Ice Knife

Maybe the way to begin these posts these days is to describe the shape of the hesitation not to write.  Name the block and already it begins to shift.  Or maybe that’s just dumb hope.

At any rate, today, I feel questionable about writing about my D&D game.  Not because it wasn’t fabulous, because it was, but I suppose because it brings to mind the great issue of our times.  The grandiosity of our ideals being forced to meet in the middle with what we can actually do.  And I think the lesson I’m trying to corral and contain today is not that my ideals are too grand, but that I don’t give myself enough credit for what I can do.  I don’t appreciate as wildly as I ought what is happening and what could be done.

Escalators.  I used to be positively phobic of them due to some accident when I was a child and misunderstood what part to hold onto and got jammed up in one like so much toddler-based Play-Doh.  Thereafter, no logic would release me from fearing them.  The thought just created a new circuit with a fear that, as randomly as it appeared, could not be redirected.  But that’s only because my process for handling the fear was to stay way the hell away from escalators.  To address each panicky feeling by avoiding what caused that.  Short-term reward, but long-term devastation when you no longer think about whether or not it’s crazy to fear going on an escalator or not – you just can’t question it long enough to see the irrationality.

So getting to DIA from the train may not require an escalator, nor getting through security and to my gate, but it was remarkable how I spent a lot of time just trying to coast out of the flow of the crowd to get to an elevator.  After the convention, though, ride back, you get the clarity of…god, I spend so much of my precious time on this earth just trying to dance around things and it was nice to just, where do I need to go…up?  I go up?  Down? I go down.  So much so that I probably went on 3 or 4 extra ones that I didn’t really need to use until I came to the massive Mt. Doom escalator and my escalator momentum was such that I just got on it and got the full-on heebie-jeebies from the insane grade, heading into a tunnel form of this escalator.

But even then, I held on, because these things aren’t made to break at my arrival and neither am I.

And so too, the panicky feelings that came from starting this game a bit half-cocked, not entirely clear on how we would do it or how it would go…it was far better just to get out there and give it a shot and see what happened and not wait for a perfect moment.  We are incapable of perfect moments.

Remembering that, the last Sunday of vacation passed readily and without issue.

Circle City

It may or may not be the case that I post.

The lesson in the head is that it’s too much. It’s too much a flash of memory and light and the smells of the first Lyft and the taste of the radish in the salad and the nerves and the self-soothing and the JOY times a million and there aren’t really words that are easily accessible to put all of this neatly together in five hundred words or so.

But does the trip, then, therefore, slip into obscurity not an hour after returning to my own threshold?  When I have every capacity to take a  few notes that might spark my thoughts and memories and bring me back to a warm, nearly hallowed version of myself.

Because this is remarkable. While I was amongst thousands, and met very kind people, some of whom felt very much my kin, and others completely unfamiliar, I travelled myself away.  I spent the weekend with myself and I did not accuse or stress myself out for my imperfections, I did not deny myself or shame myself, I did not opt out of the plans I had laid out for myself to do and go sit, hidden away, in the hotel room out of anxiety.   I wanted, I planned, I activated myself and it happened.

Maybe I spent a bit more than I should have, but it’s budgeted, it’s planned for, it’s okay.  And that okayness led me to be in a room with people I admire so much, doing a thing I find to be truly a gift in my life, and I had deep joy and delight in watching them perform.  I didn’t have to accommodate anyone else’s plans. Didn’t have to concern myself with the timing of others. I could just go and do and spin around in the massive hotel bathroom and be the dork we all know me to be.

Of course, everything that happened, the minutiae of the first blush of Indianapolis, the roundabout back way we went to the hotel that was through these elegant neighborhoods where it seemed like 2018 was an inaccessible edge of the universe that mortals would never know.  Permanently, if elegantly, behind, and in green trees.  All of that which only I can know, only….I can know.  I don’t share these memories with anyone who can talk to me about them.  People care, but only to the degree that something about their own lives is sparked when I talk about it.  That’s a lonely feeling.  I’ve come home to that, but I have also come home to a lot of positivity.  To the usual self-reckoning that can push me a bit further than ever before towards the Grand Plan’s final stage rather than it’s first.

Tomorrow: perhaps, if I believe very hard, my first D&D game, a rite of passage, is to occur.  I have copper dice.  I have a backstory. I have a character sheet.

I am so glad to have at least this much.  To have dug my heels in today.