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Breathe

March 28, 2015 //
0

I am okay right now. Easy or hard doesn’t matter in this moment.

It's a journey.

It’s a journey.

I’ve spent the day on my own. It’s not what I needed for myself, but my needs are not the only needs worthy of consideration. It’s not as if I don’t want more time for my own agenda, and I took the day as an opportunity, convenient to enjoying some things that aren’t always so easy to fit into the day-to-day routine. I traveled across town to a favorite shop, and contemplated other fish, other aquariums, and made pleasant conversation with the people there.

A quiet place to sit, in the back, becomes another moment of stillness and contemplation.

A quiet place to sit, in the back, becomes another moment of stillness and contemplation.

I walked the 4 miles from the shop, across the river, across the downtown area, and enjoyed the sites along the way. “Walking it off” is another good practice for me; the longer and farther I walk, the calmer and more regular my breathing becomes, and I gain perspective, and my thinking shifts toward increased compassion, empathy, even – sometimes – real wisdom. That’s a lovely feeling.

Open eyes, open mind, and engaged in simple presence in the moment, a worthy choice any day.

Open eyes, open mind, and engaged in simple presence in the moment, a worthy choice any day.

Sitting quietly, just breathing, I spent much of the afternoon and evening meditating. I have a lovely view for the purpose; my aquarium sits in front of my favorite place to sit while I meditate. Is it the aquarium itself that makes the location so pleasant? It could be that, it could be that this is the place I associate with calm, and safety, and stillness just generally, in my every day life. It’s been a good day for stillness. In truth, in every practical respect it has simply been a good day. Emotions foul the waters of calm perspective and loving joy, now and then, a harsh reality of shared living among other humans. We are each having our own experience, and quite rightly the experience we are each having, ourselves, is the one upon which we are most focused, and the one of which we are most aware. Our own pain hurts worse than any other. That can really mess with a good connection.

Emotion and reason; it's a complicated balance.

Emotion and reason; it’s a complicated balance.

There’s always love, though, and words about love, and the inspiration that words about love can provide…and the soul-healing reminder that love is.

I meditate, and meditate more. I don’t worry that it isn’t ‘fancy’ or that it isn’t following some specific guided meditation of some sort; I am awake, aware, and breathing. I am here. Now. I am okay.

They live, each moment what it is, safe in their private world.

They live, each moment what it is, safe in their private world.

I breathe, and become still and calm. Fish swim.

I often wonder at the content of their consciousness; they are aware of me.

I often wonder at the content of their consciousness; they are aware of me.

I breathe, and let the stillness fill me, and wrap me in contentment. Life doesn’t have any requirement to be more perfect than it is. There is value in ‘learning to swim’ the powerful tides of heartfelt emotion, and to float on the currents of change, buoyant even in stormy weather.

What I see has so much to do with what I look for.

What I see has so much to do with what I look for.

It’s a still and quiet evening, and rather different than I had expected it might be, from the vantage point of days before; hanging on to expectations creates discontent and struggle, where none need be. I breathe. I let it go. If ‘enough’ truly is enough, then this moment is complete, just as it is. I am safe. It is a quiet still moment. I live. I love. I am loved in return.

I need space, too, and time for stillness.

I need space, too, and time for stillness.

I am okay right now. It’s enough.

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Categories Anxiety, art and the artist, Brain Injury, Free Will, Logic & Reason, Love, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, The Big 5, Uncategorized, Words

Saying Thank You

March 28, 2015 //
2

Some of my most colossal fails are the result of choices that looked good in the moment. I bet we all have that experience, actually. It seems human enough to make a decision on what I know in the moment, with good intentions, and find that because I did not know enough, or lacked certain very specific information, in practice the choice was poor. (This is about one of those, sort of, but only to get to the part where I say ‘thank you’ to someone dear who chose to support and care for me through the resulting crisis, at great personal expense emotionally.)

"You Always Have My Heart" 8" x 10" acrylic on canvas with glow.

“You Always Have My Heart” 8″ x 10″ acrylic on canvas with glow.

We’d been expecting a house guest for some days, and I was more than ordinarily tense about the visit for a number of small reasons, most of which can be bucketed under ‘words – use them!’ Wednesday, I noticed that the office had stocked new varieties and brands of herb tea – I like a hot cup of something at my desk while I work, but can’t drink coffee for 8 hours continuously without serious consequences (obviously), herb tea is the answer for me – and usually after my morning coffee I switch over to chamomile. Gentle, calming, ancient and reliable chamomile tea is something I enjoy. I find the fragrance and taste both pleasant, it is mildly calming, and doesn’t seem to have other effects that I’ve ever noticed. On Wednesday the colorful sachets of new varieties from another manufacturer caught my eye, as did the word ‘calming’, although the tea was not chamomile… It smelled quite nice. It tasted good, too. Wednesday I had two cups of it.

Wednesday night I had very weird dreams, some unusual nightmares, difficult falling asleep in the first place…and woke Thursday with just about the worst headache I’ve had in months, in an unusual place in my head [for me]. I passed it off as ‘morning’ and went on with my day.

Thursday was weirdly challenging…I felt moody and ‘different’ in ways so subtle I could barely detect the differences; they were more of a change in emotional filter than a physical sensation. All day I struggled with feeling stressed, concerned, uneasy, insecure, suspicious – and my heart was pounding, which I noticed but passed it off as ‘stress’. After my morning coffee I switched to the tasty new tea. I was still having a decent day at that point, just feeling… strained. As the day went on, I drank more tea – about 5 cups – and wound up a seriously volatile, angry, defensive, trembling, on/off rage monster. I had enormous difficulty sleeping that night, and the nightmares were… well, I’d give up sleep forever if I had to count on those being a regular quality of sleep, they were that bad.

This pattern repeated on Friday – and my level of hysteria, expressed symptoms, emotionality and panic were finally so serious I had to reach out for professional support from my work environment, because I was pretty sure ‘everything’ was in ruin, and I was actually beginning to feel suicidal.  When the tea change turned up in the conversation, the conversation changed, too. I’d poisoned myself with a common enough herbal tea that affects most people quite differently. This post is not really about that – I’m just setting the stage, but before I move on to my real point, I will call out the huge self-care fail – another rookie mistake [for me]; I didn’t do my homework on the new herbal tea, check all the ingredients with great care, research their characteristics and qualities and the science and drug interactions. I could have. I know to do that. I did not. That’s a fail. As a result, and in my best interests, I’m now on a very restricted list of what sorts of beverages I can have, and like a well-behaved child I will do as I’m told. No resentment here; I demonstrated conclusively that I am capable of putting my life at risk unknowingly over a tea bag and some carelessness. For now it’ll have to be rules instead of choices on this one.

And now we get to what this post is about; saying thank you. It’s not easy to be an adult with self-care limitations, post traumatic stress, a disinhibiting brain injury, and a lifetime of poorly chosen but overly-well-developed coping skills that don’t cope with now, or meet needs over time. It has some seriously suck moments, actually. I’ll take it further; it’s likely that without the help and support I’ve gotten over the years from friends, loved ones, family, partners, strangers, doctors, well-meaning passers-by – at some point, my limitations would have taken me out of the game, one way or another. This, in general, is a morning to be thankful how interconnected we all our, and to appreciate that in the darkest times, there is often something to hang on to, or to reach for. In the blackest moments, there are kind words from strangers, hugs from friends, the sympathy and care of family, to keep me going.

My traveling partner bears an unhealthy portion of the burden of ensuring I’d don’t walk off the edge of the map by mistake somehow. I don’t actually know how he manages it; he is a super hero to me. In spite of being hurt, angry, and inconvenienced by my drama and bullshit – which is what it looked like in the moment, I promise you – he kept stepping up his support, and dialing down his own stress, managing his own emotions, reminding himself that his brain-injured partner “isn’t always quite right” and staying mindful of the science of both TBI and PTSD symptoms and behaviors. He kept talking me down. He repeatedly walked me through breathing exercises – remotely, while I was at work, helping me hang on – neither of us knowing until Friday afternoon that I was having a medical crisis, more than an emotional one. Emotions are hard – they rock our world in a tremendously powerful way – and this man, this human being, this other person than me, just kept comforting and caring for me, while his own hurt and damage piled up. Fuck. That’s… intense. That’s the super hero stuff of love.

When I got home, he helped me sort myself out, and listened to the information the doctor has asked to have passed on. He made sure I took care of myself further; reminding me to drink water, to take routine medications, encouraging me to rest, and check my blood pressure regularly. By evening I was in a different place, and able to enjoy a quiet family dinner – my super hero traveling partner had so skillfully supported me that our guest was largely unaffected by the circumstances. I was even able to have a fairly healing moment with each member of the household, for heart-felt apologies, and moments of connection; none of that would have been likely without the support of my traveling partner, and his nurturing, healing presence.

So… yeah. I’m saying thank you. I’m sharing how important his support is to me. Living with me, and the issues I’ve currently got, and the process of healing and improving, is difficult on a level I can’t even imagine – I’m having a different experience. It is so easy for me to lose sight of something simple and real; however hard this is on me, it’s hard on people who love me, and likely on the same order of magnitude. Thank you is important. Reciprocal support is important – and valued. I will spend a lifetime practicing the practices that give me the tools to return the favor when he most needs it. How could I choose to do anything less?

Today is a good day to say thank you to the people who treat us well, support us most – and most often – and to appreciate the toll our pain takes on others. Today is a good day to practice good self-care – and to practice saying thank you, because I’m still here to keep practicing.

Thank you, Love "Contemplation" 12" x 16" acrylic and iron oxide. August 2011

Thank you, Love
“Contemplation” 12″ x 16″ acrylic and iron oxide. August 2011

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Categories Anxiety, art and the artist, Brain Injury, Free Will, Healthy Living, Love, Mindfulness, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, Sleepless Nights

Some Days the Nightmares Win

March 27, 2015 //
1

Disclaimer: This post is about emotions. I sometimes work through them more easily with words, in text, that I can see reflecting the experience back at me. It is a way of getting perspective. This post, though, may be a downer – I say that before I even write it, because I am having my own experience, and I feel what I feel in this moment. I am so very human. So…do yourself a huge favor, take a moment for ‘informed consent’; if you are in a place emotionally where someone else’s pain and struggling may wound you, throw off a good vibe you are enjoying, or change your experience for the worse, I recommend skipping this one. Hey, if nothing else, the writing is likely to be of poor quality, and angst-y, and rife with spelling errors and weird grammar fails – who needs that on a Friday morning? I’ll understand, I promise.

Still here? Okay…

Some other morning, a coffee.

Some other morning, a coffee.

I woke crying this morning. I fell asleep crying last night. In between, I found myself ambushed by Demons in The Nightmare City. This is not an emotional space I want to occupy. I am frustrated by my lack of resilience, my lack of emotional regulation, and my lack of perspective. I feel sad. I feel angry. I feel resentful and let down. I feel. Yeah. I definitely feel. I feel mistreated, and mislead. I feel set up and I feel sabotaged. I feel hurt.

“That’s a whole lot of feelings there, lady, what gives?” I’m a human primate. I am an emotional being more than a rational one – it’s a balance. Today it isn’t balancing as well as I’d like. Stress kicks my ass, being hurt kicks my ass, abrupt change kicks my ass – and it takes me a little time to recover, even with some support. Emotions are not criminal actions. Assaulting people with them is, I hear, avoidable. That sounds like fine thing to me, and I turned the little sign on my door this morning to ‘do not disturb’, meditated a while, had a shower, meditated some more… I still don’t want to be as disturbed as I feel, right now. The sign didn’t do much to help with the feelings, but by design it may prevent anyone else from walking through the mess I woke to, within, this morning.

Meditation, mindfulness practices, good basic self-care are all going a long way to improve my experience of me, very nicely. I feel a momentary hurt, recalling with sadness how quickly encouragement turned to criticism, a few months after I began this journey. I was taking a moment to feel proud of my progress, and I was feeling pretty impressed with new tools and practices being effective at helping me on a level nothing else ever had… I got called ‘smug’. I was incredibly hurt. Admittedly, I had been foolishly trying to explain or share the experience with someone else… maybe they hadn’t asked? (I suck at that – put a person in front of me and I will probably just start talking. Are you aware that your executive function manages that for you?) It hurt, nonetheless, and since then I am self-conscious about feeling encouraged by progress, and reluctant to share positive feelings about it in conversations. (Sticks and stones? Fuck right off; words matter.)

I feel confused. “Emptied out”. I feel overburdened by unmet emotional needs piling up over time. I feel like I am not making the progress I could be, right now. It’ll be okay, I think – I hold on to that tightly. I’ve got the hotline number in my pocket, just in case it gets too hard.  I lost a beautiful niece to suicide this year, and I see how it hurts my cousin every day she is without her daughter; I won’t put my traveling partner through that, and I can take the steps to avoid it. Despair is a motherfucker – it is part of our human experience.

...and another...

…and another…

I can’t be certain that the intensity of my emotions this morning reflects something ‘real’ or necessary; they are only emotions. For all I know, this is a 100% bio-chemical experience with no grounding in events or experience. Does that matter in the moment? Well, sure. It matters the way anything true ‘matters’. One true thing is that my emotions are this intense, and unpredictably so. Another true thing is that my emotions, and lack of top-down control, are incredibly uncomfortable for some people to live with. (I don’t get a choice, myself; this is my experience and I live it.) Unfortunately, in a live and unscripted real-life environment, I also don’t get much compassion specific to the ‘invisible’ issues associated with my TBI or PTSD. I rarely fight for it; if it isn’t there to be offered, begging for it, pleading for it or wishing it were there will not make it appear. Compassion can be taught – but that phenomenon also requires an active learner. Change is, but forcing it on someone isn’t appropriate – and generally isn’t effective.

My traveling partner encourages and supports me – he frankly provides a level of emotional support that I can only describe as ‘super human’ – but the environment in the household, generally, is unhealthy for me. I feel aggravated and moody about looking for a place of my own, because I’d honestly prefer to continue living with my traveling partner – he’s wonderful to live with [for me]. I am painfully aware, though, that living with me can be hard on him. Right now so much of what I am working through touches on sexuality, gender, individual identity, boundary setting/management, and relationships with others that it’s harder to treat each other gently in moments when we need it most from each other. So…yeah. I need to be on my own a while – not a break up, not even a separation, just a different living arrangement. It still sucks to hurt over it. I hope by day’s end I am embracing it in good spirits.

I leave other household members out of this, generally; I am writing about my own experience and the other people in it are entitled to be free of public scrutiny of their values and choices filtered through my chaos and damage. But…I am not willing to continue to over-compromise my needs, or undercut my values to keep peace, and the time I spend in the arms of my loves is too precious to taint it with OPD, or games. As a population of individuals, we don’t want or need the same things, and at 52 I have no time to waste on fighting to get the most basic emotional needs met; we are not all equally committed to that endeavor. I don’t yet have the emotional resilience to hold enough in reserve to continue to take care of me when common place bullshit goes sideways, and often find myself without any emotional reserves left to care for me, myself, by the time I have a moment to do so. I feel positive about the choice to get my own place…and for the moment, sad that it is necessary at all.

You know what I don’t feel? I don’t feel guilt or shame over the choice to move out, it needs to happen; I don’t thrive in an environment in which my emotional quality of life is poor. Hell, right now in this moment… I’m okay. (Thanks, Dearheart!) My tears have dried. I’m not feeling social, but I’m not enthralled by Demons in The Nightmare City.  (If I knew that I would have the kind of nightmares that I had last night, in nights to come, I’d never sleep again.) I don’t have the headache that followed me around all day yesterday, which is a huge improvement.  My coffee tastes good – I feel a pang of sadness sweep over me when I realize I won’t have an espresso machine in my kitchen for some time to come after I move; it will be a frugal lifestyle, focused on painting, meditation, and love. Wow. Suddenly that sounds fucking amazing – and all over again I wonder why this hurts at all. I enjoy solitude. I dislike drama. I have musical and culinary tastes that are not shared in the household at large… and I miss a good French press in the morning; it’s a lovely ritual to prepare coffee that way, time it carefully, enjoy the outcome at leisure… I miss living a gentle life. (The most humorous thing about that is how little time I have ever spent living that kind of exceptional quality of life – across years and relationships, I can’t really pin down more than a total of about 18 months that qualify as ‘gentle living’ in 52 years!

I’ve already found my way to a better place. It’s nice. No rushing, either; I’ve made changes to my schedule, effective this week, intended to dial down some of the fatigue-related stress, and don’t have to rush off so soon on Friday mornings. Have you actually read this far? Are you okay? Thank you for being interested, curious, or concerned enough to come all this way with me – whether just this morning, or over these past couple years. I appreciate it. You help me feel heard.

Yeah. Some days, the nightmares win. Today they didn’t. 🙂

Because love matters more. "Emotion and Reason" 24″ x 36″ acrylic on canvas w/ceramic details and glow 2012

Because love matters more.
“Emotion and Reason” 24″ x 36″ acrylic on canvas w/ceramic details and glow 2012

Today is a good day to put down some baggage. Today is a good day to practice good self-care. Today is a good day for self-compassion – first, not last. Today is a good day to enjoy this amazing woman I am becoming without competition, dread, or games. Today is a good day to treat others well, and understand that they are walking their own path; their story, and experience, are not mine to endure, to manage, or to criticize – and participation is a choice.

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Categories Anxiety, art and the artist, Brain Injury, Free Will, grief, Healthy Living, Logic & Reason, Love, Metaphors, Mindfulness, more than a little bit of bitching, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Rape, Relationships, Sleepless Nights, Spring, The Big 5, women, Words

And Then There’s Love

March 25, 2015 //
0

Seriously, love is a thing. I didn’t always think so, and now that I do, well… it isn’t always a perfect Barbie Dream World experience, at all, and requires substantially more actual effort than I understood when I only dreamed of love. I’m speaking specifically of romantic sexual love – Eros. Nothing feels quite as ridiculously amazing as being loved, loved well, and adored romantically by an attentive affectionate lover with shared values, good communication skills, and the will to put reciprocal effort and time into the art of love.

Sometimes this is the face of love.

Sometimes this is the face of love.

Now, I’m no expert on love, frankly – I may well make more mistakes in this area than is commonplace – but I have been a devoted student for some time, and I’ve learned one or two things I am happy to share:

1. We are each having our own experience, which may feel very shared in a given moment, but are quite distinctly separate; however much in love, we are individuals.

2. Good treatment begins with treating myself well, by setting explicit boundaries, knowing my limits, communicating clearly and simply and remaining aware of the fundamental humanity of all involved – mistakes will be made, feelings will be hurt, boundaries may be trampled, and promises may be broken. At the end of the day, love is, and people are capable of change and growth.

3.  It’s not truly possible to force change on love; people change with their choices, their circumstances, and by way of their will. See items 1 and 2. If you are finding that love ‘needs’ a lot of change… that may not be love.

4. Criticism is a poor way of expressing a request, but commonplace; taking criticism personally generally prevents hearing the request, and failing to set boundaries about being criticized in lieu of being asked for an action or a change undermines love over time. Use your words wisely; love is listening.

5. Love really enjoys encouragement, kind words, emotional openness that also respects boundaries, consent, gentle frankness, laughter, and touch. Love enjoys being heard.

6. Love is undermined when we take it for granted, treat it as an entitlement or guarantee, speak harshly, violate boundaries, demean or diminish with our words or actions, speak with derision or contempt, disrespect it, or fail to treat it with consideration and importance, or… hey wait – honestly, if you’re doing these things, how is that love at all? Seriously. If you are treating another human being this way, maybe stop calling that love.

7. Emotions are very nuanced, and people have a very personalized experience of their experience (see item 1); making assumptions about someone else’s feelings or understanding of circumstances is a first-rate way to improve one’s rate of learning – the number of times you’ll be wrong will definitely result in plentiful opportunities to learn a lot – but it is a poor way to treat love.

8. Expectations are not ‘real’, and they don’t count as ‘plans’; mismatched expectations are a poor fit for love. Fortunately, this is an easy win with explicit, clear communication – as with assumptions, we can simply choose not to take this path. Trust me that building ‘love’ on expectations and assumptions is like trying to walk the average cat on a leash.

9. However challenging, getting love right is… beyond words, really, which is likely why so very many people write so very many words on the qualities of love; it’s worth communicating, and damned difficult. It’s worth the effort to invest in love every day – and that doesn’t require a partner! We invest in love when we are not in a relationship, too, with good self-care, enjoying what matters most to us as people, taking our own heart for a joy ride, solo, and savoring the small joys of life – when we do, love finds us so much more easily, than when we slog through our experience tragically grieving the lack of love.

10. Calling it love doesn’t change what it is.

...with what matters most. "You Always Have My Heart" 8" x 10" acrylic on canvas with glow.

…with what matters most.
“You Always Have My Heart” 8″ x 10″ acrylic on canvas with glow.

Today is a good day to love.

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Categories art and the artist, Brain Injury, Free Will, Healthy Living, Love, Mindfulness, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, Spring, The Big 5, Words

Quality and Quantity

March 15, 2015 //
2

I’ve got my dark moments, and certainly I have occasional doubts that ‘it’ is ‘worth it’ at all; it is the struggle that still fuels so much of my writing. Emotions can be intense, unexpected, and they cover a grand spectrum of human experience, so having a few that are unpleasant seems a given. While those things are what they are, I appreciate life, generally, and actually hope to live a very long time; I’ve often said I’d like to be around for 2083…I’d be 120. That’s a lot of living. Years and years of living in fact, surely qualifying as ‘a long time’. It seems doable, given ideal conditions; the oldest person living today is getting pretty close to that 120 mark, herself, and reportedly people have lived longer. As goals go, it’s hard to beat ‘live a long time’.

With potentially another 70 or so years to go, it changes the face of my perspective on living…I spent about a decade as a child, and another 10 years honing my skills to be recognizably adult (although lacking in life experience)…finally reaching 21, which wasn’t of particular value or legitimate significance; I was already a soldier, already unhappily married, already able to drink, already owned a car and a house, already voting – and still just as likely to be discouraged from using, or prohibited from having, the decision-making power of autonomy over reproduction and sexual values – because that’s how women are often treated, regardless of age, but most especially as young adult women. I spent my 20s rather wastefully racking up experiences of a variety of sorts without any particular reflection or personal growth. I took a lot of damage. I inflicted some of it on myself.

"Broken" 14" x 18" acrylic and mixed media with glow.

“Broken” 14″ x 18″ acrylic and mixed media with glow.

I entered my 30s exiting a violent marriage, without much to show for it besides a small number of very special possessions I would cling to with great care for decades to come, only to see some of the most precious of those rare positive mementos lost to the destructive force, or disregard, of others farther along on life’s journey. (Attachment is a losing game.)

I fell in love for the first time in my 30s, and although I recognized the experience as being significant, it didn’t last. It likely wouldn’t have lasted even if I had had the skills to nurture it at the time, it was built on a shaky foundation.

Time passes. I’ve grown. Changed. Built on what seems to be working. Torn down a lot of what wasn’t working at all. I’m in a very different place than I once was…and still the journey continues.  I have a lot less to show for 52 years than many people do (and more than others). I don’t own a home of my own. I don’t own a car of my own. I am not prepared for retirement in any adequate fashion. 100% of everything I own at this point in my life will fit in a modest sized bedroom – what isn’t furniture fits in a closet, if the art is hanging on the walls. Most of my possessions are paintings, or books, and a few boxes of precious crystal and porcelain breakables that are for now put away for safety. It hasn’t always been this way, and when I am not mindful of the risk of ‘second dart suffering’ related to attachment and loss, contemplating the losses over time carries quite an emotional punch. My brain is willing to attack me on this tender spot; I have sometimes chosen poorly, and I am living the outcome of those choices.

I am walking my own path; sometimes it seems clear, sometimes less so.

I am walking my own path; sometimes it seems clear, sometimes less so.

I am not where I want to be in life. On the other hand… I’ve got 70 years or so to get there, and I’m in a better place from which to move forward. 70 years to understand what matters most to me. 70 years to be fitter, wiser, healthier, calmer. 70 years to learn to love more skillfully, and to invest in growth. 70 years to make better choices. 70 years to build, to grow, to change… 70 years to practice. The saying is ‘practice makes perfect’ – what am I perfecting? What do I want of my life? This is not a question anyone can answer for me, and it has been a grave mistake in judgment in past moments of ennui, hurt, or chaos, to abdicate my role, or to compromise, in making the choices about what that desired life looks like for me.

Building the path as I walk it.

Building the path as I walk it; how else? No one knows my journey like I do…

I’m feeling some better this morning, though I slept badly. I’ll nap later, perhaps. I’ll spend the day doing laundry, preparing for my camping trip – if I go, the ‘last minute’ preparations [for me] happen today. If I find I am too sick to go, I will have spent a chill fun day playing with my camping gear – I don’t see that it is really any different from if I were a kid playing with any other sort of toys, housebound with a head cold on a rainy day. 🙂  I am hopeful that I’ll still be going camping – it’s the Vernal Equinox, missing out is kind of … well… missing out; there’s only one each year. This camping trip is a bit more than a weekend; 4 nights, 4 days, and a chance to meditate at length and at leisure, and to consider what I want of my life. (The future is here, and it’s always a good time to choose more wisely about the future than I did in the past.)

More questions than answers, and seeking illumination with a beginner's mind...

More questions than answers, and seeking illumination with a beginner’s mind…

This is the basic question I will be considering on this trip – in case you want to take it for a test drive, yourself: – If I could know with certainty that I will be living another 70 years, am I content with the life I am living right now? If not, what will I change to live the life I most want to live? What qualities of my day-to-day experience are precious to me? What do I change to experience more of those things? Yep. Fundamentally it the same question I have been asking throughout 2015; what do I want of my life? It is one question that simply isn’t ever about anyone but me. Life isn’t a bus ride, it’s more like a solo hike. The will, the direction, the motive power, and the resources over time, are mine. The choices? Also mine. I enjoy sharing my life with love and lovers…this, though, is my journey; I am the cartographer, the map is of my own making, the destination, too, must be of my choosing, sharing some portion of the journey does not change that.

The map is not the world...but the journey may be the destination.

The map is not the world…but the journey may be the destination.

Today is a very good day to live my life on my own terms. Isn’t it always? Today is a good day to treat the world well, while finding my own way. Today is a good day for good-natured acceptance of the humanity of others, and to be content that their decision-making is likely to differ from my own. Today is a good day for good self-care, and healthy indulgence of things that feel good – and do no harm to others. Today is a good day to be the person I most want to be – when I can – and to dust off my knees when I stumble, and keep going. Today is a good day to choose my own path, and to walk it. Today is a good day to change my world.

Is enlightenment found in embracing contentment in this precious moment?

Seeking illumination, I am content to find lightness of being.

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Categories art and the artist, Brain Injury, Free Will, grief, Healthy Living, Logic & Reason, Love, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, solo hiking, Spring, The Big 5, Uncategorized, women, Words
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