From the Upper Verandah deck to the edge of the cliff
Well, hey there! It’s been a while. I was off on an Alaska cruise with my mom, and it’s taken me a minute to catch up on work, etc., and figure out what to write.
In my last post, I shared my apprehensions about the whole cruise thing (as well as my admiration for Vicki Stubing’s hair). As I expected, there were aspects of the experience that I did not particularly like—especially the number of other people who had the audacity to be on the ship with us: 1,900 passengers and 800 crew members, to be exact. (Apparently this is on the small side in the cruise ship world. Shudder.)

But as also expected, I had a pretty great time overall. The scenery was stunning (glaciers! mountains! JK Rowling’s big stupid yacht!), the shore excursions were varied and fun, and I found that I dug the overall vibe and feel of Alaska. Kind of like Maine on steroids.
We saw, like, all the wildlife, including the biggies (literally): humpback whales and, during the land portion at Denali National Park, grizzly bears, moose, and caribou. We didn’t see any salmon, as they hadn’t quite started running upstream yet, but we sure ate a lot of them. We also saw sled dogs, none of which we ate.

As for the ship itself: the service was excellent, the facilities were great, our stateroom was lovely, the food was quite good, and the programs on Alaskan wildlife, culture, etc. were informative and entertaining.
But there were aspects of the cruise—and I guess cruise culture?—that I found baffling. Like: What’s with the pricy jewelry? There was a store on board that sold all kinds of very expensive, heavy-on-the-gemstones jewelry, and hosted various promotional events. (“Tonight, guess the weight of the jewel-encrusted sea otter,* for a chance to win a $500 gift card!”) Also on board: a gallery full of paintings ranging in quality from mediocre to godawful, for sale at exorbitantly high prices.
Maybe there’s a special thrill to buying expensive things while on ships. I wouldn’t know; all I got was a $15 hat from the gift shop after I left mine in the van on the way back from our whale watch in Juneau.
It’s also strange to me that anyone would choose to do cosmetic procedures like getting fillers or botox while on a cruise (or any vacay for that matter). A facial I get. A massage I get. (And got!) But “Think I’ll address these marionette lines right after the mahjong meet-up!” Weird. But hey, cruise your own cruise, kids. I’ll be out on the deck with my binoculars and a cup of hot Dutch mulled wine, hoping for orcas. (I didn’t see any orcas.)

So. Yes. Cruise = good, though I don’t think I would do one to any other destination.
The hard part has been coming home.
Like many people, I have a tricky time readjusting to real life after long trips. In fact, the older I get, the harder I find it is. But this time has been especially rough, in part because instead of landing back in the middle of a solidly settled “normal” life, I feel like I’ve been deposited onto the edge of a cliff.
Correction: I feel like I’ve been living on the edge of a cliff for a few months now. Being away from it for a while, among the wildlife and glaciers, and then coming back just makes it that much clearer that this is where I am.
Almost exactly six weeks from now, we’ll be dropping our kids off at their respective colleges. This makes me immensely sad. There’s no other way to say it. I’m thrilled for them, of course, and I know they’re ready. But I’m not. There will be upsides, I know, but I also really like the phase of life I’ve been in for the past 18+ years.
I don’t know what’s at the bottom of this cliff I’m about to walk off of, or how hard the impact of landing there will be. I could be waddling along like a flattened Wile E. Coyote for a while. Don’t laugh when you see me. Do ask me if I want to go get a drink.

The kids' impending departure isn’t the only thing causing this cliff-edge sensation, though. My career is shifting, and I’m not quite sure where it’s headed. Our society is on the brink of huge changes, economic and otherwise, with the emergence of AI, and none of us quite know what the full ramifications of that will be. (Many of them, I fear, will not be good.) Living under the Trump regime, meanwhile, I often feel like we’re on the brink of a point of no return from the America we used to be. Maybe we’ve already passed it.
And, of course, it’s summer, which is always a slightly unsettled and discombobulating time, when routines are out the window.
Oh yeah, and menopause. I’m on the edge of that, too.

Liminality, limbo, standing on cliff edges, being at sea (as opposed to being on the sea). It’s uncomfortable, and I wouldn’t choose it. I haven’t chosen it. But here I am. So I’m just trying to take it moment by moment, take solace in what’s solid, have faith (the coyote always un-flattens eventually!), and not freak the fuck out. I think for now, it’s all I can do.
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*It wasn’t actually a sea otter, it was something else, I don’t remember what. A jaguar, maybe? I did, however, find this picture of a sea otter sculpture (not jewel-encrused) that is apparently part of the decor on another ship in the Holland America fleet. And I saw lots of actual sea otters during the cruise. They are extremely cute.

