Act 20: Speak Up for What I Believe In

Dating can be intimidating.  Online dating can be intimidating and really strange.  Online dating after 40 is downright perilous.  I don't know if it's because I'm old and have less tolerance for foolishness, or if it is the fact that people have just gotten crazier in the last 20 years, but believe me when I tell you - it's a jungle out there.

There was a time when I was first getting started where I was a bit less discerning.  During that phase, it took me a bit longer to sift through, and with pretty much anyone who could compose a sentence, I would have been polite, engaged in a conversation with the crazy, maybe even agreed to meet for coffee just to prove to myself that yes, this person is, in fact, crazy.  That time has passed.

Nowadays, I've gotten very adept at screening.  My crazy detector is honed so well, that it only takes a few messages for me to get to the heart of the matter.  But every now and then, one gets past me.  

I'm speaking of course of the Jehovah's Witness of online dating: the "ethical non-monogamist."  

 (Disclaimer: Before you polyamorists out there get your feathers all ruffled, please understand that I am not speaking out against your life choices.  I support everyone's right to get it on - er, I mean - conduct their romantic life - in the way that they choose.  If it works for you, Love On, my friends!)

Ethical non-monogamy is sometimes called polyamory.  This is, in the simplest of terms, the idea that intimate romantic relationships need not be exclusive or monogamous, as long as everyone involved is aware and ok with it.  From what I understand, for some, it is a wonderfully free and open way of life.  The folks I've met who ascribe to it seem really, really happy with it.  There are plenty of poly folks on the online dating sites, And some, can be almost evangelical.

I crossed paths with someone a few weeks back who decided that he was going to convert me.  Even after I said, "Thanks, but no thanks.  That sounds like it works for you, but it doesn't work for me."  He kept on!  "Well, have you thought about XYZ?  If you consider that, you may change your mind."
"No.  I am sure I'm not going to change my mind.  I'm not going to be convinced.  I'm not interested.  Thank you."

Getting this guy off my metaphorical front porch was a real chore.  Yes, I suppose I could have just blocked the messages, but I something in me kind of snapped, and I launched into my own diatribe.

I told him:  I believe in love, sir.  At the risk of sounding trite and cheesy I believe in saving all my love and attention for one person.

So here I am, standing up for what I believe in:

I believe in love.  Not in the fairy tale version - where a kiss from  Prince Charming instantly transforms you.  But in the kind where you find a person that reveals the best, most resilient, most noble parts of you, and you invest your heart in that person.

I believe in the love that inspires you  to be the best version of yourself.  I believe in the kind of love that supports your growth and inspires reflection.  The kind of love comprised of a thousand little choices every day.  The one that takes another's needs into consideration and leads you to make decisions that are good for you, but are not bad for your partner.  I believe in unselfishness - not martyrdom - but unselfishness.

I believe in love that is durable - that grows and stretches.  The kind that can take the bumps and bruises of everyday life - because life can be brutal.  Fragile attraction is easily shattered in  that onslaught.  Durable love isn't always pretty.  Sometimes it's plain.  It's a sink full of dirty dishes or a soiled sock.  And while that love isn't indestructible, it takes an awful lot of neglect to break it.

I believe in love that is adaptable and spacious.  So much so, that it is possible to grow and change within it without being impinged.  It's not fitting like a glove - because in that there is no room for alteration.  If you start out too closely fitted together, growth will undermine the fit.  No.  I believe in love that breathes.

I believe in love that is not fickle.  I believe in the love that sticks around when your partner is grumpy or sick or difficult to get along with.  I believe in the kind of love that remains even when one of you is being insensitive or selfish.  This love has so little to do with what happens in your bed.  It's about the person standing next to you.  It's about the one who makes you laugh, who stimulates your mind. It's the one who sees you for who you really are - and what you could become.  It's the love that looks beyond what you think are glaring flaws and sees what's beautiful in you.

I believe in this kind of love, and I'm willing to seek it out, to wait for it, to work for it.  It's not for me to land with someone who excites me for a little while and then to move on to someone else I find exciting.  I believe that there is such a thing as a perfectly imperfect love, and I stand by that belief.

So when the evangelist comes knocking on my door, I can say - definitively, "Thanks, but no thanks.  That's not what I believe in."

(Actually, I will probably just not answer the door and hide until they go away, but you get my point.)

I will live by what I believe.

Act 12: Get a Brazillian Wax

I'm not going to lie.  I've had a really hard time deciding how to document this act.  Aside from the how personal and detailed do I want to go question, I've had a hard time framing this in my journey as a whole.  It's not for lack of trying.  I've been mulling this over, writing drafts and rejecting them, for almost a week now. It wasn't until today that I figured out why it has been so difficult.

The whole purpose of these 40 Acts of Courage is to help me to find my authentic self.  I've been working to strip away the facade to see what I'm really made of.  This act, then, feels completely counter to that mission.   This is not something I've always wanted to do.  It's not even something I really wanted to do.  It made it on the list because someone suggested it.  I ended up going when I did because a sisterfriend wanted to go sooner rather than later. The only good reason I could come up with to do this would be if it was requested by a lover, and since that region has been as deserted as the cities around Chernobyl, that seemed pointless.

Everything else on this list I did because it was important to me.  This - well honestly, this just isn't.  It's not something that would ever occur to me to do on my own.  In fact, in the days since I did it, I have felt less at ease and comfortable - less like myself - than I have in a long time.

There are plenty of conversations that could be had about the politics of this particular issue - The Atlantic published a particularly interesting article  in 2011 - but honestly, I don't want to.  In fact, I really just want to forget this happened and wait the 3-5 weeks until I start looking and feeling like myself, instead of feeling like this:

For those of you who are curious:
1. Yes, it hurt like hell - even though I had two Tylenol and a shot of Tequila before going in.
2. Yes, it was really weird to be chatting with a 20-something girl while she poured hot wax on my  nether parts.
3. No, I would not do it again, not even if my lover asked really nicely.
4. No, I don't judge anyone who prefers to do this.  It just is not for me.

Act 15: Go Ziplining or Indoor Skydiving

I bought the Groupon for this outing without a second thought.  Zip Lining sounded like so much fun!  Flying through the air, getting a view of the world from high above.  Sounded amazing!  Except I forgot a few teeny tiny details.  But more on that in a moment.

My friend Jackie and I chose a lovely September morning to undertake this act.  We drove the two hours toward Hanging Rock in good spirits.  There was a little chill in the air - the promise of Autumn was palpable.  September and October are my two favorite months of the year, so I was in a good mood.  That and Jackie is great company, so we chatted our way west.

We arrived a little late because we took a detour to the State Park, but it was no problem.  We got our harnesses on, signed release forms, and prepared for adventure. 

I was all smiles before I knew what I was in for.

There were 10 people in our group - plus our two guides: three high school boys, a mom and her grown son, a 9 year old girl with her grandparents, and us. We had to hike up a pretty serious hill to get to the first line.   Between the bracing hike, listening to the instructions from our guide, and fussing with my camera, I had plenty to occupy my attention.  It wasn't until I was standing on the edge of a 25-foot gorge that I realized the first detail I had overlooked:

My feet were going to have to leave the ground to do this. 

How this fact escaped me, I cannot say.  But as I looked out across to the other end of the line, it was clear that were no two ways about it.   I surveyed the area underneath the line.  It didn't look too far down, so I lifted my feet off the ground and scooted across to the other side.  It was a little nerve-wracking, but I was OK.  The line was short; I didn't go too fast.  It was kind of a thrill.  

We had to walk across a swinging bridge with no railings to get back across, but I was strapped in, so no big deal.  Even though Victoria - the EVIL, but hilarious guide - was purposely rocking the bridge.  I still made it across with minimal fuss.  That was fun.  I was ready to mark this off my list and head home.

Then they told us that was just the practice run.   Wait.  What?

We hiked further up the hill, then climbed a huge flight of stairs up to a tall platform.  THIS was the first line.  It was high off the ground.  And long.  It was then that the second tiny, overlooked detail became clear:  I was going to have to launch myself into the air in order to get across.  Again, how I missed this, I cannot say.  If I had stopped to consider this fact in advance, I'm fairly confident saying that I would NOT have made it up to this platform.  But there I was.  It was at this moment, another fact became clear to me:

I did not want to jump.

In fact, every fiber of my body was screaming at me: DO NOT JUMP!  YOU ARE GOING TO DIE!!!!!!  My hands were shaking, my legs would barely hold me.  It was in a daze that I allowed Victoria to strap my harness to the line.  I looked blankly over to the next platform.  It was about 70,000 miles away.  There was no way I was going to be able to leap out into empty space.

But Jackie had already gone across.  And the Grandma was going to do it.  So was the little girl.  I had to.

I did it.  Awkwardly, and cursing, but I made it across.  I was scared out of my mind, and was so afraid to trust that the guide at the other end was going to catch me.  In fact, I tried to stop myself with my feet (a big no-no) and ended up whacking my left foot pretty badly.  But I made it across.

As I waited on the platform for the rest of the group, my hands were shaking so badly, I could barely turn off the camera.  Turns out, zip lining is terrifying.  

This is not the kind of activity a control freak with trust issues enjoys.  I had to step out off solid ground into thin air and trust that the equipment and my guide were going to keep me safe.  When I was up there, I had absolutely no control.  Well, I had a brake, but I couldn't seem to get it to work, and they had warned us that braking too much would cause us to get stuck in the middle of a line.  So yeah.  It was just me - hurtling through the air - completely at the mercy of something other than me.

I was living my worst nightmare.

And I had to do it 11 more times.

It was at this point, I started cursing myself for not choosing indoor skydiving.  With that, you jump once, endure it for a few moments, and it's over.  Done.  In the books.  Not extended over two hours and 12 instances.  And whose idea was it to do these stupid acts of courage, anyway? 

But, it was too late to change my mind.  I was committed.  

The next line was a no brakes line.  This meant, you launched yourself into the air, hurtled down and prayed that the guy at the end of the line was going to catch you.  Awesome.

But it turns out, it kind of was awesome.  The no brakes lines would come to be my favorite ones - because I could just jump and not worry about when or how I was going to stop.  I could just enjoy the ride, knowing that my guide was going to stop me.  Like so:

Jackie was actually SMILING!  

That's not to say that I wasn't scared out of my mind every time I had to stare down something like this:

And the few times we did end up walking on the ground to a line, I was tempted to call it a day.  But I didn't.

I jumped.  Over and over again.  Each time, it was a little bit easier, and a little more fun.  A few times, I jumped off backward.  And on the last line, I actually launched myself for a bit of extra speed.  And while I wouldn't say that I ENJOYED doing this, per se, I am very glad I did.  I'm proud to have overcome my fear to participate in this experience.

I learned an important lesson about trust from this act.  It reminded me that I cannot do everything myself.  I had to trust the professionals and the equipment to keep me safe.  In fact, the one time I tried to "do it myself," I actually ended up getting injured.  When I let go, and trusted the process, things went so much better.

To paraphrase the song "Defying Gravity" from Wicked:  "It's time to ignore my instincts, close my eyes, and leap."  I'm glad I defied gravity.  Taking that leap will help me to be much more sure-footed when I'm on solid ground.

Sometimes, you just have to jump.  I'm glad I did.

I'm extra glad that I don't EVER have to do it again!  (But I just might; you never know!)

Why Joe Biden Is My Hero This Week

I was driving to work on Friday morning when I heard a report on NPR about Vice President Joe Biden's recent trip to Atlanta, GA.  He was giving a talk at a local synagogue, and the moderator asked him about his intentions in the 2016 Presidential race.  Now I'm willing to bet money that he's been asked this over and over again, and I'm sure that there could easliy be a canned political answer to that question.  But Mr. Biden gave a response that really caught my attention.  Here's the video of it.

  In response to the questions, he says, candidly, "The most relevant factor in my decision is whether my family and I have the emotional energy to run...  Unless I am able to devote my whole heart and whole soul to this endeavor, it would not be appropriate...  There is no way to put a timetable on that."

How remarkable!  Those words gave me such a soaring respect for Mr. Biden.  I don't think anyone would argue, since losing his son Beau to cancer just this past May, that he's not entitled to a little emotional space.  But how many of us would be willing to be vulnerable enough to admit the need for that kind of space and then brave enough to actually claim it!?  There seems to be this expectation in our lives that we be superhuman.  When the time or opportunity arrives to do something potentially advantageous, we are pressured to seize it - regardless of our readiness or our ability to handle the repercussions of it.  We get lost in the thrust of carpe diem, and forget that sometimes, the timing just isn't right.

Do I think Joe Biden would make a great president?  I absolutely do.  But I absolutely respect his need for more emotional time and space.  Furthermore, I don't want our country in the hands of someone who isn't able to devote full attention to the job.  

To say, "I wish I was ready; I want to be ready, but I'm just not" is, to me, the ultimate act of courage.  It shows vulnerability, yes, but more importantly - it show tremendous strength and wisdom.  That is a person who knows who he is and what he is capable of.  It is a person who respects his own boundaries and recognizes his limitations.  That is a person, who, when he is ready, would, in my opinion, make an excellent leader of the nation.  I can't help but respect and admire his courage.

I think we could all take a lesson from Vice President Biden.  Sometimes, things just aren't right - no matter how good they look on paper.  We need to listen to our heart and trust our gut, because no matter how great it seems, forcing something never works out well.

Will he ever be ready?  I suppose that's up for Mr. Biden and his family to figure out.  

Will the opportunity arise again?  If it's meant to be, then yes.  One thing I have learned is that life has a way of putting us where we need to be.  If that is meant to happen, it will happen somehow.

And while I get where he is coming from, I do have to say, if Mr. Biden were to decide he did, after all, have the emotional energy to tackle the job, he would have my vote!

How Perfectionism Steals Joy

 I do not expect perfection from others.  In fact, it's the imperfections that usually endear people to me.  When they show vulnerability and humanity, it is practically irresistible.  (That's a whole topic for another blog post, though.)

Despite embracing the imperfection of others, I have been tyrannical with myself - demanding perfection in thought, word, and deed for years now.  Any interaction or event that I deemed sub-par was subject to constant scrutiny by that lovely inner critical review board.

My satisfaction with nothing less than perfection has ruined, or nearly ruined, some potentially amazing experiences.  One day in particular comes to mind:


My sweetheart at the time and I decided to take a rare day off from work and sneak off to the beach for the day. Can you imagine anything more perfect? I was going to take him to the beach where I spent most of my childhood where I would show him one of my favorite spots on earth. He was looking forward to getting his toes in the sand, eating hushpuppies, and taking a walk in the surf. It sounded so lovely that I could hardly wait!

The morning came and started off shakily.   Aren't you going to...? Why didn't you...? I thought we were...?   Nothing beyond the normal scrambling of two adults early in a relationship road tripping together, but every exchange turned the crank on my already tightened nerves. That trip felt significant. Important. Pivotal. I was taking the lead - being the tour guide for the first time - and it had to be perfect. My companion was important to me, and I wanted to make him happy. Nothing less would do!

As we drove down east, I tried to shake myself out, to relax into the day, but the inner CRB had convened, and they were just getting warmed up.

This drive is too long. If you'd just taken us to xyz, we would be there by now. This music is tedious. I should have made a road trip playlist. 

On and on and on...

Finally, we made it to the shore and got our toes in the sand. It was mid-June, a beautiful sunny day, and for a moment, my mind was still. It's kind of impossible to find fault with a stretch of sand and the lovely vista of the Atlantic stretching out before you. We walked. We talked. We laughed.

At lunch time, I knew just where to take him for the perfect beachy meal. We drove the 30 minutes to a neighboring town where we sat down at a highly recommended little seafood cafe. We grabbed a table overlooking the harbor where we sat. For 10 minutes. Ten long, tense minutes while we waited for a server to come to our table. When she finally came, scowling, we asked for tea and hushpuppies and settled in. So did the CRB.

Why did you have to ORDER hushpuppies? Most places just bring them. What kind of place did you drag us to? Why are we waiting so long to be served? 

I was a wreck. When the hushpuppies arrived, they were laced with vile jalapenos - inedible to both my companion and me. He had asked for one thing. ONE THING on this trip, and I had failed to make it happen. I excused myself to the restroom, because I didn't want to burst into tears at the table. 

What is wrong with you? Crying over small globes of cornmeal? Get it together!

I wasn't crying over the hushpuppies, of course. It was so much deeper than that. The trip, which I was in charge of planning, was not perfect. It HAD to be perfect! I pulled myself together, and headed back to the table.  I knew of a better place - we'd go there for dinner.  I would make it up to him.  The day would be saved.  I smiled and chatted, but my mood cast a pall over the rest of our meal.

The afternoon was really lovely.  We poked around the town a bit, visited some shops, grabbed ice cream at the strangest, most charming little parlor and gift shop.  We bought fudge from  a 4 year old girl who was running the counter of her Grampy's store.  We found a spot on the shore where we set up our chairs and just soaked it in.  We swapped stories and enjoyed the view until the sun started to get low in the sky.

We headed back to the car, where we sat for a few minutes, watching the sun sink while we tried to get the sand off our feet.  He wanted to linger there, but I was getting worried.  The place I was taking him for dinner gets notoriously busy.  Since we were driving home that night, we really needed to get going if we wanted to get a table.  

We pulled up to a nearly empty parking lot.  That damned place was CLOSED on Wednesdays.

I sat there for a moment, to stunned to even be able to cry.  I didn't know what to do, except admit defeat.  I had tried to make the perfect day, but the day had beaten me.  I surrendered.

We got back into the car, drove a few blocks and found a little seafood dive.  We said down and almost immediately, a waitress swooped down with a basket of hot golden hushpuppies.  I swear, I heard a choir of angels sing.  I had never felt more relieved in my life.   As we dug into our meal, my nerves finally started to unwind a bit.  I had to laugh about the hushpuppy saga, but I was angry at myself.  

This was supposed to be a beautiful, perfect, romantic getaway day.  You ruined it by being so uptight.  Why can you not just RELAX?

Even in that "all's well that ends well" moment, I was incapable of accepting imperfection. I told myself it was because it was important.  It mattered.  But the truth was darker than that.  I've thought about that day often through the course of my recovery.  The signs of my misguided thinking were everywhere: controlling, care-taking, perfectionism.


My companion would later tell me that this day featured a pivotal moment for him - one where he felt complete and utter love, contentment, and joy.  It was the moment where we were sitting on the back of the car watching the sun set.  You know, the one I abruptly ended so we could get a table at the restaurant that wasn't even open?  Realizing that broke my heart a little.  I had missed his most wonderful moment because I was worried about freaking hushpuppies.

How many times have I wished I could go back and re-live that day knowing what I know now?  I missed the moment - not because of lack of love.  All my crazy-tense behavior came from my desperate need to produce a perfect day to show this person exactly how much he was loved.  So I'm glad, at the very least, that he felt loved.   But I missed the moment because I was fixated on the checklist in my mind.  I disregarded wonderful, because I was striving for perfect.  The comedy of errors that became this hushpuppy saga could have been a hilarious dinner party story that we'd tag-team tell for years to come, were it not for my need for perfection.

Perfection robs us of joy.

Now when I recall that story and the lessons learned from it, I instead steer my thinking to those moments of spontaneous joy.  They were there.  Tons of them.  And so I try to remember those, because in my life, I want joy.

So I abandon the hope for perfection.  Most of the time.

Footnote: this post has been written for a week, but I couldn't put it up because I had to find the perfect graphic to go with it.  I  guess old habits die hard.  Finally, I just grabbed one that was good enough.

Hey!  It's a process.  :-)

Act 28: Try Square Dancing

My friends Diane and Melissa and I went to a square dance earlier this year.  It was in a tiny little space - way too small for what we were trying to do, and the crowd was - how to say this? - not our peer group.  I had been Contra Dancing many, many, many years ago, and so I suggested to Diane that we give it a try.  There is a group - Triangle Country Dancers - who host regular dances throughout the area.  We found a date that worked for us and went to check it out.

According to Wikipedia, Contra dancing is "similar to square dancing, except instead of except instead of the square formation, it is danced in lines of couples, with every other couple facing up or down the hall."  The music is typically folksy.  The band for this dance consisted of a fiddle, banjo, and upright bass.  There was a caller who laid out the steps of the dance - and directed the dancers throughout.

The nice thing about Contra is that there are only a few steps to learn for each dance, and you get to repeat them many, many times during the dance.  So, for the uncoordinated and choreographically challenged folk like me, you have a chance to actually master the steps... eventually.

Lessons helped with the learning curve!

We started the evening with a short lesson to acquaint us with the basic steps.  It seemed pretty straightforward, so when it was time to dance, Diane and I jumped right in.

The attendees of the dance were all ages!  There was a pretty significant number of 20-somethings whirling and twirling each other all over the place.  There was also a large number of retirees there cutting a rug.  And in between those was a bevy of newbies of all ages.  I grabbed a partner, and lined up for the first dance.

It took me a little while to get the hang of the steps - and it was truly a social dance.  Each time I'd get my bearings, it would be time to switch to a new partner.  Each new partner had a different level of energy and a different manner.  Some of them would sling me all over the place - adding all kinds of kicks and twirls and such.  It was definitely a lesson in going with the flow!  I also spent most of the first dance completely dizzy from all the twirling.  I loved it!!   The dancers were, to a person,  patient and understanding.  Any time I would mess up a step or get lost, there was someone there to gently direct me back on track.  And talk about a workout!  By the end of the first dance, I was dripping with sweat and out of breath.  (Mental note: next time, bring a water bottle!)

I learned how to lean back a bit when your partner swings you - and how to relax my death grip when I was holding on for dear life when my partner would swing me.  I learned that it was perfect acceptable to grin like an idiot when moving from partner to partner (like they could stop me!), and that if I wanted to dance every single dance - there were plenty of willing partners.  As Diane said, the whole atmosphere was playful.  These folks were out to have fun, and I'm happy to say we were right there with them.

This guy in green was so energetic!  
He also almost kicked me in the face.  (Not his fault - totally mine.)

I enjoyed myself immensely, but I think Diane has found her people - she could have Eliza Doolittled it and danced all night!  It was very uplifting to be around so many happy people, and I look forward to going back.  Heck - maybe eventually, I'll even let my partner dip me...  !

Act 7: Do a Police Ride Along

Ready for action!

I feel like I need to be honest and say that I did this act Rhonda-style.  That is, I did it with purpose and with the intention to learn, but also in the safest way possible.  Don't judge!  Just because I decided I wanted to go on a Wednesday morning instead of a full moon Saturday night doesn't make this any less interesting.  Well, ok.  It doesn't make it any less interesting to me.  

First let me begin by saying that the fine folks at the Durham Police Department were extremely helpful, gracious, and accommodating when it came to setting up my ride-along.  It took a little while for my application to wend its way through the bureaucracy, but once it did, it was very easy to set an appointment.

I showed up at 8:45 on a Wednesday morning and was quickly introduced to my guide for the day, Officer Graham.  I was pleased to hear that he had actually volunteered to have me along. Turns out, he was a great partner for the day and a natural teacher.  

We began our day by wrapping some details from yesterday's patrol - an attempted suicide.  EMS and the police were able to assist the victim, saving her life.  I was surprised to hear that in addition to helping to intervene in the crisis, the PD also worked with the victim and her family to get help and support after the event.  While he was inside the sub-station speaking the the victim's family, I surreptitiously took a few police car selfies.  

I think I was pretty intimidating here...

Life in the front seat is MUCH nicer than in the back, I imagine...

From there, we headed out on patrol.  This involved cruising through the neighborhoods in North Durham and being visible.  Officer Graham did this very well.  Every neighborhood we drove through - from the upscale Treyburn to the more down trodden housing projects - he would wave and speak to pretty much everyone we saw.  He explained that this was essential to his work.  Establishing relationships with folks in the community made investigation and enforcement much easier down the road.  I got the feeling that he was invested in the people he served.  That focus on the improvement of the community was something I would hear over and over throughout my time in the car.

As we drove around, Officer Graham explained the training involved in becoming an officer.  It was no joke!  Rigorous classroom work with frequent assessments, a ride along period and later supervised duty with two different seasoned officers.  There was one final hurdle an officer had to clear before being released on his own: a community improvement project.  During the apprenticeship person, each officer was expected to observe and come up with something - a suggestion or project - that would improve the communities they serve.  (Officer Graham's idea was to better label the buildings in apartment complexes, making residences easier to find.)  More evidence of building community.

Before too long, we got a call to go help out at an accident site.  EMS was on the scene already, but our blue lights were needed to help manage traffic around the accident.  I learned that accident scenes are some the most dangerous for officers and EMS workers because motorists are either A. really nosy and too busy rubbernecking to pay attention to driving or B. not paying attention at all and on auto-pilot or absorbed in their phones.  I witnessed first-hand close calls because of both these things.  (Be careful out there, people!!!)

Every car feels like a mobile office!

After the accident was cleared, we headed back out on patrol.  While out, we found a shady spot and Officer Graham worked on his reports.  He showed me the computer system that DPD uses to manage all the reports, databases and information.  It was quite something!  We could see where all the cars on patrol were, and any time we got a call, the details for that call would automatically populate.  As we drove around, the GPS told us where we were (in case we had to report it quickly to dispatch) and what, if anything, was going on around us.

Being an officer involved driving around - a lot.  After we had been in the car for about 2 hours, a call came up at an address familiar to Officer Graham.  "Let's go stretch our legs."  The situation was an elderly gentleman who called the police to complain about a problem in his neighborhood.  When we arrived, we found another officer already on the scene.   We went inside and it was not what I expected at all!  It felt like a social call.  Officer Graham asked a few questions to ascertain what the trouble was.  (In a nutshell, kids are hoodlums.)  It became clear pretty quickly that what this citizen really needed was company.  We and the other officer stayed and chatted with him for a few minutes.  He brought out photos of his children and his grandchildren.  He told us how sad he was since his wife passed.  This was not what I imagined police work to be, but as we headed back to the car, Officer Graham explained that there was a fair bit of social work involved.  

The morning was pretty quiet, overall.  We helped direct traffic around a stranded motorist.  We drove through a few run down apartment complexes, and Officer Graham told me stories about some of the crazy things he has seen.  We talked about the biggest problem in Durham ("Gangs.  Black on black crime.") and the rising homicide rate (20 in the 7 months of this year.  Last year, we had 24 total.).  He told me about how drugs - particularly heroin - are crippling some of the neighborhoods in town.  

Almost on cue, a call came through.  There was a 24-year old man found non-responsive, a heroin overdose, at the Red Roof Inn.  As we watched the case unfold, Officer Graham explained that the drug Narcan meant that more people came back from overdoses.  While it saves the lives of the people who are in danger, apparently they are usually pretty belligerent and angry to find out their high was "ruined."  "They come to swinging," he told me.  I cringed while we headed toward the call.

However, I was saved by a fender bender!  Instead of joining the melee at the Red Roof Inn, we went to handle a minor traffic accident.  (Hooray!!!)  

That was the last call of the morning, and so we headed back to Headquarters.  "If you want some real excitement, come back at night," Officer Graham advised.  "You know, the freaks come out at night." 

Thanks.  I will keep that in mind.

As we drove back to the police station, I was overwhelmed with gratitude for the folks who are out on patrol every day and night, keeping us safe.  They see the best and, more often, the worst of human behavior.  They have to react on a moment's notice to a wide range of situations - alternately being calming and nurturing or authoritative and menacing - or something in between.  They put themselves in danger every day, and they do it with a sense of pride and concern for the community they serve.  The teacher in me understands where that calling comes from, and the scaredy-cat in me greatly appreciates that they do it, so I don't have to.  

Still, I have to admit, it was kinda badass to get to pretend for a day.