Walking Away

A quick note:

A few folks have asked Bill and I to post some stories about our time living in Alaska. We are starting that now, on another blog he has. Today begins with a photo collage of photos he took during our time there. In future, we will be sharing stories and photos about our experiences. Some of the stories are longer, so I've broken them up into segments. The photos are Bill's and most of the writing will be mine. If anyone is interested, the link to the blog is here. 

When we got to Sucktown, I was so hopeful and excited to start a new chapter in my life, having left academia and being ready to move on. Unfortunately for me, I chose a place that would allow me to grow and eventually move on, but I would have to go through much pain before that could happen. When we left, I felt like a wounded animal, dragging myself away from danger and wanting to hide so my wounds could heal. I have moved on, and the wounds have healed, but I will carry the scars with me wherever I go. The person who arrived in Sucktown was very different in many ways than the person who left 5 years and two weeks later. Still, I am a stronger person and I learned so much there that I can’t really say I’m sorry I lived there. Of course, had I known what was coming, I would have chosen differently. I would have avoided it. But pain shows up in every life and we can learn from it. If we don’t, the pain is wasted. I don’t like waste.

It was about two weeks into our time in Sucktown and I was starting to have vague misgivings. We’d bought a house and were still settling in, but I just had a niggling thought that something was off. One day, I was walking around the mattress we’d bought and put on the floor so we’d have a place to sleep while we looked for a bed, when it struck me like a physical blow in the gut—the understanding that things were going to get really bad. I burst into tears and sank down on the mattress, sobbing. I tried to rationalize with myself, but I knew. I think that this knowledge helped me somehow as things continued to deteriorate. I remember how later I wished various things—that we had never gone to Sucktown in the first place or that in that moment of realization we’d started making plans to leave as soon as possible. But we stayed, we struggled, we learned, and we grew.

We were by no means the only ones struggling with Sucktown. There were many people we met as we got involved in various community groups who had issues with the place. Many of these people built their identity around feeling superior to the residents that felt at home there. I found them equally disturbing, to be honest, and it didn’t take long for me to remove myself from their company. There were others, though, who did not like it there but tried to figure out a way to make it work. I never knew anyone who succeeded at this, but I think that maybe it was some consolation to know they’d tried. It was for me, anyway.

For a time, Bill and I were involved in the local arts association. I was vice-president and the president was another relative newcomer to the town. This was one of many groups that made a lot of noise about wanting new members and talking endlessly about ways they could attract new people, but never doing anything about it. One day, the president, who I will call Marge (not her real name), asked me to have lunch with her. After we’d ordered, she started expressing what was worrying her. She asked me why we couldn’t get anyone to engage with our ideas and why nothing was getting done. She wondered why it was so hard to do anything different, when that was exactly what people said they wanted. Having been there a while by then and having done what I always do, which is to do the anthropology and figure out the culture of a place, I explained to her that this had nothing whatsoever to do with her. It was cultural. These people did not care for change so when they said they wanted new people and new ideas, what they really meant was that they wanted new people to come and do the work, like we were doing, and to pay dues, but to not make waves and to let them keep on doing what they’d always done. We could keep trying to beat our heads against the brick wall and come out bruised and bloodied, but they’d be unmoved. Things had to stay the same, except with more money and others to take responsibility. As I started talking, her mouth fell open and she stared at me. Then her face brightened as she kept listening. ‘All this time, I thought it was me,’ she said. No, indeed it was not. 

After that, things went much more smoothly. We simply proceeded without input from the old-timers. Once, shortly after our lunch, Marge contacted me and said she’d come across information about a grant that we could apply for, but the deadline was in a few days. Should we go for it? We did, without telling anyone else, knowing that they would have dithered while the deadline came and went. Bill and I spent a day at her house getting everything together. We submitted the application and we got a grant. Then we announced the fact to an astonished board at the next meeting. The grant involved non-traditional quilts and we put together an exhibition without much, if any, help from anyone else. Bill and I did some interviews and solicited quilts for display from some people. I had some of my art quilt-ish work on the wall. It was great and well-received, but it never would have happened if we’d consulted anyone else.

To be sure, there were some people who adored Sucktown and would never leave. I remember one walk with a few members of the arts association where I had a conversation with a photographer who was very bossy, clearly had a chip on her shoulder, and was often avoided by people. I can’t say I ever had a good time in her company, but I could see that she had very low self-esteem and felt she had to always convince people, including herself, that she did good work, so I had a deep compassion for her. While the others walked on in a group, I walked with her.  The photographer asked me a question that I do not remember now, but I do recall replying that Bill and I were starting to talk about leaving and where we would go next. She laughed and said, ‘Oh, you can leave, but you’ll be back. People always come back.’ I looked at her and, with as even a tone as I could manage, I replied, ‘That won’t happen in this case.’

One of the big lessons I learned during my time there was that some things cannot be fixed and that I needed to be able to let go and to stop trying when in such a situation. I had to learn about acceptance of what is and about protecting myself. I am so much better at this now than I used to be. I know there are a lot of myths out there about perseverance and how we should keep on trying until we succeed and all of that, which can be good advice and can be hogwash, depending on the situation. Not recognizing when this is a fool’s errand does real harm to people. 

Sometimes, in spite of all our best efforts, the best thing to do is to walk away. So we did.

Afterword:

About a year after we'd left Sucktown, Bill was contacted by someone through an online photo gallery he had at the time, which had many images of the area. The person wanted to get some information about what it was like there, as he'd been offered a job and was unsure about whether or not to accept it, being able to find very little information about the place. Bill sent the message to me and I replied to him, saying that I was going to be honest with him, but he should keep in mind that what followed was one person's perspective and that others would experience things differently. Then I told him about the culture of the place, illustrated with a few anecdotes. He answered me with thanks for being honest and said he had decided to stay where he was. I felt like I was able to save someone some anguish. 

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