Archives for the month of: July, 2014

I was recently meditating, in a moment of doubt and hurt, and in the stillness found an odd question sort of dangling in mid-consciousness, just waiting. “What would I have wanted to be taught, differently? What other things would I have exposed myself, too, had I know more than I did?” That’s not verbatim; it seemed both simpler and more encompassing, but the words are lost now.

The path isn't always paved...

The path isn’t always paved…

It got me thinking, over days, about who I am, what makes me thus, and what sorts of things I was taught, shown, lead to, and what people and ideas I was encouraged to pursue, favor, and build upon. I couldn’t help but observe that years of far right conservative thinking and values, in my teens and twenties, align to the thinking of my parents and many teachers, my culture at large at the time, and even the larger portion of my military peer group. This was the thinking I was taught, immediately after my TBI. I considered the gaps, too. Thinkers and ideas I had not been exposed to, or had been actively discouraged from considering suddenly have profound value for me; they are an unknown. They predictably and reliably have something else to reveal than what I see now.

I timidly and carefully explored the corners of my heart that most need support and nurturing these days, and smirked at myself; my education feels pretty directed and rather worthless.  I dredged up what recollections I have of authors, philosophers, educators, speakers and people of renown, that I had been actively discouraged from reading, or listening to. Would I be very different if I had read Timothy Leary and Ram Dass with the same devotion with which I read Ayn Rand? It took a very long time for me to ‘move left’, as an adult.  I giggle when people make jokes about politically conservative thinking and brain damage; I have no argument to offer.

I remember a conversation at the kitchen counter with my Dad late on some muggy summer night. We spoke of utopia, and ideals, and making the world better. I was young. Before my injury, maybe? No younger than 9…no older than 13.  I passionately spoke in favor of action ‘for the good of mankind’. My father countered cynically, and equally passionately, that mankind is a lost cause, unable to appreciate the effort or value, and that the better choice would be action in the favor of the individual. I don’t recall my father reading, aside from some sporting and gun magazines, but he was quick to quash the words of thinkers he didn’t approve of, whether he’d read them or not.  His bias quietly crept into my programming, with all sorts of other nastiness to untangle over time.  I realized, with some astonishment, that an entire era (genre? category?) of philosophers and thinkers had somehow quietly been locked out of my experience. How strange. I read so much… how is it that I turned so firmly away from the psychedelic thinkers and philosophers? Oh, not all of them, not all their work… I read Castaneda. I flipped through enough pages of Leary to pat myself on the head and move on, having learned nothing. I let some words in through my eye holes; I was not hearing what was being said. I wasn’t listening; I was checking off the box on a reading list intended solely to validate my educational requirements, and ego.

We choose who we are. Through our choices, we also choose who we become.

Yesterday I began reading Love. Leo Buscaglia definitely finds his place among authors, philosophers, and thinkers of whom my father did not approve. Writing about Love? Teaching Love? I actually finding myself pausing now and again, anticipating mockery. Yes, the things we teach children go that deep. I struggle with some of the language, too… the casualness of it, the 70s vernacular, the emphasis on love. But I am also moved, caught by the wisdom of some of the words, and inspired by others.

“First of all, the loving individual has to care about himself.” Wait…what? I could have used this information sooner! Another lesson, another exciting adventure, another step on my path… Everyone has a story. Everyone has something to offer the world in the way of wisdom. I’m a little irked that some of this was withheld from me, and that I myself chose to reinforce that with my own will for so long, failing even to recognize that there was a bias in play. Pop quiz aced – I have more to learn.  I smile, planning to ‘sneak’ a real book into my camping gear tomorrow, adding to the adventure.

Today is a good day to be open to the unknown. Today is a good day to recognize bias and choose differently. Today is a good day to embrace Love. Today is a good day to change the world.

…Or is it? What is ‘enough’, after all? Is there some objective ‘enough-ness’ that any of us could recognize? Is ‘enough’ entirely subjective, to the point of being ever-changing with mood and circumstance? ‘Enough’ feels so good when I have it – or recognize that I do. When do I not have ‘enough’? Is that, too, subjective or state-dependent?

One moment of 'enough'.

One moment of ‘enough’.

In any give life, or on any given day, during any particular moment, is my ‘enough’ recognizably enough to someone else? Would someone outside my experience look at my idea of ‘enough’ and find it to be ‘too much’ or perhaps somehow lacking? I have the idea that ‘sufficiency’ is about ‘enough’, and that ‘contentment’ or ‘satisfaction’ are the feeling of it; I observe that I don’t always enjoy those experiences together, which strikes me as strange. This is a puzzle of a relatively subtle sort that leaves me wondering whether it is a lack of experience and understanding, a lack of education, or my injury weighing in on my experience of living by limiting what I am presently able to understand. I observe, on a tangent, that I no longer feel a sense of finality in my lack of understanding, quite the contrary, I feel rather as if nothing is out of reach – it’s only a matter of time, training, effort, will… my brain may be a bit shop worn, and damaged, but it’s pretty awesome nonetheless.

Sufficiency, and the contemplation of sufficiency – living a sense of ‘enough’ in a modest and comfortable way – has been a big deal for me this year. One more step. Yesterday, as my heart continued to trudge along my wreckage-littered journey through life, I had a moment of recognition. I realized that although I’ve come a long way on the ‘taking care of me’ path, there’s more. (Of course, there’s more.) I considered the term ’emotional self-sufficiency’ but could not recall if I had read it elsewhere (I read a lot), or if I simply ‘made it up’. I Googled it. Some of the articles were quite interesting, and apparently it is a thing. lol.  I like the sound of emotional self-sufficiency as a term, and I could easily understand why several articles caution that emotional self-sufficiency, in and of itself isn’t,a goodness or a challenge; it is a characteristic. It’s a characteristic I think could serve me well – and not to isolate me from others, but to nurture myself and my deepest emotional needs first from within – hopefully resulting in a level of emotional well-being that has the result of making it easier to live around others, respect their needs, and enjoy emotionally reciprocal healthy relationships based on the desire to be engaged, rather than the urgent need for some particular emotional experience. Less about demands, more about decisions.

Lacking much emotional self-sufficiency, but having made important gains in mindfulness, perspective, quality of self-care, emotional resilience, and emotional intimacy, I sometimes find I am incredibly easy to hurt, and the TBI leaves me stunningly open to expressing it. Having experienced a lot of trauma, and spending the time I currently do working through that chaos and damage, the result is sometimes an uncomfortable fit, socially. People who love me don’t want me to hurt.  Hurting is part of my experience right now, more often than I’d like.  (I’m dragging around a lot of anger, too, and if the tears are an uncomfortable fit socially, you gotta see the anger; epic doesn’t begin to describe it.) Perhaps necessary, perhaps understandable, perhaps even ‘long overdue’… but yeah, very very uncomfortable to be around.  Will improving my emotional self-sufficiency also improve how comfortable I am with strong emotions, or my ability to comfortably nurture and sooth myself, unassisted?

Is this too much for a Tuesday morning?

Life's lessons are not always obvious; the path is not always paved.

Life’s lessons are not always obvious; the path is not always paved.

This morning begins with contentment, and a good espresso. Where will the day end? Yesterday began with challenges and moody fussing with old hurts and current frustrations, and ended with connection and love. I am learning to be open to affection, beauty, and wonder, regardless of the now I find myself standing in. Still a student, still asking questions. The soothing trickling sounds of the aquarium in the background, the smooth warmth of my espresso, the soft light of a new day unfolding illuminating the room, all reminders that ‘enough’ is a very personal thing. I suspect that this, too, is more about what is within, that what I am without.

Today is a good day to push ‘more’ off its pedestal and embrace ‘enough’. Today is a good day to share the best of who I am, and appreciate the best offered to the world by others. Today is a good day to treat myself well, and set clear boundaries that meet my needs over time. Today is a good day to remember that all that bullshit ‘out there’ isn’t personal; it’s just bullshit, and it’s ‘out there’. Today is a good day to care, because I need caring, and to love because I enjoy being loved. Today is a good day to be the change I wish to see in the world.

A small moment for joy and sufficiency, and to appreciate what matters most, and taking time to find answers in metaphors.

A small moment for joy and sufficiency, and to appreciate what matters most, and taking time to find answers in metaphors.

Another day, I mean… I woke groggy and feeling anxious, already ‘weighed down’ from shit that isn’t even on my mind, yet.  I slept badly, waking several times during the night, fussing with blankets & sheets, changing position, getting warmer, cooling down, whatever it took. One moment of wakefulness found me standing rather unexpectedly at the patio door, forehead against the cool glass; I was surprised to realize the moment was ‘real’ and I was awake, when I finally noticed that fact. I returned to bed, and to sleep. Yep, post menopause and still dealing with hot flashes and night sweats. I knew I would be, it’s one of the many small lies we’re told, the one that ‘menopause’ actually truly ends the hormone thing. Nah. That goes on for years after. lol.

The weekend had some challenges. I stayed mostly focused on my own, mostly with decent results. We are each having our own experience. We live, every day, the consequences of our actions, and our choices. We are interdependent and interconnected. We’re all in this alone.  Somehow I suspect those are not contradictions in practice as they seem in words.

Today I am feeling worn down and tired, and the burden of residual unspoken hurt and anger over things left unaddressed for days, weeks, or a lifetime sit heavily on my heart today. I am living the consequences of my actions, and my choices. Free will is a grand ‘fuck you’ to us all, isn’t it? Even when we don’t make an active choice, our choice is made through our inaction; there is no escaping the outcome of our own will.  This morning, I look around and find myself thinking ‘um, okay… so I chose this, of all my choices… now what?’ I struggle with the free will thing, sometimes, not because I don’t buy into the notion – I do – but I never have quite figured out where the violation of my will really fits in with the whole ‘living the consequences of my actions & choices’ thing fits in.

My consciousness is not letting up on me this morning. My anger does not want to politely wait in line for an appropriate moment to exist; it exists waiting to be heard on moments long gone. I have not yet learned to treat myself gently or with compassion in the face of historical anger, old hurts, and ancient rage.

The weekend was not especially restful. I struggled with my emotional balance much of the time, without much support. Now it’s back to the office, back to work, back to someone else’s agenda for another few days, to earn a shot at trying again to take care of me next weekend. This morning I’m having trouble making a strong case for how worth it that may be. This is not a mood worth spending more than 500 words on, at least not so far. Time to throw it back and ask for a do-over.

Today is a good day for new perspective. Today is a good day for self-compassion. Today is a good day to change the world.

Today is a good day for new perspective. Today is a good day for self-compassion. Today is a good day to change the world.

This morning I woke slowly, a second time, having returned to sleep upon waking much early during the wee hours. I woke feeling pretty good, and pretty balanced. I still do, which is nice;  not everyone in my immediate vicinity is similarly fortunate. We are each having our own experience. Interestingly, so far this morning I am feeling content to enjoy mine without struggling in the face of experiences other people are not enjoying so much. It goes further, this morning; I have a certain flippant desire to say “That’s all you’ve got, Universe? You hit like a bitch.”

I experience the small emotional triumph alongside my immediate irritation with myself that I still use idioms that make light of the experiences of women, cast us in a bad light, frame us up as weak, ineffective, powerless, unskilled or unworthy.  It’s not okay.  I am struggling with language, with my emotional dictionary, with the assumptions I make, with hurtful old programming, and with ancient biases still lurking in the shadows that I have yet to address. This is a very human experience.

It’s been an emotionally complicated weekend. Unmet needs outnumber needs that are met. Moments of discord and pain have been far more frequent that moments of great contentment or joy. Small successes often haven’t been the successes I most desired – or needed.  Small failures have felt larger than life.  I’ve been in great emotional pain much of the time since my last therapy appointment. Mindfulness doesn’t mute that, in fact I seem to feel my feelings far more acutely but with far greater self-compassion and a willingness to accept that emotions are simply that: emotions. They have no greater weight or import than I grant them. I am learning to make peace with my emotional experience, and to be more comfortable with my feelings, and less willing to compromise the integrity of my experience. I am learning to make room in my own heart to be who I am. As I said, it’s a very human experience.

Today is a good day to be open to what the moment may offer.

Today is a good day to be open to what the moment may offer.

Today I’ll keep to myself, and savor the small delights a sunny Sunday has to offer. It’s enough.

Well… here I am. Menopause Day. According to the outstanding minds at Wikipedia, this moment is really ‘one year into post menopause’…but one can’t claim it until they’ve reached it, because how else can that precious ‘last period’ be identified as ‘last’ in the first place? I remain frustrated with the lack of scientific precision in women’s health, and laugh grimly at the statements about perimenopause being ‘6-10 years’… that’s a pretty broad range, and actually, in my own life experience of perimenopause, I found the experience, and period of my life (lol) actually lasted an emotionally brutal 14+ years. It sucked and I’m glad it’s over. Only…it isn’t, really, is it? I’m still female, and my hormones will likely be variable for many more years – hell, I may manage another period, no doubt completely unexpected, and poorly timed, at some future point.

Still. I’ll take the small comfort offered that I officially don’t have to argue with even one more doctor, ever, about whether or not I am ‘menopausal’.  I have finally passed their primitive diagnostic test. lol

A gateway on a journey, a window to another perspective.

A gateway on a journey, a window to another perspective.

I refuse to hide from this experience, or pretend it doesn’t matter to me, or to be ashamed in any way of this completely natural bit of biological change of purpose in life. Today I celebrate with a handful of the women who are my friends who could make it down to the Chinese Garden for tea today; we’ll share a moment and celebrate being women.

A lovely spot for a cup of tea.

A lovely spot for a cup of tea.

It would be so nice if this afternoon out for tea was the last stop ever on the train through Hormone Hell, but that seems a lot to ask of a cup of tea.

Today is a good day to celebrate being a woman. Today is a good day to change the world.