Archives for the month of: June, 2015
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Traveling Some Distance

June 4, 2015 //
0

Yesterday went sideways for a painful moment or two. I am more resilient than I was even a  year ago; some tears, some words, and a hot soak in Epsom salts later, I was okay. Saddened a bit that I am less skillful at face-to-face communication than I would like to be. Irked with myself failing to recognize that communication is not always what someone else is after, at all. Still…okay. The evening ended quietly, and pleasantly, and I managed to pass an interesting milestone that is quite new for me, although it was  painful moment – I asked my traveling partner to go, rather than continue an unpleasant moment for both of us. I didn’t regret the decision. I didn’t candy coat it. I didn’t go after him, changing my mind. I didn’t plead for him to return – or even actually want that. I took care of me, gently and without guilt or fear. Last night, I needed me.

I miss living with my traveling partner – the convenience of his nearness and warmth is lovely – but one advantage to living alone is being more able to invest in my self-care, and to continue to pursue progress in therapy at a time when much of what I am working on/through/with touches on intimate relationship experiences, emotional self-sufficiency, free will, and developing/maintaining a comfortably adult sense of self with an injury and trauma history that tends to push me in a co-dependent direction with any being that may wish me more good than ill. Living with me is not easy on anyone – me, included. For now, developing that relationship I have with myself is an important part of what I am doing lately. It’s harder to do living with a being I adore with whole-hearted enthusiasm, commitment, and affection so strong that I routinely put love – and my traveling partner – ahead of my own needs. This is a poor choice over time, I know, and I’ve felt it like a weight tied to our experience together. We both need a break from the chaos and damage, figuring out how to get one has been a challenge. How unfair that he has to deal with it at all? He didn’t bring me to this place, but he’s been quite a good sport about walking part of this journey with me in spite of that… but… I am my own cartographer. It doesn’t just ‘have to be that way’ – it simply is. Eventually, following someone else’s path leads me predictably astray from my own. There’s no ill-intention to it; we are each having our own experience.

It was my traveling partner who first made that observation to me, in these words, “we are each having our own experience”. It has been a powerful observation that holds great meaning and perspective for me.

A good reminder

A good reminder

This morning I woke gently from a night of deep restful sleep. No tears. No nightmares. No residual ‘ick’ or emotional hangover. This is an interesting change, and I’m not inclined to question it. I feel appreciative of progress made over time. I am living my own life – right now. There are still going to be some painful moments; emotion is part of my human experience, and there is no ‘happy ending’ besides the one I create for myself.

Yesterday is behind me. Today is ahead of me. Tonight is hours away, and it is still the middle of the work week. There is plenty to do here at home – some housekeeping, a few remaining moving in tasks, a stereo to hook up. I decided to give up on the huge wall-mounted monitor – even on its stand it takes up too much wall space for something that is of little importance to me; I am quite content watching movies, anime, and favorite shows of all sorts on my laptop, or a bigger monitor than my wee laptop – but I earnestly prefer my wall space be reserved for art, and don’t really watch much television at all. On the other hand… music doesn’t sound the same on the laptop, even with my sound bar. It’s not at all the same as listening to music through a good amplifier and great speakers – filling the house with sound, and feeling the bass in my bones. I want that experience back in my day-to-day existence with the music I like best, myself. It’s been more than two years of compromising my musical taste because it wasn’t preferred in the household – now the household is mine, and I play the music I love, myself.

Somewhere across the distance of life's journey, I am connecting with myself.

Somewhere across the distance of life’s journey, I am connecting with myself.

I find this slow process of unfolding and becoming and allowing myself to acknowledge, accept, and invest in my own taste and needs without distraction or compromise both interesting and sometimes quite emotional. So far I am delighted with the results, and not inclined to take direction, or be blown off course by what suits anyone else – even my traveling partner. This sometimes sets up some powerful internal conflict as I untangle me from all the baggage that isn’t actually ‘me’. Love is what it is, and loving well demands that I open my heart to others – but also that I nurture my own heart, and satisfy my own needs. When I take the best care of me I am more able to love well…but I may not be the person my lover assumes me to be. Is there risk that love will be lost along the way? That’s a complicated question that lacks a clear answer…but I am certain of one thing; I can’t love easily if I am not the person I actually am, and any love returned to me can’t easily be experience, enjoyed, or sustained if it is intended for someone other than the me that I actually am.

The sum of many parts.

The sum of many parts.

This is not a sad morning, or moment. I feel encouraged and strong, and something like the way I feel in that moment at a trail head, pulling on my pack, adjusting the straps, and double checking my map before I head down the trail, eyes wide with wonder, awake and aware. I don’t know where my path will take me, and I’m okay with that. Today is a good day for solo hiking.

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Categories Anxiety, art and the artist, Brain Injury, Epsom salts, Free Will, grief, Healthy Living, Logic & Reason, Love, Metaphors, Mindfulness, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, solo hiking, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women, Words

With a Side of Fail Sauce

June 3, 2015 //
3

I am having a difficult moment. I write those words simply, and hoping that perhaps seeing them on the page in such a practical no bullshit way might give me some kind of leverage, a way to pull myself from the edge of this pit. It feels harder than that. Given a chance I know that it probably isn’t any more difficult that giving myself some tenderness, some compassion, and maintaining the will to look the truth straight in the face, fully accepting disappointments, hurts, and all the small things that don’t feel good. Awesome is possible…but the effort to lift a finger to let go of the hurting long enough to change it is hard to muster right now. It won’t stay this way ‘forever’, however much I hurt right now.

I am not skilled at managing my emotions. I’m still such a beginner. I feel my feelings so strongly – as if they are the only real reality, the only true truth. Intellect tells me it isn’t so. Study suggests perspective matters. Practices, over time, have resulted in so many fewer such moments like this one. Here I am now, though. This one’s harder than most, lately things have been very good. It’s not helping matters that I have no name for this feeling…some mix of disappointment, sadness, frustration, loneliness, and grief…and over something probably pretty small in the bigger picture.

I wrote more. I deleted it. I wrote more after that. Deleted it, too. Writing. Reading. Deleting. Contemplating words in rows. Feeling feelings. Tears slide down my face, ignored. I write. More words. I delete them; they say nothing. I am uncertain what I feel beyond this gray heavy hurting and loneliness. People are not who I expect them to be, or who I want them to be, or even who they once were. People are only who they are, in this moment now, and not even reliably so; I persist in expecting things, assuming things, wanting things. Mere mortals, one and all, each with our own baggage, our own failures, our own hurts – each of us the ‘good guy’ in our own narrative, and making it up as we go along. Something about this must be worth it – most of us keep at it. Again and again.

...Maybe a picture of some flowers will help?

…Maybe a picture of some flowers will help?

I am covered in mosquito bites. The itching drives me mad. I am in tears, head stuffy, eyes swollen. I am resentful of my weakness and my failure – how the fuck did I manage to fuck up a nice bit of hang out time with my traveling partner so easily? I mean, aside from being utterly human? My head aches with doubt and insecurity. Right now, nothing feels good, or holds any promise. This seems an unfair extreme, and rationally I know to doubt the intensity of it. Right now, I feel sad…and a lot of other stuff, none of it any good.  My demons head for the playground. I feel stalled and helpless – and angry with myself that any one other human being anywhere has this kind of influence on my state of mind, however loved, however well-intended, however valued.

Words on a page. Maybe I should delete more of them? What is there to be gained in words about tears? It is wishful thinking to hope the demons might be distracted by a handful of words. They are not inclined to listen deeply, to be considerate, affectionate, supportive, or friendly – they don’t have my best interests in mind at all.  They do not love.  I do, though… it’s just hard right now. First I’ve got to swallow this bitter pill, with a side of fail sauce – then, later, when there are no more tears, sometime after a shower, after time spent meditating, after some sleep…maybe then it won’t be so hard to be alone. I may be doing quite a lot of it in the future – there’s really no way to know what the future holds for  me.

Some moments are harder than others. They’re all just moments, brief and ephemeral – good or bad, they are over so quickly. Hurting sucks, but it will also end. Eventually tears dry. Eventually wounds heal. Eventually, wherever I happen to be will be okay with me. I focus on something small; I am okay right now…it’s a place to start.

Begin somewhere, and keep taking steps.

Begin somewhere, and keep taking steps.

…later…

Change is. Really. That’s even okay – sometimes it takes getting used to. Sometimes there are regrets – and apologies. Sometimes there is distance. Words can be misunderstood. The summer showers of my emotions pass quickly. I’m okay. Tears do dry. 🙂

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Categories Anxiety, Brain Injury, Free Will, grief, Logic & Reason, Love, Mindfulness, more than a little bit of bitching, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women, Words

Learning to Live with My Bestie

June 3, 2015 //
1

I slept well again last night. It’s wonderful. I definitely needed the sleep. By midday yesterday, after a great night’s sleep the night before, my body and mind were pretty certain sleep was the thing, and I wanted more than anything to go home at lunch time for a nap. 🙂 Instead, I went home for a sandwich and some yoga, enjoyed a walk in the fresh air, and got back to work. It was a long day, but a short ‘commute’ home – I was ‘in for the night’ by 7:00 pm , and by 8:00 pm I was fed, showered, and curled up under the covers teasing myself with the promise of reading for a while. I went straight to sleep and woke to an alarm clock I had fortunately remembered to set.

This morning, my pour over coffee is luscious, warm, and crafted according to my preferences. I didn’t have to ask, or compromise, or go out for it. I can count on me for a good coffee in the morning. I am learning how much I actually can count on me, for all sorts of things. The last two times in my life I have made an attempt at living alone were characterized by fairly chronic anxiety, insomnia, and poor decision-making, and like living with an ill-tempered child. This time is rather like an idealized version of living with my best friend. It’s still just me, here; I  have learned to treat myself fairly well. What matters most [to me] is clearer, and what to do about it seems more obvious [to me].

Although I am having my own experience, I am still a human primate; intimacy, connection, and contact are important to me. I thrive on love. Affection matters. Touch matters. Feeling valued matters. Being visible is a big deal, emotionally. Adjusting to how those things fit into this new context is taking some time, and firm adherence to good self-care practices; I rely on myself to take care of me almost entirely now. I’ve been here before, but this is my first shot at doing it skillfully, effectively, and achieving notably good results. I still want, need, and count on the positive interactions I enjoy with others to fill emotional needs for connection, and contact. I am a social creature, and even at my most reclusive I thrive when I enjoy close connections with others. There are, of course, verbs involved. My choices matter; interactions are not all equally valuable, or equally pleasant. My results vary. 🙂

Yesterday I went to the mail box after work, I’m not getting much mail here yet but I know bills and statements will be coming to this address now. There is a certain loneliness in an empty mail box, living alone. I opened the box…nothing. Oh, wait…there at the back…an envelope. I noticed happily that it appeared to be a real letter, and from someone dear to me. A ‘welcome home’ card! The handwritten note inside commented that she thought I might like to get some mail that isn’t a bill. I felt understood, valued, and loved. It was a nice moment. I am peculiarly sentimental about such things; I will keep the card for some time.

A smile came in the mail today, wrapped in a plain envelope.

A smile came in the mail today, wrapped in a plain envelope.

I still write letters on paper, and send cards, myself. I do it because of how I feel when I get one, at some moment when I am feeling distant, disconnected, or alone. A few minutes, the price of a stamp, the effort to address an envelope, and the consideration it takes to put the words together and follow them with a 🙂 and a signature are a small price to pay for the powerful moment delivered in a plain envelope. I find myself thinking about sending sweet notes, pictures, drawings and cards to my traveling partner – a sort of love delivery service. Living apart I do miss those small moments of connection, and finding new ways to connect over distance is something I consider often. (Consideration being one of my Big 5, this makes sense to me.)

In moments of great hurt or anger, I find value in letter writing, too, although of the sort I would not generally consider sending; there is clarity in seeing words on paper, and it can be a calming perspective, allowing me to take a step back from the moment, and see things through new eyes. I find writing a good self-care practice, generally, and the act of writing to an individual, about relevant things shared between us, can often soothe my heart in moments of hurt, or ease my anger or doubt, and sometimes helps me gain perspective or understand something better than I did before I saw it in words. I can’t point any fingers at my TBI on this one – I have no idea whether this is a shared experience that many people value, or unique to  me. I am learning to doubt ‘uniqueness’ on a number of levels. 🙂

There is power in our words. We choose them and express what we can. Our lies can affect someone else’s reality. Our anger can do real damage to someone else’s heart. Our lack of consideration, or disregard, can tear down a relationship. Our support and compassion can tear down walls. Our love can change someone’s mind, or heart. Hell, our love can change the world – it just takes a lot of it to overcome the chaos and damage. Even the words we direct at ourselves, in the privacy of our own minds, have enormous power over how we understand our experience, and how we experience ourselves.

I had observed, hanging out with my traveling partner over the weekend, that living alone I miss the welcome home greeting each evening when I get home from work. It’s a poignant moment these days; I unlock the door content and smiling, and there is this instant of pain when I step across the threshold into silence, alone. It’s a hard moment for me.  I wondered last night what I could do, myself, to meet that need. If words matter…can I throw words at the problem? Last night I explored that a bit with a sticky note in the bathroom, on the mirror, reminding myself of some task I didn’t want to forget…and at the bottom of the note I drew a wee heart, and added “You are loved, and thanks for taking care of this right away. You matter.” I had forgotten about it completely when I woke – and seeing it first thing made me smile in much the same way getting the nice card from my aunt did, last night. I don’t know that I have more to say about it, right now. It doesn’t quite rise to the level of a practice, but it was interestingly effective and thought-provokingly so.

I have plans to hang out with my traveling partner this evening after work. I am eager for the day to pass to get to that point; our time together is precious, and pretty wonderful. Living apart highlights the value of the time together, and small things stay small; we both put more into ‘now’, and appreciate the time together in a more willful way. It’s lovely. I don’t waste time wondering why it took living apart to feel this secure about love; I am content to act on what I observe, and I am eager to be in his arms, feeling the warmth of his flesh, and his smile.

I bloom when conditions are right, and in my own time. Don't we all?

I bloom when conditions are right, and in my own time. Don’t we all?

Today is a good day to enjoy the company of a ‘best friend’ I can count on every day, every moment, without ever wearing out my welcome [me]. Today is a good day to appreciate love and lovers, and the value of a hug, and a welcome home. Today is a good day to treat myself well, because it is the best way to treat me. Today is a good day to enjoy the journey.

 

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Categories Anxiety, Brain Injury, Free Will, Healthy Living, Love, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, Spring, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women, Words

A French Press and a Playlist

June 2, 2015 //
0

This morning I woke, unexpectedly, at the sound of the alarm. I had called it a night fairly early, still feeling the fatigue of moving in sore muscles, and the effects of reduced sleep quality over many days. Last night, though, was different – I fell asleep pretty quickly, slept deeply, and through the night. I woke feeling like dancing. No kidding – I literally woke feeling like dancing. It matters [for me] that much to enjoy good quality sleep.

I put on water to boil and danced through “Happy“. I took my new French press down from its place in the cupboard and ground coffee sufficient for two cups and got it ready for hot water, and danced through “Uptown Funk” and “Turn Down for What?“. I added water to coffee, and used “Freek-a-Leek” as my timer, and danced through that, too. I poured my coffee, set it aside, and danced through “Goodies“, and “Anaconda” before sitting down to sip my coffee, and write – and let’s be honest with each other – to recover my breath. 🙂 This is the sort of morning that is hard to have without disturbing other members of a household – not everyone wants to wake up to a great beat and some bass first thing in the morning. Score one more point for living alone! lol

The  morning tends to remind me how much value there is in the quality of the music in my environment, and I find myself eager to get the stereo hooked up and test drive my speakers in this smaller space. I’ve been fussing over how hard they are to decorate around…but…that’s significantly eased if the issue is not about placement of a colossal monitor for watching movies… if it’s just about the music, that’s a game changer. I spent more adult years without a television than with one. Perhaps I can look at this challenge from a more useful perspective. 🙂

Perspective is a big deal. I easily wander from my intended path when I am distracted by lost perspective, or focused on a vantage point on circumstances that tells me only one part of a story, or obscures useful details. Moving into this small space that is entirely my own to manage and arrange is a powerful reminder that perspective itself is also about choices. I sip my coffee contentedly, enjoying the feeling of muscles warmed by exercise, and a heart uplifted by ‘a joyful noise’, and filled with the delight in the small decisions that make this space more me than not… Even in this endeavor, at least for now, there are more questions than answers. T.V. or no T.V? Microwave or no microwave? Which space-saving measures work for me? A few large paintings on the walls, or a lot of little ones? Rugs over carpet, or some other solution to cables or cords that may cross the floor? (Maybe I want to take the time to lift the carpet carefully, run the cords under it, and reinstall the carpet and also improve the lay of the carpet in the process? I have the skills to do it from a prior partnership.) Curtains over blinds? (Okay, okay – some of these have very obvious answers for me, personally  – I mean, hell yes there will be curtains over the damned blinds. lol The room doesn’t look finished to me without them.) You get my point, I’m sure – it’s the small things that make a space feel comfortable for me and reflect my taste.

Choices of all sorts - even choosing from the choices is part of the experience.

Choices of all sorts – even choosing from the choices is part of the experience.

This change in lifestyle is already having a lot of impact on my experience day-to-day, in powerful positive ways. I feel more myself, and this sensation is almost intoxicating, on a morning when I can wake up, turn the stereo on, and dance through my morning. 🙂

There are some eye-opening, horizon-broadening, perspective-enhancing, mind-opening opportunities on the path ahead…I see them on this map I have made with my choices. More verbs involved, sure, and I am eager to see the path unwind ahead of me. Small things (like room to live my own values) become bigger things (like room to paint) and change is; all that is needed from me is the power of my choices, and the result of my actions. Exciting.

Embracing this lovely moment is also a choice.

Embracing this lovely moment is also a choice.

Today is a good day to dance, and to choose. Today is a good day to accept what I love about me, and invest in those qualities without hesitation or doubt. Today is a good day for love – and I think I’ll have some of that for myself, from me, too. Today is a good day to enjoy the power of my choices.

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Categories Art, art and the artist, Brain Injury, Free Will, Healthy Living, Love, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, Sleepless Nights, Spring, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women

The Stand Alone Self

June 1, 2015 //
0

I woke very early this morning – 3:08 am. There was no particular reason to wake so early, besides not being asleep anymore. I had crashed for the evening a bit earlier than I have been for the past few days, but not so early that a 3:08 am wake up really amounts to adequate sleep. I’m not tired, though, and after meditation, I let my body call the shots and get up for yoga, and coffee.

This morning I take my coffee with just a hint of sugar (about half a teaspoon) and a splash of half and half (half a tablespoon). The beans are from a local roaster, and I smile thinking of the sunny Saturday visit to the now-nearby Farmer’s Market; it has a very different feel than the downtown Farmer’s Market I have frequented for years, and also quite different than the small one near my former residence. I like them all.

Choices come in many forms.

Choices come in many forms.

 

The time taken making coffee is more mindful, now. Using the pour over method of brewing my morning coffee leaves no particular room to wander off, or to be distracted. I enjoy both the process and the result. I enjoy sipping my coffee, savoring the awareness that each element of this cup of coffee in my hands has been chosen by me quite specifically… The cup is one that I bought shortly after moving the last time. (I had purchased one for each member of the household in white ceramic that says ‘Life is Good!’ – mine is the only survivor.) I selected the brewing method after auditioning several, knowing I would be giving up the espresso machine I had grown so used to. I selected the kettle, the burr grinder, the drip cone – even the filter papers were a choice from among several brands, and types. I selected the beans, and the grind. I brewed it, choosing even the quantity of coffee being used, then chose to serve it with a little cream and sugar. This modest accomplishment is meaningful to me; this cup of coffee is representative of my will in action, and my freedom to choose. This cup of coffee is a small piece of ‘who I am’ and enjoying it says much about the choices I make to savor my experience. It’s a small thing… from some vantage points. It is a fairly big deal for me, in the context of healing and growth, and life’s extensive curriculum on mindful living and good self-care. My Big 5 have a role to play in this simple cup of coffee – because living alone doesn’t take The Big 5 out of the game; I have opportunities to treat myself with respect, consideration, compassion, and in the sense that I put effort into my experience, there is reciprocity when my experience delivers something wonderful back in a ceramic mug at 5:00 am. I am open to my successes, however small. Yep. The Big 5 is accounted for. Clearly, enjoying this tasty cup of coffee contentedly and satisfied that all is well in this moment is a nice step forward in The Art of Being, too. A good start to a Monday, all around.

Today didn’t have to start so easily. I could have chosen differently when I woke. My demons were lurking in the background at the ready, waiting to tell me tales of doubt and fear, waiting to fill me with insecurity and sadness. Which is real? The feelings I didn’t choose, or the feelings I feel now? Would the doubt, insecurity and sadness be ‘more real’ or ‘more true’ of my experience – given that I could likely justify those feelings with thoughts, given a moment to ponder them and become invested – or is this simple delight in a cup of coffee on a Monday morning, and the smile on my face more real and true of my experience of myself, because I am experiencing it? We choose so much of our experience. I am sometimes frustrated when sadness or despair creep over me unexpectedly – I would not choose them willfully, and once I am mired in those blue moods, it can be difficult to remember to choose differently.

Feet up, relaxing - a worthwhile activity.

Feet up, relaxing – a worthwhile activity.

I am quite human. I am enjoying the experience of living alone, and it suits me well. On the other hand, life with my traveling partner has gone a long way to heal some of the chaos and damage that once prevented me from connecting with others in an intimate way, and prevented me from being vulnerable; close contact wasn’t something I enjoyed or craved beyond sex. That has changed, and although I enjoy living alone, I miss hugs hello and good-bye, and cuddling in the evening, and conversation over my second coffee in the morning… Thinking about the loss of those things in my day to day experience quickly brings tears to my eyes – which surprises me every time, because it seems to defy my contentment, and to mock the day-to-day ease of life in this solitary space. I don’t understand the tears, and I find myself resentful of their intrusion, and uncomfortable with myself in those moments. Stray tears interrupt me when I answer the question ‘are you happy?’ – because although I am, I miss love, Love, and contact.  It is an interesting emotional balancing act, and I sometimes wonder if I am ready for this particular piece of life’s curriculum. I sometimes feel a bit like a child in school, having skipped ahead in the book eagerly, and suddenly finding myself in over my head, and not easily able to understand the material in front of me.

“Are you happy?” is a question worth asking. It is a question worth contemplating. When the tears fall, I take time to comfort myself, mostly with a reminder that ‘happily ever after’ isn’t a real thing, and that ‘happy’ isn’t what I have been seeking for some time now. I enjoy it when I feel it, but I no longer pursue it. I am content with contentment, and sufficiency is…you know where I’m going with this… sufficiency is enough. Making ‘happy’ a goal fucked me over way too many times to want to continue to chase that dragon through my remaining years. Happy is a choice, and a moment to savor when I am fortunate to enjoy it – contentment can more easily be built and sustained on good practices.

A few tears do nothing to damage this beautiful life.

A few tears do nothing to damage this beautiful life.

The apartment was warm and a bit stuffy this morning when I woke. I opened the patio door and the front window to let the fresh air blow through while I sip my coffee and write. In the distance I hear the traffic, still sparse in the early morning hours. Rain begins to fall. I enjoy the sound of rain. The apartment has cooled off and the air is fresh and clean. I am content, and calm, and feel at ease with myself and the world – and my choices. I am so close to ‘happy’ I can reach out and touch it, pretty much any time. This maddening brain injury sometimes trips me up; a question about whether I am happy causes me to consider ‘why would I not be happy?’ – launching thoughts of the challenges and losses, and the emotions associated with those thoughts are immediate, real, and visceral, even in the abstract, and I find myself in the strange position of feeling feelings that are not the same quality of ‘real’ as the moment I am living. Hard on me, hard on people who love me – particularly those that pose the question seeking the positives. It is an interesting pile of rubble swept aside as ‘trivial’ among the details of the chaos and damage…looks like it has come time to clean up that corner of my heart more thoroughly, if only to more fully enjoy the delights of this life I am living.

The rain falls. The fresh breezes blow through the apartment. My coffee cup is warm in my hand. I have uninterrupted time in the morning to meditate, to write, and to be.  Lonely sucks – solitude is precious. There are verbs involved, and my results vary. 🙂

Today is a good day for choices. Today is a good day to savor contentment, and a good cup of coffee. Today is a good day to practice the practices that care for me most skillfully, and best meet my needs over time. Today is a good day to love the woman in the mirror. Today is a good day to make eye contact, and share smiles with the world.

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Categories art and the artist, Brain Injury, Free Will, Healthy Living, Logic & Reason, Love, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, Roses, Sleepless Nights, Spring, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women, Words
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