Archives for the month of: February, 2013

Oh, seriously, I could come up with some words, on topics… they could be important…to someone. I have thoughts. Musings. I wonder stuff. I ponder. I contemplate. I query. I even recall having something on the order of a good bit of writing sort of mapped out in my thoughts as I walked to the office this morning; gone now.  It’s a nice day, too, overcast and wintry looking; feeling mild and a little damp, and promising more rain to come. I could be inspired to paint or write or…

I meditated this morning, after feeding pets and tidying up a bit. Shared a latte and some quiet moments with a partner a bit later, while another slept (we are each on slightly different schedules with our lives). Today is chill and good almost to the point of encouraging me to think, for a moment, there is really nothing at all amiss with life, love, my wiring… I allow myself the luxury of the moment in a more honest way today; recognizing there is work to be done, improvements in self and habit to be made, and things to ‘deal with’ more appropriately than I have… but I have ‘right now’, and it feels good, so I’m feeling that. This, too, is my experience. My now. My life. In this moment, I am and it is enough.

My thoughts are suddenly crowded with ‘things to do’ that are on my list – both mental and written. It seems like a very long list.  I give myself a needed moment of compassion and recognition (new for me) and remind myself that I make lists because I so easily forget small important details and that life generally moves along pretty simply with the occasional glance at a list and a quick update.  I feel less driven and anxious.  Treating myself well, too, not just other people, is a big part of having a good experience. Lesson learned. Today I am enjoying my experience.

I walked to work with my coat unzipped this morning. ‘Winter’, sure, but 40F (that’s about 4.4 C, for the rest of the world)  isn’t really ‘winter cold’, and menopause being what it can be the cool air felt good.  I walked with a smile and a feeling of freedom – ‘light-hearted’ is actually a real feeling!  What is different about today? About this morning? I did sleep almost through the night, and never actually got up, and there were no nightmares. I woke feeling rested. Sleep really matters, I know it does in my own experience, at least…but was that it? Part of it… but… there’s more. I ‘got something I need’ over the course of a lovely chill evening of warmth and fellowship with my partners last night… I don’t know exactly what, or how to describe the nature or value of it.  I retired for the night feeling safe and warm and loved… wrapped in it, nurtured by it… my partners are wonderful people, and I am well loved. The healing power of affection and touch and simple closeness and acceptance can not be over-stated… I would write love poetry or send a Hallmark card, or buy large chunks of rare crystal wrapped in limited-availability metal of some kind if I thought any of that could be enough to demonstrate my appreciation for their love, support, and all that it means to me.

Good sleep brings relief and perspective and greater understanding… but it can not replace Love in my life, it can’t meet my need to be touched and held and cherished, and it can not adore me, or accept my love and adoration in return. Love matters on a whole other level.  I hope I spend the rest of my life learning to love well from my partners; I’d like to love them back with skill, openness and vulnerability, to be really good at love.  What could be a more awesome quality of character for a human being?

Did I mention I’m moody? I am. It’s true. I’m having a lot of sleep challenges since… well… I pretty nearly always have, at least as ‘always have’ as I can easily recollect.  Whole years have gone by without every getting an entire night’s sleep… now and then it’s nightmares, other times insomnia. Sleep and I have a difficult relationship. Lately it’s a terrible combination of restless, nightmare-filled sleep, and anxious sleepless nights interrupted by occasional longish naps that don’t restore my energy.  Annoying that mood management (both the relative ease of it, as well as the quality of the outcome) seems so closely tied to the quality and sufficiency of my sleep. I can’t really find a reason to be in a bad mood, but I can feel it lurking at the corners of my mouth, turning every effort at a smile into some grim suspicious visage that certainly isn’t bringing anyone any cheer around here. I feel… guarded. I hesitate to be open or vulnerable, or inadvertently be real enough, for just a moment, that the dike of my will power might give way to the tears crowding in line behind my eyes.  Fuck all these tears.  I angrily tell myself ‘I am so done with crying!’  Even though I know it is the angry bravado of fear, I lean on it like a cane for a moment, just to get past that feeling of teetering on a precipice.  There’s work to be done.

I do something nice for myself… I take a deep breath, ask a loved one for emotional support in a clear and simple way, uncluttered, unexplained – still trying to respect boundaries, and limits – feeling a bit like a tiny kitten seeking solace from a huge guard dog. Hoping for the best, trusting love, and finding that like so many things, the fear is far far scarier all by itself than any probable outcome.

What hurts me most on a day like this one, is that I can poke around in my experience and clearly recognize how loved I am, how much support I do have from my loved ones. I ache with shame and frustration that I feel so disconnected and wounded and alien.  I have a good life.  It’s rich with love, and Love, and beauty – we have a good home together, shared values and goals, and our necessities are covered… a good life. It’s only my own very subjective experience with myself that sucks so completely, right now.  It gets ugly in here sometimes.

Walking in to the office today, I watched the sullen moody clouds of the morning sky and mused for a time how many times in my life I’ve watch stormy clouds with a stormy heart, tears on the edge of falling like the rain I know is in the distance.  It’s a familiar feeling, they are familiar thoughts, and they have a song.  If I had a soundtrack to my life, this would definitely be on it.  Especially this bit (credit to Pete Townsend):

On the dry and dusty road
The nights we spend apart alone
I need to get back home to cool, cool rain

I can’t sleep, and I lay, and I think
The night is hot and black as ink
Oh God, I need a drink of cool, cool rain

I need a new playlist.  One that focuses me, moves me forward, and helps me ‘rebuild the lost city’ (and no I can’t really explain what I mean, they’re just words being used to attempt to describe a feeling I don’t have a word for).  What would be on it? That’s a list for another day.

I had an eventful weekend.

My Friday was pretty emotionally intense, and wonderfully promising. It was also a sort of ‘pampering me’ day, as it turned out; I got a great haircut and style from a new stylist at a cool shop, and a little more ‘me time’ on the personal aesthetic front later in the day. I wish I could also say that those elements of my weekend nurtured and restored my soul, but that’s not what it was.

My Saturday was strange, moody and productive, sort of detached. I worked at this and that to ease my anxiety and my emotional fatigue; pruned the roses, baked some shortbread. It was a decent day – it had, in fact, all the elements of an actually good day, but I felt like I was ‘going through the motions’ most of the day, and the challenges offered by every day life and the ebb and flow of other people’s experiences and emotions pulled at my heart. Evening was good in spite of the effort the day itself required, and the day ended well, really well. So… ‘no complaints’?

Sunday was hard to call, initially… was it a good day? A bad day? A difficult day? I was moody, tense, anxious, and working my ass off to shrug it off and avoid negatively coloring the weekend for my partners; it was their anniversary. I could not allow myself to blow that, and I probably put a lot of extra pressure on myself over it that I could have done without. This ‘human being’ thing is a more difficult puzzle than it appears from the vantage point of youthful daydreams.  As it turned out, though, Sunday was… amazing.  I did a few chores and ran some errands in the morning, kissed my partners and headed out into the world, and… wow. The World was right there waiting for me.

I had a pretty powerful moment in the Portland Art Museum, which has quite a good modern art collection for a relatively small city museum. I added the museum to my agenda as an afterthought, actually, and arrived only a couple hours before they closed. None of that matters.  What matters is running into old friends, and what matters is this.  Right? Maybe that’s not obvious… It’s “Untitled”, 1987, Peter Schuyff.  Seeing it yesterday was an experience. I saw a lot of paintings, and sculpture, and glass work that I enjoyed a lot. “Untitled” really got me on a different level. I sat in front of it, just looking and feeling it – letting my body feel how I would position the canvas, set up the layout, work the piece to get those effects – and as I relaxed into the moment and felt that painting ‘become’ part of my thinking and understanding, it became more real and more whole and I saw more and more of it. I felt – taken beyond myself, somehow revealing an inner core ‘strength of being’ I have been unable to feel for a while. I understood what I saw, and I experienced a feeling of confidence and certainty and a secure sense of self that couldn’t be shaken by some moment of pain, however ancient, however evil. No harm could come to me through the strength I had revealed to myself, from within my own being. I am still pretty wowed. It was quite…  something, and I needed it. Like slaking a days old thirst in the heat of the desert with cold clear spring water, like the ‘a-ha!’ moment at the front of the classroom, like the last punctuation mark on a moment of literary wonder… that moment in time, with that painting, meant more to me than words can capture here. I hope to keep it, as safe and precious as a lover’s photo in a locket, and look at it often and feel my soul restored again and again. Art has power so far beyond mere words.

My elation lasted much of the evening, and lingered in my thoughts when I dropped off to sleep, satisfied with the day, and the weekend.  I was still smiling and thinking thoughts of Art and feeling inspired to paint, and more than just pain and woe, too… and the smile deepened and remained my companion throughout the morning, after spending a few minutes on Love, and coffee. The things that matter don’t have to be things other people find valuable or important, I guess I just have to know what they are, for myself, to keep them high on my list of priorities.  So far a good week.

Today I am out in the world, enjoying my now without concern for then; riding a train into ‘the city’, visit the museum, maybe some window shopping, a bite of dinner, and meet a friend for an evening out. Sounds fun, and for now I feel safe and sane.  It’s hard not to pretend all is well with the world, harder still to enjoy this right now without being mired in emotional crap and painful weirdness, but I am committed to the idea of it.

Here comes my train…