Help, I've fallen, and I can't get up! Thoughts on my 36th trip around the sun.
Note: If you're new to this blog, my "Last of the Laowai" series, which describes my years abroad, is a good place to start.
Two of my favorite icons, Marilyn Monroe and Princess Diana, passed away at 36 - Princess Di when her impaired chauffeur drove her limo into a concrete tunnel support while fleeing paparazzi in Paris, and Marilyn Monroe after taking an overdose of barbiturates during a slump in her acting career.
Granted, I've only been 36 for a few days, but it feels like a fitting age for these two bright, brilliant, uncompromising women to leave life.
Thirty-six is an age of reckoning with reality.
I'm 10 years too old for the boundless dreams and optimism of youth, and yet I'm young enough that the peaceful acceptance of old age hasn't really settled in, either.
More than at any other age, I'm cognizant of the gap between dreams and reality, the ineluctable process of bargaining off through which vast chunks of potential and possibility are exchanged for bite-sized portions of what we think we want.
I have no idea who originated the expression "neither coming nor going," but I wouldn't be surprised if he or she was 36 at the time.
***
I turned 30 in Shenzhen on full-steam-ahead mode.
I was clean, in great shape, dating Jay (who is now my fiancé). Teaching science that intrigued me to some of the best students in the world while working as a partner in an educational consulting firm that offered a route out of the rat race.
I had a sick apartment that suited me and had just adopted a poodle - my son, my sun, my eternity - so magnificent that he defies description (he's with Jay at the moment).
I was learning Mandarin, traveling throughout China and the U.S, eating everything.
It wouldn't be so bad if the rest of my life kept on like this, I remember thinking for the first time in my life.
Things had finally come together, I might have believed if life hadn't already taught me how much the universe punishes us for such hubris.
***
Six years later and the pandemic plus a relapse have imploded my life.
After staying in China became untenable due to the COVID lockdown, I returned home to the U.S. with a hastily packed suitcase and without Jay.
Rather than me waiting it out here and then rejoining him in China, Jay and I decided that we would lean into it, that I would start getting set up for him to join me here as soon as the U.S. Consulate resumed its processing of fiancé visa materials (we had started our application three years ago, but it had been frozen due to the pandemic).
So, here I am: Back in my home city, which fits me like a hand-me-down from an older sibling; back on methadone maintenance, which suits me even worse and which I'm struggling to taper off of.
Teaching in a difficult district that I have no plans on staying in long-term.
Trapped here, for the moment.
And I've been pretty much a recluse for the past couple of years. I've seen family and friends to a limited extent, and I've gone to 12-Step meetings, but overall, this has been a period of struggle and waiting rather than abundance and enjoyment.
***
My first thought as I reflected on this birthday was that I'm not content with where I am in my life right now.
And that's true, I think.
If you had told me at 18 that when I was twice that age, I would be back in my home city, living with family, working a job that wasn't super fulfilling or challenging, still fighting to keep my relationship with mind-altering chemicals in check, I would've been heartbroken.
When I began thinking about how I've actually been spending my days during these past two years and how that relates to what came earlier on in my life, though, my feelings started to turn around.
I've lived in New York (Syracuse, Ithaca, and New York City), New Jersey, Florida, Oregon, Hawaii (Maui), Shenzhen, Beijing.
I've learned Mandarin, Italian, and Spanish. I read Corriere della Sera and learn new Chinese characters almost every single day. I sometimes teach in Spanish (with some help from the kids!).
I'm editing one book that's almost ready for query and wrapping up substantial rewrites on a second manuscript.
Every day or two, I answer a meaningful question that I receive through this site, which I brought online only a few months ago.
Most of the time, they're messages from people who are in opioid or benzo withdrawal.
They are abjectly terrified - wondering what to expect, what they can do to make it better.
I strive to be their doula: To comfort them, talk them through it; to offer practical solutions when possible and to help them accept that time is the only remedy when that's the case.
My medical background comes in more than a little handy: I discuss comfort meds, dosages and protocols and contraindications. Having a plan, even a jury-rigged one, is a powerful boost for morale.
I've also gotten messages from concerned parents who are worried that their sons are Hunter S. Thompsons in the making and from people who love addicts but don't understand or know what to do with them.
I answer them all as best as I can even though I'm the last person on Earth who should be dispensing advice (and indeed, I rarely do; I simply share my own experience).
Somehow, the words seem to help.
In the first six months of this website, I've had unforgettable conversations with a British journalist with OCD, who, like me, was temporarily living with family again; a Danish rock star who was going through cold-turkey oxy withdrawal while on vacation with his wife and son in Spain; and a man my age with Cystic Fibrosis who is dependent on opioids and benzos as he prepares for a double-lung transplant (someone who, I discovered, lived an eerily parallel youth halfway across the country).
All three have touched me. Will, the CF patient, has become a close friend.
Jay has an intuitive knack for giving the perfect gift. This Lego orchid was just what I needed to absorb my nervous energy, occupy my hands and get myself out of my own head for a couple of hours.
Although he's not acquainted with the culture of addiction, it's also a fitting gift because of a longstanding bit of recovery lore that says that, if you're in early recovery and feeling lonely / wanting to date, you should get a plant and keep it alive for six months; after that, adopt a pet; after that, maybe consider a romantic relationship.
The fact that Jay gave me an indestructible plastic plant is a wonderful cosmic joke.
On account of him not being here in person with me right now, but also because he's so dependable and drama-free, Jay doesn't get nearly the wordcount that he deserves. So, let me take a moment to acknowledge how grateful I am to have found such a kind, handsome, successful partner - who, by some flaw in his otherwise-exceptional fabric, has decided to spend the rest of his life with me.
I love you, Jay.
***
My life has been so wild that reflecting on it feels like analyzing blood-spatter patterns at a crime scene - one that spans over three-and-a-half-decades and multiple continents.
In the sense of having colored outside of the lines, challenged and changed myself, met incredible lovers and friends, my life has delivered to a degree that I never could have imagined.
I realize now that the life that I once imagined for myself as an Internal Medicine physician was really just "normal porn," material that I invented to convince myself that I had a plan. That life wouldn't have suited me, and I might very well have ended up as a sh*tty, burnt-out person.
It's not wrong to mourn the loss of a dream, but it's useless to stay mired in regret.
If there's one thing that I've learned, it's to try to harmonize my own goals with the natural currents of the universe; working against the prevailing patterns makes everything exponentially harder, and anything achieved in such a way is likely to be lost soon after, anyway.
I'm in a period of what John Milton called "active waiting," and it's my job to use it to prepare myself in mind and body for whatever comes next.
***
I don't do New Year's resolutions because I prefer not to put off change, but perhaps this year, birthday resolutions are in order.
By this time next year, I will:
Be together with Jay in person again
Be off the d*mn methadone for good
Be running competitively and eating better
Have expanded this site to incorporate more diverse content and built a secondary platform for reaching out to readers (such as Insta or YouTube)
Thank you all for joining me on the journey.
Love,
B.
Wait till you get to my age.