{"id":18910,"date":"2025-09-25T09:50:39","date_gmt":"2025-09-25T16:50:39","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.chriscorrigan.com\/parkinglot\/?p=18910"},"modified":"2025-09-25T09:50:40","modified_gmt":"2025-09-25T16:50:40","slug":"letting-go-to-get-somewhere","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.chriscorrigan.com\/parkinglot\/letting-go-to-get-somewhere\/","title":{"rendered":"Letting go, to get somewhere"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

The hairiest road in British Columbia<\/strong> was built by the citizens of the Bella Coola valley back in the 1950s and it isn’t much different today then it was back then. A 1200 meter descent over 18 kilometres on a gravel road with no guardrails and the occasional 1000 meter drop to the creek below. The Tyee has published a terrific oral history<\/a> of the tricky end of Highway 20. It’s such a story of its time, and even evokes the age old “free enterprise vs. socialist” trope that dominated BC politics for decades before everything became privatized and financialized. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Anyone driving that road needs a pep talk<\/strong> and although I haven’t driven it, I know that almost everyone who has relates contemplating their mortality at least once. Here is a poem by Rosemary Trommer<\/a><\/strong> about letting go.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A Little Pep Talk

The swirling ash
doesn\u2019t try
to be become
log again.
The flying leaves
don\u2019t attempt
to return
to the tree.
The girl
can\u2019t untwist
her genome
back into
separate strands.
The flour
in the bread
can\u2019t return
to the sack,
can\u2019t undo
the kneading
of hands.
In all things
lives a memory
of letting go
and the chance
to transform
into what
it can\u2019t know.
What do you say
to that, heart?
Good self,
what do you say
to that?
<\/pre>\n\n\n\n
My memory is not what to used to be.<\/strong> Leaning into my ADHD, and then noticing changes over the years associated with the experience I had last year with COVID (and possibly right at the beginning of the pandemic too). That plus the way I now connect to people, having many important and meaningful conversations on the same screens week after week, with no difference in context to delineate or anchor our insights.  But I’m developing some strategies. I rely on automated transcripts to help me remember what we are talking about, and to later recall conversations. I have stopped writing elsewhere on the Web, and focused here, where I own my words and they are gathered in a searchable archive.  You won’t find me writing on any social media platforms and only occasionally will I comment elsewhere. Even then I will make a note here too, where I will always have access to it.  Aeon today published an essay about recording everything,<\/a> and on the face of it is seems dystopian, and with respect to the poem I just posted, it seem counter-productive to my own spiritual liberation.  But then again, the worst experience for me is to know that I know something but I cannot recall what it is.  I go blank and feel empty when I am in a position of needing to be in service. It’s embarrassing and makes me sad.  I have no answers, just strategies to try, and I’m doing my best.  <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
The hairiest road in British Columbia was built by the citizens of the Bella Coola valley back in the 1950s and it isn’t much different today then it was back then. A 1200 meter descent over 18 kilometres on a gravel road with no guardrails and the occasional 1000 meter drop to the creek below. The Tyee has published a terrific oral history of the tricky end of Highway 20. It’s such a story of its time, and even evokes the age old “free enterprise vs. socialist” trope that dominated BC politics for decades before everything became privatized and financialized. …<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"enabled":false},"version":2},"_wpas_customize_per_network":false},"categories":[10,24],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-18910","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-2-2-2-2-2-2-2-2","category-poetry"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/piBp1-4V0","jetpack-related-posts":[],"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.chriscorrigan.com\/parkinglot\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18910","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.chriscorrigan.com\/parkinglot\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.chriscorrigan.com\/parkinglot\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.chriscorrigan.com\/parkinglot\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.chriscorrigan.com\/parkinglot\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=18910"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/www.chriscorrigan.com\/parkinglot\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18910\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":18912,"href":"https:\/\/www.chriscorrigan.com\/parkinglot\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18910\/revisions\/18912"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.chriscorrigan.com\/parkinglot\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=18910"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.chriscorrigan.com\/parkinglot\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=18910"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.chriscorrigan.com\/parkinglot\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=18910"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}