This photo has nothing to do with the essay, but it’s pretty, right?
I haven’t been prioritizing well. This came as quite a shock to me when I realized it because lately I’ve felt like I’ve been really on top of my game. My life is going exactly on track, sort of. I mean, I’ve finished everything I’ve set out to do and, not to brag, but I’ve been kicking ass at life. However, in the last few days it’s become apparent to me that I’ve been doing it again. Being that dreaded “C” word. You know the one.
Codependent.
I thought that I had this pattern figured out. I thought that I had solved the puzzle of codependency and unlocked the secrets of being independent. Being single for a good long while before my current relationship made me think I’d mastered how to avoid this. I was pretty convincing—at least to myself. So how and when my infatuation with my boyfriend went from being healthy to being unhealthy, I’m not sure. I honestly can’t help but wonder if I’d been blind to it the entire time.
I’m a people-pleaser and a helper by nature. It’s not something I think I could stop if I tried, and truthfully I don’t really want to change. I love to help people. I love to use my soft skills and intuition to anticipate the needs of others and to provide them with whatever I can to make their lives easier and better. It’s how I show affection. The favors, the treats, the well wishes— that’s how I express my love! So it comes naturally that I want to put my own needs on hold in order to serve the needs of others. I would rather help my boyfriend paint his house than paint my own. I’d rather edit a friend’s resume than write a piece of fiction. I’d do just about anything for someone I cared about over doing something for myself.
It makes it easy to be taken advantage of, for sure, which is a lesson I’ve learned the hard way more than once. But over time I’ve gotten pretty good at knowing who will reciprocate such kindness and how to say no to those who wouldn’t. And I don’t feel taken advantage of at all by my boyfriend, so it’s not a problem, right?
Wrong.
I’m jammed up in learning how to say no to those who do want my help and would reciprocate. Even harder, I can’t seem to say no to myself when I want to offer help to those people. Instead I insist on helping even when they don’t ask. Which is where this codependency thing is coming into play again.
So here I am, on the one-year anniversary of my amazing and loving relationship, trying to think of how to stop helping my boyfriend so much, and how to separate not helping him from not loving him. The boyfriend that rarely asks for any help, who is always appreciative of me, who would be and has been there for me in a moment’s notice anytime that I need him. How do I stop consciously or sub-consciously scheduling my life around him so that I can return to doing the things I want to do for myself, by myself?
I suspect that there are people out there who just don’t have this problem, and they are screaming at their computers, “just do what you want to do and don’t worry about anyone else’s feelings!” Look, I wish it were that simple. But even if I schedule time away, say with a friend or to go somewhere to write, my thoughts are with him. I wonder what he’s doing, if I can stop and pick anything up for him on my way back, or if there’s something I’d rather be doing with him in that moment. That’s not his fault, and it’s not healthy for either of us, even though I think it makes us both happy and feel good. It’s what being codependent is about. It’s how I’m wired, for better or worse. And if this relationship is going to last, which I want it to, I feel like I need to get a better grasp on recognizing and dealing with my codependency.
It’s like eating a never-ending supply of high quality chocolate donuts. It would make me really happy to have them and I’d feel great at first. I’d savor the sight of the gooey chocolate frosting and the smell of the sugary friend dough. The first few bites would be heavenly, and I’d thrive on the pleasure and the rush of sugar and fat. But as time went on it would become sickening and far less satisfying. I’d keep eating because I’d feel compelled to, because I’m supposed to be enjoying it. But at what cost? Somewhere deep inside I’d know it wasn’t healthy or good for me, but I’d persevere like the trooper that I am. I’d give more. Try harder. Do better. I’d be grateful for it. And, if history were to repeat itself, eventually I would discard what was left of the donuts because I could never actually finish them and it would be unbearable to me to know that I could never succeed at it. I’d walk away, hoping that someone else with better control would find the same sweet pleasures that I did, swearing never to eat one again as long as I lived, and vowing to learn from my mistakes.
My boyfriend is certainly sweet, but he’s much, much better than a donut. I’d like to keep him for a very long time, which means working with him to do the things that make us both happy. We’ve talked about it and while I have his blessing to act freely to do what makes me happy, I’m at a bit of a loss as to how to proceed with it. I want to find the balance between savoring him and taking care of my health and nurturing my independence. I need to work on my balance and my self-control. I want to focus more on myself and what I want—to volunteer, write, bike, read, and socialize more as an individual. I want to do the things that I was doing before we met, and then some. I love the idea of then coming home to tell him all about my experiences, but there’s some sort of magic balance, I think, between “me” and “us” that I hope to achieve.
If anyone has insight on how that is done, I’d love to hear from you. If not, no worries—I got this.
Step 1: Cook and eat some bacon. It will make Ron Swanson proud.
Step 2: Have a brand new whisky glass and ice ball set as an early Christmas gift from your wonderful boyfriend. A bottle of 12 year Bunnahabhain Scotch pairs perfectly with it. Put everything out on the table and admire it for a few moments.
Step 3: It’s time to put the pieces together. First the ice goes into the glass, then the scotch. Slowly now…
Step 4: Give it a taste. Go on. Then, twirl the glass in your hand to watch the ball of ice glide around the edge of the glass, almost silently. Swallow. Repeat as necessary.
Step 5: Kick back and relax with some soft music, a good book, or in my case, a zen Youtube video featuring Nick Offerman. Watch it here.
That’s it. What are you waiting for?
Yes, I am that crazy. This is my 4th year participating in NaNoWriMo, the challenge to write a 50,000 word novel during November.
Yes, I should be busy writing my novel and not posting here. It’s about a girl named Mirabell who discovers an abandoned cemetery and befriends the dead.
Yes, they now have a word count widget that will (should?) update my word count as the month progresses. So far I’ve written this many words:
Speaking of random, a scare -gnome at the MN Landscape Arboretum 10/2015
I have a few things on my mind, so I’ll make this as brief as possible by breaking it into sections rather than rambling on with endless non-sequiturs.
I was going to post about something else today, but I hated everything about what I wrote. It wasn’t autumnal enough. This day just screams for something more seasonal. It’s overcast outside, with an occasional icy mist. The wind is ripping through the treetops, causing bursts of color to fly into the gutters. The branches of many trees have become bare in the matter of hours. This is what I’ve been dreading.
The day calls for boots, scarves, warm drinks, and soup. I surrender to these demands but they bring me little comfort. I made corn chowder last night in anticipation of this weather, but today I came to an independent coffee joint for lunch to sip green tea and beef with barley soup. I needed to be around life. The soup was full of salty broth and it scalded my tongue slightly. The experience made me regret leaving my sofa and my pajamas, but let’s face it, I needed to get out of the house. I was going stir-crazy already. There’s such a sense of urgency with a day like today. The warm kiss of the sun is migrating away for the season, leaving me for many weeks and months. What I wouldn’t give to feel it against my skin just one last time.
The beauty of the fall colors in the trees is so muted today. It’s become ugly and symbolic of suffering and death. I considered driving to a cemetery today. I wanted to sit and think and watch the last glimpse of life slip past me in the breeze. The passing of time is all out of my control. There’s a cemetery not far from here that would have been perfect on a day like today, but I’ve resisted going. It seemed too morbid and sentimental. Instead, I think I’ll walk around the neighborhood here when I finish writing.
I want to knit and drink pumpkin spiced lattes. I want to curl up in yoga pants and a hoodie with the fuzziest of socks on my feet. I want to look longingly out the closed window and try to remember what summer smells like. I want to close my eyes and imagine what cool, fresh grass would feel like between my sun-warmed toes. I want to spend days baking and cooking and eating comfort foods in an attempt to warm myself from the inside out with sugar and fat. I tell myself that it’s too early for these things.
I want to feel optimistic that after fall and winter, spring will come roaring back into my life. I should be more confident that it will, but a nagging thought in the forefront of my mind says it won’t return, that this is it, that everything is coming crashing down now. I feel compelled to brace myself for the worst. I feel like a frantic squirrel running from tree to tree, stockpiling supplies and searching for shelter from the cold. I can’t even imagine what awful things the future holds, but I try to anyway. The impending darkness is looming before me. The final days are falling away from the calendar like leaves in the wind. The year is coming to an end already and I thought it was just beginning. How foolish I have been! How I’ve frittered away the summer as if it would never run out. I’m afraid of the darkness and the icy pierce of winter. My nose is cold. It is already too late.
Well, it’s been over a month since I took it upon myself to begin tracking my calories, exercise, and weight. Changing my entire lifestyle has been both rewarding and incredibly challenging at times. Skipping dessert and other feel-good foods in exchange for weight loss certainly doesn’t provide the instant-gratification that I often desire. Neither does having to push myself to exercise when all I feel like doing is lounging on the sofa. But dammit, I’m motivated. I’m tough. I’m also my own worst critic, and I can use that to remind myself that I still have progress to make and that it’s way too soon to throw in the towel on this endeavor.
I’m pleased to report that in the last four weeks I’ve lost over four pounds, which means I’ve exceeded my goal of losing one pound per week. However, there has been a bit of a snag. I began this self-imposed challenge with a very old and questionably accurate scale. After losing five pounds in three weeks, I decided to reward myself with a couple of new scales (one for me and one for food in the kitchen), and it told me that I was basically right back at the weight where I thought I had started. In other words, while I had still lost an impressive amount of weight for the period of time, I was just as far from my goal weight as I was when I began. I also don’t know exactly how much I’ve lost because of this transition. It was discouraging to say the least, but after a few hours of sulking about it and feeling defeated by the now extended goal, I’m glad to know the truth about it. It doesn’t make a lot of sense to lie to myself about the task at hand, and let’s face it, I would have realized it sooner or later. Now that it’s out of the way I can focus on my goals and modify my long-term plans to reach them.
In addition to using Map My Ride to track workouts and My Fitness Pal to track calories, I also purchased and began to use the Withings Pulse O2, which is primarily a step-tracker but can also be used to track heart rate, blood oxygen levels, and sleep. While all of these gadgets and the information they collect are essentially pointless as they don’t directly cause me to lose weight, I really do find the data to be interesting and motivational. I can see how many calories I burned last weekend and attempt to burn more this weekend. I can see the nutritional facts of everything I consumed yesterday and attempt to reduce the fat, sugar, or overall calories today. I can compete with others to take more steps this week than they do, and win bragging rights (not to mention better health). Plus, tracking my progress in more ways than just pounds lost helps me when I feel like what I’m doing isn’t enough.
What also helps me is the support and encouragement of my wonderful friends, both those who motivate me and those who seem to be motivated by me. We could all afford to be a little healthier, so why not work together? Thanks to all of you who have discussed your fitness goals with me or who have challenged me to continue with my own. I’ll be back with another update in a few weeks.
Recently a friend of mine announced that she had won a weight loss competition between some of her coworkers. Her dedication and willpower to eat better and exercise more were inspirational, as I told her several times over the next few days. While she was competing I was eating cheeseburgers for lunch and remaining mostly sedentary both at work and at home. I scoffed at the idea of using competition and cash prizes as incentive to lose weight, while at the same time I struggle (and often fail) to fit into the same size of pants that I have been wearing for most of the last decade. I was warned when I took a desk job that I would gain the “Freshman 15” within the first year, and despite my vow to not let that happen, less than two years into the job I’ve found it to be true. While “Biggest Loser” type challenges still do not appeal to me, her success inspired me to create a challenge of my own.
I’ve taken to heart my friend’s advice for weight loss: eat less and be more active. It seems like such a simple formula for success. But as most of us know, following these simple rules can be incredibly difficult. Life is busy and full of temptations and excuses. Healthy eating takes time and forethought. Food is used as a substitute for pleasure and to curb boredom. Unhealthy snacks seem to pop up out of nowhere all the time: a soda with lunch, a bag of free candy in the office, a great discount on Cheetos at the grocery store checkout. Combined with an endless supply of streaming television, movies, news, and social media, it’s hard to imagine when the typical person will be able to peel themselves up from couch to cook or exercise. As with most things, I’ve found for myself that I need to come close to hitting bottom before I’m willing to dedicate any amount of real effort to changing things. When I realized that winter is soon approaching and that I may not have enough clothing to protect me from hypothermia, I hit my bottom and made a plan.
In no particular order:
Step 1: Absolutely no more soda. The afternoon blahs at work often drove me to the break room to purchase a soda, which I almost never drink otherwise. It began to add up to maybe three per week. Pointless, especially when you consider that black coffee or green tea can have the same pick-me-up effect for almost zero calories.
Step 2: Keep a food log and count calories. I signed up for My Fitness Pal, a calorie tracking app. Based on my personal information and weight loss goals it determined that my goal should be to consume 1,470 calories per day. It uses a simple formula to track calories: goal – food + exercise = remaining. I have been logging in everything that I eat and drink for about a week and a half now, and it’s certainly true that seeing it all listed out in front of me draws attention to what is good and bad about my diet. It turns out that most of my diet hasn’t been so bad; it’s being aware of making better choices and the overall quantity of food that I need to focus on.
Step 3: Prepare my own food using fresh, natural ingredients. It seems simple enough, but preparing fresh vegetables and other foods can be time consuming, and without a little creativity it can get boring quickly. I’ve been trying to rotate my choices to get some variety and I use healthy fats like olive oil and avocado to add a little bit of richness and flavor. I keep a list from one of my favorite foodies, Alton Brown, handy. I try to follow his advice on what foods to eat often/occasionally/sparingly. A short video is below if you’d like to see for yourself. Broccoli, carrots, sweet potatoes, dark leafy greens, and Greek yogurt are often on my own shopping list and menu. Thankfully, I am not a picky eater when it comes to fresh foods, so the most challenging part of this is finding the time to shop, prep, and cook. I’ve found some shortcuts though, for instance, I’ve learned that it’s better to pack a lunch for work the night before rather than attempt to chop things while insufficiently caffeinated and in a hurry. I also try to make enough for more than one meal so that I am not doing the same amount of work daily.
Step 4: Be mindful of and reduce the empty calories from alcohol. I love a good craft beer (or two) but they are just loaded with calories. I’ve considered switching to MGD 64 or another mainstream light beer, but I just can not bring myself to do it – it’s an insult to the craft. Or I could switch to red wine which I have read has some positive attributes and fewer calories than beer, but on a hot summer day it just doesn’t sound appealing to me. Sure, I could also just cut back or quit drinking all together, but come on, I can only stop so many bad habits at a time! So instead of giving up the pleasure of a good drink, I’ve tried to find a healthier substitute. While a pint of delicious Surly Furious has 260 calories, a 12 oz bottle of Summit EPA is 160 calories. Better yet, Founding Fathers Light has just 108 calories a bottle, and it isn’t as bland as the other light beers I’ve tried. Still, I do prefer to actually taste my alcohol, so I had to think about other options as well, and have put more time than I probably should have into figuring out better alternatives. Luckily I didn’t have to go far to find something that I know I like: a 1.5 oz shot of Bunnahabhain 12 year scotch is both delicious on ice and only 70 calories. Plus I am pretty sure that a drink like this after dinner helps to promote healthy digestion and a good night of rest. I may not have thoroughly researched that last part, though.
Step 5: Be active, often. This seems to be the biggest challenge for me. While I do like a lot of activities such as walking, biking, and swimming, it can be hard to schedule and devote time to being active. I know that once I get up and start moving it comes easily, but taking that first step is sometimes daunting. I’ve been using Map My Ride for several years to track how many miles I’ve biked, but I hadn’t paid much attention to the calories that I’d been burning until now. Before the weather got too humid last week I was trying to walk two miles per day while on breaks at work. I also bought a yoga DVD and practiced one of the 15 minute workouts. I took a few bike rides and even jogged a little bit around my neighborhood one night. With the oppressive weather comes excuses though, and my activity levels have dropped in the last few days, though so far only two days have gone by with a “0 calories burned” on record. I’m now thinking about investing in a Fit Bit or similar step-counting device so that could be easily avoided.
I think it’s too early to tell whether or not I’m on track with my goal to lose one pound per week, but I still feel motivated to continue this trajectory of a healthier lifestyle. I’m nervous about what impact my upcoming vacation will have on my ability to eat well and exercise, but I’m excited for the challenge to stick this out despite any obstacle thrown my way. Hopefully I will manage to balance my time and be able to post an update or two about my progress over the next few months.
I’m only one person. What I do doesn’t make a difference. The world is screwed anyway so why should I change my lifestyle now? My impact is so small compared to others. We should focus on bigger things and not what one single person does.
These are just a few of the excuses I’ve heard, and that I’ve said myself, regarding ethical eating and shopping. By now every omnivore has at least thought about buying free-range, grass-fed, non-hormone meat and dairy products. We have also likely sought out local and organic produce when possible, including shopping at farmer’s markets and growing our own fruits and veggies when the weather permits us to do so. While these are huge areas of our diets that also have a huge environmental impact, there are other areas of our lifestyles which the ordinary person may not have considered. I’ve been thinking about them more and more.
One which is very close to my heart is the ethics of coffee. The labels “fair-trade” and “organic” mean more than that the price may be a bit higher than say Folgers coffee. It means that the coffee bean growers and harvesters are making a livable wage and that they aren’t being exposed to dangerous chemicals (which are then left in the coffee beans and consumed by us). Fair-trade is about creating a positive worldwide community both economically and environmentally. Read more about it here. While I do occasionally stop at chain coffee stores to get my caffeine fix, at home I brew Peace Coffee or other fair-trade coffees from local shops such as Goodbye Blue Monday in Northfield, MN.
Another area of my consumption that I have been thinking a lot about recently is my spices and herbs. I’ve recently tackled my spice rack because I wanted to refresh my stock with spices and herbs that weren’t wildly outdated. A simple internet search suggests replacing ground spices every 2-3 years and dried herbs every 1-3 years (a liberal amount of time according to Alton Brown, one of my favorite foodies).
When facing this task I thought about the Sociology course that I took and the paper that I wrote about the ethics of harvesting salt. Unfortunately I can’t seem to find the paper that I wrote, but I did find an article that discusses some of the serious health and economic consequences of salt mining, which you can read here.
So my solution? I bought all of my spices from local co-ops, many of which were organic and/or fair-trade. While I cannot guarantee that all of them were sustainably sourced or that every farmer was compensated fairly for their work, I feel that I did the best that I could, given the resources that I have. I like to think that I do my best to be ethical and fair in all of my consumerism, but I know that I have a long way to go. Every little bit helps: that’s my new motto.
Image from Zensho Fair Trade
I admit that buying organic, local, and fair-trade won’t save the world. It won’t stop climate change and it won’t lift anyone out of poverty. But it still makes me feel better about my choices and my contribution to the planet, because it’s better to do a little good than none at all. I’m a dreamer though, so here’s another more cynical point of view on the topic from The Economist.
What I really hope that you, my readers, take away from this post is that you give some extra thought to your food habits, even the seemingly small ones. Perhaps the next time you buy beef you’ll buy grass-fed organic beef. Maybe you’d like to plant your own kitchen herb garden. The next time you see something labeled “free-trade”, check it out and debate whether or not it’s worth your extra pennies to contribute to the greater good of the world. Heck, maybe you’ll even take to the streets and push for reform as the Economist article suggests will be needed. The first steps towards any thoughtful action are education and consideration. So please my friends, take a moment of your time to research your options as a consumer. Your choices do matter, and you can make a difference.
As many of you know, I am a recent graduate from Inver Hills Community College. The adjustment from student to graduate has been much easier to make than the initial jump into college life. While it’s been a few months since I’ve done any homework and a few weeks since I’ve graduated, I’ve only recently been able to reflect on the experience as a whole. A lot of people have asked me what I intend to do now that I’m finished with school. My answer is a bit complex, but I’ll attempt to explain it all here now.
I began my first college course in January of 2013. In May of 2015, at the age of 31, I graduated with an associate degree in “Family Communication”. This field of study was selected with the help of an advisor, counselor, and teacher who helped me to design my own degree plan and to give it a name that they deemed appropriate (I had wanted my degree to be in “Social Inequalities” but that idea was shot down by my advisor). Why did I pick this field of study? For many reasons, including that the job market for social work and human services is predicted to expand and because helping people is something that I enjoy doing.
I don’t need to boast about maintaining a perfect 4.0 GPA during the entire 60 credits, but I will. I also don’t need to point out that I tested out of the required six English credits or that I completed most of my work either independently or online, but I’ll do it anyway. Why, you may ask? Because I can.
Simply put, the very most important thing that I learned from my college enrollment is that I am capable of achieving anything that I put my mind to. This degree doesn’t prove that I am an expert in family communication or in anything else that I’ve studied. What it proves is that I am smart, strong, independent, and worthy of a lot of goddamned self-esteem (something which I’ve lacked for most of my life). Some of you may be reading this and thinking to yourselves, “well she’s one of those narcissistic Millennials, right? Of course she thinks she deserves a gold medal for just getting out of bed in the morning.” Let me explain.
A few years ago I was scared as hell at the idea of tackling such a daunting academic pursuit. I was convinced that I wasn’t smart enough, dedicated enough, or good enough to complete a two-year degree at a community college. I was convinced that I would fail miserably and that I would struggle to understand the assigned materials or greater concepts that I was exposed to. I imagined that I would be alienated from my classmates. It was only the fear of having to spend another 30 years at my current place of employment that pushed me to take the chance and risk the impending failure and humiliation. That choice helped me to get out of that terrible job and to discover somethings about myself that I had forgotten or never known. I realize that I am unique in that my degree came after I had begun a government career and that it has little to do with my new role as a USPS payroll account specialist. Still, it was important for me to obtain this degree both professionally and personally.
Look, unlike many people of my generation, I’ve never had high self-esteem. I would constantly put myself down, diminish my successes, and compare myself to others or to my own outrageous standards of perfection that would be impossible for anyone to achieve. I’ve got some theories as to why this is, but that’s between my shrink and me, for now anyway. My point is that I’ve never felt worthy of, or comfortable with, any praise for a job well done, academically or otherwise. As a teenager I told myself that my grades were high in some classes because of pity and low in others because I was stupid (not because I was skipping the classes or showing up stoned, which I was). If I got a good grade in a high school English class it was because they felt sorry for me. When I graduated high school early and with straight A’s, it wasn’t because I was smart, but because I had transferred to the ALC (Alternative Learning Center, or Asshole’s Last Chance, whichever you prefer). My low self-esteem carried forward into adulthood and manifested deep within me. It caused me to stay isolated and to not take chances or try new things for fear of failure. I was convinced that this was my destiny.
So after spending about ten years wringing my hands and working a mentally and physically exhausting and dead-end job as a letter carrier, imagine my surprise when I discovered how easy community college seemed to be once I made that choice. My expectations were completely unrealistic. Sure, the homework was time-consuming and it wasn’t always easy to squeeze things in between work and my personal life, but I did it. I managed to accomplish more in the last three years than I probably did for the ten years prior to that. I felt that I was more qualified to teach than some of my teachers, and I latched on to those few rare ones who seemed wise and capable themselves. I observed my classmates, some who were fresh out of high school and others who were grandparents, and believed that I was above average in both dedication and intelligence. I helped my classmates when they struggled, and I felt good about it. I was encouraged, and sometimes required, to volunteer at community organizations that specialized in my areas of study, and it turned out that I both enjoyed and was valued for my work. It’s amazing how much time there is in a week when you make the choice to find enough time for everything that matters, and not to waste time on things that don’t.
So, to get to the point, what am I going to do with all of this newfound information, self-esteem, and motivation?
I’m going to keep pursuing a life of education and service to my community. I’m going to read and write more often. I want to take classes about things that interest me and that I can use to help myself and others. Earlier this summer I took a community education course to become CPR certified, for example. I’m going to continue to volunteer and donate my time to good, reputable organizations, such as Feed My Starving Children and a local homeless shelter, both of which I have been actively volunteering with and have plans to continue doing so in the future. I’m also going to continue to volunteer with my Homeowner’s Association Board and the American Postal Workers Union. I’m going to travel and expose myself to new people and new ideas. I’m going to do things that I love with the people that I love, and encourage them to do the same. And I’m not going to waste my time on things that don’t matter or that I don’t find fulfilling in some way.
I didn’t need a degree for any of this, but without it I never would have found the courage or strength to make these choices. To me, the experience was priceless and I’d absolutely do it all over again. If I ever feel like I’m not capable of something in the future I plan to face it head on and prove to myself that I can. I don’t ever want to doubt myself again, dammit. I won’t let that happen again. That lesson was worth all of the student loans in the world.
Ever since I was a child I’ve been fascinated with roadkill.
Please don’t take this the wrong way. I wouldn’t wish the death of an innocent animal. I slam on my brakes for any birds or rodents that dart in front of my car. I wrote this as an observation of the more morbid side of my imagination and because I feel that it has always been a small part of who I am. This was how, as a child, I rationalized death and disease. It’s something that I often wonder whether others pay any attention to at all or if I’m alone in these types of thoughts. This is not a statement on animal cruelty. This is nostalgia.
It began with my love for animals. Growing up with a menagerie of pets and farm animals in the country meant that I formed bonds with more animals than people in my childhood. My heart would instantly sink with heavy sorrow anytime I saw a lifeless animal beside the road from the backseat of my parent’s car. I would sometimes twist in my seat in order to get a better view and identify the creature. Birds, mammals, reptiles, and marsupials all made the list. No animal seemed to be spared the wrath of a grill and asphalt.
I guess I have a personal relationship with roadkill. During my childhood, by dad had brought home both baby raccoons and opossums after finding them grieving near their dead mothers on his way home from work. We would nurse them back to health until they could be released back into the wild. When I was about six years old, our puppy was killed by a speeding semi on the gravel road outside of our home. She was a spotted fox terrier named Trixie, and she had a tendency to run into the road. She was young and new, and my mom was working on training her not to do that. I remember hearing screams from my bedroom that morning, seeing the smear of black, white, and red on the gravel road, and then spending the next several days protesting the speeding trucks with handmade signs with my older sister. We cleverly came up with the acronym UPS: United Puppy Squashers, and braced ourselves against the flying dust and rocks from the side of the road as the construction trucks continued speeding past us until whatever project they were working on was done. We had a funeral ceremony and burial in the back yard for her, to which a few of the other neighborhood kids came with bouquets of wildflowers. None of the trucks ever slowed down or stopped to apologize for their carelessness.
When I got older, my imagination grew and I began to create elaborate back stories for the roadkill which I saw. I’d mentally sketch out the family tree of the squirrels, and hypothesize about why the pheasant was crossing the road in the first place. In my fictional world, deer always had young fawns waiting back in the ditch, looking into the headlights of the grim reaper’s Buick as their only surviving parent was launched like a projectile across four lanes.
As I got even older I grew tired of the tragedy that was the animal’s life. I felt that I had dwelled on that topic quite enough. So I zoomed my mental camera in closer, to its parasites: the maggots, flies, and fleas. I began to picture each carcass as a smorgasbord for the next link in the chain of life. Suddenly, one lost life fed hundreds, thousands, perhaps millions of new lives. How, then, could this be anything to be sad about? This was a joyous occasion, depending on your perspective, anyways. The life cycle would happen with or without the advent of motor vehicles. Perhaps this was just our way of contributing to the cycle. We sacrifice one to feed many. And this new perspective kept me entertained and satiated for quite some time.
Even as a child it was easy enough for me to not to cry when I saw a dead animal. I did not murder it, and death is a natural part of life. I could also pretend that the animal wanted to end its life for any number of reasons and that it was more humane to respect its wishes than to make it suffer in the world any longer. It was reassuring to identify and celebrate the changing chapter in the roadkill’s storyline by focusing on its parasites. But then, I thought, “What if one of those parasites touch me?”
And as with most things in my life, sooner or later, my fantasies turned to paranoia.
I mean, what if I’m driving along the road with my window down, and a fly that was just hatched from an egg laid deep within the rotting, putrid organs of a rabbit were to make its way into my car and buzz around, touching my things – touching me! It might even lay eggs on my own rotting, putrid organs! The thought makes my skin prematurely crawl just thinking of it.
I’ve also considered that even just the flecks of fly shit that no doubt tumble around in the atmosphere surrounding any given carcass will also carry a plethora of disease, not limited to some sorts of flesh-eating, zombie-causing diseases which could be inhaled in a dose as low as parts per million. A low dose might give you a headache and a higher concentration could lead to the Bubonic Plague.
Which is why for as long as I can remember, I consciously close my mouth and hold my breath anytime I pass by roadkill. Even if I’m in a car, with the windows rolled up, going 70 MPH on the freeway, three lanes over.
You really can never be too careful.
Paranoia aside, I’ve recently managed to incorporate a little bit of humor into the circumstances. Realizing that I’ll never stop noticing roadkill I created a crude BINGO game to play on a trip North with my sister last summer. While it was a hodge-podge of many road-trip related sights, I incorporated things like “mystery meat” on the game boards. It was a nice break from the Alphabet Game that I usually play on long car rides. So if the idea doesn’t make you too squeamish, feel free to take my ideas and to create your own BINGO boards to be used this summer!