I’m thinking about a distant friend dealing with a difficult time. We all have them, at some point, don’t we? It’s very human. I sip my coffee and wonder what I could say to offer some measure of hope, or something constructive that might help, but more than likely he just wants to be heard – don’t we all?
When it feels like it’s all stairs, it’s nice to have someone sharing the journey.
Some of our most human challenges are a bit like quicksand. We stumble into them unexpectedly, whether we know to watch for them or not, and there we are – struggling in it. The more we struggle, the more the quicksand sucks us down into the pit, without anything firm to stand on. Scary. Struggling isn’t helpful; we may lose any chance of regaining our footing and be sucked in completely, beyond reach of help. Lost.
Quicksand is strange stuff. In practice, it’s unlikely that quicksand will actually pull a human being entirely down, fully encompassing them and smothering them to death (or drowning them). If someone trapped in quicksand stays calm, relaxed, and spreads their weight out (say, by laying back on it and “floating”), they are likely to be able to free themselves. (Definitely, with some help.) There’s the trick to it; it seems ever so much scarier than it has to be, and it is the fear, the panic, and the struggle itself that creates most of the hardship.
…True in our emotional lives, as well as in quicksand, eh?…
Perspective matters.
“Emotion and Reason” acrylic on canvas w/ceramic and glow 2012
I breathe, exhale, and relax, and think about moments in life in which my own panic or dread has created trauma and challenges far beyond whatever the circumstances themselves may have done. It’s a very human thing. Emotion operates by different rules than reason, and it’s often helpful to endeavor to stay calm, and to “spread things out” a bit, to put less weight on the moment, and maybe even ask for some help. I personally find a consistent meditation practice, and some time to myself each day for self-reflection to be useful practices for maintaining my perspective and “emotional equilibrium” in order to “avoid the quicksand” in life (and love). That’s what works for me. We’re each having our own experience, but if struggling isn’t working out for you, maybe try a different practice?
“Emotion and Reason” lit differently – how we view emotions, and how we use reason, make a difference.
I sit with my coffee and my thoughts a little while longer, watching daybreak arrive. Soon enough it’ll be time to begin again. No doubt my results will vary, and it’s true this journey has no map, but I’m in good company (we’re all in this together), and I am my own cartographer on this journey. I’m okay with that; the journey is the destination.
I’m sipping my coffee in the quiet of the office before dawn on a Monday morning, listening to a favorite jazz singer crooning softly in my ears. I find myself reflecting on the last time I listened to this particular woman’s voice, before “rediscovering her” recently, searching for a particular song to share with a friend going through some things. I lived a very different life at that time. Most of the music I listened to then was jazz. That realization got me thinking about the many different “versions of me” I have lived over a lifetime, through the lens of the music I listened to.
Using music to differentiate from one version of myself to another, I can see myself change over time, through career changes, addresses, partnerships, personal philosophy and points of view, economic circumstances, the books I read, the language I used, the way I painted, and even preferences in how I dressed, and who I hung out with. Change is. I’ve grown over a lifetime of choices, opportunities, and circumstances. Some of my changes have been inflicted upon me, some were choices. In some sense, I have been many women.
“Lichen II” watercolor on paper, 8″ x 10″ 1984 (painted while listening to jazz)
That woman who listened mostly to jazz lived with domestic violence, which she carefully hid from the view of colleagues. She had few friends. She was physically beautiful – as beautiful as she would ever be, but her mind was a mess. Her values and philosophy in life reflected the strained jigsaw puzzle of thinking errors and mental gymnastics needed to rationalize her experience. She lived a strange sleepless life, traumatized and anxious, and always vigilant. Music – particularly jazz – was always “a safe topic” at home. An acceptable shared pleasure. Her home was compulsively meticulously neat, always. It had to be. She was young – in her 20s – and a soldier on active duty. Respected at work, mistreated and tormented at home, she kept people at a distance, except those occasions when she “let it all go” and hit the club looking for a moment of affection in a stranger’s embrace, when circumstances permitted. It was a life of confusion, and as her mental health eroded, her substantial collection of jazz CDs increased. I listen to that music now with mixed emotions, when I listen to it at all. I find beauty in the music, and distress in the memories. I am a lifetime away from that young woman, and a very different person. I make different choices. I think different thoughts. I believe different things and understand the world differently.
I chose change many times before I ever put myself on this path. Searching for something different, and finding differences, but not wellness, contentment, or joy. For a long time I blindly chased “happiness”, finding mostly misery.
“Communion” acrylic on canvas w/ceramic details, 24″ x 36″, 2011 (painted listening to a mix of EDM tracks)
I’d found myself mired in futility long before I met my Traveling Partner. His friendship pulled me back from the brink of despair more than once, before we were ever lovers. His love was literally “life changing” – because it changed my thinking, and my choices. I’ve come so far! I smile to myself, and change the music. I’ve “changed the music” many times in this one mortal lifetime (it’s a metaphor). I’m grateful to have had that opportunity. I smile and listen to wise words in a favorite song. We can choose change. Sometimes change is forced upon us. Change is. I’m grateful for this enduring love (and partnership) along the journey.
“Siletz Bay Pink Sunrise II” pastel on pastelbord, 7″ x 9″, 2024 (painted listening to love songs)
…The journey is the destination. There is no map. If you stray from your path, begin again.
12 years ago I started this blog. It was a difficult time in my life, in spite of having a lot of the ingredients available for contentment, emotional security, and joy. I was deeply unhappy, and mentally unwell. I was teetering on the edge of making very final, very poor decision about my life that I wouldn’t have been able to revoke. Things felt incredibly bleak and I was “trapped in the mire“. When I considered starting this blog, I didn’t have a clear idea of what I was seeking from it and I could not see my path ahead. I was wandering in darkness, metaphorically.
Sometimes our path is illuminated. Sometimes we walk our mile in darkness.
I sought encouragement from one of my partners at the time, asking her thoughts regarding beginning a blog. I had kept a pen & ink journal for many decades, I just wasn’t certain I had something to say that was worth “sharing with the world”. She had a blog, and I hoped that she would have words of encouragement and maybe some insights. No, she did not have that. Instead, I received a valuable lesson regarding the likelihood that any given person has any interests but their own in mind, and a reminder that regardless of the relationship, however close I may think someone is, there’s a real chance that they do not have my needs and interests in mind at all. She smirked at me with a certain smugness, and told me rather dismissively that it probably wasn’t worth it for me to write a blog, and that chances were that no one would ever read it anyway, and I probably wouldn’t be able to “keep it up” more than a couple days. I was… hurt. I felt “invisible” and misunderstood. I felt exactly what she intended; dismissed and diminished. Then the anger – did she even know me? (She did not.) It was a lesson worth learning, and although I am fortunate to be so well-loved by my Traveling Partner in my current relationship, I have also learned to take care of myself, and to be the one meeting my emotional needs, first and reliably, as much as I know how to do.
Wherever it leads, the path we choose in life isn’t going to walk itself.
That first blog post was barely a beginning – but it was a beginning. Since then, I’ve had so many beginnings, and so many words of encouragement from so many people dear to me. I’ve shared my voice: my thoughts, my fears, my ideas, my astonishment, my affection, and my anger – and so many emotions and experiences on this path. I’ve practiced practices, and shared those here. I’ve failed and started over, and shared that too. Once a year, I am reminded of her dismissive words so long ago, and I smile and sip my coffee; she definitely didn’t know me. lol (As it turned out, I didn’t know her either, but I soon learned all I needed to know.)
Where does this path lead?
Since I wrote that first post, I’ve written 3111 3112 blog posts, with an average of 163k words each year (about 750 words each time I post, sometimes more, sometimes less), posting an average of 258 days per year. Consistency has worked for me. I’ve found my way into the inboxes of a couple hundred long-time subscribers (thank you), and turned up in more than 5 thousand searches and every search engine I’d ever heard of, and a few that were new to me. More than 34k people in 123 different countries have found their way here (I’m not surprised that most of my readers are in the United States, Canada, and the UK). I’m not “famous” (and not seeking fame), and I wouldn’t consider this blog wildly popular, but I’m definitely glad I started writing here – and grateful that you’re reading. I hope my musings have been helpful in some way, and if not helpful, I hope you’ve at least been entertained for some little while. Thank you for reading.
I’ve still got to walk my own path.
I’ll also say this; you have value. You have something to say in the world, something to contribute. Don’t let someone else’s opinion hold you back. If you’re inspired to write, or sing, or dance, or sculpt, or film, or share who you are with the world in some way, begin! If it doesn’t work out easily – begin again! We become what we practice. What you have to say matters – maybe a lot. We all want to be heard. It’s easy to become discouraged when someone whose opinion matters to us doesn’t support our enthusiasm when we expect it – don’t let that hold you back. We’re each having our own experience, and they have reasons of their own for not giving you the support you want and need, and those may have nothing to do with you at all. Let that shit go. Walk your own path. Find the traveling companions on life’s journey who are actually “going your way” for a while, and walk with them. Sometimes the journey is difficult, but that doesn’t make it less worthy.
Each step along this path has been worthy in it’s own distinct way, although I don’t always see it at the time I take the step.
It’s been 12 years since I began this blog. It’s been worthwhile to write each day that I did so. It’s been helpful more than once to look back on my own thoughts and words, myself, and seek my own council from the woman in the mirror. It’s buoyed my spirits when I felt low to read your comments, and know that I am “being heard”, and to feel that something I’ve said may have helped light the path for some other traveler.
The path isn’t always easy, but it’s mine, and I’ll continue to walk it. It’s time to begin again. Again.
I’m not even joking, this morning. Have you seen the news? A man in New Orleans drives a truck through a crowd, killing and wounding many…a man in Virginia with a “no lives matter” patch and a stockpile of more than 150 homemade improvised explosive devises at the time of his arrest…a man in Montenegro fatally shoots 12 people… It’s pretty horrible the quantity of killing going on. Let’s not even get started on the multiple genocides being committed around the world. It’s bad. Horrifying. Contributing to the horror is that it also amounts to an enormous distraction from other pretty terrible things going on in the world around us, that slowly degrade global quality of life (at a time when we have so much technology and resources available that we should be easily able to end disease and poverty, entirely).
…Humanity needs a “software update” to our operating systems…
While I intend that metaphorically, I am totally serious about it. It’s hard to “do your best” in the world, if you’re inclined to think that “your best” includes mass murder, fraud, dehumanizing cruelty, and petty bullshit justified by how right you think you are. I sip my coffee thinking about that. How to do better, I mean. I’ve been to war. I’ve seen combat. I’ve seen killing “up close”. I’ve seen violence and rage. I’ve seen the damage done by “othering” groups on the basis of some bullshit criteria. I’ve seen pain and fear and hopelessness – and the behavior it can produce. We can do better. Doing better unavoidably begins with each of us, individually, doing better ourselves – and then setting clear expectations with each other, and holding ourselves and our societies accountable to an ethical standard. I’m not saying it’s easy – I’m saying it probably begins with a change in thinking (and choices). I’m saying starting with a “software upgrade” could be helpful.
…When was the last time you read a book, an actual bound book that you held in your hands?
Consuming media through the internet doesn’t reach us the same way reading books does. There’s science on that. (I recognize the conflict in provide a link to an online source. It’s difficult to link directly to the printed word.) You could “do the thing“, of course, and read about reading (how delicously meta). I’m just pointing out that reading and doing are the two most direct means by which we human primates “upgrade our software”. We become what we practice – and it’s helpful to learn what practices we might do well to adopt, rather than wandering about just trying things out and breaking shit or hurting people.
Why am I even on about this? The current political climate, mostly, but also the nasty shit in the news recently. I just don’t get it – it’s the 21st century, how are people still so ignorant that mass killings seem like an effective solution to anything… or that an indvidual even has that right? So… yeah. Here I am. Reading books and doing my best to be a better human being today than I was yesterday – because I have learned more than I knew yesterday. It’s slow going, no doubt, but it’s better than not learning and growing at all, isn’t it? Steps on a path.
So far this year – and possibly over the past decade – the most important book I’ve read is On Tyranny, by Timoth Snyder. No kidding. It’s even pretty small. I don’t ask much of you, but this one is that big a deal; I’m asking that you consider reading it (please), and if not this book, then some other* that may advance your understanding of the world, and the part you play in the society we live in. Surely that matters?
If you knew that reading a book could change the world, wouldn’t you do it? Hell, if you even suspected it might be helpful, wouldn’t you make the attempt? Such a small thing… and another way to begin again. I know, changing the world isn’t easy – there are a lot of verbs involved, and our results vary. It can be discouraging. Still, we become what we practice, and incremental change over time is powerful. We’re all in this together… what are you doing to make the world a better place for all of us to thrive in? Something to think about, and I do. I sit here with my coffee on the first workday of a new year, dismayed by the bad news on display, and grateful to have a chance to begin again. Again.
*Please note; if the books you are reading make you want to kill people, or seem to justify the killing other people are doing, or somehow excuse other vile human behavior, you are likely reading the wrong fucking books. Choose your books with care; you’re putting that shit into your brain.
Damn, yesterday ended up being a tough one. It wasn’t that anything particular went wrong, or that there were challenges I couldn’t face. Hell, I wasn’t exactly in a bad mood, even. The day went askew in a strangely emotional way when the office background music began to play “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” in the holiday music mix. Multiple times. Multiple versions. Various singers. No question, an American holiday classic, and it reliably comes up this time of year, sooner or later. For me, it’s simply the saddest and most poignant holiday song ever. It’s a war era (WW II) song, and I reliably hear it sung in the voices of those who will never come home to another holiday. It’s mournful (for me). It’s one holiday song I can’t sing along to; I choke up before I even get the first line sung, and the tears come. I missed an entire holiday season deployed to a war zone myself. We sang this song together, and others, around the diesel stove on winter evenings, fighting off our blues, hoping that we would indeed one day go home for those holidays once more. Some of us don’t ever come home from war. Some of us who do make it home are forever changed by experiences no civilian loved ones can share or truly understand. War is horrible stuff, and the price paid along the way in lives and limbs and souls is far too high. I thought of Gaza. I thought of Ukraine. I thought of Syria. Global conflict. Genocide. The horrors of war. We should maybe stop doing that shit – and I’ll probably always cry when I hear this song. It has real meaning for me. Soldiers kill. Soldiers die. I’ve lost people along the way. My nightmares persist.
…It “broke” my yesterday…
By the time I got home from work, I was pretty much a mess (emotionally) and feeling really low. My Traveling Partner did his best to lift my mood, and together with the Anxious Adventurer we sat around watching “fail videos” and little bits of comic this-n-that, and taking things lightly. I gotta say, my beloved partner’s “emotional slight of hand” was masterful, last night. I had tried to say something about being set off by “I’ll Be Home For Christmas”, and the Anxious Adventurer tried (in a well-intended way) to commiserate by sharing how annoying he finds that one particularly notable Mariah Carey holiday song. Understand me, please, I was not “annoyed”, I was grieving and feeling heart-broken over experiences few civilians share, and that I can’t seem to forget. Before I could flare up, irritable and angry over misperceptions of being “dismissed” or not understood seriously, my Traveling Partner put things on a comic footing in a wholesome loving understanding way, easily distracting me long enough for my unreasonable anger to be defused, unnoticed. No harm done. Fuck I love that man. He can make me laugh when I’m hurting. He can make me cry when I’ve grown jaded.
This morning the first words from my Traveling Partner were words of love and fondness and adoration. He tells me I am precious to him. He tells me he loves me. I feel it. I’m moved and my morning feels… merry. A new beginning. He understands, better than most people, where I’ve been and what I’ve been through. We’ve shared a few years together. We’ve had shared experiences, separately, that are not so commonplace for people generally. He “gets me”, mostly. More so than anyone else has. I feel loved.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. I’m in a different place this morning, although I am sitting in the same chair. I’m wrapped in love. It matters.
Be kind to the veterans in your life, and the survivors of war – you don’t have to know the details of what they’ve been through to care, and to be there as a friend. It matters that you care. It’s enough. Help each other begin again, when things get tough. Share the journey. Hell, just be kind, generally – we’re all going through some shit. It’s a very human experience.
Evening Light 