Archives for the month of: February, 2017

I woke with difficulty this morning, and didn’t sleep well. I don’t hurt as much now as I did when I went to bed. The twinges of arthritis pain that begin the day are likely to be a sign of more pain, later on. It’s hard to be anything other than uncomfortable – just the physical discomfort itself, is uncomfortable, I mean. Kind of obvious, I know. It’s just that my mind, foggy with the struggle to fully wake up for the day, is focused on other things (if it can be said to be focused at all, just yet).

House hunting moves forward a step at a time. The work week continues. Lunch with a friend sometime this week. An evening with my Traveling Partner, maybe even tonight. Days. Days filled with moments. I remind myself to make a doctor’s appointment. Then I just go ahead and make it, online, rather than stalling still/again.

A fairly ordinary Tuesday begins here. A quiet morning like so many quiet mornings, a cup of coffee, a few minutes writing, some time for meditation, a few minutes tidying up before heading to the office… the days are days. What changes is my perspective, and my choices.

Today is a good day to begin again. I know there will be verbs involved. I know that I am having my own experience. With some practice, today is enough. 🙂

Mondays have a bad reputation. I’m no longer sure why. Is it merely that so many people work unsatisfying jobs to which they must return each Monday? I’ve definitely been there. It wasn’t the easiest thing to choose differently. I had to learn that I could. So far, the current job has not yet lost its appeal, and going on 6 months, now. 🙂

I woke during the night, no idea why, and quietly walked through the apartment, restlessly, for… what? For about 10 minutes, that’s what. lol I’ve no idea what woke me, and I was on autopilot as I walked through the apartment, from bathroom to kitchen to patio door to studio window, finally standing at the front door, looking out into the wee hours of night, feeling the cold wet breeze circle me and filling the doorway. It was the refreshing cool of the breeze that helped me realize I was indeed awake and walking around, and also that I was still quite sleepy and inclined to finish the night. I returned to bed, and to sleep.

…And here it is, Monday. My coffee this morning is quite terrible, which seems rather odd. In all other respects the morning begins quite well, and I’m not inclined to fuss over the coffee. I rather thoughtlessly rubbed something irritating into my eyes, which as irritants go is unpleasant, but could be so much worse. I notice, as I dispose of the tissue I had dabbed at my eyes with, that I overlooked the little trash can in my studio when I took out the trash this weekend. I’m a tad irked by that, but it is also a very small thing. I shrug that off, too. How much Monday misery is entirely self-selected based on the apprehension that Mondays will suck? It’s been a long while since I’ve actually had a shitty Monday… Today still doesn’t qualify. I keep choosing to enjoy the morning. There’s no particular need to force it, I am okay right now, and that’s enough.

Monday? Yeah, it is. That doesn’t have to be any more significant than any other day of the week, though. There are verbs involved. Choices. Perspective. Practices. You can always begin again. 🙂

A steady rain falls this morning. I woke a number of times during the night, and it was raining then, too. My dreams were lively, rich in surreal detail, and graphic, but lacking in emotional content. However grim the imagery was, I felt nothing; my brain was just “taking out the trash”, clearing buffers, wiping away bits and pieces left behind that serve no useful long-term purpose. No nightmares, just data processing in moving pictures. It’s important that our consciousness be ready for a new day, it only makes sense that while I sleep, my brain is busy in cycles, resting, getting caught up on things, resting more.

(Note: I am not a sleep scientist, this blog post is not science, my subjective experience has not been rigorously scrutinized and peer-reviewed, following years of replicable research. There are people doing those things and they are very much worth reading! I’m using words, to share my subjective experience, my own thinking, lacking in any hardcore vetting against known science. My writing may serve someone a useful purpose, be helpful, or an entertaining read, but please don’t settle on me as settled science; do your homework. Use your critical thinking skills. Walk your own mile.)

I woke feeling more than usually rested. I woke feeling more rested yesterday, too. Both mornings follow days with much less involvement with my handheld device, my computer, or the internet, generally. I feel less distracted moment-to-moment. I feel less emotionally volatile. I am less easily frustrated. I feel more content. I find myself wondering how many generations of saturating all-day computer use human beings will commit to before becoming actually able to fully multi-task their consciousness, for real? (No, you can’t. There is science on that.) No doubt over time our consciousness will change with the tools we use regularly, we are adaptable. We become what we practice. Epigenetics is real. Our children’s children will have different characteristics than our Great-grandparents did. Some of those differences may indeed be cognitive. More to the point in this moment, though, is that setting aside the complicated dense multi-channel continuous streaming information into my consciousness for a couple of days has had real value on my overall state of being. I feel more relaxed. My rest is more restful. I feel calmer, less anxious, more easily able to “hear myself think”. I think I may have gotten more done, too, using my time more efficiently, and spending no minutes staring into a repeating feed full of copies, memes, and reshares for unmeasured hours of the day.

A favorite trail was flooded. It was necessary to choose another way.

A favorite trail was flooded. It was necessary to choose another way.

The rain continues to fall quite steadily. It rained yesterday, and I enjoyed the short hike I took through the park in spite of it. Time well-spent, in the wind and weather, breathing the fresh air, seeing the trees tossing in the wind, and hearing the water birds on the marsh calling to each other. This morning the rain is falling harder, enough harder that some of the fun of hiking would be washed away in it. So… perhaps not this morning…

Favorite places for a moment of meditation are flooded, too.

Favorite places for a moment of meditation are flooded, too.

I’ll spend the day taking time for being here, now, and enjoying (or enduring) what is real, and live, and in front of me. Tidying up a bit more. Taking out the trash, the recycling, and maintaining order. Those are useful practices, too. I have found that the state of order – or disorder – in my environment reflects the state of order – or disorder – in my internal world, as well. My consciousness seems only ever as ordered as my environment. Keeping my head, minding my emotional wellness, tends to result in more will to keep my home tidied up and very neat. Keeping a tidy orderly household seems to promote and support my cognitive wellness. I don’t know what the science says about all that; my experience confirms it for me, and as “ways” go, it works for me. 🙂

Today is a good day for practicing practices. Today is a good day to enjoy the woman in the mirror. Today is a good day to be open, to be kind, to be aware – and mindful that change is. It may change the world – we have that power. 🙂

 

 

I woke from a long night of sound slumber. Rare, restful, delicious. I slept in. After yoga and meditation, and putting out peanuts and birdseed for my weekend brunch visitors, I sat down with my coffee and the latest real estate search list from my realtor. It’s exciting to be house-hunting for a wee place of my own.

I look over each listing in the search list very carefully. I imagine waking up there. I imagine walking through those rooms in the dark of night after a nightmare. I consider what the floors will feel like on bare feet, and whether the layout of the kitchen is going to fuck with my head for weeks or months, remembering how confusing it was to move from #27 to #59 – with all the light switches and appointments mirror imaged, and how long it took to stop clawing at blank wall for a light switch that wasn’t there. Those details matter for quality of life. Will the windows let in the dawn? The evening light? Will the house bake in the sun unrelentingly, or offer comfort and shade? Will the winter winds chill the floor with peculiar drafts? Which details are easily changed? Which less so? What matters most? It’s an interesting meditation, to consider with such care what living in a particular space might feel like. I easily rule out some of the listings I see by doing so; if I can’t feel living there with any comfort, I am not interested. (I trust that feeling – some of my PTSD triggers are fairly mundane things or circumstances. If my senses begin to squeal in my head that a space doesn’t feel safe, and I’m only looking at a photograph, I know to move on.)

I chat a while with my Traveling Partner, sharing pictures of places, getting his thoughts. Our individual aesthetic overlaps quite a lot, and his engineering background results in a first-rate reality check on things I am less likely to notice. Helpful, and another way to share love. I am eager to find a place to call home that he will feel equally welcome in, when he is spending time with me. As a woman of 53, comfortably and contentedly living alone, I have learned that “home” is something I bring with me, something I create for myself – houses are what I’m shopping for – the container in which to put my home. 😀 Honestly, that makes the shopping much easier. At 18, and even at 35, I shopped for homes, and felt endlessly disappointed not to find one.

I finish my coffee smiling. Enjoying a few moments of conversation with my Traveling Partner before moving on with the day. I’ve some adulting to do this morning: laundry, vacuuming, cleaning the kitchen and bathroom. Home-making. Good skills to have, worthy practices for taking care of me. First, a hike in the mild Pacific Northwest winter. Today that’s enough.

 

I’ve no good title today. No subject in mind. No moment that seems noteworthy with which to approach my writing, today. Still… There is this moment to write. I sit with it quietly for some extra moments, waiting for it to “speak to me”. I swallow the last bit of cold coffee from the cup I made for myself around 2 pm, forgetful that it was 2 pm, well after I generally stop drinking coffee for the day. I eat an orange, enjoying the scent of it, the sweetness, and that messy moment grinning like a little kid, when I realize I didn’t think to also grab a napkin or paper towel, or something. There is juice on my fingers and on my face, sticky and sweet. I am in pain. The cold weather, windy, icy rain, sleet, and just winter, wraps my apartment in whatever it takes to remind my body that I have arthritis. Still.  Nothing new there. I endure. I breathe, and relax. At least in this moment, my pain is not calling the shots for me.

The work day is behind me. It started early, because it needed to, and I am done for the day – and for the week. The weekend stretches ahead of me, mostly unconsidered. I have no plans beyond what I am planning not to do. I’m planning not to do Facebook. I’m not doing the news. I’m not doing outrage. I’m not doing angry. I’m planning to gently take care of me, nurture my heart, rest my mind, enjoy some quality time with the woman in the mirror – and maybe I will see my Traveling Partner at some point. It won’t be tonight. The icy weather is foreboding to travelers. That’s okay. It’s a good day to take care of the woman in the mirror, instead. I am already eyeing my yoga mat with some enthusiasm, and thinking wistfully of my meditation cushion. I am looking forward to the gentle evening ahead.

It was an icy morning. My visitors seemed pleased to hang out a while.

It was an icy morning. My visitors seemed pleased to hang out a while.

I sit quietly in this still place. I haven’t put any music on yet today. There is a lovely fire crackling away in the fireplace, and the wind, the wind chime, the birds, and the geese have filled the day with another sort of music. I think about dinner… but… I continue to just be, here, in this moment. Quietly. Still. Content. I think to myself how very much I must have been needing this saturating moment of stillness, to dive into it with such abandon. Perhaps I shall sit quietly all evening? Content to gaze through the patio door into the winter beyond, feeling the warm of the fire… It would be time well-spent. It would be enough.

An entire flock of Canada geese stopped by.

An entire flock of Canada geese stopped by.

I smile, and feel strangely perplexed and muddled for a moment – when did I become this person? When did I develop “a softer side”? When did I learn to really care, and to really love? When did things – material things – stop seeming so important, and when did I stop “keeping score” in the rat race? At some point, I know that I did all of those things. I made changes. Why is it that I don’t remember those changes as specific moments? Slow progress is funny that way – I don’t find it easy to see through the eyes of the woman I once was.

My patience pays off.

My patience pays off.

I breathe. Find myself enjoying this moment, here, just exactly as it is. It’s enough.