Yesterday began well, and seemed on track to be a great day in my Traveling Partner’s good company. Veterans Day. We’re both Vets.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
The day went sideways abruptly. Oh, for sure it was all me. Chaos and damage, Veterans Day, and I lost my shit unexpectedly over some small thing that would ordinarily result in a deep breath, or maybe a brief moment of feeling vexed and frustrated. Instead, I lost my emotional footing, and became quite unhinged. Embarrassing, after the fact. My Traveling Partner flared up when I melted down, feeling his own hurt and frustration with my bullshit. Emotions were heated, but instead of days of anger and tears, we managed to sort things out pretty quickly (about an hour). Real progress, actually.
… I still feel embarrassed, remorseful, and more than a little ashamed of myself for being so easily taken down by my inner demons on Veterans Day; I know I am at greater risk, emotionally, on this holiday. I know to be quite careful and wary about my emotional balance. This year proved me unready. This year, for the first year ever since I left the service in the 90’s, not one of my former comrades at arms reached out to check-in, the way we always do. No one I reached out to myself (which was all of them that I have remained in touch with) replied either. There was only distance and silence. I reached out to some close non military friends, too, hoping to dispel the sudden loneliness, and there too, I got only silence back.
…I felt incredibly alone, and my heart filled with despair…
Human beings are mortal creatures. These lives are finite, and so precious and fleeting. Time is short, and we rarely see “the last time” coming. My heart was aching over it. My beloved had no real opportunity to support me; my demons bested me before he could, creating our mutual shitty experience.
… I’m grateful for my partner’s love and patience…
I sit in the foggy darkness alongside the trail I chose for my morning walk. The morning is very quiet. A beautiful buck with a delicately branching rack of antlers stepped past me silently in the fog. He glanced at me briefly, aware but unafraid. I think my thoughts, he no doubt thinks his own. The fog envelopes us both.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. I think about my Traveling Partner’s encouragement and his discipline. There is balance between those qualities, held in a thoughtful self-aware tension. It isn’t that he doesn’t have his own challenges and struggles, it is more that he understands them differently, and manages them generally with great skill, and quite differently than I do mine. I consider those differences often. Some I seek to emulate and practice (my results vary; we are different people). Others I avoid, recognizing my results would be quite different, for one reason or another, or perhaps don’t feel consistent with my understanding of who I most want to be, myself. We are different, which is entirely okay.
He loves me and hates to see me mired in despair. The heartbeat of opportunity to share and heal and grow in a positive gentle fashion is sometimes too brief. A moment of pain and sorrow escalates to tears and emotional flooding. Rough. Very human.
We got past it together. Eventually his tenderness and kind suggestions reached me through the tears. His words became a new anchor in a new moment. I allowed myself to trust, and to timidly initiate repair and reconnection. He did not resist, nor did he hold the chaos and unexpected volatility against me. We moved on. The rest of the day was quite pleasant.
Another breath, another thought. I sit with my beloved’s kind reminders to be present where I am, and keep my focus on what is within my sphere of control. I breathe the crisp wet autumn air and think about that. “Be here, now” isn’t merely some gentle hippie platitude. Words have meaning and power.
… and I have brain damage š. My beloved making helpful suggestions for practices I am deeply familiar with is neither condescending nor is it “mansplaining”. He’s helping his brain damaged partner find that information again, out of love and concern.
I meditate wrapped in the foggy dawn. I feel safe in my solitude, but for a brief moment I also feel a poignant sting of recognition; the difference between solitude and loneliness is razor thin. I miss old friends, military buddies, and lost family connections. I sit with my mortality for a moment. Change is. Impermanence, too, and it can’t really be argued with. I breathe, exhale, and relax. “Practice non-attachment,” I remind myself. “Knowing” is not practicing. Accepting is not practicing. It’s necessary to do the verbs.
I’m grateful for this foggy, thought-provoking morning. I’m grateful for the time and solitude to reflect on what I have learned, who I am, and what I need to practice to become the woman I most want to be. I reflect on dear friends now lost in the fog of distance, time, and mortality. I cherish their memories and let go. Again. Another breath. It feels good to breathe deeply, and to exhale slowly.
Daybreak comes. New day, new beginning. I get to my feet and begin again.
