Vancouver, British Columbia
For several months my part of the world has been experiencing torrential rains of nearly Noahadic proportions. Weather records with the Army Corps of Engineers three weeks ago indicated rainfall in my part of South Carolina is running 600% above average. This reality became ominous to me in that the foundations of my house were beginning to leak and this only became apparent the day I left for a long journey of nearly a month’s duration. A bit of relief came for me when my neighbors said they would pay close attention and give me a call if anything untoward was to happen.
A couple weeks ago a stray cell phone signal allowed a text message to get through indicating all was in order with my house, thus far. For two weeks I’ve been able to be present to my present circumstances in Alaska and British Columbia
Blessings,
Craig C. Johnson
Wednesday, December 31, 2014
Choosing Solitude 7-23-13
Queen Charlotte Sound, British Columbia
It’s easy to have a conception of passengers on cruise ships being happy, wealthy, connected, and free of the cares of life; advertising agencies do their jobs very well. The past weeks have clearly demonstrated many of these passengers to be none of these things. I’ve sat in the 12th deck chapel daily the past weeks and heard astounding tales of woe; virtually all of it self made. I never cease to be amazed at how people seek out ways to import chaos into their lives, driven by some in-born messages telling them they deserve nothing better and being alone is a consummate failure.
In working with those in recovery I often end up hearing a lot of life stories; somehow becoming a magnet for those in crisis. Perhaps they see me as harmless with little capacity to add to their chaos and angst. I’m inclined to take this view as a compliment rather than an insult. A long time ago time ago I gave up any vain hopes of becoming virile, buff, or a specimen of manhood to display on the glossy pages of Body Builder; despite my daily pilgrimages to the gym.
Circumstances on my recent voyages have me in close proximity to a number of individuals creating a lot of chaos in their own lives and now creating it out here on the high seas. Over the weeks, watching passengers develop relationships which should never have gotten started, I observe long-standing friendships fraying, resentments being fueled, and the soil of emotional injury being well tilled. I find myself needing a break from it all.
Perhaps the most satisfying meal I had four years ago on a voyage to Russia was in the elegant Tsar’s dining room by myself. Taking a paperback copy of Henri Nouwen’s The Return of the Prodigal with me as a companion I slowly read my way through a five course feast, sitting in an obscure corner of the dining room. Over a couple hours assorted staff would attend to my minimal needs. Nouwen’s book describes the encounter he had with Rembrandt’s epic painting “The Return of the Prodigal” hanging in the Hermitage Museum; useful preparation for my own encounter with the masterpiece a couple days hence.
Here weeks into another voyage I found myself having a mini-retreat in the back corner of another elegant dining room. With one of Oliver Sack’s grand clinical tales, The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat, as a companion I had the most satisfying meal of my present voyage. With Sacks as a vicarious companion I slowly read my way through a five course feast, sitting in an obscure corner of the dining room. Over a couple hours assorted staff would attend to my minimal needs. I was having a splendid episode of déjà vu. I suddenly realized staff members were clearing up the dining room and resetting it for another day. I was the last diner in a place closed an hour earlier. I left feeling refreshed and at peace.
A number of my confidants in recent weeks have admitted to being phobic about being alone and their willingness to be in abusive immoral relationships to avoid being solitary. In recovery, catastrophic relapse and life failure often are outgrowths of willingness to enter destructive relationships in order to avoid being alone. Millions are willing to give up the promises of a better way of life in order to assuage phobias about being alone. Sobriety so often shipwrecks on the rocks of chaotic relationships, ones often medicated with drugs and alcohol. Perhaps, this explains why there are eighteen bars within a short walk of where I’m writing this.
In the recovery community we speak of learning to be comfortable in our own skins, being comfortable with who God made us to be, no longer overly dependent on others for affirmation and a personal sense of self-worth. We advise newcomers of the merits of not entering new relationships for at least a year. Sobriety comes first. A few heed this advice and are usually rewarded with spectacular progress in the rebuilding of their lives. Alas, most do not pay attention to our suggestions and often end up giving away their life gains in catastrophic ways. On this present journey I’ve witnessed a number of alcoholics with years of sobriety choose to give it away and reenter an ocean of chaos, getting three sheets to the bitter sub-arctic wind. Ill-advised relationships are right there in the center of the mix.
Sitting here on an eighty thousand ton love boat, it would be easy to feel like an outlier as a solo traveller eating in an elegant dining room by myself. I choose to pretend I am an observer of human behavior and objectify my experience. I’m here to photograph the world, write about what I see, read good books, go to the gym every day, and learn to be comfortable in my own skin. Along the way I ask God to enable me to share experience, strength, and hope with those who have it in short supply.
As I watch women roaming around on deck mid-morning with wine bottle in one hand and goblet in the other, I realize the shortest way to contentment and happiness is learning to be comfortable in my own skin, seeing God as the best possible companion. Married women, expensive jewelry, and jugs of wine will never teach me that. Perhaps the likes of Henri Nouwen and Oliver Sacks can teach me much more about being fully human and present to life.
In my present case solitude includes all the lobster I want. I’m feeling very comfortable at present … think I will take a nice nap, letting the ocean rock me to sleep.
Blessings,
Craig C. Johnson
It’s easy to have a conception of passengers on cruise ships being happy, wealthy, connected, and free of the cares of life; advertising agencies do their jobs very well. The past weeks have clearly demonstrated many of these passengers to be none of these things. I’ve sat in the 12th deck chapel daily the past weeks and heard astounding tales of woe; virtually all of it self made. I never cease to be amazed at how people seek out ways to import chaos into their lives, driven by some in-born messages telling them they deserve nothing better and being alone is a consummate failure.
In working with those in recovery I often end up hearing a lot of life stories; somehow becoming a magnet for those in crisis. Perhaps they see me as harmless with little capacity to add to their chaos and angst. I’m inclined to take this view as a compliment rather than an insult. A long time ago time ago I gave up any vain hopes of becoming virile, buff, or a specimen of manhood to display on the glossy pages of Body Builder; despite my daily pilgrimages to the gym.
Circumstances on my recent voyages have me in close proximity to a number of individuals creating a lot of chaos in their own lives and now creating it out here on the high seas. Over the weeks, watching passengers develop relationships which should never have gotten started, I observe long-standing friendships fraying, resentments being fueled, and the soil of emotional injury being well tilled. I find myself needing a break from it all.
Perhaps the most satisfying meal I had four years ago on a voyage to Russia was in the elegant Tsar’s dining room by myself. Taking a paperback copy of Henri Nouwen’s The Return of the Prodigal with me as a companion I slowly read my way through a five course feast, sitting in an obscure corner of the dining room. Over a couple hours assorted staff would attend to my minimal needs. Nouwen’s book describes the encounter he had with Rembrandt’s epic painting “The Return of the Prodigal” hanging in the Hermitage Museum; useful preparation for my own encounter with the masterpiece a couple days hence.
Here weeks into another voyage I found myself having a mini-retreat in the back corner of another elegant dining room. With one of Oliver Sack’s grand clinical tales, The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat, as a companion I had the most satisfying meal of my present voyage. With Sacks as a vicarious companion I slowly read my way through a five course feast, sitting in an obscure corner of the dining room. Over a couple hours assorted staff would attend to my minimal needs. I was having a splendid episode of déjà vu. I suddenly realized staff members were clearing up the dining room and resetting it for another day. I was the last diner in a place closed an hour earlier. I left feeling refreshed and at peace.
A number of my confidants in recent weeks have admitted to being phobic about being alone and their willingness to be in abusive immoral relationships to avoid being solitary. In recovery, catastrophic relapse and life failure often are outgrowths of willingness to enter destructive relationships in order to avoid being alone. Millions are willing to give up the promises of a better way of life in order to assuage phobias about being alone. Sobriety so often shipwrecks on the rocks of chaotic relationships, ones often medicated with drugs and alcohol. Perhaps, this explains why there are eighteen bars within a short walk of where I’m writing this.
In the recovery community we speak of learning to be comfortable in our own skins, being comfortable with who God made us to be, no longer overly dependent on others for affirmation and a personal sense of self-worth. We advise newcomers of the merits of not entering new relationships for at least a year. Sobriety comes first. A few heed this advice and are usually rewarded with spectacular progress in the rebuilding of their lives. Alas, most do not pay attention to our suggestions and often end up giving away their life gains in catastrophic ways. On this present journey I’ve witnessed a number of alcoholics with years of sobriety choose to give it away and reenter an ocean of chaos, getting three sheets to the bitter sub-arctic wind. Ill-advised relationships are right there in the center of the mix.
Sitting here on an eighty thousand ton love boat, it would be easy to feel like an outlier as a solo traveller eating in an elegant dining room by myself. I choose to pretend I am an observer of human behavior and objectify my experience. I’m here to photograph the world, write about what I see, read good books, go to the gym every day, and learn to be comfortable in my own skin. Along the way I ask God to enable me to share experience, strength, and hope with those who have it in short supply.
As I watch women roaming around on deck mid-morning with wine bottle in one hand and goblet in the other, I realize the shortest way to contentment and happiness is learning to be comfortable in my own skin, seeing God as the best possible companion. Married women, expensive jewelry, and jugs of wine will never teach me that. Perhaps the likes of Henri Nouwen and Oliver Sacks can teach me much more about being fully human and present to life.
In my present case solitude includes all the lobster I want. I’m feeling very comfortable at present … think I will take a nice nap, letting the ocean rock me to sleep.
Blessings,
Craig C. Johnson
Wandering to Paradise 7-15-13
University of British Columbia
It only took me two full days to get to the Atlanta airport. I left Anderson on Thursday and finally made it to the airport Saturday morning where I then did eight hours of turbine time getting here to the University of British Columbia day before yesterday. I love doing my work in universities with all these young energetic people around me
Thursday I had an uneventful drive to Atlanta where I met with our Childspring staff in the afternoon. I was shown an inspiring presentation of our expanding open heart program in Colombia, South America. The work there is really wondrous and gaining much traction. Five more children were identified as candidates for open heart surgery.
After this inspiring presentation, I walked the fifty feet across the road to the High Museum and saw $500 million of wondrous Dutch Old Masters. The work assembled is staggering in its creativity and wonder. There are so many ways creativity manifests in our lives when we live grounded lives of service to others. Some do this with their paint brushes; some do it with scalpels. I try to do so with cameras and pen.
A ten minute encounter with a museum security guard provided an amazing opportunity. It would have been so easy to have gotten cross-wise with the Atlanta attitude. As it turned out I was able to get him to understand he worked in one of the best possible places in the world and had a profoundly important job. I reminded him he was sitting at his desk twenty feet away from one of the most admired paintings in the world, worth perhaps $100 million. He was keeping it safe and in good order and was enabling me to see it at leisure. He was transfixed I would think he or his job mattered. He got up and nearly bowed down to me, shaking my hand, telling me how honored he was to meet me, and was so happy I found the exhibition most satisfying. We really do have a choice about what we put into the lives of those around us. Affirmation is something that always goes down well.
Friday I went to the Atlanta Botanical Gardens and made more than three hundred images of some very distinctive things, especially nineteen installations of mosaiculture – a surreal French thing with thousands of tiny plants installed to yield something looking a bit like complex topiary. This form of creativity was completely new to me.
If you want to do something really cool, get with a precocious ten year old boy on his first airplane ride and show him a huge volcano (Mt Rainier) covered with snow. His eighty year old grandmother one seat away was on her first plane ride as well. I had to make it good. For four hours I got to show this boy what the world looked like from the top side. He couldn't get enough of it and his three-generation family was most grateful for my sitting services. It sure made one of my long rides seem short.
Saturday night I was setting out to photograph the Strait of Georgia at sunset; it must be a whole quarter mile away from me. As I did so an elegant woman (a visiting professor) saw me going out with tripods and camera pack and asked if I was going to the beach and if she could accompany me! I thought about this for at least a nano-second. I ended up with a really splendid three-hour wandering with a visiting professor from Ontario and then fixings for dinner. It was a magnificent beginning to this journey.
I wandered about Stanley Park most of yesterday; a thousand acres of paradise set in the middle of an amazingly dense vertical city. What a magical place of people enjoying God’s creation. There is a world class Japanese Garden immediately next to my university residence. I plan to 'collect' it in a couple hours when it opens up. The university proves the perfect place to stay in the middle of paradise. A million buses run from here into the city centre. There is a lounge and kitchen closer than the ones in my house.
My phone does not work here … wahhhh!! I’m guessing I have a vast backlog of texts somewhere in cyberspace. Later in the day my nice fast hard-wired Ethernet Internet access will be gone and then I will have intermittent phone access going up the coast … perhaps chances to clip onto Wi-Fi at assorted small towns. The weather forecast as far as Anchorage is really very good for ten days. At home surreal torrential rainfall continues unabated from what I am told.
Gotta go!!! A wave of photons is careening across paradise at a 1000 mph and it needs to be collected … sunrise.
Blessings,
Craig C. Johnson
It only took me two full days to get to the Atlanta airport. I left Anderson on Thursday and finally made it to the airport Saturday morning where I then did eight hours of turbine time getting here to the University of British Columbia day before yesterday. I love doing my work in universities with all these young energetic people around me
Thursday I had an uneventful drive to Atlanta where I met with our Childspring staff in the afternoon. I was shown an inspiring presentation of our expanding open heart program in Colombia, South America. The work there is really wondrous and gaining much traction. Five more children were identified as candidates for open heart surgery.
After this inspiring presentation, I walked the fifty feet across the road to the High Museum and saw $500 million of wondrous Dutch Old Masters. The work assembled is staggering in its creativity and wonder. There are so many ways creativity manifests in our lives when we live grounded lives of service to others. Some do this with their paint brushes; some do it with scalpels. I try to do so with cameras and pen.
A ten minute encounter with a museum security guard provided an amazing opportunity. It would have been so easy to have gotten cross-wise with the Atlanta attitude. As it turned out I was able to get him to understand he worked in one of the best possible places in the world and had a profoundly important job. I reminded him he was sitting at his desk twenty feet away from one of the most admired paintings in the world, worth perhaps $100 million. He was keeping it safe and in good order and was enabling me to see it at leisure. He was transfixed I would think he or his job mattered. He got up and nearly bowed down to me, shaking my hand, telling me how honored he was to meet me, and was so happy I found the exhibition most satisfying. We really do have a choice about what we put into the lives of those around us. Affirmation is something that always goes down well.
Friday I went to the Atlanta Botanical Gardens and made more than three hundred images of some very distinctive things, especially nineteen installations of mosaiculture – a surreal French thing with thousands of tiny plants installed to yield something looking a bit like complex topiary. This form of creativity was completely new to me.
If you want to do something really cool, get with a precocious ten year old boy on his first airplane ride and show him a huge volcano (Mt Rainier) covered with snow. His eighty year old grandmother one seat away was on her first plane ride as well. I had to make it good. For four hours I got to show this boy what the world looked like from the top side. He couldn't get enough of it and his three-generation family was most grateful for my sitting services. It sure made one of my long rides seem short.
Saturday night I was setting out to photograph the Strait of Georgia at sunset; it must be a whole quarter mile away from me. As I did so an elegant woman (a visiting professor) saw me going out with tripods and camera pack and asked if I was going to the beach and if she could accompany me! I thought about this for at least a nano-second. I ended up with a really splendid three-hour wandering with a visiting professor from Ontario and then fixings for dinner. It was a magnificent beginning to this journey.
I wandered about Stanley Park most of yesterday; a thousand acres of paradise set in the middle of an amazingly dense vertical city. What a magical place of people enjoying God’s creation. There is a world class Japanese Garden immediately next to my university residence. I plan to 'collect' it in a couple hours when it opens up. The university proves the perfect place to stay in the middle of paradise. A million buses run from here into the city centre. There is a lounge and kitchen closer than the ones in my house.
My phone does not work here … wahhhh!! I’m guessing I have a vast backlog of texts somewhere in cyberspace. Later in the day my nice fast hard-wired Ethernet Internet access will be gone and then I will have intermittent phone access going up the coast … perhaps chances to clip onto Wi-Fi at assorted small towns. The weather forecast as far as Anchorage is really very good for ten days. At home surreal torrential rainfall continues unabated from what I am told.
Gotta go!!! A wave of photons is careening across paradise at a 1000 mph and it needs to be collected … sunrise.
Blessings,
Craig C. Johnson
Looking on the Bright Side 9-19-12
Manhattan, New York
The flight to New York proved very short and surprisingly smooth. The pilot had warned us before takeoff of some rough air which never materialized. I was able to get some rather expansive sunrise cloud shots out a surprisingly clean window while having rather pleasing conversation with a third year medical student from Manhattan. We enjoyed the only empty seat in the plane between us. My seatmate had a boy friend picking her up and we ended up with a ride into Manhattan which instantly made the trip far less complicated and pleasing at the front end. Conversation with Janine, encouraging her to not lose her gentleness and compassion in her medical training was profoundly satisfying. The twelve-step program of recovery does well in informing one’s life in such a way as to enable giving experience strength, and hope. It really does make for a good social skill I was lacking in for too long.
I find New York surprisingly calm and ordered. After being exposed to the organic nature of places like London during the Queen’s Jubilee and Olympics, Manhattan feels almost sedate. David, my travel mate, found it overwhelming and wanted nothing to do with it. It’s interesting how the same environment creates such difference reactions in people. I can’t but wonder if I would do as poorly in a remote rural locale as David would in an intense urban one. It’s impossible to get lost in Manhattan, as it’s laid out on a perfect grid. I find vast cities rather interesting places. I wonder why I so often dream of getting lost in them, something I have not done in my waking hours.
We found ourselves at the Charlotte airport early, no one was waiting in security, our plane arrived early at JFK, and we were at the Port Authority dock two hours early by virtue of Janine’s generosity. There’s been no frantic sensibility whatever to our journey. One of the dock stewards took to us and we were admitted onto the ship earlier than many of the others. We were settled and eating at poolside by 1:30 PM. The passenger contingent seems older, almost blue collar, no kids. My preliminary brief encounters with passengers suggest this will be a pleasant group without a lot of pretense – basic wholesome good people having their one-time journey of a lifetime.
The weather and water are another story altogether. Fierce gale-strength winds blowing under angry spitting skies have stirred up a maelstrom. While still moored at the dock I estimated the winds at 50 knots steady and gusting higher, perhaps 70. I could not even hold a camera up most of the time. Manhattan was shrouded in cloud, no aureate sunset views of the skyline were in the offing tonight. I did get a few images, some of which will be useful for travelogues but nothing more; no contest winners here. For today, I will have to be content with transcendent cloud images I got from the plane. I’m still wondering how we had such a smooth descent into JFK with such intense wind prevailing at ground level.
The water proceeded to get much rougher in the evening as we moved out onto open sea; many people are hunkered down, too bad for those on their first day of their dream holiday. The ocean is rougher than what I experienced during the rare November category four hurricane of 1999. I ate a grand meal of coconut Thai chicken with several fine courses and then wobbled off to bed. Somewhere in my distant past I acquired the idea a very full stomach would provide relief to motion sickness. Apparently, this is true.
I fell asleep instantly for about eight hours, never even getting into bed. This was a good thing as I heard the water was hellatious from 11-2 during the night. I’m amazed I slept through it. Ignorance is sweet bliss in this case. Perhaps the work of recovery has allowed me to trust Someone else is really in charge, and it’s not me. Passengers reported having a long miserable night. The captain says we’ve had 60 mph winds directly off the beam the whole run thus far; gusting to 75. He reminded us this is the worst aspect from which to take wind.
I think of the story of Jesus sleeping in a boat while on a journey across the Sea of Galilee, a body of water notorious for getting stirred up in no time. His disciples became frantic with fear, convinced capsizing was imminent. Waking Jesus, they demanded he do something about their impending doom. He told the winds to be still; they obeyed. The disciples settled down, allowing their nascent faith to dissipate their overwhelming fear.
For those having learned to trust God with the affairs of their lives, fear is kept at bay, even when the winds do not calm down. Equanimity is the ability to be at peace, even when caught in the maelstroms of life. Serenity is the ground from which acceptance of life on life’s terms comes to us.
I have no assurance what the waters of life will look like tomorrow. They may again be steel-gray mounds of undulating foam with wind shrieking in the superstructures. They may be serene aquamarine mirrors with balmy breezes. No matter. In either case there is One who is in charge despite appearance to the contrary.
Before the foundations of time the days of my life were ordered, the hairs of my head numbered. It matters not what is before me. As Jesus trusted His father, may I do likewise. Perhaps I can then, as Jesus did, sleep through the storm at peace. For one once tortured for years by unceasing panic, anxiety, and fears of a hundred kinds, for one once unable to get on airplanes, unable to go in parts of my own house, this is a big deal of the highest order for me, especially out here on stormy seas.
Faith is the substance of things hoped for, of things yet unseen.
Blessings,
Craig C. Johnson
The flight to New York proved very short and surprisingly smooth. The pilot had warned us before takeoff of some rough air which never materialized. I was able to get some rather expansive sunrise cloud shots out a surprisingly clean window while having rather pleasing conversation with a third year medical student from Manhattan. We enjoyed the only empty seat in the plane between us. My seatmate had a boy friend picking her up and we ended up with a ride into Manhattan which instantly made the trip far less complicated and pleasing at the front end. Conversation with Janine, encouraging her to not lose her gentleness and compassion in her medical training was profoundly satisfying. The twelve-step program of recovery does well in informing one’s life in such a way as to enable giving experience strength, and hope. It really does make for a good social skill I was lacking in for too long.
I find New York surprisingly calm and ordered. After being exposed to the organic nature of places like London during the Queen’s Jubilee and Olympics, Manhattan feels almost sedate. David, my travel mate, found it overwhelming and wanted nothing to do with it. It’s interesting how the same environment creates such difference reactions in people. I can’t but wonder if I would do as poorly in a remote rural locale as David would in an intense urban one. It’s impossible to get lost in Manhattan, as it’s laid out on a perfect grid. I find vast cities rather interesting places. I wonder why I so often dream of getting lost in them, something I have not done in my waking hours.
We found ourselves at the Charlotte airport early, no one was waiting in security, our plane arrived early at JFK, and we were at the Port Authority dock two hours early by virtue of Janine’s generosity. There’s been no frantic sensibility whatever to our journey. One of the dock stewards took to us and we were admitted onto the ship earlier than many of the others. We were settled and eating at poolside by 1:30 PM. The passenger contingent seems older, almost blue collar, no kids. My preliminary brief encounters with passengers suggest this will be a pleasant group without a lot of pretense – basic wholesome good people having their one-time journey of a lifetime.
The weather and water are another story altogether. Fierce gale-strength winds blowing under angry spitting skies have stirred up a maelstrom. While still moored at the dock I estimated the winds at 50 knots steady and gusting higher, perhaps 70. I could not even hold a camera up most of the time. Manhattan was shrouded in cloud, no aureate sunset views of the skyline were in the offing tonight. I did get a few images, some of which will be useful for travelogues but nothing more; no contest winners here. For today, I will have to be content with transcendent cloud images I got from the plane. I’m still wondering how we had such a smooth descent into JFK with such intense wind prevailing at ground level.
The water proceeded to get much rougher in the evening as we moved out onto open sea; many people are hunkered down, too bad for those on their first day of their dream holiday. The ocean is rougher than what I experienced during the rare November category four hurricane of 1999. I ate a grand meal of coconut Thai chicken with several fine courses and then wobbled off to bed. Somewhere in my distant past I acquired the idea a very full stomach would provide relief to motion sickness. Apparently, this is true.
I fell asleep instantly for about eight hours, never even getting into bed. This was a good thing as I heard the water was hellatious from 11-2 during the night. I’m amazed I slept through it. Ignorance is sweet bliss in this case. Perhaps the work of recovery has allowed me to trust Someone else is really in charge, and it’s not me. Passengers reported having a long miserable night. The captain says we’ve had 60 mph winds directly off the beam the whole run thus far; gusting to 75. He reminded us this is the worst aspect from which to take wind.
I think of the story of Jesus sleeping in a boat while on a journey across the Sea of Galilee, a body of water notorious for getting stirred up in no time. His disciples became frantic with fear, convinced capsizing was imminent. Waking Jesus, they demanded he do something about their impending doom. He told the winds to be still; they obeyed. The disciples settled down, allowing their nascent faith to dissipate their overwhelming fear.
For those having learned to trust God with the affairs of their lives, fear is kept at bay, even when the winds do not calm down. Equanimity is the ability to be at peace, even when caught in the maelstroms of life. Serenity is the ground from which acceptance of life on life’s terms comes to us.
I have no assurance what the waters of life will look like tomorrow. They may again be steel-gray mounds of undulating foam with wind shrieking in the superstructures. They may be serene aquamarine mirrors with balmy breezes. No matter. In either case there is One who is in charge despite appearance to the contrary.
Before the foundations of time the days of my life were ordered, the hairs of my head numbered. It matters not what is before me. As Jesus trusted His father, may I do likewise. Perhaps I can then, as Jesus did, sleep through the storm at peace. For one once tortured for years by unceasing panic, anxiety, and fears of a hundred kinds, for one once unable to get on airplanes, unable to go in parts of my own house, this is a big deal of the highest order for me, especially out here on stormy seas.
Faith is the substance of things hoped for, of things yet unseen.
Blessings,
Craig C. Johnson
The Mid Night Blues 9-18-12
Charlotte, North Carolina
The day started out as one of those typical of days starting too early; a bit gray and with some risk of stinking thinking. I’m free associating here in the middle of the night. I’m sitting here in the airport at Charlotte with about an hour and a half yet to wait for boarding so am using the time to write. Laptop computers certainly do make it easier to redeem time otherwise spent doing nothing useful in the middle of the night in airports. My head always goes through a strange discontinuity right before long journeys, especially while sitting in airports.
There’s a strange ambivalence in my mind. With my present recovery work I’ve gotten so attached to people on a daily basis that it’s hard to leave them. Yesterday I had a rather pleasant sense of farewell with one of my mid-day groups. In the past year or two I’ve enjoyed a sense of farewell from these groups I never got from a church, service club, or other organization. I only wish the larger culture could enjoy the sense of community those working programs of recovery bask in. People in recovery understand their need for community context to stay clean and sober. There would be a lot less loneliness, depression, and abject isolation so widespread in Western cultures if people found the joy and liberation coming from community rather than the self-sufficient “I-can-do-this-by-myself mentality” we have here in the US. I recall while in Norway in May the pleasant sense of anticipation of being with these dear people once again. Throughout much of my life I’ve never been in any hurry to return to the US after a long overseas journey. The past two years I’ve found myself happily returning home to a lot of welcome.
I’m barely leaving and I am already anticipating what I will be doing upon my return. I have a single mother who destroyed her life with methamphetamine. She’s starting to get a small bit of traction in her recovery and will get custody of her two children in late October. I have some furniture for her to re-constitute a household when I get back. I recall how bleak it was in my own childhood to be rootless and hauled around so much by an alcoholic addicted single mother. Having my own chest of drawers was a big deal. Others of us are putting together the rest of this young mother’s furnishings. Community does make a great difference to the fragile and marginalized.
More happily, I will begin teaching a foreign policy class at the local university when I return. I think I start on October 5. Curiously, having the context of meaningful responsibilities upon my return gives my present journey more meaning. The temporary disconnect from phones, e-mail, and daily deadlines is most splendid.
A splendid aspect of this journey is the torrid heat of southern summer will have passed by the time I return. We will then be entering into the best climate of the year. The magic of fall colors will be upon us, and there will be those pleasant anticipations of happy holiday events coming at this time of the year.
For the whole of my life I’ve had these strange dreams in which I’m in new cities and unable to find my way back to my lodgings. Sometimes this is a hotel, a dormitory on a campus, or a house. These dreams can often be profoundly unsettling. Upcoming travel makes these much more common. About a month ago I had about six of these in a row right after I booked two months in Australia. They were so intense as to actually be nightmares, waking me with pounding heart and anxiety. Last night I dreamed I had returned to a city I lived in for twelve years. I returned to find the city destroyed and decayed into a horrendous ghetto with all the buildings destroyed and the streets impassable because of the ruins of consumer life – old cars, appliances, furniture. These dreams may represent some sort of re-processing of those times in childhood when I was so fearful of never getting home again.
Hopefully sunset tonight will be from the deck of a ship and afford some fine skyline photos of New York’s Manhattan. I should be offshore from Portland Maine sometime tomorrow; then on to Halifax, Sydney, Cornerbrook, Quebec City, and Montreal. Hopefully fall colors will be well underway in a couple of weeks. I do find my head always gets into a much better place when I am taking images of the wonders of the world and giving them away. There’s just this discontinuity I always get at the beginning of a journey. I should be absolutely fine once arrived, awake, and not paranoid about missing connections. Some days these ‘cities’ dreams I’ve often had will make sense to me. I think in about an hour and half when I am on top of dense gray cloud at sunrise, life will instantly look much better. Happily, the gray zone at night in airports is short lived.
Sometimes the best way to appreciate home is to leave it, but not for too long. And don’t spend too much idle time in airports in the middle of the night!
I’m off!
Blessings,
Craig C. Johnson
The day started out as one of those typical of days starting too early; a bit gray and with some risk of stinking thinking. I’m free associating here in the middle of the night. I’m sitting here in the airport at Charlotte with about an hour and a half yet to wait for boarding so am using the time to write. Laptop computers certainly do make it easier to redeem time otherwise spent doing nothing useful in the middle of the night in airports. My head always goes through a strange discontinuity right before long journeys, especially while sitting in airports.
There’s a strange ambivalence in my mind. With my present recovery work I’ve gotten so attached to people on a daily basis that it’s hard to leave them. Yesterday I had a rather pleasant sense of farewell with one of my mid-day groups. In the past year or two I’ve enjoyed a sense of farewell from these groups I never got from a church, service club, or other organization. I only wish the larger culture could enjoy the sense of community those working programs of recovery bask in. People in recovery understand their need for community context to stay clean and sober. There would be a lot less loneliness, depression, and abject isolation so widespread in Western cultures if people found the joy and liberation coming from community rather than the self-sufficient “I-can-do-this-by-myself mentality” we have here in the US. I recall while in Norway in May the pleasant sense of anticipation of being with these dear people once again. Throughout much of my life I’ve never been in any hurry to return to the US after a long overseas journey. The past two years I’ve found myself happily returning home to a lot of welcome.
I’m barely leaving and I am already anticipating what I will be doing upon my return. I have a single mother who destroyed her life with methamphetamine. She’s starting to get a small bit of traction in her recovery and will get custody of her two children in late October. I have some furniture for her to re-constitute a household when I get back. I recall how bleak it was in my own childhood to be rootless and hauled around so much by an alcoholic addicted single mother. Having my own chest of drawers was a big deal. Others of us are putting together the rest of this young mother’s furnishings. Community does make a great difference to the fragile and marginalized.
More happily, I will begin teaching a foreign policy class at the local university when I return. I think I start on October 5. Curiously, having the context of meaningful responsibilities upon my return gives my present journey more meaning. The temporary disconnect from phones, e-mail, and daily deadlines is most splendid.
A splendid aspect of this journey is the torrid heat of southern summer will have passed by the time I return. We will then be entering into the best climate of the year. The magic of fall colors will be upon us, and there will be those pleasant anticipations of happy holiday events coming at this time of the year.
For the whole of my life I’ve had these strange dreams in which I’m in new cities and unable to find my way back to my lodgings. Sometimes this is a hotel, a dormitory on a campus, or a house. These dreams can often be profoundly unsettling. Upcoming travel makes these much more common. About a month ago I had about six of these in a row right after I booked two months in Australia. They were so intense as to actually be nightmares, waking me with pounding heart and anxiety. Last night I dreamed I had returned to a city I lived in for twelve years. I returned to find the city destroyed and decayed into a horrendous ghetto with all the buildings destroyed and the streets impassable because of the ruins of consumer life – old cars, appliances, furniture. These dreams may represent some sort of re-processing of those times in childhood when I was so fearful of never getting home again.
Hopefully sunset tonight will be from the deck of a ship and afford some fine skyline photos of New York’s Manhattan. I should be offshore from Portland Maine sometime tomorrow; then on to Halifax, Sydney, Cornerbrook, Quebec City, and Montreal. Hopefully fall colors will be well underway in a couple of weeks. I do find my head always gets into a much better place when I am taking images of the wonders of the world and giving them away. There’s just this discontinuity I always get at the beginning of a journey. I should be absolutely fine once arrived, awake, and not paranoid about missing connections. Some days these ‘cities’ dreams I’ve often had will make sense to me. I think in about an hour and half when I am on top of dense gray cloud at sunrise, life will instantly look much better. Happily, the gray zone at night in airports is short lived.
Sometimes the best way to appreciate home is to leave it, but not for too long. And don’t spend too much idle time in airports in the middle of the night!
I’m off!
Blessings,
Craig C. Johnson
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