Bracket fungus on tree in Chuckanut Mountains

These days, half my friends are unemployed and out of money; the rest are groaning about being overloaded at their dead-end jobs. I’m self-employed, have some money in the bank, and manage to land several hours of paid work each week, but not enough to make what any reasonable person would call a ‘good living.’

When I talk to a friend who collects social security or unemployment pay, I’m jealous—he has regular income! When I talk to a friend who speculates about where to spend her paid vacation, I’m homicidal—she has regular income and benefits! When I talk to a friend who is jobless, has no unemployment benefits, and is nearly out of money, I want to pack that person into my car and drive us both off the nearest cliff.

Sometimes it’s hard to stay optimistic. I’m a writer, and these days it seems like nobody wants to pay writers. Ever notice how there’s a lot of press about whether bookstores and publishers will survive, but very little discussion of how authors might make a living? We’re all hoping e-books will provide the revolution we need.

I’m also a private investigator, which means that I often deal with desperate, unhappy people—nobody calls a PI when things are going well.

I try not to think too much about our health care system (being self-employed, I’m self-insured), because that inspires visions of living in my tent barbequeing squirrels down by the railroad tracks. At least until I’m too decrepit to catch the rodents; at which time I’ll hurl myself onto the tracks and give Amtrak passengers a gory thrill. Then there are oil spills and murders and other crimes too heinous to name. Sigh.

Some days I find most people and news depressing, period. What lifts my spirits can only be found outdoors. In the winter, I’m amazed by my winter blooming plants—what brave optimism! I keep my hummingbird feeder filled because every time I see one of these flying jewels it makes my heart lighter. Anna’s hummingbirds were at my house through blizzards last winter; you have to admire that kind of resilience.

Last autumn, after searching fruitlessly online for permanent jobs, I escaped from the internet and went for a stroll. I walked for half an hour in sunshine, staring in awe at the incredible waterfall in my local park and marveling at the brilliant autumn leaves against an indigo sky. Then ice pellets suddenly began to bounce off my head, lightning danced around me, and thunder rattled the ground for the last half of my walk. I was freezing and wet by the time I got home, but once again impressed by the changing moods of nature. And my own mood was happier than when I left the house.

Sunset over the green belt in back of my house

Being outdoors seems to bring out the best in people. As I speed-walked the trail back to my house in the hail and lightning, I passed bicyclists and joggers who had been similarly surprised by the storm. We exchanged shrugs and smiles. I passed a walker leading a blue heeler with a frizbee in his mouth. Every few seconds the dog growled and shook the frizbee violently, then trotted on with a doggy grin on his face. I couldn’t help but grin back. His human rolled his eyes.

When I was out snow-shoeing in the mountains a few days later, I came across a teenage novice snow-shoer who had just done a face plant in the deep powder. Snow plastered his front from head to toe. “I think I’m finally getting the hang of this,” he said to his friend.

“Dude, you are so NOT getting the hang of it,” his friend answered. Everyone nearby laughed along with the two of them.

When the weather’s windy and rainy and I’m starting to pace like a caged animal, I put on my Gortex and go down to the waterfront to watch the waves crash in. “Amazing, isn’t it?” says the stranger on the rock next to me.

I think about the otherworldly creatures that live beneath those waves. I remember the day I ran my kayak aground because the reflection in the bay so perfectly mirrored the surrounding rocks that you couldn’t tell water and solid ground apart.

I admire the way moths mimic pieces of bark. I’m blown away by the ability of snails to create their spiral shells. I live for the magenta sunsets and the calls of owls and the hawks that haunt the dead snags in my back yard.

All these things lift my spirits like nothing else can; and they are all free. (I’m a thrifty person by heredity and habit; I even wrote a little e-book about it for the truly clueless.)

I plan to be a hummingbird, still here after the physical and economic blizzards have passed, ready to enjoy the warmth of the sun.

Nature is the great equalizer. Out here we are not rich or poor, employed or jobless, liberal or conservative. We are birders and frog lovers, storm-watchers and snow-eaters, and occasionally walkers caught out in a hailstorm.