happier than when I'm chained to my desk, stressed out and staring into the bright light of my computer screen. Like right now.

So I'm going to stop writing now and go sit outside in the wind and the shade. I still have a couple more days to really live, and I intend to enjoy every minute of them.

Way more than anyone in theirright mind would ever want toknow about my trip to San Francisco

The first time I went to San Francisco was in the fall of 1985. It was around Thanksgiving, and I'd driven out with a bunch of strangers from the ride board at school in order to visit some friends in Oakland and Sacramento. As we crossed the Bay Bridge and drove into the financial district, I was totally blown away by the scale and intensity of it all – the bridge, the buildings, the lights, the people. It was the first real city I'd ever seen and the moment I saw it in person I knew I wanted to live there someday.

Not long after that I did move there for a couple of years, and by the time I left I was thoroughly weary, wary, worn out, worn down, exhausted, and pissed off. I still loved the city, but only as a friend ... the kind of friend whose voice on the phone always makes you tense up just a little, the kind of friend who never seems to know when enough is enough.

Anyway – to cut to the chase, this weekend I sort of fell in love with San Francisco all over again. Maybe because I'm older and more comfortable with myself these days, or maybe because I knew I didn't have to actually live there again, or maybe because I wasn't trying to drive and park, or maybe because the city itself has changed since I lived there – whatever – I felt good there.

(And here I will interrupt my narrative to report that I just offered Tater a sip of my Breathe Easy™ tea, which he declined (by turning his head away, and away, and away, until I thought it might actually turn all the way around à la Linda Blair), preferring to suck on one of Mr. A's crusty wool socks from the dirty clothes hamper. This is funny because he usually loves any kind of tea I offer him – what is it he objects to about this one?)

So the hotel was just a couple of blocks from the Civic Center, and by some weird freak of nature we ended up with an actual view – the beautiful, newly restored dome of City Hall, all lit up and looming over us like a big benevolent bald head at the window all night long.

Sunday morning I got up early, and since we were so close to the Tenderloin I decided to go to the 9 o'clock service at Glide Memorial Church. I totally, totally love Glide – why didn't I know about it when I lived in the city, when I spent so much time feeling lonely and like I had nowhere to go? I did used to sometimes sit outside some of the gospel churches in my neighborhood and listen to the choirs ... but going inside and actually connecting with people, and singing, and hearing positive, hopeful messages about love and hope and reconciliation – that's a really good feeling. I decided while I was sitting there that finding a way to feel that way more often is something I want to do for myself this year.

There was this woman in the choir, a soloist, who was introduced as being in some kind of enormous crisis and wanting to offer her song to God as thanks for seeing her through whatever it was. So she sang the song (about continuing to stand) in an incredibly strong and powerful voice, and as she finished she sort of semi-collapsed, and then all these people surrounded her and it was just so beautiful to see her being embraced by so much love and support.

After that I headed out to the de Young, where I spent several hours taking in a show of paintings, drawings and wire sculptures by Ruth Asawa (that's her in the photo at the top of this post). Wire is one of my favorite materials to work with and I got a lot of new ideas from this show.

From there I went next door, to the Japanese tea garden, where I saw my first blooming tree of 2007 – a single tiny cluster of pale pink blossoms. Then I walked through the park – taking pictures along the way of some of my favorite old trees that I used to like to visit – and past my old house on Fell Street. It's been repainted (the part that was mauve is now dark red) and the big tree in front is gone, replaced by a much smaller, younger one. When I lived upstairs in that building, I would look out my windows and instead of seeing buildings, cars or people, all I could see was the sky and the beautiful green leaves of the top of that tree ... it was one of the main things that made it possible for me to stay in the city as long as I did. (Julie, the downstairs apartment we both lived in is vacant right now!)

After that I walked up to Haight Street in search of a certain kind of fabric I want to line all these wristie things I've been knitting. I didn't find what I was looking for, but I did buy a slice of pizza and some books and a groovy thrifted zebra-print corduroy skirt, and even treated myself to a small brass sculpture of a hand making the sharanagamana-mudra (the gesture of giving refuge). Then I caught the 7 bus back downtown and was dropped off a half a block from the hotel just in time to hook up with Mr. A and three other instructors, who by sheer chance had made plans to have dinner at the same Chinese place I used to go to for the cheap lunch buffet (which now costs almost twenty bucks!).

So that was Sunday.

On Monday I went to the Mission hoping to have breakfast at a place I used to love, which is no longer there. Instead, I had pancakes and eggs at the Pork Store, which was almost as nostalgic, since I used to frequent the one on Haight Street when I lived in the neighborhood. After breakfast I walked around the Mission for awhile and spent a couple of hours at the Mission Dolores, mostly wandering around the graveyard reading stones. I love the old engravings and artwork and poetry – here's one I found this week that I hadn't seen before:

The night dew that falls, though in silence it weeps,
shall brighten with verdure the grave where he sleeps.
And the tear that we shed, though in secret it rolls,
will long keep his memory green in our souls.

Being in that graveyard sort of reawakened my childhood obsession with Victorian hairwork and mourning jewelry. A few years ago I made a great little woven piece out of some of the long hair from Tater's tail; now I want to look into engraving stone. How do they make gravestones, anyway? That would be a cool skill to learn one of these days.

Another new thing I noticed on this trip is that MUNI drivers no longer seem to be checking bus transfers – they don't even take them from you anymore, just glance at them and wave you in. When I lived there that never would've happened! They used to always take the transfer and actually check the time, and if it had already expired you had to pay again.

Anyway – I used a transfer (non-expired!) to get from the Mission to Japantown, where I ate yummy Japanese snax, looked at antique woodblock prints and brush paintings, considered buying several fabulous cast iron teapots, and actually did buy some incense and a bunch of weird Japanese office supplies (another obsession – a sort of useful one, this time!).

And that was basically it! After Japantown I went back to the hotel, packed up my bags, and drove back home to feed the dogs and go to bed. But I'm going back tomorrow night to have dinner with Mr. A again and probably spend another night at the hotel – I love that king size bed!

Mini-vacay

I haven't even written about my Christmas vacation yet – in fact, have not yet unpacked from it, either – and here I go, taking off on another little trip again. So unlike me! And yet, so very wonderful, and very much appreciated.

Mr. A is teaching a course for his professional organization all next week in San Francisco, and even though it's less than an hour from where we live, they're putting him up in a hotel – so I'm going along with him for a few days. Check-in is tomorrow and the course starts first thing Sunday morning, so while he's doing his thing for work, I have the entire city to myself from Saturday afternoon until Tuesday morning.

It's funny – we really are so close – only about 35 miles from our driveway to the toll plaza on the Golden Gate bridge – and yet I hardly ever go into the city for any reason. Maybe twice a year I'll spend an afternoon at some music or art fest, or have dinner with some friend who's in town on business. I'm just not much of a city person, I suppose – or maybe I'm just not accustomed to all the traffic, noise and chaotic activity. Most nerve-wracking of all is driving and parking. I live in a town of less than 10,000 people and am not used to driving as aggressively as you have to when there are upwards of a million other people around, all trying to shove you out of their way.

Luckily, on this trip I won't have to drive at all. For fifteen bucks you can get a three-day transit pass, and even though the residents of San Francisco seem to have nothing but complaints about MUNI, to me it's a huge pleasure to be able to go anywhere I want to go in the city without having to navigate, drive or park. I have my whole weekend mapped out, and I can't wait.

Thinking about cities ... Living in the country on the outskirts of a very small town, most of what I see and experience from day to day is at most maybe half created by people, and the rest is just nature. Trees, plants, birds, animals, mountains, sky, water – nobody put any of this there. In a city those things are available as well, but they're (to me) totally dwarfed out of all proportion by the vast preponderance of things that people have made. Buildings, streets, cars, sidewalks, traffic signals, machines, products, products, products – not to mention the people themselves ...

Cities are all about people and what people can do. It's a fascinating kind of space to be in when you're not used to it. For instance, social, political and especially environmental problems make a lot more sense to me when I'm in a city – it seems natural that problems like this will arise when most of the people who make the rules spend all their time in an environment that insists people are the center of all meaning in the world. Whereas in a redwood forest, for example, it quickly becomes obvious that it's not all about me – I (a person) am only one small part of a much bigger picture – there are millions upon millions of other kinds of beings around who are also alive and aware and want to feel good and enjoy their time here.

Of course these beings are also around in cities – it's just harder to remember them because almost everything you see is something that a person has made. Not that that's a bad thing. Just that it's so limited – despite the iPhone and other marvels of human invention, we are still so limited. I somehow feel more secure when I can feel myself as part of a larger and more diverse context.

But hmm. Maybe the more interesting challenge is to learn to recognize myself as being in that context wherever I am – in the forest, in my bed with my new heated mattress pad (ohmygod, it's wonderful!), in an office, wrapped in a stained sleeping bag and sitting on the beach with a black-whiskered friend and a bag full of sandwiches, or walking down Mission Street with car exhaust and stinky people and mysterious substances on the sidewalk and all that beautiful, beautiful art and humanity all around me.

Anyway, I'm looking forward to power-loading some intensive human energy over the next couple of days and bringing it home with me to the country and seeing what I can make out of it. I'm finally going to check out the de Young Museum, which I haven't seen since it re-opened, and go very early on Sunday morning to the Japanese Tea Garden in Golden Gate Park – I love it there. There are several restaurants on my list of favorite old places to revisit, and some galleries, and the church at the Mission Delores (I used to love to sit in there when I lived in SF) and all manner of public art installations to check out, as well as Chinatown of course. Mainly, I plan to spend a lot of time just walking around and looking at things in various parts of the city, hopefully taking some pictures (still need to pick a new camera) and definitely taking lots of mental notes. I love it that San Francisco is small enough to do this. Maybe I'll walk all the way across the city, from our hotel downtown and out to the beach! I haven't done that since probably 1989.

Happy MLK Jr. Day to all. What are you going to be doing?