Archives for category: Despair

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.

It’s time to see what’s around the next bend…

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.

I look at the clock. It’s clearly time to begin again. 14 days to a new year – already? Damn. The time passes so quickly…

I’m sipping my coffee in the quiet of the office, quite early. It was raining too hard to walk in the darkness. Honestly, it was raining too hard to walk. I would not have enjoyed it, and enjoying it is at least part of my intention, each morning, each walk. So I made the drive in to the office, early. I took time to meditate. I made coffee. I had some oatmeal. I walked the halls of the building, a bit, just to stretch my legs and be in motion. I feel stiff. It’s the arthritis, most likely. My head aches. Probably my neck. My tinnitus is loud. It is what it is, eh? A very human, very mortal, experience, and I guess I’m okay with it. There are not presently “other alternatives” from which I’d care to choose something else. I’ve got this, it’s okay, and it’s enough.

I sip my coffee thinking about a note on my calendar I spotted this morning. It reminds me that 12 years ago tomorrow was the day I found out the details of my (most serious) TBI. A head injury in the 1970s that wiped most of my memory, and set back my cognitive and intellectual (and emotional) progress considerably, but which my parents sort of… “kept from me”. I don’t remember the injury itself (hell, I don’t remember most of my life from before that injury, either, mostly just a strange assortment of third person stories told to me by other family members is what I’ve got in the place where my own memory should be, and damned few of those). I do remember having to go to speech therapy. I remember suddenly needing glasses, and being profoundly light sensitive and having a lot of headaches. I remember getting terrible grades in school, when I’d always had good grades “before”.

I found out about my adolescent TBI 12 years ago, because I was in such despair that as I approached 50 taking my own life seemed a rational “solution”, but I’d made myself a promise to give therapy one more try (it was the last item on my to-do list), and I was trying to get into a PTSD clinical trial for a new treatment. In considering my application for that trial, they turned up the microfiche records of an emergency room visit and hospital admission for my (serious) head injury. It was… news to me. The new information simultaneously explained a lot, and also brought a ton of new questions with it. Pieces fell into place – which was useful – but I suddenly also felt like I “didn’t know myself”, and that the entire context of my adolescence and early adult life was completely different than I’d understood it to be. My whole sense of “who I am” felt changed.

…The information did nothing to reduce my feeling of despair, and may have actually deepened it. It also very nearly cost me my relationship with my Traveling Partner; we were neither of us certain that I was even truly competent to be in the relationship we shared at all, with this information available to us. I was so close to giving up…

A short time later, I started this blog. A short time after that, I found a new therapist, and started a new healing journey with a completely different understanding of where I stood as I began it.

The note on my calendar asks me to consider it, and some questions – a note from past me to me here, now.

  1. Is the knowledge still important to me?
  2. What does it mean to me now?
  3. What does the knowledge add to, or take from, my every day experience?
  4. How do I make use of this knowledge in a productive way, today?
  5. Does knowing this about myself improve how I treat myself, or other people?

Deep. Worthy of reflection. I sip my coffee and consider the questions, as I consider that past moment when I found out. The tone of compassionate regret in the voice of the woman on the phone advising me I could not be accepted into their clinical trial for a PTSD treatment because of my history of head trauma. My feeling of surprise, of curiosity, of sorrow, of deepening despair. The call to my mother later to ask about it, and that painful moment when she hung up on me rather than discuss it. The hurt. None of that feels particularly difficult or visceral now, but it was so hard to live those moments 12 years ago. Now it’s just… information. Part of the background. Historical data. A step on a path.

This particular head injury wasn’t the only head trauma I sustained (it’s tempting to say something flippant about domestic violence being a kick in the head, but it’s not actually funny, at all), but it was new information 12 years ago, and it did lead me to consider things differently, and to learn more about what the potential consequences of such things really could be. It pushed me to consider different kinds of therapy, for problems other than PTSD. It let me put other injuries and traumatic events into a bigger picture that was more complete. It let me get therapy and rehabilitative support that I’d never been offered (or able to accept) before – and never known to ask for, or seek out. I wasn’t sure it would help to try to rehabilitate a head injury that was decades old…

(tl;dr – it totally did, a lot)

…It’s a strange path that we each walk, is it not? A journey with no map, no clear destination, sometimes a poor understanding of the starting point as we begin is… a very strange thing, indeed. The journey is the destination. I feel grateful for the many chances I’ve had (and taken) to begin again. I’m grateful for every sunrise I see, and every sunset I’m fortunate to enjoy at the end of a day. There’s no knowing how much time we get in this mortal life. I’m glad I didn’t end mine prematurely; it’s been a worthy journey so far. I hope to go much further. There’s so much left to do, to see, and to feel. So many more beginnings to undertake, and practices to practice, and also… I’ve got this list of shit to do, and the holidays ahead. lol It’s time. Again. Time to begin again. Time to walk my path. Time to practice the practices that have helped me along the way for the past 12 years.

It’s been so very worth it.

I don’t know what to write about today. This is as close as I ever really get to “writer’s block” – starting with a “blank mind” instead of merely a blank page. lol

It’s nearly noon, and I’m taking a break for “lunch”, though I’m not hungry and don’t plan to eat. I’ve got this (fairly dreadful) iced coffee, and a few minutes of sunshine, and a quiet little room to myself, suited to making room for a bit of writing in the middle of the day. I just don’t really have anything much to say, presently. Nothing I think is worth committing to any measure of permanence. I’m tired. My head aches. The world is burning. Petty nitwits seem to be running everything – and somehow, they were actually elected by real people. What the fuck? Looks like that’s only going to get worse over the next couple years, too. American healthcare is so disastrously bad that ordinary people are shooting health insurance company executives in the streets. A population once nearly wiped out by genocide engages in obvious genocide, and when accused of committing genocide seems to think “no we’re not” is an adequate response, while the bodies pile up. Corporate greed drives AI start-ups to completely disregard the basic humanity of human beings, providing “chatbot companions” to vulnerable young people (for profit) with predictably terrible consequences – but, you know, they made money on that. None of this is good. 100% of all of it was avoidable. Choices were made.

Human greed. Human pettiness. Human self-righteousness. Human douche-baggery. Human violence. Fucking hell, some days it definitely looks like the underlying problem is… humanity. I’m pretty sure we could do better.

I don’t really want to be thinking about any of that terrible shit, particularly with this headache. Fuck. I’d rather cozy up with a book, or nap in a sunny room, or putter in my garden (those roses definitely need pruning, and I’m past due to winterize my raised bed). What the fuck is wrong with people?? When did being rich or “right” become more important than being a good human being and building a world in which everyone can thrive? Why are so many people fighting to grab a bigger piece of pie, instead of baking a bigger fucking pie? I don’t get it…

I sip my terrible coffee, grateful to have it. I can easily imagine a day in a not-very-distant future when coffee may not be available at all – or only to the very wealthy few. I’m not one of those. I sigh to myself. I’m okay. I’m fortunate in spite of the pain I’m in. I hold on to that, and look out the window, thinking about love, and life, and what matters most. No doubt there is righteous satisfaction in embracing my anger, but it won’t feel as good as gentle words, and thoughts of love, and being kind in a world where kindness has grown so rare. I’m tired. I’m just one human primate with limited ability and knowledge. I can’t be everything to everyone, ever – but I can be the best version of myself that I’ve learned to be, and I can do my best to do better today, and again tomorrow. Yeah, I’m pretty fucking human, myself, prone to temper and misunderstandings, and moments of foolishness. My results vary.

…I keep practicing…

So, I take my break. Exchange some pleasant words with my beloved Traveling Partner. I do what I can to ease this fucking headache, and look forward to seeing the one doctor I’ve got that reliably provides me with any relief at all – Saturday. That’s soon. I look out the window for a few minutes, watching a crow on a branch in the tree beyond watching me back. So much pain… in my head, in my back…in the world. Shit. I guess I’ve just got to do my best.

…Time to begin again…