CRABS IN A BUCKET (CLUBS TO QUIT)

My communication toolbox includes heaping portions 

of metaphor, simile or fantastical hyperbole.

It's not like I can't explain something without figurative language 

but it's kind of like eating cake without icing.  

It feels unfinished and dissatisfying to my southern soul.

My spouse is originally from the west coast and 

whether it's a regional distinction or just a familial difference, 

he arrived in his chosen homeland as an eighteen year old

without any natural facility for figurative language.

His mother tongue was literal.  Factual.  He thought people

say what they mean and mean what they say.

Bless his heart.

One of the more amusing aspects of our courtship included

 his almost constant bafflement at how my people speak.

He's come along way over the past 25 years in his ability to translate

the language of the south-eastern united states and he even contributes 

his own imagery and metaphors occassionally.

We were doing our nightly walk and I was telling him about a particularly

gnarly interaction I was having with someone and I pulled out 

the crabs in the bucket metaphor.

I thought for sure I'd used it with him a hundred times

but he made me give him a refresher so he'd be sure to understand

the full context.

Which made me think it might be worth sharing here.

Because honestly, knowing how crabs behave in a bucket

will tell you a lot about certain kinds of human interactions too.

This isn't my creation.  I picked it up somewhere although I don't remember where any longer because I use it so often.

Stone crab caught off Ocracoke Island.

To really understand this metaphor, you need some context about 

how non-professional fishermen go hunting for crabs (aka-crabbing).

If you are on vacation near the coast or interocoastal waterway,

chances are high that there are some tasty crabs swimming around.

I was going to give ya'll a lot of info about how to attract them 

and catch them but it's honestly a little gross and too detailed.  

The thing you really need to understand is that most 

amateur's catch them one at a time and while

one crab is a delightful appetizer, it is not sufficient for a meal.  

You generally need a few of them which means you've got to keep the ones you've already caught contained and alive until you're ready to eat them.

Crabs are tricky right?  

You seem them skedaddling back into their little hidey holes 

on the beach or blitzing away under the water.  

They can climb and cling and sometimes cut their way out of situations.  

It should be hard to contain these little buggers.

But it's not.

All you really need is a 5 gallon bucket

or something similarly smooth sided.

One crab is too small to climb the thick walls so usually 

he just sits at the bottom, 

quietly slandering the last four generations of your family.

A reasonable (if slightly fancy) bucket in which to contain crabs.

Easy peasy.  

One little crab in that bucket doesn't stand much of a chance of escape.

But when you start getting some volume of crabs

in that bucket, they'll figure out a way out....right?

 Surely they could form a little chain of crabs and make it over the wall?

No crab left behind?

Definitely NOT what happens.

Crabs do not help other crabs.

They're smart enough to know the way out

but almost completely self-centered in their focus.

When there starts to be a quorum of crabs in the bucket,

the posturing and scheming starts to ratchet up.

They forget about the overlord on high that dropped them

into this bucket and focus completely on each other.

They're crafty little bugs so they start scaling the sides

or climbing over each other.

As the overlord who wants to keep these guys safe so you can

steam them and serve them with butter, should you worry?

Not really.

The other crabs always

ALWAYS 

notice when a crab is about to get out

and instead of cheering him on, 

THEY PULL HIM BACK IN.

See, they don't want anyone to get out if they can't get out.

What are they thinking?

I guess I can't be sure but it for sure looks like they're committed

 to dying before they let one of their friends succeed.

All of them, unanimously agree, that each individual will get out first

or no one will get out.

It's a little ridiculous because they prove that they can work together

by working against their own interests.

My giant kiddos hunting for themselves on Ocracoke.

Now, this is really helpful if you're looking for a nice dinner on the coast

 and you have several hours to entertain kids.

But it is also helpful when dealing with particularly unhealthy humans.

Humans are pack animals by nature who can work together to 

create something better than our parts.

As long as we're not afraid.

As long as we can put aside our selfishness.

As long as we can focus our energy on the broken systems

or situations that caused our predicament

instead of insisting on scarcity.

Sadly, there are humans that you encounter from time to time

who operate just like crabs in a bucket.

Instead of being glad that you are trying to get out of a shared situation,

they insist on pulling you back into it.

They might tell you something like this to justify their actions:

Don't get too big for your britches.

This is the natural order of things.

You think you're better than everyone else.

You'll get your freedom when this other group has theirs.

There's not enough freedom to go around.

If you get out, then I'll have to stay here alone.

This is for your own good, you don't understand it now but you will one day.

I'm only doing this because I love you.

You need to learn to respect <the person or system who is holding you down>.

This blue crab lived another day because he was too small.  

When dealing with people who hold this mindset

you are dealing with crabs and you need to act accordingly.

It doesn't matter if you're trying to get out so you can throw a rope down.

It doesn't matter if the opportunity to move on was created 

by happenstance, good luck, or intense hard work.

It doesn't matter that you have proven you'll take care 

of those in the bucket even if you can't get them out quickly.

To those confused and broken souls who operate from this mindset,

the only thing that matters is that you might be free 

and they cannot tolerate the idea of your freedom.

Sigh.

I have spent lots of time inside of buckets 

trying to rally my fellow prisoners, educate them, 

give them perspective, help make an organized escape.

Sometimes it works-we escape as a team and celebrate each other.

Sometimes, the escapees go back to the bucket because they missed the certitude of knowing that everything inside 

the bucket is predictably f*cked.

Sometimes, the only thing I can do is nod at the people yelling 

or trying to hold me down like I'm definitely listening to them

while I develop my own, individual escape plan.

Some of ya'll are squinting hard right now trying to imagine what kind

of buckets I've been hanging out in.

Let me try and help for those of you not raised on metaphorical reality.

The bucket is a metaphor for systems or situations.

A bucket might be your family of origin.

Or the family you chose as an adult.

It might be a job.

Or a church.

It might be a political party.

Usually, buckets contain elements that have helped us

feel safe, loved or met some need for us.

It's very possible to wake up one day and realize

that everything you thought was safe and loving

has your bondage or slow destruction at the 

core of it's mission statement.

It's also possible that you just outgrow the bucket.

For local friends:  Got this sticker at Rose and Lee.

I've learned to believe people when they 

show me where their head is living.

If someone is insisting that their liberation has to happen

before anyone else's,

that no one can be free until they get there first,

then they are living in a place of fear and death

 that will cloud everything else.

They will cut off their nose to spite their face,

they will sell their soul to watch you fail,

and they will often actively work to keep you imprisoned.

How GOD puts up with us is a mystery.

If you're in a bucket with a bunch of crabs,

the only thing you can do is to get out of the bucket.

As quickly and safely as you can.

If you care about those crabs in the bucket

it's even more urgent and essential that you get out.

You should never stay in the bucket because you're waiting 

on them to come along with you as a team.

Crabs don't have a team.  

They are selfish and self-centered and they can't help it.

So when dealing with crabs, you have to be a little bit like that too.

None of you are safe in there, no matter how familiar it might feel.

And lastly, if you should get out of the bucket, you should never go back in.

Drop another rope down if you need to do something but don't get down in there.

Not for love or money or whispered promises of team work.

They're still in the bucket because they won't help each other out

and they don't want out.

There are no crabs in this photo.

 

SCHEDULE SITUATION (FREEDOM FEARS)

Almost a year ago, I was discussing my intention 

to leave my employer with my therapist during a session.

She asked me what I was planning to do in the weeks 

immediately following my end date.  

I told her I thought I'd get a job at a local garden center and just spend some time watering plants and soaking in the sun.

She gently reminded me of some things that I'd already told her 

regarding this upcoming change.

I didn't really need the money, I had saved enough to take a 

break for a good long time without much risk financially.

I already work in several gardens around town including my own yard 

so I had access to plants, sun, and water without the garden center.

I was burnt out and exhausted, physically and mentally drained in a way

that made it hard to recognize myself anymore.

What was my reason for rushing to put myself on a timeline again?

What was behind my desire to be once again tied to someone else's schedule?

Therapists are very annoying which is why they are so valuable.

Like usual, my therapist had managed to hone in on exactly the thing that I wasn't willing or able to see inside my own little head.

Quitting my job was fine.

Not having a plan for the future was fine.

Spending time focused on myself was fine.

Exercise and eating right and trying to figure out how to sleep again was fine.

A wide open calendar free of expectation was NOT FINE.

Not even a little tiny bit.

Space that does not need filling

Like, I started to sweat when I thought about how open ended

and available my time would be for the forseeable future.

It wasn't just anxiety or a mild form of unease.

It teetered on the edge of panic; sweaty palms, racing heart

preparing for the worst possible kind of threat.

What the hell right?

Who feels terrible because they have free time?

<clears throat>

Apparently me.

It took me a couple of days to get still and focused 

enough to understand what was happening.

This was obviously a trigger. I've had a lot of experience

exploring those and figuring out what to do with them

so I know how to dig in when they start popping off.

Ultimately I determined that I was scared that 

no one was expecting me to show up somewhere.

If I didn't have an appointment outside of my house

then no one would be aware that something was off with me.

I've said this before but since it's one of the central themes

of my character development, you'll get to hear it at least a few more times.

My over-acheivement and performance habits were developed

as a response to the abusive system of my family of origin.

I was smart, driven and capable because I was rewarded to be that.

It was how I found love and acceptance

AND

it was how I got away from my abusers.

There were two ways to get out of the house when I was young.

Work and school.

Both highly schedule driven.

Both tightly commitment bound.

I spent as many hours at school as I was allowed

and then when I was almost 14, I started working in restaurants.

That was very young to start working

but I would have fought you tooth and nail if you tried to make me stop.

Work was freedom, safety and access.  

Hillary McBride will walk you home.

If I was scheduled to be at school or work, then someone was expecting me.

If I showed up at either of those places visibly unwell,

then there would be consequences and questions.

I was never safe in the confines of my house.

I was never free or able to trust the motivations of those around me.

Life was unpredictable there and I did everything I could do to get out.

My life got much better once I started working and

by the time I was sixteen I was working full time while going to school.

The money I made meant I had access to things like food,

clothing and opportunities that I wouldn't have had without my own income.

I was very successful at this kind of multi-tasking.

My life depended on it (and so did a few other people's)

so even my abusers encouraged that outlet.

So I learned to stack my schedule with as many 'outside of the house'

things as I could possibly fit into a day.

A full schedule meant freedom and safety to teenage me.

There are a lot of things about the human maturation 

process that feel real dumb once you have a little experience with them.

I'm starting to think the definition of a mid-life crisis is refusing to deal

with your childhood wiring in an effective way.

 Those that learn to parent themselves, come out ok in their fifties.

Those that can't learn to parent themselves, 

look like a citrus fruit wearing a bad tupee.

#sorrynotsorry #roevemberiscoming

I've had to do quite a bit of rewiring this wrongly plumbed idea.

A packed schedule did actually mean freedom and safety for me

for about a decade of my life.

However, it doesn't mean that anymore and hasn't meant it 

for about two decades now.

I've created a life of safety and security.

I don't need to run away from home anymore.

I made myself safe finally.

Finally.

But my body didn't know that and 

was having a hard time accepting it.

When we need our body to accept things, we often

have to actually DO them so the body can experience the opposite

reaction and get used to it as a positive experience.

Remember, your body also has to learn to tolerate things that are 

good for you just like you've made it tolerate things that are bad for you.

You can get used to anything.

Even the good things.

Rupi Kaur's book Home Body is gorgeous.

I now have more than six months of experience with a fairly 

open-ended schedule and thankfully, 

it's starting to feel more natural and less scary.

Along with this new perspective on freedom, I've come to 

understand something fundamental that I didn't before.

I need time to take care of myself.

(did you just say duh?  I promise I'm smart in some ways.)

It takes about three hours a day for me to make sure that I am healthy.

Three hours!!!  

Does that seem like a lot to you?

It feels like a LOT to me.

Like who can take a whole three hours away from

all the other needs of the world to take care of themselves?

Except....it does take at least that long.

Sometimes it takes even 

more if I am tryin to thrive 

instead of live my life

like I'm in a combat zone.

I'm working on owning that care as my rightful inheritance

as a beloved child of the Creator because the world 

FOR SURE will not reinforce that for me.

I'm getting there, one long walk and one good night of rest at a time.

View from last week's mid-week grocery walk-10 miles and 25 pounds of groceries are a really good way to spend some workout time.

So what is on my professional schedule for the last few

 months of my year of #quitting?

Thanks for asking.

I've got some things going on that are different

than I would have ever expected six months ago

but I'm really excited about them.

I'll be finishing up my book draft by the end of October and

then I'll move into editing, book proposal drafting, etc.

I am taking on several coaching clients and have space for a couple more.

You can check me out here if you're interested or know someone who might be.

 I think I'm going to try and get a job at a coffee shop 

because I fricking love spending time in them.

I have three other ideas for books including another memoir

and an urban fantasy set in my home state.

I'd like to try and get some short stories published

and get a sense of that industry.

I've got a lot of hiking goals too.  I'm not going to miss

the upclose view to the seasons changing ever again.

Icy cold, sweltering heat, pouring rain, gentle breezes all

remind me I'm alive in a way I'm unwilling to give up.

Just a few things right?

My schedule has space to stretch now

and I can only recognize it as freedom.

Finally.

THE FLAVOR OF PEOPLE (TERROIR IN THE HEARTS OF HUMANS)

I am deep in the throws of writing a memoir which means

much of my brain is living in the past and is making my 

present musings a little bit loopy.

In particular, I keep running over this idea that

certain ground produces specific qualities in the 

people who are born and raised there.

Like soil, water, air from your home town

seeps into the literal cells inside your body

and produces some type or maybe a few types of people.

It's some confluence of psychology, agriculture

and southern metaphor hyper-extension that

keeps trying to push itself around like a hoola-hoop in the hands of 

a tired toddler.

I can't quite get it but I also refuse to let it go.

Consider this is your warning for the fever dream that might be 

in the paragraphs below.

I can't make it make sense.

I also can't stop thinking about the vein of truth within it.

Delightful graphic t-shirt on display at Mast General Store 

Do you know what terroir is?

I learned about terroir back when I was still pretending 

that my relationship with alcohol was sophisticated and benign.

Once I left the world of being a wino, I kept terroir as a vocabulary word

because it helps to add a layer of sweetness to so many aspects

of my personal (and sometimes professional) life of growing and eating.

I'd talk about it in real life more but

apparently I have a speech impediment in both French and Spanish.

Attempting to say the word out loud inevitably requires more explanation

and second-hand embarassment than is reasonable for my friends to endure

so most of my musing around terroir remains deeply seated inside my mind.

If you want an official, full blown definition, you can check out this link.

My best summation is that terroir is the way 

the environment seeps into growing things

and gives them a regional flavor.

It's most often discussed in relation to wine but

it also exists in the superlatives around most artisanal foodstuffs.

Cheese, pork, tomatoes, coffee and tobacco all have distinctive

flair based on the soil, water, air, and sunlight parameters that exist in 

the environment where they reach their maturation.

 Terroir distinctions are predictable and quantifiable but also elusive. 

Think for just a second about how honey is labeled

based on the flowers that the bees forage through.

Honey created by bees primarily foraging on clover will taste

different than honey created by bees who foraged primarily on lavender.

Lavender honey doesn't taste exactly like lavender because the process of

mashing up the pollen, vomiting it out and then fermenting it

creates the most dominant flavor, that of honey.

Still, if you taste honey from lavender pollen, you will

wonder what that hint of something is until the label or your tongue

sorts it out for you.

This is sort of what terroir is but to really get it, 

you need to take it a little bit further.

Honey with a particular terroir will have something that 

can only really be produced by the entire region and won't be

easily linked to one factor like pollen type.

 It is flavor that exists when several environmental factors

collude to produce a specific flavor or type that is only

present in that environment.

Take the bees out of the environment and they may still 

make great honey but they will never quite make the same

honey that they make in that one place.

Bring in new bees from outside the environment

and the unique flavor will be found in their honey too.

It's a cool thing to geek out on how these 

things come together, which of them are essential for

the flavor and which are optional.

It is not really a problem to be solved

as much as a game to play with like-minded geeks.

Another thing that people obsessed with terroir 

do is pair different organisms from the same region

to fully taste and understand the place.

You may have seen or experienced a hyper-local meal

with an avante-garde chef where the field and producer

of every food, wine, animal, cheese or vegetable

is listed on the menu or highlighted by the misty eyed waitstaff.

My mouth is watering as I remember some of these meals

I've eaten, including some I've made

for myself.  There is some truth that the freshness of local

food enhances the experience but terroir is more than that.

The slow roasted pork with smoked peppers and sweet potatoes

that were raised in fields beside each other were made to be together.

The berries and peaches macerated and steeped

with bourbon, poured over buttermilk ice cream from cows down the way

will always transcend anything storebought or trucked from all over.

Shrimp pulled from the salty brine and served with tomatoes, 

okra and field corn proclaim the angle of the sun and the 

wind off the tide as shared experiences with each bite.

It's as real as it is ephemeral.

One week's haul from PBO farmer's market (remember those figs?)

If you are still with me, God bless you.

Also, have a snack because I'm sure I made you super hungry

with all my food imagery.

The metaphor that my brain wants to stretch past all sense and 

reason is the notion that maybe people have terroir as well.

What if I'm the way I am is because of genetics and environmental

factors and socio-economic conditioning AND

because of the red dirt my soles ran barefoot across AND

because of the hymns sung in an awkward key AND

because of the smell of cigarettes mixed with wood fires?

What if the things that I consider my unique personality are actually

a predictable outcome of being exposed to a certain environment?

That I'm not special in the sense that there are a lot of other

people like me that have been produced in this region for 

generations and our flavor of person will continue to be 

produced as long as the environment supports our creation?

What if once the environment shifts, our flavor shifts?

The people like me would cease to be produced anymore

because the factors that created those markers no longer exist.

Is your hard drive fried yet because mine definitely overheats here.

Want one of these rad shirts?  You can get one from The Peak Church.

One of the reasons I can't quite shake this metaphor lately is because

of an experience I had last month. 

I was sitting at a monthly meeting I attend with other people of faith

who are particularly concerned with how we can support 

our LGBTQ+ siblings in ways that are actually loving.

We gather to share and learn about all sorts of things on this topic

and these conversations are some of the most fruitful and holy I've

ever participated in.

My affinity for finding community and learning from

those who have been marginalized is a lifelong effort.

I want us all to be free.

Here on earth as it is in heaven.

This group of like minded folks feels the same way

but we don't always know the next right thing to do

as individuals without some of the kind of growth that takes place together.

The speaker for the night was someone I admire on social media,

who is leading a church in Raleigh that is fully affirming.

She introduced herself to me and insisted that she knew me from somewhere.

I chuckled and said...well, we follow each other on socials

but I think I just have one of those faces.

As she started her presentation, she gave us a brief bio 

which highlighted the likely reason I seem so familiar to her.

We're from the same county, the same town, and 

grew up in the same religious denomination.

We were seperated by a few miles and twenty years of timeline.

After the meeting was over,

 we tried to compare last names, family trees, 

and potential places or times where our paths or our DNA crossed.

We couldn't pinpoint anything closer than the Quaker settlement

that our common ancestors started in Snow Camp in the 1700's

so we have to conclude, we didn't actually know each other beforehand.

On the surface, we share a few similarities but no one passing

us on the street would think we're closely aligned or related.

We have no shared schools, work experience or facebook friends.

But there is something deeply similar between how

we move and operate in the world,

the things we chose to focus on, and the

values that we express.

Are there ways to know each other that transcend time?

Do we have the ability to share experience with someone

outside of things like books, music, movies, art?

It kept bugging me.

Until I remembered terroir.

Neon signs from the universe found at The Stock Room on Ocracoke Island.

I am twenty years older than this person but I know 

so much about her creation and maturation because the soil that seeped

into her bones is the same soil that seeped into mine.

Our shared flavoring also includes the air we pulled into our lungs,

the humidity that rung sweat from our bodies,

and the musical cadence of our particular location's accent.

I mean, none of this is sounds unique to our home town right?

You grow up where you grow up, you take on the lens of your people

and then probably work hard to unlearn it as you settle into maturity.

Everyone does this kind of thing.

It's called growing up.

The thing about us is, our home county is a pressure cooker

that has churned out extremes for over 250 years.

From the 1969 race riots in Burlington to the almost constant presence

of demonstrations around the Graham courthouse, evil is alive and well

and arguing with good in front of our faces.

On the one hand, there are always residents who want freedom

and egalitarianism, probably some radical acceptance and whatever

this decades version of shared community with a growth mindset looks like.

On the other hand, there are active, organized groups of racists,

using fear, prejudice and violence to enforce their world view.

Both are homegrown products of our county.

Both are consistently present in material amounts.

I would love for anyone who is inclined to believe that we are living in a post-racial society to live for a year in any neighborhood in my home county.

On the way to the courthouse that is defended by a statue of a confederate

soldier erected where the county's first black lawman was murdered,

they will pass a colorguard of giant traitor flags

(Trump or Confederate flavors are welcomed in equal measure).

While eating at a local BBQ joint, fish house, or grill

they will likely overhear a host of jokes that 

contain problematic slurs or tropes that many of us wish

had been left behind post-segragation or post-women's lib

or just post-Elton John.

If you look like you fit in even slightly here,

you will hear the quiet part said out loud

and then you'll hear it followed by either a chuckle or

'you got that right'.

The resentment at the loss of 

the good old days where everyone knew their place is palpable.

Delivered via the bathroom at Creative Tattoo Studio in Durham

Before my whole three family members who read this

get up in arms, I KNOW it's not everyone.

I KNOW.

But don't try and ignore that Uncle So-and-so still drops the N-word

if he thinks he can get away with it

or that our churches, funeral homes and restaurants aren't

still largely segregated.

Don't try to pretend that you want to minimize the 

KKK activity or the deep anxiety you still feel

when interracial or homosexual couples hold hands in public.

This evil is not dead but is actually thriving more than ever.

I also KNOW that there's a long history of activism that keeps

our county moving foward.

I KNOW that there have been, are right now and will be

many people deeply committed to justice and transformation

who originate in this spot.

I KNOW.

I'm grateful.

I'm one of them.

I love my home county.

I love my home state.

All of it.  

To take away any of it changes

the character of the people who are formed by it's

persistent dichotomies and pressures.

We need the honeysuckle and the poison ivy, 

the copperheads and the cardinals,

the hurricanes and the droughts.

Which brings me back to terroir.

How did the place that produced me and 

my newly met twelfth cousin

also produce a sheriff so racist he shakes hands 

with the local white supremacists in front of the courthouse?

What do we have in common?

How do we go together?

Are we complementary flavors?

Do we bring out the best in each other

or in some way highlight the essence of creation?

Are we the cure or the relief for what ails us?

Is my home county a training ground for subversive

minded people?

What factors make you a wanna-be-nazi and which 

make you a rainbow lover?

Can we tweak it one way or the other?

I like imagining that part of why I am the way I am

is the result of some semi-magical creation process.

It's probably bullshit of the most self-centered kind.

I still can't stop turning it over again and again.

My therapist has really helped me accept that 

not everything needs to have a resolution.

Life is teaching me that the trip along the way

is usually more satisfying than the destination.

Like the meaning of life or the search for TRUTH

I am never going to really understand whether or not

people have a terroir.

I'm just going to keep turning this idea over

for as long as it entertains me and sparks my imagination.