Archives for the month of: November, 2016

My anxiety woke me during the night. No particular reason, as far as I could tell… perhaps my anxiety was concerned I’d forgotten it? No matter. I got up for a few minutes. “Checked for monsters.” Went back to bed. My sleep was restless. I woke feeling out of sorts.

"Anxiety"  10" x 14" - and she feels much bigger than that, generally.

“Anxiety” 10″ x 14″ – and she feels much bigger than that, generally.

I sip my coffee discontentedly mired in suspicion and unease. This isn’t about “reason”, and I don’t go looking for reasons. If I were to allow myself to yield to the temptation to “figure this out” in the early morning, before I’ve really quite woken up, before I finish my first coffee, I would be inviting the sort of deep down personal attack on myself that wells up from the dark corners, where the chaos and damage still lurks. It’s neither necessary nor helpful to “figure this out”; these are emotions, and I’ve just awakened from a night of troubled sleep…so… yeah. Nothing to figure out, really. I’m feeling.

This is a good morning to breathe, relax, make room to allow myself to feel my feelings without acting on them, and let them go without attachment to them.

My thoughts shift. I write some about emotion. I write about reason. I doubt the value in my words and delete all of it. I feel myself full of doubt. My nightmares, too, were full of doubt. Doubt and unease and insecurity. I breathe, relax, sip my coffee. It’s hard not to pick at those feelings, like tiny wounds. Experience suggests my wisest course is to make room for them, be open to what I can learn from them, and to maintain perspective – the broad deep perspective of 53 years that understands that this too will pass, and that emotions are more like street lights than news stories. Experience suggests letting the emotional content of my dreams color my day is a poor choice, and unnecessary – I commit to choosing differently. That used to sound like an impossible task, now I understand it as a practice. My results may vary.

I make some notes, on paper. I list the emotions and feelings quickly, without any deeper intention. I review the list, and next to each, write an emotion or feeling that amounts to a “conflict of interest” in the sense that the existing uncomfortable emotional experience can’t “compete” or continue to hold my attention were I to fill up on the other. Insecurity is the easy example, since its “opposite” experience is fairly easily identified – security. Feeling secure versus feeling insecure, feeling emotionally safe versus feeling uneasy… and having identified the preferred experience, I will cultivate that. No need to tear myself down for the emotional experience I’m having now, I will build something different, by choice. Small changes sometimes get big results.

Dismissing my feelings out of hand is ineffective; emotions tell me things about my experience, and how that’s working out for me, and although they are not a reliable source of information (because they lack precision and simple clarity, and because sometimes they are simply a byproduct of skewed biochemistry) they are my early warning system that emotional inclement weather may lay ahead. A night of nightmares and unease may mean I’ve got something on my mind that needs my attention, that I may be overlooking or avoiding. (And it may not.) Tonight will be soon enough for all that. It is an unfortunate truth of adulthood that sometimes work comes first. I sigh aloud, and sip my coffee.

My emotional life belongs to me. How I treat myself is a choice I make. The relationship I build with myself is singularly intimate, and colors every relationship I have with others. Being present, awake, and aware, in my experience with the woman in the mirror has its own unique challenges – and value. There are verbs involved.

Begin again.

Begin again.

Today is a good day for emotional self-sufficiency and continuing to cultivate emotional intelligence. Today is a good day to be present and engaged in this moment, here. Today is a good day to change the world, even if only in the tiniest way, in one single moment; every change matters.

There is so much we get to decide for ourselves, so many options on life’s menu to choose from moment to moment, day to day, over the course of a life, lived. We choose a lot of stuff. We make a lot of choices. Many decisions are in our hands. There is something we don’t get to decide; we don’t get to decide if we’ve hurt someone else. They get to decide that, as the person who feels hurt. Period. End of discussion. Non-negotiable. We only know our own intention, and we’ll lie to ourselves about that, if it suits us. (Yes, you too. Yes, me too.) We tend to make ourselves the protagonist in our own narrative – and “the good guy” as well.

Yesterday I hurt my traveling partner’s feelings. I wasn’t sure how initially; I was feeling pretty fucking hurt myself, as it happened. He’d managed to hurt my feelings, too. He brought his hurt feelings to my attention immediately. I felt crappy for hurting him, angry that he’d hurt me, and resentful that he “got to it first”, resulting in also feeling that I had no legitimate opportunity to speak up about my own hurt feelings with him directly, without undermining the sincerity of my apology for hurting him. It was a less than ideal situation for good communication, or affectionate support. Still… I muddled through, and stayed true to one understanding of emotions I have learned I can count on; when we feel hurt, whatever the circumstances, we want the person we perceived has hurt us to acknowledge our suffering, and the part they played in it, and if possible we want them to make it right (or at least to apologize sincerely without making excuses). It’s an important part of treating others well to be able to apologize wholly, to mean it, and to handle that quite separately from our own hurts. That’s hard sometimes.

It's hard to unsay the words.

It’s hard to unsay the words.

I don’t always recognize that I’ve hurt someone. I don’t always understand why they are hurting. If they are hurting, and they tell me they are hurting, I accept that the hurt they are experiencing is truly their experience; it isn’t up to me to decide for them what hurts. No amount of comparison to my own experience, or other experiences, can serve to define, clarify, or place limits on the experience of someone saying they are hurt; it’s their experience, no one knows like they do. Let’s put another period right there, while we’re at it – this is also a non-negotiable on life’s journey; we don’t get to tell someone else how they feel. Just stop doing that shit. (I still catch myself, sometimes, and it usually begins innocently enough as an attempt to connect, to understand, to empathize… doesn’t matter much how it begins, if it ends with me telling you how you feel, I am in error for doing so, regardless whether I am coincidentally correct about your emotional state.)

Search all the books that matter most to you, there are still verbs involved. :-)

Search all the books that matter most to you, there are still verbs involved. 🙂

I’ve gotten decently skilled at some of the emotional intelligence stuff… It hasn’t necessarily eased the journey in any noteworthy way. lol I am quite human, and struggle most with emotions within the context of my most passionate intimate relationships like pretty nearly everyone else. I’m okay with that, it is a process and there is no lack of love. I felt sad to have hurt my traveling partner’s feelings. Keeping my sadness to the side, without disrespecting my own emotional needs, I made myself commit to listening deeply, however much his words hurt me (there was nothing abusive about them, just painfully frank, and striking directly at where I also hurt most, myself, in that moment). In listening with great care, and great compassion, I stayed open to accepting that I had hurt him, regardless of my intent. I apologized. He lashed out, hurt and angry, and I apologized again for hurting him, while I wept private tears. My morning felt pretty blown. My head ached. I felt heartsick.

Perspective matters. I often find it here. ;-)

Perspective matters. I often find it here. 😉

I took the space I needed to care for my own heart. That was a mixed effort for some time. It got easier after my traveling partner had time to give consideration to the morning, himself, with a clear head, and unencumbered by his own hurts. He apologized to me. We mutually acknowledged the misunderstandings, the miscommunications, mistakes resulting from the order in which text messages were received or read, the way key words and phrases evoke emotional reactions, we reinforced our value to each other, and took time to say soothing, caring things. We moved on.

Be love. It's a choice. Love is a verb.

Be love. It’s a choice. Love is a verb.

Did I hurt my traveling partner’s feelings deliberately? No. I wouldn’t. It’s not my way and I find no value in willfully treating people poorly. Did I hurt his feelings at all? He said I did, therefore that is his experience; my own, in that moment, is not relevant to his experience – even if I am also hurting. (Those are quite separate experiences.) It’s hard not to respond to my lover’s pain with my own pain – but it’s not productive, generally, to do so.

Our own pain easily manages to feel like the worst pain we’ve ever known (and generally without regard to whether we’ve ever hurt worse in the past, in other circumstances). Our approach to the pain of others is different – we want to fix it, to help, and we most certainly don’t want them hurting, we try to make it go away, or try to ignore it. As silly as it seems to read it in print, we behave as though we can use our words to re-craft our experience omitting their pain. It just doesn’t work that way. Sometimes people hurt. Sometimes we are the reason why they are hurting. The result, too often, is that we put our own pain ahead of the pain of others and end up imagining our pain hurts worse, when we cannot possibly know that, and can’t validate that assumption even by asking. The kinder choice is simply to be compassionate about pain, and to apologize when we’ve hurt someone. In mutually supportive relationships among equals, this is a reciprocal practice.

It’s still super hard though; if I feel hurt I want that attended to, and letting it go long enough to care for the pain of another is one of the more difficult practices I practice. Sometimes the result, as with yesterday, is that after that hurt person is cared for, they return that care and soothe my hurt in return. Sometimes that is not the case, and I must care for myself. The thing about that… it’s okay. I’m getting pretty good at caring for myself, and when I must, I can count on me to do so pretty skillfully. The most important thing is to refrain from treating myself badly while supporting someone else. Yesterday I managed it through a haze of tears over text communication… I don’t know that I could have done it with as much success in person. I’m still very much a student. I need more practice.

I keep practicing.

I keep practicing.

My traveling partner and I enjoyed a splendid fun evening, later on, and not “as if nothing had happened” – that’s a place I don’t personally want to get trapped. Instead, we enjoyed the deeper intimacy of two human beings, fully human, loving each other humanity and all, awake and aware, present with each other. When we greet each other our embrace wrapped us both in warmth and affection, and the shared understanding that we’re really there for each other – even when we’re the ones bringing the pain. Those sincere reciprocal apologies built on respect, consideration, compassion, and openness, delivered with awareness, and accepted with heartfelt relief make a huge difference. We go forward stronger. Love wants a good apology without reservations, and without excuses. It’s okay to save reasons for another moment, a different conversation, some other time.

This morning I sip my coffee, content and calm. No lingering tears, no “emotional hangover”. It’s nice. It’s been a long journey to get here. There is further to go. Today is a good day for housekeeping, and becoming the woman I most want to be. Today is a good day to practice loving well.

You still here? Me, too. 🙂 I needed to take a couple days to shore up my emotional reserves, to take care of my very human heart, to reach out to friends and connect, share, and build.

What an ugly bridge-burning election year it has been. Some of my relationships won’t recover; I don’t maintain relationships with people who mistreat me, these days, and where the heated rhetoric finally crossed my boundaries and became abusive, cruel, mocking, or emotional mistreatment, I have chosen to take care of myself, stay true to my values, and ended those relationships. Yes, even with family members. No one gets a pass on abusive behavior. Tolerating abuse is how so many of us get so fucking wounded in the first place.

Yesterday was Veteran’s Day. I could have written something… I could have re-posted something I’d written before. I didn’t feel moved to do either. I didn’t much want to think about war. I didn’t go out at all. I honestly didn’t want to risk having to be thanked by some well-meaning clueless citizen this year, thanking me for my service with absolutely no understanding whatsoever of what exactly they are thanking me for, and no understanding what their “thanks” has cost me (and so many others). Most people just don’t know, don’t care to know, wouldn’t get it if I tried to tell them – and their thanks is a hollow platitude at best, even when entirely well-intended and heartfelt; many of them won’t follow-up in the polls, with their representatives, with their dollars  – or even with their basic decency, day-to-day. (If you’re bitching about the homeless panhandling in your neighborhood, and taking no productive steps to assist and support those human beings, you may as well stop thanking veterans at all, just saying.) Yesterday, I did what I could so that the only thanks I was exposed to was from my brothers and sisters at arms, and those few others who have looked into the face of war, and actually understand.  The rest? Deserves to be heard by someone who will value the sentiment.

Each morning I begin again. Each morning it is easier, and I feel more settled, more resolved to continue to steadily pursue change, more committed to being the woman I most want to be. Incremental change over time; we become what we practice. I don’t practice hate. I practice treating myself and others well. I practice speaking up about my boundaries clearly, simply, and without compromising my values. I practice intervening when I see others being mistreated.

My meditation practice has continued to serve me well. Just the simplest practice of sitting quietly, breathing comfortably, and letting my thoughts come and go without criticism, evaluation, or attachment, provides welcome relief from becoming emotionally spun up on some new bit of social upheaval. Yesterday, I spent hours apprenticed to a master…

I invited a squirrel to visit. She hung around all day, and shared her wisdom.

I invited a squirrel to visit. She hung around all day, and shared her wisdom.

Funny how little stress there is, even in the most terrifying world events, when I remain engaged and present in this moment, now. I spent the day practicing. Meditating. (Taking pictures of my visitor.) I chose my entertainment with care. I began making holiday cards for the upcoming Yule holiday. Life goes on – it has to, or what’s the point? Living my life still has to be part of living my life, right? These moments, here, spent engaged and present, rather than fractured and distracted by the media, by advertising, by life’s busy agenda elsewhere, these moments here are the ones that matter most. Remember to take time to enjoy yours. 🙂

She doesn't spend much time on Facebook, and doesn't read the news.

She doesn’t spend much time on Facebook, and doesn’t read the news.

Today is a good day to be awake, aware, and present in the only moment that really matters; now. I think I’ll go do that… Today is a good day for brunch. 😉

 

Right. I’m awake. It’s a new day. I sip my coffee and take a moment to breathe. I adjusted my plans for the day to give myself a little more time to take care of myself at a very high priority.

One day ends.

One day ends.

Yesterday was hard, and after a day of carefully maintaining perspective, and sharing moments of compassion and support with similarly stressed out colleagues, it was clear I’d need a bit more of my own time for me. My traveling partner is understanding about it. There was no point adding to his stress by sharing that I’d barely cross the threshold when I crumbled and wept for 15 minutes or so, before I could even pull myself together enough to reach out to him. There’s no shame in tears, and the catharsis was a needed moment of its own.

The hardest part about yesterday, for me, wasn’t work, or what I heard and saw out in the world. It was Facebook. It was family. It was the gloating of people I expect to count on affectionately – because they are on my Facebook friends list – and found myself treated dismissively, or callously. Some people were so invested in celebrating their victory, they were not able to understand that many of the folks suffering over it were not even (at all) going on about losing a fucking race – they are frightened or angry about much larger things, and have the perspective that those situations or issues just got potentially a whole lot worse (the, um, flip side of celebrating because you think life just got better with the candidate of your choice in office). Scary shit to find myself being honest about why I’m anxious and faced with an astonished “is this post real?” sort of reaction – as if it’s just not even believable that there is suffering in the world.  It hurt, a lot, to be implicitly told, yet again, by a chorus of men who will never face the issues women face that those issues don’t exist, or are an exaggeration, or hey, grow a thicker skin! By the end of the evening I was shopping for firearms, figuring “why should I have to be out in the world surrounded by people who think my consent is irrelevant without the means to quickly and firmly ensure they understand my boundaries are very real?”  Fear and a lifetime of subtle repression (and some not-so-subtle) and harassment roiled together and boiled over as the minutes ticked by.

I shut down the internet. I wept awhile. I meditated longer, finally actually finding sleep somewhat later than I ordinarily would. No nightmares, and I woke ahead of the alarm, with enough time for a leisurely shower and a short walk in the pre-dawn gloom of a chilly and damp autumn morning. The mist wrapped me in my thoughts. I returned home with a smile and made coffee. I am okay, within myself. I feel some trepidation about the future. Angry people elected #45… I find myself wondering if that’s a teachable moment? For me, personally, I mean… I work so hard to find balance, to redirect and defuse anger with intellectual curiosity, compassion, and mindfulness… I’ve allowed myself to be silenced a million times rather than be a source of conflict. Have I created the world in which women’s voices are silenced by implicit rule without consequence? No, of course, not – but I’ve supported it, fed it, kept it going. Could I make better use of my anger? It’s something to think about further in days to come.

There are verbs involved if we want the world to change. Talk is sure a verb, but… it’s not a solid driver of change. It’s more like the scenic route. Slow steady culture change does build on conversations, on dialogue, on words and writing and skilled oratory… but… yeah. Slow. Really slow. I mean… how quickly would women have gotten the vote if women had only talked about it? It’s possible, based on angry choruses of taking away our votes, in 2016 (yeah, that happened). “Well, that’s just election year rhetoric! You can’t take that seriously after the election is over.” Um… yeah, I can. It was actually said, and with real conviction, by people who meant it when they said it. I can totally take that seriously – and I do. So, this morning, I find myself asking – like a lot of people probably are – what do I do about “all of this”?

I begin again. My values are what they are with good reason. The election doesn’t change who I am, or what I value. #45 is my president, too, whether I like it or not – and conversely, whether he likes it or not, either. Verbs, eh? I smile, and recall a great video (very much on point, election-wise) about truth, and the things we think are “true”. I commit to sitting down with myself, verb-wise, and laying out in very simple (about a 4th grade reading level) phrases for what I want from my government and my president. Really simple. “Fund Planned Parenthood” “No Electoral College” “Protect Social Security” – that kind of simple. I will get my thoughts really clear, and I will begin writing postcards (exposing the words and phrasing to everyone that handles them) and I will begin mailing them to representatives, to #45, and beyond. I’ll include them in my signature block (on a rotation). I’ll say them aloud. I’ll leave hand-inked art cards around here and there, with these simple phrases, and I’ll just keep at it. Again. Again. Again. Everywhere I go. Repetition is learning. We tend to think what we’ve heard a lot is true. That’s usable practical science right there.

You probably have ideas of your own. Do those things. Raise your voice! If you weren’t heard – say it again. Were you shouted down? Put it in writing. Memes are powerful, too; this election saw a clear demonstration of that principle in action. Add a repeatable slogan to an engaging image and it spreads like a virus and people begin to repeat the words with conviction, as though they are “truth”, and often without fact-checking. Are you more of a meet & greet sort? Get out there and say words to real people! Throw parties – and make conversation meaningful, powerful, and memorable! Live the change you want to see in the world. Offended by racism? Call it out when you see it, and be a strong ally for a diverse group of friends and associates. Offended by religious intolerance and faux-patriotism? Point it out when you see it, and just keep at it. It’s the persistence that has so much power. Carry that torch every mile you can.

Your words matter. Your actions matter. Your voice matters. You matter.

A new day begins.

A new day begins.

It’s time to begin again. ❤

I went to bed knowing the likely outcome of the election, already feeling tense and stressed out. I slept. I even slept deeply. I woke early. I checked the news briefly, long enough to know that we’ve made our choice. Huh. America’s first openly out “rapist-in-chief”. It’s vile, although he’s certainly not the first narcissistic racist misogynist homophobic wealthy white man of privilege to hold the office (not even the only one in my lifetime). I sigh. I close the news.

I wonder if I can go four years without checking the news again… Four years seems an eternity, although I know better than that; four years is a fraction of the years I’ve been alive, and a smaller fraction still of human kind’s history on earth. It’s just four years. It seems horrifying to give this particular human being so much “power” over so many vulnerable people… and I think about “checks and balances” and high school lectures about American government, and also the challenges our first African-American president had getting fuck all done because some insecure bigots couldn’t bear the idea of a brown president, and were so easily able to stop him in his tracks with obstructionist bullshit. Four years will pass. If we don’t destroy the world in a misuse of nuclear armament, someone new will move into the office in just four years.

I’ve been around for 14 presidential elections. Social media stoked emotion to magnitudes of intensity I associate with mental illness for this one, and we all more or less survived with our sanity intact. Mostly. It’s the first election I recall where there were fatalities at polling places. I take a deep breath. I feel myself relax. I think about past presidents, in my own lifetime. They haven’t all been what I would consider “good people”, but clearly they had the followers to become president. Being a good human being has not seemed to be an American criteria for holding office. Ever. Our “democracy” is available for purchase, which is… grotesque. It’s also not actually democratic. I find myself wondering who really owns the new guy – someone does. Someone always does. If not going into it, then on the way out the door. It’s a profitable gig, and not because of the paycheck that goes with it. We’ve known it for a while. We tolerate it, although I don’t know why we do.

Bernie’s right; we’ve got to keep pushing. There is work to be done. We’ve got to keep insisting on clean air, clean water, better consumer protections, rational healthcare and prescription drug prices, laws that are fairly applied, and real equality for all our citizens, real democracy, justice for victims of violence, for victims of bias and hate, and continued forward momentum as human beings – and there are verbs involved. If we want to change the world, we have to choose change. The loudest voices, the angriest voices, don’t have to be the voices that make the rules, even within our own hearts… but yeah, there are verbs involved. We’ll have to begin again.

Begin again. Each practice. Each moment. Right here. Right now.

Begin again. Each practice. Each moment. Right here. Right now.

Today is a good day to begin again. Today I will do my best to set aside my own fear – terror, really – of what comes of this choice America has made. I’ll take a deep breath and begin again each time my fear and anxiety rise up. Most things, day-to-day, in most moments of my experience are not directly affected by who is president. I take a deep breath. I relax. I begin again.