I am awake on Saturay morning near 6am after a full 4 hours of sleep. I say to myself:" Ray, it is time to deal with the feelings and get on with it. It isn't going to happen overnight. It isn't going to happen from somebody else. It isn't going to happen by laying in bed."
To quote Aun San Suu Kyi, "Engaged Buddhism is active compassion. It's not just sitting there passively saying, 'I feel sorry for them.' It means doing something about the situation by bringing whatever relief you can to those who need it the most, by caring for them, by doing what you can to help others."
(I haven't finished her book - the content being a bit too repressive and horrifying.)
I am the one who needs relief now, and so I get out of bed and do it. I lift weights, do the laundry, go for a good bicycle ride, mow/trim/edge the lawn, wax the motorcycle rims (Who decided to make motorcycle rims white?), and start in on trimming some small fruit trees. Most of these activities do not require intense concentration, so I am able to think through a number critical points in the last six months. I am able to step back and see where things have gone wrong and where I may have been a bit too giving of my emotional capacity - not knowing that I was draining my own supply. I am able to see where I should have tuned some people/events out, but I just could not.
Throughout Friday and Saturday there are quite a few voice mails from friends offering help. But seeing that I need to works a few things out in my own mind first, I stay to myself on Saturday except for the Kings-RedWings game on Saturday night at the Staples Center. I run into about a dozen ex-teammates and friends throughout the evening and I verbally play with them.
The Kings win the game in overtime. Ziggy Palfey, my favorite player, scores the winning goal in overtime. You have to cheer for those guys from the Czech Republic!
After the game, well, there is going to be traffic. So I take a drive through downtown Los Angeles, past the King Eddy, through skid row, past the warehouse district, and amongst other key areas. There is probably still traffic, so I head on over to MacArthur Park in the Pico-Union district. The park is eerily dark. I drive around a few side streets and other than a few people lurking in the shadows, there are not many people around. Traffic is probably gone by now, so I jump on the Harbor freeway southbound. And get off on Florence. I have to check out the area south of USC on Florence. There are relatively few people out even though it is still sort of early.
After the tour of the various areas, I am both happy and sad. I am happy that I have had so many opportunities and family/friends tossed in my direction. I am sad that there are people who have not had these things happen to them.
Sunday morning I get up and lift weights, go for a good 7 mile run, and finish waxing/trimming the motorcycle. And get cleaned up for a visit from Dao (His first meeting with the vicious beast!) and our subsequent drive to Santa Monica to meet the KM for dinner!
The three of us have a good dinner and interesting conversation about school, biomechanics, linguistic modeling, and fuzzy logic. Afterwards we walk down to the Santa Monica pier and take in some negative ions off the crashing surf. (It has been a very long time since I've been to the Santa Monica pier.)
It has been a good weekend start to recovery. My emotions are fairly in control. When they do start to go out of whack, I just need to step back, take a deep breath, and try to realize why they are suddenly going chaotic.
I drive the truck to work on Monday morning for two reasons: 1) I have just washed/waxed the motorcycle and I don't want it to get wet (Note that I don't care if I get wet), 2) There is a possibility that I have to give Dao a ride home from an auto repair shop.
Going to work, I know what it takes to make me feel better: I have The Donnas cranked high! And, when I get home on Monday night, after lifting weights and walking Nopester, I know what will make me feel better. The in-car camera footage from the 2000 Spa Belgium Coulthard qualifying lap and the out-of-car footage of the 2000 Suzuka qualifying session. (Both are from 2000, not 2001. I'll be able to hear the Mercedes engine screaming its guts out at 18,000 rpm through sidepod exhausts - the engine sounding like a cat being strangled as it goes through the different engine mapping, wheelspin modes, and (illegal) traction control modes.) I have tingles up and down my spine as I can't wait to get home tonight!