Archives for category: Anxiety

I had terrible nightmares last night…a panic and dread infused montage of hate and violence, crafted from ancient pain and damage to bring out my deepest fears and insecurities. I managed to wake with a smile in spite of that – thank you, Love. 🙂

The morning now is made of lattes and love songs. Dire Straits singing to me about the things that life teaches, the things that matter most, and the things that drive us.  It feels like a perfect morning, and such a relief after such a dread-filled night.  There’s something of a refuge and a homecoming for me in the early music of Dire Straits…I remember the first time I heard Sultans of Swing …I was still in high school, it was late, and I was in a bubble bath with my radio perched precariously on the window sill on a warm evening, trying to catch ‘good radio’ on the skip from Mexico, or California, or Texas. I was looking for Wolfman Jack. lol. Without preamble, the sweet soulful notes opening Sultans of Swing entirely changed my experience. I still find it to be … amazing. So… an entire paragraph for Dire Straits – it seems a pretty small ‘thank you’, really.

Today is gardening, and hanging out, and loving…and it is time for another latte. 😀

Love and roses; 'Irresistible' in the morning.

Love and roses; ‘Irresistible’ in the morning.

One of my favorite experiences is the simple delight of a leisurely morning, so much so that I wake each day fully 2 hours before I have to leave for work, with no agenda beyond having my morning coffee and some time for me, enjoyed on my own terms. That my partners do so many things, and make so many small choices, to ensure I have more of these mornings than not, is most certainly one of the most loving things I regularly enjoy.  This morning was one of those delightful leisurely mornings, although it was not in any fashion ‘routine’.

For one thing, I spent much of the morning in my rose garden, sipping my latte – which was a different flavor than what I generally favor first thing – and contemplating the work to come. My weekend begins on Friday. The roses need dead-heading, feeders need replenishing, there are some shrubs I plan to have removed that need to be marked, and I gently considered the fall pruning of trees and shrubs with an eye for future summers; the aesthetic result matters to me. I hardly noticed the drizzle that came and went, and it was well into an hour before I realized time had passed at all.

The blueberries are excellent this year!

The blueberries are excellent this year!

I still had time to enjoy a second coffee, and I enjoyed the robust hit to my taste buds of a favorite morning choice – a double shot of espresso, a little milk, and a hint of vanilla. Yum. I lingered over my espresso while I watched fish swim.  My anxiety about sick fish has mostly receded, and it seems I identified the issue quickly enough for early treatment to prevail.

A good day ahead of me, now, and a lovely morning behind me. I’m eager for the weekend…eager to be in the greenhouse…content to be 50, female, and in love. From this perspective, life feels pretty damned splendid.

...there are seedlings to plant...

…there are seedlings to plant…

…But life doesn’t wait for the weekend, and neither should a good time! Heading to the old-time-y candy shop down the road over lunch with my colleagues.

Enough sugar on hand to fuel a universe entirely populated by hummingbirds!

Enough sugar on hand to fuel a universe entirely populated by hummingbirds!

I woke in an excellent mood this morning, after a surprisingly good night’s sleep. I didn’t expect to sleep well, since I had crashed feeling rather anxious over one of life’s small challenges. I was pleased and surprised to wake in such a good, balanced, place. The loveliness of a calm leisurely morning is hard to describe; too often lately it feels like a luxury. I resent the fragility of exceptional mornings.

Joy meets anxiety; I have a sick fish in the new aquarium.

Joy meets anxiety; I have a sick fish in the new aquarium.

My mood is volatile this morning, and once the peace and serenity that I woke with faced its first challenge of the day, it dissipated like a mist as the morning sun rises on a summer morning. Mindfulness keeps things mostly in perspective, even now, but also has me attentive to the nature of my challenges today, observing them without judgement when I can, and digging myself out – metaphorically speaking – when I fail and discover I am judging myself quite harshly. I feel angry. I feel frustrated. I feel the pressure of unmet needs – and my resentment and outrage when I turn it all inward on myself. I don’t care to indulge in pointless wallowing in the details, or allowing reflection to become self-loathing, or rage. I can’t tell anymore, with any certainty, whether or not hormones are ‘an issue’… I’m so far beyond having a ‘regular cycle’ at this point it isn’t even worth guessing. (That, interestingly, is one more thing that keeps me focused on ‘now’ – when I let it – because I just can’t predict, or plan, for the hormones anymore. They just are, when they are.) My shitty mood is slowly becoming a migraine headache, as I fight the tears lurking just under the surface of my professional demeanor. Today is the sort of day when I feel as if my most fundamental needs as a being are entirely at odds with each other – mutually exclusive, and entirely unreasonable, and not at all likely to be met. Ever. Worse still, I’m pretty sure that if that is true – that it’s entirely my own choices that put me in that position…only…I don’t know…and I don’t know why…and I don’t know how to do what I suspect needs to be done about it…or something.

Simple pleasures offer some relief.

Simple pleasures offer some relief.

I’m able to understand that I have choices that can put me in a better place… working on that. Again and again, I nudge my Observer self back into the driver’s seat, and kick my Thinker self into the background. It helps, but I find myself having to make a firm consistent effort with it. There’s a feeling of internal resistance to it, which I don’t understand, but continue to experience. Still…practice…practice…practice… eventually something practiced enough begins to feel natural…right?

Some lovely things in my experience this morning, too. I so want to focus on those…

Seedlings in the greenhouse quickly becoming plants...

Seedlings in the greenhouse quickly becoming plants…

...the 'Irresistible' beauty of a miniature rose on a rainy morning...

…the ‘Irresistible’ beauty of a miniature rose on a rainy morning…

...the wonder of 'Ebb Tide' thriving in the most amazing way her very first year...

…the wonder of ‘Ebb Tide’ thriving in the most amazing way her very first year…

...the mystery of exotic flowers I didn't expect in my garden, and don't know the name of...

…the mystery of exotic flowers I didn’t expect in my garden, and don’t know the name of…

...quite dramatic up close, and a ready reminder of the variety of unexpected pleasures   in life.

…quite dramatic up close, and a ready reminder of the variety of unexpected pleasures in life.

So…maybe not completely awful, as days go. I vacillate between feeling I urgently need to address specific needs – take care of me more skillfully – and feeling as if I am ‘just being a big baby’ and ‘very high maintenance’. It’s just a Wednesday, maybe, and perhaps this is all a hormonal illusion… what is ‘real‘, anyway, beyond the loveliness of flowers, and the smell of a drizzly summer morning, and the certainty that love is, even when it is imperfect.

 

 

 

 

 

Actually, roses need no defense. They are thorny, lovely, fragrant, bear fruit that has nutritive value, and when selected with care, amazingly low maintenance – so what’s to defend? I’ve often found myself defending roses, though, from the standard variety of attacks: too much fuss, too few/many flowers, too much/little fragrance, prone to rambling/stunted, wrong color, wrong scent, wrong location. There is a theme there.  Do you see the thread of objections weaving through the tapestry of human experience? Too much effort, too little outcome, not quite this, not quite that – dissatisfying on some level, perhaps to costly; the same objections each of us offers to pretty nearly anything we choose to object to. ‘Too much’, and ‘not enough’, are the battle cries of discontent.

I’m learning a few things about discontent. (Call it ‘dissatisfaction’ if you’d like, I’m not sure I’ve identified a real difference, myself.) I am learning that expectations drive discontent when my experience doesn’t ‘measure up’ to the expectations I have allowed myself to indulge. I am also learning that I am sometimes quite mired in the experience of feeling discontented or dissatisfied before I realize that I’ve gotten there, and that being mindful of the developing feeling can be critical to preventing it from escalating and becoming an even less pleasant experience, such as despair, or sorrow, or disappointment. I am learning to embrace my will as a path to an outcome I’ll enjoy more, because willful action is often quite satisfying.

I am learning, and practicing, making clear specific requests to address clear specific needs. (Well, damn, that seems obvious!) I have a lot of opportunities to practice, and it’s definitely worthwhile – because I have a lot to learn.  It sounds easy, but I find that asking for action, or change, is met with a variety of reactions – based on the person receiving the request.

  • Some people tend toward the ‘helpful by nature’, and receive requests comfortably, good-naturedly, and without much argument. It is sometimes too easy to burden those sorts of people too much, because they are so accommodating about the demands life places on them to start with.
  • Some people already face their world and their experience with a lifetime of resentment, summed up, saved up,  and returned as a volley of objections to any request for action or change.
  • Some people don’t quite seem to be having the same conversation I am, and I find myself wondering what they are hearing once they have finished filtering and interpreting the words that struck their ear drums, and then wondering whether to try to straighten it all out, or just wander off in search of sense and understanding elsewhere.
  • Some people choose to be reserved, indirect, withdrawn, sullen, evasive, or ambiguous – rather than communicating at all.

I’d like to understand all that more clearly.  But, in lieu of understanding, I’m working on ‘cleaning up my own mess’.  Learning to communicate more clearly than feels safe, more accurately with fewer words, with more willingness to slow things down to gain clarity and understanding, and more good-natured frankness about my own limitations. So far so good. I’m also much more inclined to be firm about my own boundaries and needs. That one is much much harder. I dislike confrontation, and I enjoy harmony. Communicating harmoniously with people who relish conflict is incredibly difficult – because our goals in communication are not compatible.  A challenging puzzle.

…Huh…this went on longer than I intended, and as I rambled I found myself drowning in words, half-formed thoughts colliding with the miscellany trickling through my very active mind, snagging here and there on a moment of urgent meaning, and suddenly…pointlessness. So…I’ll just stop now. Unfinished. Incomplete. Human.

Here’s a picture of ‘Circus Clown’ (Moore, California, 1991). I’m sure there’s a metaphor here, somewhere…

Fragrant, thorny, robust, and lovely.

Fragrant, thorny, robust, and lovely.

The time is...now.

The time is…now.

I figured I’d share this bit with you. This particular moment feels wrapped in quiet. The house is dim. Only the light overhead remains, dimmed low for a notion of ambience at some other point in time. It is the last hour completing 50 years of life. I don’t have any particular reason to give for why this particular birthday feels so significant to me. Is it ‘where I am’ in my life? Is it the progress I am making…in life, in love, in work, in…damn, is there any facet of me that I’m not taking a hard look at these days? My experience is that I’m enjoying ‘my experience’ more, generally, and sleeping a lot better  – I feel pretty balanced most of the time, and even the hormonal ups and downs are no longer calling the shots.  It all seems so mundane in text.

How is it that it feels so significant to face this moment, this place, this…now? 50…in minutes. Oh, I know, I know – just as with ‘end time’ prophesies, or the Y2K scare, tomorrow will be tomorrow. A day. Each moment a new now. I will be who I am. My lovers will be who they are. Love and life will continue in whatever way they will, based on circumstances and choices.  I will be 50. So will a lot of other people. Hell, Johnny Depp is 50, or so I read a day or two ago. He seems timeless to me, but I guess someone, somewhere, is probably keeping track of that detail. lol. 50, though, how important is it really? It isn’t. Time is pretty arbitrary, I think. Doesn’t it matter more what we do with it, than that it is?

I had considered something long, and detailed, and nostalgic for this post. Today has been my last day before I am 50. I’ve had a certain sense that I am ‘closing out the first half’…but it’s entirely internal.  Based on events and conversations, it’s clear that this is not an experience everyone shares…or perhaps it is difficult to identify with [or care about! lol] from some other vantage point in time? I don’t think I’d have been able to connect with such a thing at 21. Maybe not even at 30. Will I care about 50 when I am 70? It seems unlikely. So…I took some time to be alone with this last hour…just me and…me. Well, and you. Thanks for sharing the moment with me. 🙂

‘Now’ has gotten to be a pretty big deal for me, lately. I’ve learned some things about my values, too, and who I am…and who I am becoming. 50 years is a lot of ‘past’. Some of it will likely live on, isolated within my memory, for as long as the wreckage in my head and in my heart lasts, but what then? Is success forgetting? Is healing really something within reach for me? Who am I when I am whole? What does the world look like through those glasses? Do nightmares really go away? Then what?

This is getting long, and without any particular point. I’ll be 50 tomorrow. That’s when the second half starts, and instead of spending a long while writing, perhaps weeping, and wading through a lifetime of emotions I have already felt, about events I have already experienced, I want to come back to now. This right here. Not quite 50, almost done with 49…timeless in a dark room, the quiet tap of my fingers on the keyboard, the hush of the air purifier, and the house sounds creating this quiet made of sounds that seems more dense and solitary than quiet is intended to be. Now. I will set this aside, finished (do we need more words between us now, in this stillness together?) and end the first half in thought, cradled in a very nice ‘now’ indeed, and eager to wake and celebrate how far I’ve come, and how worth it the journey is proving to be.

Tomorrow…well, it’ll be ‘now’, then, won’t it? lol

Blackberries - summer comes.

Blackberries – summer comes.