Archives for the month of: September, 2015
« Older Entries
Newer Entries »

Comfortably Me

September 6, 2015 //
7

I am sipping my coffee slowly; it’s too hot to drink comfortably. I’ve got my favorite playlist on, and it’s late enough in the morning that it is unlikely to disturb the neighbors, but I’ve got it turned down a little lower than I might later today; it’s the more comfortable choice for me, right now. It is a weekend morning, and I spent yesterday painting. I have plans to do so today, and I am finding it interesting that I feel no urgency or pressure to cram as much creative work as possible into these days and hours. I could as easily choose other things to do today, without any sense of being deprived or disappointed.

My home, my rules, my way - my time.

My home, my rules, my way – my time.

This is my place. I’ve set it all up for maximum personal comfort, personal convenience, and in celebration of my own aesthetic, ensuring my sense of emotional comfort, too. No more having to contemplate how and when I will get everything cleaned up and put away – before I even get started painting. I can live with the work in progress easily – and comfortably. This is new and wonderful.

I got close last October, when we all decided I could move upstairs to the loft (no, not really, and it didn’t happen)… or at least paint up there quite comfortably (well, for about three months, until the work space was rather unexpectedly filled up with things out of the attic on the assurance that an attic project would be committed to and wrapped up promptly… it wasn’t). I’d never gotten closer to real space to paint than those promises…until now. My previous experience has always been that my work, while valued, was in the way (“Oh, hey, I really like that one – when are you going to be cleaned up?”). My paints, canvases, my easel, the room it takes for canvases to dry…to hang…all very much in the way of everyday life – for everyone else. I got into the habit of scheduling time in advance, cleaning up quickly, and apologizing frequently for the inconvenience, and pretending not to notice when others lacked time or interest in viewing and celebrating new work with me. Every relationship offered some version of substantial limitation-setting on my freedom to work creatively. It hurt, and over time it slowly became a big deal; being an artist is a substantial part of who I am. After decades of it, I really needed something very different…and one of those things I needed turned out to be taking myself more seriously, and making my needs my own high priority.

There are moments when I really feel how much living alone lacks the intimacy and warmth of living with love…I definitely miss easy access to sex every day (and yes, at 52 I still very much want sex every day)…and hugs. I miss hugs a lot. I miss shared laughter, and touch. I miss kisses good-night, and good-bye, and welcome home. I miss someone being there for me when I’ve had a nightmare. But…there are things I don’t miss at all. I don’t miss being treated as an inconvenience. I don’t miss starting something beautiful artistically and having it completely derailed over OPD (other people’s drama), or some bit of household stress, or someone else’s needs of the moment. I don’t miss being interrupted for some mundane something or other while I am painting (or writing). I don’t miss not being able to play the music I love when I am painting (without also listening to a lot of bitching). I don’t miss living with bare walls, and paintings stacked everywhere begging to be hung (I don’t even get how that’s a thing, honestly). I don’t miss having to plan around everyone else and hoping that inspiration holds out until it is convenient for them for me to be painting. I love this space – I am wrapped in pure inspiration, undiluted by stress, drama or game-playing. I feel…artistically fearless. It’s lovely. (I still miss hugs.)

Enough.

Enough.

This morning, I slept in, woke easily and exchanged a few pleasant words with my traveling partner regarding the possibility of getting together at some point this weekend. I can comfortably finish my coffee, and pick up a paint brush…or not. Whether I paint is now dependent more on whether I am inspired than any one other factor. I am comfortably at home with myself, and with my work. It feels a little bit amazing…and for just a moment an icy sensation of fear and insecurity cuts through my soft easy mood…I look over my shoulder at the completed installation on the west wall; the sight of 17 paintings hung along an artistic progression in theme and color, inspired by my love of flowers, and the way light plays with color are enough to put those feeble demons to rest this morning. I smile as my gaze sweeps across the newly hung paintings and I think of love, too, and smile as I recall how much a few observations made by my traveling partner untangled my vision for that space. There are few things as powerful as a good partnership.

"Communion" 24" x 36" acrylic on canvas w/ceramic and glow. 2011

“Communion” 24″ x 36″ acrylic on canvas w/ceramic and glow. 2011

So little of life is truly an entirely solo effort – even when I paint, I am often ‘walking hand in hand’ with a love or trusted friend, in the depths of my heart, in the corners of my thoughts. (More than any other, my traveling partner is my artistic muse.) I am inspired by people – by the experience of being human – but that has often also been quite uncomfortable, as inspiration goes. Having a place of my own to work out the challenges, to linger in the arms of inspiration, to deep dive what is hidden within the shadows in my soul… it makes so much sense to live alone, in so many practical ways, as both a writer and a painter; these are not easily shared experiences.

Shared experience or not, I had a big hurdle to clear to get here, to this beautiful place. I needed to put me at the top of my list, and I needed to stop compromising my long-term needs for the convenience of others. It’s hard sometimes, even now. Living alone nudges me into first place on my agenda day-to-day, and that does make it much more difficult to undercut my own needs with needy bullshit sourcing deep in the chaos and damage. I still catch myself trying now and then. Incremental change over time requires both time – and practice. I am getting plenty of both, living alone. I miss the hugs, though… and sometimes it feels as if I miss them enough to give up painting and writing… only… that’s not at all the true truth. I would suffer greatly if I made that kind of choice. (Been there, tried that.)

"Sunset Meadow" acrylic on canvas w/pen&ink, gold, and glow 11" x 14" 2015

“Sunset Meadow” acrylic on canvas w/pen&ink, gold, and glow 11″ x 14″ 2015

I am still a beginner. I am a student of life, with more questions than answers (by far). This is my journey, and I am my own cartographer… the point, though, is this; aren’t we all? Isn’t today a good day to make the choice that makes the difference? Isn’t today a good day to invest fully in the best within? Isn’t today a good day to change the world?

Tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Categories Anxiety, Art, art and the artist, autumn, Brain Injury, Free Will, Healthy Living, Love, Mindfulness, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, The Art of Being, The Big 5

Sound Sensitive

September 5, 2015 //
0

I woke to a noise this morning, after an exceptionally good night’s sleep. The peculiarly loud humming seemed to come from a great distance. The actual volume in decibels of the sound was probably not noteworthy, it only ‘seemed loud’ to me, upon waking – but it was enough to wake me. I woke in a good mood, and began my day with the noise in the background, persistent and strange. It was as I made my coffee that I identified the source of the sound, and in annoyed disbelief I began checking other things…opening doors, listening outside… how could this noise be the damned refrigerator? I check myself, and slow down. It is the refrigerator, and it isn’t that loud; I’m sound sensitive this morning.

Being sound sensitive is just ‘one of the things’ I associate with both my TBI and my PTSD. I’m not in a bad mood, or stressed out at all, but knowing that my level of sound sensitivity is high this morning is something to be mindful of later. For me, sound sensitivity works a bit like an aura might for someone with a seizure disorder; it’s a practical heads up that I may be more easily triggered than I expect, or that I may be easily pushed from order to disorder. I imagine a cartoon farmer, squinting at the sun, “Yep, could be a storm moving in…” I laugh it off and move on with my morning, awake and aware, and prepared to take care of me. Living alone, this is nothing to be alarmed about, or self-conscious over; it is enough to be aware that small moments of irritation may not truly be associated with the things I think I am irritated about in the moment.

It’s difficult to express how being sound sensitive can be a big deal. When I struggle with this particular facet of my experience, it’s as an irresistible force being applied to my consciousness, something with the power to reduce my humanity to a more animal level. Some sounds can aggravate me quickly to the point of weeping… or fury. It’s visceral, and seems inescapable. Ear plugs help – it’s a low tech solution, but actually quite effective. A dark quiet room, ear plugs, meditation…especially effective taken together, without interruption, for an extended period…but what if I am on the bus? Or at work? Or walking through the trees feeling fussy that other walkers are “talking so damned loud”? In public spaces I end up using sheer brute force self-control to get by on, sometimes arriving home with a headache from gritting my teeth to stop myself snarling at people, and melting into tears as soon as the door closes behind me. It’s a physical feeling sort of pain, actual pain, that doesn’t respond to anything at all besides quiet…and meditation. When it is severe, I sometimes find myself wanting to shout at even the people most dear to me, whose laughter is like music in my ears any other time, to please just fucking stop talking/laughing/breathing/moving things around. It hurts my [emotional] heart just to have those feelings about someone I love; on top of the pain of the sound sensitivity itself, the [emotional] pain of needing to distance myself from the sounds of life and love is indescribably unpleasant, and isolating.

Enough.

Enough.

This morning I am feeling fortunate – and grateful. Sure, I’m a little sound sensitive, but I slept well, I feel good, and I haven’t treated anyone badly as a result of my condition. I’m smiling. The day begins well, and my coffee is hot and tasty. My toes are cold in the chill of morning, and I see overcast skies that are clearly more of autumn than of summer. Life moves forward, and I enjoy each new opportunity to bring a little more order to my experience, and treat myself better than I understood how to do yesterday. The value of incremental change over time can’t be overstated.

Handing over the keys and putting the artist within in the driver's seat.

Handing over the keys and putting the artist within in the driver’s seat.

I’ve got love on my mind, this morning, and I am filled with inspiration. The long weekend ahead is no coincidence; I am painting this weekend. The first solidly creative weekend since I moved in has already begun, finishing the installation on my west wall (that sounds sort of ‘grand’ – honestly, I just hung some paintings). I love the creative work I do when I am filled with passion and joy (no rude jokes, I’m talking emotions, here!). Over my coffee, I allow my practical and creative sides to collide in a complex internal dialogue ‘about’ canvases, pigments, lighting, composition, theme, and technique…and not at all about any of those things, really.  I will shortly overcome my sound sensitivity…with sound. I rarely paint in silence; today will be filled with music, played loud enough to completely drown out my tinnitus, but not loud enough to piss off the neighbors. I will, however, choose my playlist with great care, today; some frequencies, beats, or vocal qualities will not be a good fit with the sound sensitivity.

Where will the journey take me?

Where will the journey take me?

Today will be filled with light, curtains open to the sky, and no concern about whether the neighbors see me painting –  and dancing; this is my experience, and it is one that is entirely out of reach of anyone else’s judgement, or opinion. Today is a good day to unleash the creative force within. Today is a good day to enjoy the woman in the mirror, doing her thing. Today is a very good day to live in my world. 🙂

Tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Categories Art, art and the artist, autumn, Brain Injury, Free Will, Healthy Living, Love, Metaphors, Mindfulness, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, Summer, The Art of Being, The Big 5

Expectations and Assumptions

September 4, 2015 //
0

I am sipping my coffee and considering the excellent work week that has ended, and the long weekend ahead. I am feeling eager and inspired, loved, and valued. It’s easy to bask in these lovely feelings and find myself soaking in what eventually could become an expectation that I feel this way, enjoy work weeks such as this one, evenings like those I’ve shared with my traveling partner this week, sleep of good quality, and the resources to continue it all quite indefinitely…only…life isn’t a painting and doesn’t stand still; what I enjoy in this moment may not be near at hand in the next. Allowing expectations to develop over time that are based on experience, but not confirmed explicitly, result in painful moments of disappointment, almost as if scheduled deliberately. When I allow myself to be open to enjoying what is, without projecting that it will always be so into future days, I’m largely free of those painful moments experienced when life finds it necessary to correct my departure from reality.

Assumptions are similar; if I make assumptions about what’s going on in someone else’s mind, or experience, I exist in a fictional narrative. When others make assumptions about me, incorrectly, I feel disregarded, invisible, unheard, or misunderstood. If both conditions occur together, life feels as if I am only visiting, unwelcome in my existence, and of little value. Plus – if I’m making all manner of untested assumptions moment to moment, I’m wrong a lot. A lot. How can I be so sure? Pretty simply, because I see it in my own relationships; people who make assumptions about me (what I think, what I like, how I feel, what I know, what I value, what I want…) are wrong a lot. It’s not always easy to avoid making assumptions; making assumptions is a cognitive tool improving our speed to decision-making. Certainly there are circumstances when deciding whether to run away, or taste that strange food, requires me to make some assumptions for safety’s sake. It easily gets to be a habit.

Making assumptions isn’t easily avoidable, which makes testing our assumptions entirely necessary before we rely on them for longer term understanding of our experience. Assumptions, like lies, don’t have their foundation in what is demonstrably real, or provable – and are no more likely to be innocent of purpose than a lie! The intent of the assumption matters; it says something about the person making it. Most assumptions are not of ill intent, they function for efficiency’s sake, and while that seems harmless enough, there are so many circumstances when asking the simple question would provide better data. Other assumptions are the hallmark of a consciousness that is not invested in knowing, understanding, or building – preferring to just move quickly through circumstances ‘successfully’ to reach a goal with minimal investment in connecting with any other consciousness involved. Assumptions – particularly assumptions about the state of someones mind, or content of their emotions or thoughts – are shortcuts for speed and efficiency, resulting in a significant loss of intimacy. Assumptions are no more real than day dreams, doubts, or fears, and not to be trusted.

In conversation, refusing to make commonplace assumptions can quickly derail dialogue (or meetings) in the most hilarious way; people are very used to making assumptions, and are often quite unprepared for any one member of a group to abruptly stop doing so, asking instead for confirmation of simple things typically assumed (and often incorrectly so, but generally unnoticed). I enthusiastically endorse exploring the amusing delights of refraining from making ordinary assumptions now and then, but must state clearly that the consequences of choosing to do so are also your own to explore; your results may vary. (Remember to keep Wheaton’s Law in play!) 🙂

It’s easy to demonstrate the value of not making assumptions by considering the puzzle of buying a gift for someone else. If I buy a gift based on what I know of my own taste, I am not likely to buy a gift that suits that other person well. If I buy a gift based on common assumptions about taste and current trends in the marketplace, I may have improved on whether I am able to buy a gift that suits that other person – but it’s not a certainty, though it often feels as though it is a better choice. When I buy someone a gift, with what I really know of them in mind, I am by far more likely to select a gift that truly suits them…only…what do I really know about that other person? Is it enough? It becomes tempting to begin to build additional assumptions about them, crafted from what I know, to create a sense of deeper knowledge… it isn’t at all real, or reliable. Then what? Settle for accepting that gifts are often received graciously, however unsatisfying the gifts themselves may be? I don’t really find that comfortable, either, personally. I would rather invest in the delight of the recipient, and put aside my assumptions and ask questions, build intimacy, gain deeper knowledge – both of that other person, and through emotional intimacy and connection, deeper knowledge of who I am, myself. Emotional intimacy is powerful, and nourishing. Sustainable lasting love has its roots in emotional intimacy.

Interacting with those dear to us on the basis of assumptions may actually be the direct opposite of emotional intimacy. This is a new thought for me, in these simple terms. I plan to spend some time considering it further.

My traveling partner was the first to point out to me that expectations are a relationship killer, and I have seen the truth of it. I throw assumptions onto that same bonfire; few things fuel the failure of intimacy with such efficiency. This particularly excellent week of living and working has been peculiar in how few expectations I have had – or held on to – and how few assumptions I have relied upon. It’s been telling, as well as exceptionally connected and satisfying in terms of my interactions with others. Refraining from holding onto implicit expectations, and refusing to make assumptions about others, look like valuable practices, from this perspective.

An artist at work? A student of life. I am having my own experience. (Your results may vary)

An artist at work? A student of life. I am having my own experience. (Your results may vary)

I’ve a long weekend ahead, and even without expectations about what it holds, it looks very promising creatively and emotionally. Where will the journey take me? I won’t assume I know. 🙂

Tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Categories Art, art and the artist, autumn, Brain Injury, Free Will, Logic & Reason, Love, Mindfulness, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, The Art of Being, The Big 5, Words

Simply This

September 3, 2015 //
0

I am sipping my coffee – this morning it seems very ordinary, and at some earlier point in life I might have spent some measure of time inclined to troubleshoot the coffee-making, or perhaps poured it out in frustration and made a new cup of coffee. This morning, I am sipping my coffee and recognizing that it is adequate, not bad, just not worth raving about…but some coffees are like that, right? Good enough to drink…not quite good enough to write a favorable review.

I slept well this morning, with few interruptions and no nightmares. I woke slowly, and took my time with my yoga, meditation, and shower. It doesn’t seem the sort of morning that requires rushing through things – it’s rare than any morning actually requires rushing through things, but some of them seem to want it. Rushing is not my preference. I take my time. I sip my coffee and grin at my awareness that taking my time is not, by itself, what makes a great cup of coffee.

A moment of reflection over coffee

A moment of reflection over coffee

There’s something on the edge of my consciousness, and understanding of something that I haven’t quite managed, perhaps, waiting to be recognized more fully, and embraced, or perhaps shared…like the way my nose tickles before I sneeze, I sense the understanding on the edge of my awareness. The morning is chilly, and autumn approaches. There are other things crowding into my experience, begging to be noticed: the sweater I am wearing to work wraps me in softness, paintings I hung last night tug at my senses yearning to be viewed again, the stiffness in my spine that characterizes nearly every morning at this stage in my life, the soft ping of incoming email… The rich immediacy of the moment has so much to offer that I find it quite difficult to try to focus on something on the extreme edge of my awareness, teasing me that there is more to understand about myself, or the world. I’m okay with that; understanding comes with time, and waiting on it doesn’t wear it down, or make it less worthy.

Autumn approaches.

Autumn approaches.

I love the poetry of language, and the nuances available in a rich vocabulary. It is possible to say so much, so clearly… Sometimes I fail my intention, and lose the meaning in the words. It’s actually quite common. I am practicing simpler ways of communicating in direct conversations in my relationships, and not because the poetry of language has no value on its own, but rather because I actually enjoy it when my needs are met in my relationships. Sometimes that requires fewer or simpler words. I find myself wondering if my traveling partner has noticed any change? Simple, practical, direct – and not in an unkind or terse way – is useful in day-to-day communication between friends, lovers, family, co-workers. I guess that seems obvious… I find it a challenge, more often than I would like to. I sometimes come across as terse or abrasive when I am being direct. Sometimes simple and practical language, coming from me, sounds…child like, or over-simplified. There’s balance to find, and I have not yet found it. I like colorful language and clear descriptions and don’t necessarily get why there is an improvement in describing someone as having ‘curly hair’ versus ‘she is surrounded by vast clouds of soft brown bouncing when she talks’. If two curly haired women were standing side by side, you would know immediately which of the two was the one I meant if I use the poetry language has to offer. I have much to learn about language, and communication. I could just point and grunt, I suppose…but I do like words.

Simple words are beautiful, too. They require greater skill to be poetic. Coming to that understanding finds me exploring shorter formats poetically, and in prose; can I say it with fewer words? Can I communicate accurately – and simply? More of life’s curriculum. I absolutely detest “tl:dr” finding it an extreme discourtesy.  I also like being heard – and there is great value in being able to easily communicate in the broadest possible circumstances with the greatest number of people. I am still a student, even of words, even of language – even of poetry. This amazing journey offers much to learn.

Even the flowers know autumn approaches.

Even the flowers know autumn approaches.

I have a long weekend ahead. I plan to paint this weekend, after I run a couple errands on Friday. I will likely spend much of the weekend alone, which means far fewer words. Where will inspiration take me? I am eager to invest the time in me, no timers, no alarm clocks, no calendar…just an artist at work. Simple enough.

"Monochromatic Flower" 18" x 20" acrylic on canvas 2010

“Monochromatic Flower” 18″ x 20″ acrylic on canvas 2010 . A single color on canvas seems simple enough…very challenging to photograph. (It’s a metaphor. 🙂 )

Today is a good day for simple words, and simple things. Today is a good day to savor simple pleasures. Today is a good day to communicate big ideas with fewer syllables. Today is new and fresh and exciting – and wide open with possibilities…what will I do to change the world?

Tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Categories Art, art and the artist, autumn, Brain Injury, Free Will, Logic & Reason, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, Summer, The Art of Being, Words

The Most Difficult Post So Far

September 2, 2015 //
0

Turns out the toughest posts to write, for me, are those on mornings when my heart soars and I want to wax poetic about love. It’s a lovely morning, although I am a tad groggy and my brain is still sort of wandering here and there, and revisiting the lovely evening I shared with my traveling partner over coffees, dinner, and tales of adventure. I would happily overshare graphic romantic details without a thought for discretion, writing endlessly only about the ‘hearts and flowers’ of love and loving… certainly it is worthy subject material, always, and generally prominent in my thoughts on mornings such as this. I do prefer not to write too close to the boundary between joy and total loss of respect for the privacy of others dear to me, though… so, perhaps best to move on to other things?

Modern love

hello, Love

…And there’s the challenge, for me, this morning; what other things could I possibly write about on a morning like this, besides love? It was a great evening, in the company of someone dear to me, and just about perfect in every possible detail. Right at the moment I feel I could sit here smiling softly, wrapped in love, forever. “Forever”, unfortunately, isn’t actually a real thing for a mortal lifetime, and there’s much to learn, and experience (and endure) on this journey that is living. Perspective is a valuable handhold when something goes sideways later and life tries to knock the smile off my face – it may happen, it sometimes does. 🙂

tending the temple of my heart

tending the temple of my heart

Sometimes the hardest hits to my balance come on lovely days like this one. I go out into the world wearing this soft smile, wrapped in love, and don’t realize I’ve ‘let my guard down’ and am not protecting my heart from casual hurts, or have not taken care of my longer term need for balance and resilience by maintaining good practices. Feeling awesome, and feeling in love, sometimes results in taking my state of being for granted and letting good practices slip – because I already feel so good. It’s a mistake worth avoiding with mindful self-care. My day-to-day needs for good self-care don’t go away because I woke up feeling amazing, and feeling loved. There’s still pain to be managed. There are still chores to be done. There is still a budget to be watchful of (and far greater risk of poor impulse control when I feel wonderful). Meditation is still key to building resilience and balance. A healthy diet and appropriate exercise are still needed to maintain good health and promote longevity. Love doesn’t change any of that. Love mostly just feels good…and although I like putting love at the top of my ‘to do list’ (particularly adult romantic sexual love), love doesn’t wash the dishes, make the bed, or make sure I stay on goal with my budget (yeah – it definitely doesn’t help with that last one at all).

love's skills are varied and wondrous, but not always practical

love’s skills are varied and wondrous, but not always practical

Love is the most fantastically wonderful distraction from getting things done! 🙂

"Cherry blossoms" and thoughts of love...there's a metaphor there, somewhere...

“Cherry blossoms” and thoughts of love…there’s a metaphor there, somewhere…

This morning I sip my coffee and think about love’s demands – and the consequences of the actions love can drive. Impulse control issues can result in leaving work too early, or too often, or just sitting staring into a spreadsheet, thinking thoughts of last night, or some night to come. Love can derail my good practices, or find me becoming emotional cling wrap to hold onto any scrap of those lovely sensations just a while longer. Love’s playground becomes a proving ground for my growth over time; am I more easily able to stay on track with work, with planned activities, with other things that urgently matter to me? Am I able to maintain good practices in the face of romantic wonder? Am I grown up – or a little girl doodling hearts and flowers on the back of my notebooks? There is room in my heart – and my experience – for that little girl to remain safe and loved, but it’s also important that she not call the shots in my adult day-to-day experience.

"You Always Have My Heart"

“You Always Have My Heart”

Living alone, I am grateful that I am not particularly at risk of small relationship challenges spoiling my afterglow, that’s one obstacle to love’s delights that I am content to do without; I have enough work to do right now taming the adolescent lover within, and convincing her to do her chores. lol

Impractical, wonderful, sometimes adolescent - more than enough.

Impractical, wonderful, sometimes adolescent – more than enough.

Today is a good day for love – and for making sure things get done in spite of loving. Today is a good day to recognize that while it may feel like ‘love is everything’ and ‘love is all I need’, truly love doesn’t do her share of the dishes, make the bed, or vacuum, and the practical things in life need practical attention. There are verbs involved. It’s also a good day to treat people well, from this loving place; love is a nice way to improve the world.

Tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Categories Art, art and the artist, Brain Injury, Free Will, Love, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Perspective, Relationships, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women
« Older Entries
Newer Entries »