The Way Out is Through

On the very human desire to give up

A personal, behind the scenes look at how character and evolution lurks in our choices to continue through fear, worry, stalkers and an nearly impenetrable legal system.

Hi and welcome:

A neighbor strolled down from her house on the hill to harvest a few apples from an old tree next to the cabin (with my blessing and my new security cameras tracking her every move).

Passing where I worked in the enclosed garden, she didn’t see me tucked within the tomato forest and gathering my own harvest of Sun Golds and black cherries. (I suppose nineteen starts was too much, but what did I know? Last spring, I was a new gardener who expected half those starts to wither and die).

When I lived in the city, working tirelessly on improving my craft and helping other writers grow in their understanding of story, I didn’t grow a garden.

What’s the point, I used to ask myself, there’s a grocery store around every corner.

The truth is I didn’t garden because I was scared. Seedlings and soil and pest management were daunting and fraught with too many unknowns. Then came lockdowns and double-digit inflation. I was still scared to try, but I was more frightened of the direction our leaders were taking the world. After moving out of the city, I got busy building the garden and now feed myself, my neighbors, my former husband, and anyone else who happens past my place. I’ve grown collards, kale, lettuce, beets, radishes, chard, carrots, all manner of squash, beans, peas, and enough tomatoes to put up sauce for the whole winter!

The Way Out is Through

This saying began in the Divine Comedy when Virgil escorts Dante through the gates of hell. Reasonably terrified, Dante wants to turn back. “The way out is through,” Virgil explains and off they go.

Later, Robert Frost wrote something similar in Servant of Servants:

Len says one steady pull more ought to do it.
He says the best way out is always through.
And I agree to that, or in so far
As that I can see no way out but through —
Leastways for me — and then they’ll be convinced.

It means that in this life, situations arise, and we either meet them, learn, and shove through to the end. Or not. Character, in many ways, is based on understanding both choices, which kind of sucks because pushing through is hard work, frightening, humbling, and often overwhelming.

The Judge Rules for a Continuance

This brings me to the continuation of the very personal story of my Summer Stalker.

On Friday, I had a court hearing where I was charged to “prove” the claims within my restraining order application to the judge, and this woman (the one who believes she still owns this land) was also ordered to appear.

“She’ll never show up in court,” my long-distance-telephone-lawyer said about the stalker-woman (“Amber” I called her in a follow-up post). “She’s transient. She’s likely on drugs.”

He went on to prep me for every move the judge might make (questioning the time it took to serve her and having me put on a prima facie case to defend my claim).

I learned that I was to be deferential to the judge. I was NEVER to imply that the sheriff was remiss in serving notice of the temporary restraining order and that I had to do it myself, and I could not talk about how she had broken into the buildings on the land in 2020 and 2019 (they fell outside the time limits allowed). Heck, I wasn’t even allowed to refer to a police report written about her breaking into the property in August because that was “hearsay.”

“Look, none of this really matters,” the lawyer insisted. “If she doesn’t show up—and she won’t—the judge will likely make the order permanent, and you’ll be done with it.”

Come Friday, I arrived to find Amber sitting in the courtroom wearing her wife beater tank, tattered jeans, and tennis shoes. With her was a tired-looking woman who looked like an older relative.

Great, I thought, and took my seat while pulling out my carefully written notes that covered every possible scenario except this one.

Initially, “Amber” didn’t want to contest but then changed her mind.

“None of this happened,” she said, waving the copy of the temp. restraining order toward the judge. “I don’t even know who this woman is.”

“So you want a continuance?” the judge asked her.

“Yeah! That’s what I want.”

“And you plan to retain counsel?”

“Oh, uh, well, I can’t afford that.”

“You’re going to have to get a lawyer,” the judge said, curt and clearly getting irritated. “The court cannot appoint one to you, and there is a provision that allows Ms. Lauck to recover her legal fees in the event we find that the restraining order stands. Do you understand?”

“Amber” blinked, confused, then glanced over her shoulder at the woman in the seat behind her who nodded some secret communication. “Amber” became defiant and outraged and once more turned to face the judge.

“This didn’t happen,” she said again. “None of this happened.”

“So you want to continue?” the judge asked, having regained his patience.

“Yeah,” Amber said. “That’s what I want.”

The gavel was struck. The trial date set.

As I was leaving the courtroom, escorted to my car by an officer, I was mentally booking my U-haul and planning to find a new place to live. This is BS, I thought. I don’t need this hassle, but after a couple of hours on this beach, I moved out of “fight or flight” and into contemplation.

I’ve learned the hard way that life is a long game. We are given what we can handle and no more. And we’re not here to have a great time. We’re here to evolve. Scientists know this. Time proves it. Every spiritual practice, from Buddhism to Christianity, will say the same. Even Carl Jung states the case:

One does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light, but by making the darkness conscious. The latter procedure, however, is disagreeable and therefore not popular.”

~ Carl Jung

I knew I had to keep going.

First and selfishly, I love it here. The sea. The wind. The quiet (when my place isn’t being broken into). I love my new garden and this precious solitude where I’ve made remarkable headway in my spiritual practice, my relationships with my kids and former spouse, my writing, my teaching.

Second, I kind of love what I’ve written about this “Amber” person, too. A character takes shape. A story unfolds.

Third, I even kind of love, in a strange way, that this “Amber” had some support in the courtroom (that her people were rallying around her) and that she seemed somewhat lucid. Maybe, just maybe, this whole process will help her get her life together.

And fourth, I thought, briefly, while she and I were side by side in that courtroom, that we were the same in so many ways. Heck, I once lived on the streets and heard voices telling me all kinds of weird things. Sure, I was a kid, but I’ve been battered in this life. Badly. Just like she’s been. “Amber” could be any one of us at any time. Our grip on reality is that fragile.

Then, because that’s how the mind works, I was back to the idea of taking flight but where would I go? Back to the concrete and steel city with cell towers fixed to all the buildings? The crisscrossing of power lines? Traffic jams? Anxious men, women, and little ones buried under N95 masks? Muggings and robberies and carjackings and graffiti painted on every surface?

No. No. No, I told myself. I can’t go back. Not yet.

So…here we go. Witnesses must be produced. My telephone-lawyer will have to be put on retainer (and appear with me in court). And, this whole thing will take time, energy, and money I don’t have to give, but because of the two beautiful years I’ve had here so far, I’ve decided to cling to a relatively newly achieved faith. With that faith held tight in my fist, I agree to continue walking through this hell. The way out is through and I’m taking it one step at a time.

Thank you for reading and being with me on this journey.

Coming up is the announcement of a Zoom meeting on craft for my subscribers. And, a teaching on the underlying purpose and power of writing critique.

Hold steady and keep walking your own way through. If you want to share a story or two about your own hell (or heaven), I’d love to read them.

~ J.