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Change Is

January 18, 2017 //
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I woke to the sound of rain. It was raining when I dropped off to sleep. The outside temperature stayed above freezing through the night, and is expected to near 50 degrees (F) today. The snow is disappearing. The ice has softened and is giving way to slush. It’ll be a wet, slushy, muddy commute today, quite different than yesterday’s icy cautious trek.

My careful commute still got me to this lovely vantage point.

My careful commute still got me to this lovely vantage point, yesterday. Today it will look different.

Tonight will be warmer. It will be too warm for a fire in the fireplace to give comfort. There will be even less snow, and even more mud. I’m okay with all of that; I may see my Traveling Partner. 😀 It’s been weeks now, and I miss him greatly.

This morning starts in a peculiarly unscripted way. I don’t really know what is to come of the day, not even a little bit. I don’t find that it causes me any anxiety, which is a change itself, from years when the slightest mystery or deviation from plans, caused me incredible stress and anxiety. This lack of plan, this lack of expectation, it’s not even uncomfortable… I’m okay right now.

The world, too, is in a state of change. In a sense, a very real sense, pretty much nearly everything almost entirely always is in a state of change, to one extent or another. Fighting that caused me so much needless stress. Holding the awareness of ongoing change at arm’s length, trying to carve out a moment of stillness by halting change itself, and then feeling the inevitable frustration and disappointment when things did, unavoidably, change, regardless of my wishes… it was… hard. Embracing change, for me, has meant taking that first step again and again and again; being comfortably aware that change is. It has no characteristic that allows for me to avoid it, negotiate with it, prevent it, limit it, halt it… or change the thing about change that is change itself. From there, it’s all planning the Plan A, and the Plan B, and finding the sweet spot in life that allows me to accommodate change comfortably, which has typically involved not getting hung up on expectations and assumptions – or even plans.

Even today; I am hopeful I will see my Traveling Partner. I don’t “expect” it to be today. I don’t “assume” that it will be today. It may be. It may not be. There’s nothing on the calendar that is firm on that topic, as of now, and there are other things going on for both of us… so… I know he is eager to see me. I know I am eager to see him. We miss each other. Our intention is to get together at the next good opportunity, once the roads are safely navigable once again. Good enough. It allows for change to happen quite comfortably, without drama. I like that.

Today is a good day for change. (There’s no stopping change, so it’s quite nice that it’s a good day for it…) Today is a good day to be content with what is. Today is a good day to enjoy this moment, here, whatever it is, while I can. It will change, sooner or later. 🙂

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Categories Anxiety, Brain Injury, Free Will, Healthy Living, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, solo hiking, The Art of Being, winter

A Day for Me

January 15, 2017 //
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When did you last spend an entire day caring for yourself, body, mind, and soul? The works. Like… a spa day for your whole being? Healthy, while also indulgent. Uninterrupted. Focused, and also relaxed. Purposeful, but not hurried. No pressure – your undivided attention on supporting the person in the mirror. I took a day for me, yesterday. It was strangely not at all as I planned it, but… wow. I needed that time. A day of relaxed self-care that was not also pock-marked with fretting about work in the background. A day of small favorite luxuries without any self-consciousness or doubt. A day of meditation, quiet, calm… and wow was it lovely, and soul-soothing, and magical. Well… not actually “magical”. There were verbs involved, and I did those, for me. 🙂

I had intended to enjoy the day at leisure, and this much I most definitely did do. I made a wee cherry clafoutis for my brunch, a delightful treat. I happily enjoyed more coffee than I generally allow myself, content that a late night could be followed by sleeping in. I queued up a good playlist (that I mostly didn’t listen to), and had my sketching supplies, a book I am reading, and a journal at hand. I ended up spending most of the afternoon and evening quietly meditating – not at all the plan, but as it turned out, precisely what I needed to care for me best.

It was late into the evening when the last coals of the fire in the fireplace dwindled away to nothing, and the room began to take on the night chill from a draft somewhere. That was when I realized I had passed something like 10 hours just chilling. No TV. Music only rarely. Not bothering to pick up my book. Writing a note about this or that now and then. Just relaxing with the woman in the mirror, feeling the feelings, letting the cognitive landscape shift and change, accepting the emotional weather – which changed often, and more rapidly than the icy landscape on the other side of the windows. I watched the birds. They watched me back. I sat warming my feet by the fire, and smiling, feeling content that for the moment, all is well (for me, here, right now). It was lovely. I soaked in it. Bathed in it. Wrapped myself in these all-to-brief sweet moments of calm. Savoring them for later recollections, on more difficult days.

Evening from my meditation cushion.

Evening from my meditation cushion.

I don’t remember going to bed. I know I did; I woke in my bed from a deep sound sleep, feeling well-rested, and well-cared-for. That’s a thing I didn’t understand years ago; our very human feelings of neglect, inattention, shabby treatment, and even having been dealt with cruelly or abusively, can be soothed greatly by how we treat ourselves. It doesn’t stop some other person who treats us badly from being who they are, or make circumstances different than they have been, but it has tended to allow me to heal more, faster, and more completely, and to bounce back from challenges more efficiently. Totally worth taking the time to invest in skilled self-care. I’m no expert (clearly). I’ll keep practicing. 🙂

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

What a Strange Winter Journey

January 13, 2017 //
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It’s evening, and rather late. A strange time for me to be writing. I’m okay with that. There’s a warm fire crackling in the fireplace. I’m home, safe, warm, and contented. It’s definitely enough… It’s strange that I’m here, now, tonight.

I went to bed last night with a plan for the work day. I’d be up very early, with the intention of getting into the office by 6:00 am, fully expecting to commit to 12 hours to catch up what had gotten pushed to the side while I worked from home on these recent snowy days. It was a good plan, realistic and carefully considered. I set my alarm. I checked it again, as I got into bed. I had a back up alarm set on my phone. I made sure my alarms were not muted, even though my phone was on Do Not Disturb. Sleep came easily.

…There may have been a moment during the wee hours when I opened my eyes briefly, and only enough to see the time on my fitness tracker, assuring myself it was not yet morning, and returning to sleep, I don’t really know for sure whether the vague recollection is actually from last night…

I woke at 6:19 am. It was much later than I planned to be up. Later than the alarm was set for. Later than I commonly sleep even when I don’t turn on an alarm. Waking was difficult. I was groggy, struggling to understand the beeping. I turned off the alarm. It didn’t go off. I shook it, as though that would do anything. I got up, aware that I was late, and began to dress hurriedly, still not awake, clumsy, awkward, stiff, stupid. I picked up my phone – the alarm was still chiming. I shut it off. I opened my work laptop and typed words intending to communicate I was on my way. Irked at myself. Shit! How could I be late, today?? I had that crazed “everything relies on right now!” angry surging roaring panic running through my bloodstream, filling my thoughts. I slowed myself down, again and again, facing the panic, facing the inwardly-turned fury. I admitted to myself that I felt disappointed in myself. Angry that maybe – just maybe – it could be self-sabotaging behavior. I stopped for breath. I inhaled deeply. Gave myself time to accept my own humanity. Gave myself a moment of compassion, sympathy, understanding – how human am I? Very. Always have been – and it’s totally okay. I got my things together, and left for work. Feeling humble. Feeling human.

Some journeys are easier than others.

Some journeys are easier than others.

I was waiting for the bus (not my original plan, either), when my Traveling Partner messaged me a good morning, and his supportive reminder that I am enough. It’s just a moment. A small thing. All totally true, and I slowly continued the commute, eventually making it in to the office at about the same time I always do.

Wait, or walk? Today I wait.

Wait, or walk? Today I wait.

The day passed quickly and wasn’t at all what I expected. I’m glad I hadn’t built those expectations up in my head, instead choosing to let go and let the day unfold, doing my best in each moment. The day came and went quickly, and ended more or less the time it generally does. Generally speaking, a good work day. I returned home feeling mostly pretty good.

Now, I’m just relaxing here, in this quiet place, wrapped in comfort, a fire crackling away merrily, and a tasty glass of sherry that I’ve mostly overlooked, just sipping on it now and then, as the hours pass. If I’d stopped to write in that moment this morning, I would not have been able to look ahead to this delicious heady calm.

Right now, right here, it doesn’t matter at all which of the many practices I practice got me from where I was years ago, to where I am now. Yep. It’s taken years. Literal years, many practices, and a lot of verbs, and the journey stretches farther on, and beyond anything I can imagine. Years of practicing. Years of beginning again. So many verbs. Incremental change over time – it happens in increments. It takes time. I’ll keep practicing.

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Categories Anxiety, Brain Injury, Free Will, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, The Art of Being, The Big 5, winter, women, Words

What Are You Doing About It?

January 7, 2017 //
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Some mornings, particularly on weekends, I sip my coffee and catch up on the news of the world and my Facebook feed before I settle down to write. On those mornings, I also fight “taking the bait” and I do battle with invisible forces hoping to leverage the power of outrage to get my attention, and others hoping to get their hands on whatever loose change may be laying about. I’m getting better at maintaining some balance in the face of emotional triggers of all sorts as I scroll through images and words.

The need to build more resistance to emotional manipulation, for me, is pretty serious. My injury and my PTSD tend to result in a level of emotionality generally (the TBI) and volatility (the PTSD) that can make me very susceptible to emotional manipulation, emotionally evocative language and images, and it has been difficult to manage over the years. If I’m being honest, I can’t say that I “managed” it all all, with any skill or noticeable success until I started practicing mindfulness – and omg, do I ever need practice, like, all the time, every day. So human. I learned a lot about how far I’ve come, during this past election year, and I also learned a lot about how far I’ve yet to go. So… I keep practicing. I keep finding my way along life’s journey, one step at a time. The news thing is tricky; I love to read, I consume content at a high rate, I love language… and I’m a highly emotional reasoning being. I needed something helpful to rely on…

I ask myself questions that seem to help sort it all out (for me).

  1. Does this matter more to me than it did when I read the last article about this? If so, am I merely having an expected reaction to repetition?
  2. Can I verify it is 100% utterly legit, fact-checked, references cited, real no bullshit data or information?
  3. Who profits from this? (…and what does that say about the content?)
  4. Is the content original? (If it’s creator content reshared/reposted, is the creator credited?)
  5. What is my purpose in sharing this? Is it necessary?
  6. What am I going to do about it? (If this is action-worthy at all, why not just take action and share that in my own words?)

I think, generally, most of my friends also read the news – no need for me to share it to ensure they hear the latest from the same mainstream sources most of us are reading. It’s redundant – which means it is repetitive, which results in higher believability whether it has a shred of truth or not. Not helpful. If I’m angry about it – do I actually want to share that experience?  If I feel moved to share content solely on the basis of seeking “solidarity”, sharing the experience of being outraged or angry, or looking for community… wouldn’t it make so much more sense to reach out to friends directly, human being to human being, get together over a coffee, or hang out together, and really talk, really share? Sure, we’re all in this together… but using Facebook to reprogram our culture seems to be taking us all to some very strange and fairly ugly places.

I’ve gotten sucked into Facebook time and again, and wasted hours of precious limited lifetime – not connecting with friends and deepening those relationships, either, just reading the news, reading memes, scrolling through duplications and repeats, and generally filling my consciousness with the cognitive equivalent of junk food. I’ve added to the noise, reposting articles that evoke an emotional reaction without closely examining why, or even whether the content is highly accurate, and unbiased. You know what it got me? What it got all of us? The 2016 election outcome. That event has really changed my thinking about what purpose Facebook serves in my experience – and what it can do, and how it affects my quality of life, generally, as an application – because that’s all it is. It’s an app. It’s up to me to use it well, and use it wisely, and be mindful of the results I see, and the consequences of my actions.

Facebook – another opportunity to be mindful. Who knew? 🙂

I’ll hop down off my soapbox. It’s a gray, cold, wintry Saturday morning. WordPress notes that it’s been 4 years here, sharing, practicing, walking my own mile. My coffee is done. The morning has begun. Thanks for being here.

Today is a good day to live life in real-time, with real people, in physical space. I think I’ll go do that. 🙂

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Categories Anxiety, Brain Injury, Fiction, Free Will, Healthy Living, Logic & Reason, Mindfulness, more than a little bit of bitching, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, The Art of Being, War and News of War, weight loss secrets, winter, Words

Waking to Weird

December 29, 2016 //
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I woke abruptly, wide awake, with a sense that sleep never was and relieved that the contents of my sleeping mind, so recently left behind, were not also my living, waking, experience. I woke clear-headed. I woke aware of my dreams, and aware of my relief. I woke feeling that purposeful moment preceding urgent action, not-yet-panic, sufficiently present to stall any move to action; there was no cause for taking action, and nothing to react to. It was merely morning. I was simply awake.

My morning felt far more than necessarily purposeful, and lacking any clear purpose this seemed strange. My dreams were perhaps still chasing me… Coffee. Music. I listened to my favorite playlist over my morning coffee, catching up on Facebook, avoiding more personal writing as though the words might suddenly jump out from dark corners, presenting some alarming situation for which I was not adequately prepared. Fucking nightmares. Damn it. It’s an ordinary enough morning off, and already I no longer remember the contents of my dreams, only the massive saturating feeling of disappointment and “I told you so” feeling of inevitability and suffering that characterized them. I didn’t really notice I had been avoiding being alone in the stillness this morning until the sky had begun to lighten outside the windows, and realized I’d kept the music fairly loud in my ears for some hours, coffee cold, every bookmarked article read, all the other tabs besides the “add new post” tab on my blog finally closed… It was hard, at that point, to overlook that I was stalling. How odd.

Over my second coffee, the world slowly emerges from the mist, and looking like an ordinary enough morning in every respect. Whatever startled me from my sleep, leaving me feeling vigilant and over-prepared, and vaguely “combat ready”, is nothing more substantial than the morning mist, itself. I feel my breathing deepen and my shoulders relax.

Another misty morning

Another misty morning

The holiday weekend, and the end of the winter holiday season, is right there at the end of the week on my calendar. Another year at an end. I’m unlikely to see my Traveling Partner; his celebrations are planned in a quite social way, where I tend to celebrate New Year’s as a more solitary contemplative event, as with most years. (I don’t mind that we celebrate in our own way; we are equally welcome with each other, should we choose to break from our own traditions to get together.)

Today is the day facing me, though. What’s to be done with that? Here I sit, sipping my coffee, a lovely misty morning unfolding… for leisure? For labor? For love? Maybe the end of this cup of coffee will come with answers… Today seems a good one to take a moment, embrace it, enjoy it, savor it, and move on to the next. I’ll think I’ll start there. It’s enough to be here, awake and aware, taking my journey moment by moment.

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Categories Anxiety, Brain Injury, Love, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, The Art of Being, War and News of War, winter
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