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Relaxing

February 28, 2016 //
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Stormy sky. Garden planted with cool weather greens. Patio tidied up, sorted out, and rearranged. A container of tiny alpine strawberries planted, too, for summer delight – or for the birds; it’s hard to be sure from this vantage point, on a rainy Sunday morning, air filled with the scents of rain and mown grass, and the sound of birdsong.

I woke early, considering I wanted very much to sleep later, and was a bit surprised to find it raining, although rain was in the forecast. It’s just that I usually sleep quite well on rainy mornings. This morning I woke, groggy, struggling to focus and really be awake. I lazed in bed awhile longer, pointlessly as it turned out; my stuffy head resulted in my own snoring waking me, each time I started to return to sleep. Bummer. I got up.

My first cup of coffee was enjoyed as I chatted with my traveling partner across the internet. It’s now hard to imagine life being any different, although it was well after 1997 before the internet, or even email, really featured heavily in my experience. The two of us agree that we each need a break from our devices; I’ve been staying off the computer, generally, for most of the weekend. We postpone tentative plans made earlier; it’s inconsiderate to share sniffles deliberately, and we prefer to invest in our mutual and individual wellness quite differently. It’s likely to be a day of ease, watching the rain fall, perhaps spent in the studio, but it will be spent in a solitary way, today. I don’t much feel like going out today. It seems like a very good day to read, to meditate, and perhaps to send note cards here and there, to far away friends. 🙂

I contemplate coffee #2, not yet made, and remind myself that on a Sunday the caffeinated coffee cut-off is noon, otherwise my sleep may be disturbed. I choose for myself, based on my own experiences, and recognize that it wasn’t always an issue. Certainly, when I was much younger, it was as if my coffee cup was affixed permanently to my hand, and I drank coffee without regard to time of day. I have changed as I have aged – I’m pretty sure we all do, in some way or another.  I give thought to the week’s meals-to-come, and double-check the pantry. Sunday is a good day for practical things; it is a good indicator that I’m a bit under the weather that I have no energy or will for actual housekeeping today.

A rainy day relaxing, today it is enough.

A rainy day relaxing, today it is enough.

Some days ‘doing my best’ means taking care of myself, this fragile vessel, and little more. It’s okay for this to be the case. I listen to the rain, now pounding the roof, and rumbling down through the downspout to the french drain at the corner of the building. It somehow manages to be a lovely day, in spite of the rain, in spite of feeling a bit stuffy, in spite of feeling disinclined for go, or do. Today is a good day to spend it relaxing with the woman in the mirror, and listening to what she has to say.

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Categories Brain Injury, Free Will, gardening, health, Healthy Living, Love, Mindfulness, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, The Art of Being, The Big 5, Words

My Own Sliver of Sky

February 27, 2016 //
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Beautiful night sky.

Beautiful night sky, a view as I leave home for work in the morning, before dawn.

I was glad to see the work day end yesterday. It was a grueling week on a number of levels, and at the end of it, by Thursday, I was also not really feeling well. I made it an early night Thursday evening, crashing out at a childlike hour of evening, and resenting the early pre-dawn hour at which I wake on Friday. I really wanted to sleep more, longer, later, more deeply… just sleep. Friday raced by, and ended fairly early (my work day starts fully 2 hours earlier than usual on Fridays). I got home with no clear plan, and again found myself crawling into bed content to end the day quite early.

The night sky.

The night sky, on some other night. 

I woke unexpectedly a couple of hours later, no identifiable reason but feeling very restless and uneasy. I got up and took a seat on my meditation cushion, in front of the patio door with the blinds open to the night sky. I sat for some time just looking out into the night. Stress faded with passing clouds, I found contentment in moonlight and thoughts of how soothing I find a view of the sky. I sat for a long while, meditating, gazing into the night sky. Eventually, I returned to bed.

I slept 12 hours, and woke feeling rather uninterested in waking to face the day. I lingered in bed for some time, nearly an hour more, meditating and dreaming in a half-sleeping half-waking state of consciousness that found me reminding valued coworkers not to crowd me so closely; even with the week behind me, work found its way into my restless consciousness.

The morning has been leisurely and filled with love and friendship, and music – an unexpected gift this morning, and I have enjoyed it without attempting to define, excuse, justify, or limit this beautiful experience. The quiet has returned, now. I find myself thinking about having a view I can ‘call my own’, here. Everywhere I have lived there has been at least some sliver of sky, some particular angle I could contemplate, free of people, industry, clutter, or suburbia. Sometimes I’ve had to work at it a bit, finding some particular corner of a sofa in a loft with a single window looking at sky above roof-tops, or a view of green space between homes or buildings. One lovely thing here in this new space is that the patio and my studio both look directly out at the park, uninterrupted by human endeavors with the exception of occasional runners and walkers passing by, and a small playground easily omitted from view by choice of angle, or disregarded during hours when no children are playing – as during my evening meditation, last night.

The view from my desk, in the studio.

The view from my desk, in the studio.

Today is a good day to enjoy the view, and a few quiet moments. Today is a good day to slow down, to be present, to enjoy each moment as it is. Today is a good day for gardens, and rain showers, and nesting ducks in meadow grass. Today is a good day to set aside stress and confrontation in favor of acceptance and ease. Today is a good day to choose a better window on the world. 🙂

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Categories Anxiety, art and the artist, Brain Injury, Free Will, Healthy Living, Love, Mindfulness, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, The Art of Being

What’s In a Name?

February 25, 2016 //
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Language functions by agreement. I sip my coffee and consider how completely I accept this as ‘true’. How we define our terms matters, so much that we have phrases like ‘apples to apples’ for expressing how necessary it is to have  a shared understanding of an individual term in discussion with others. I’m not sure why I am thinking about it today. I’ll note that it touches a nerve both in the work environment, and in my personal experience. The assumptions people make about each other, about ‘what we meant’, about what we just said, just now, without a single clarifying question result in some real comedy – and most of our tragedy.

I found my way to this ‘topic’ this morning, because I was stuck for a title. Which got me thinking… Is it a ‘title’, or is it a ‘subject line’? Why do I have a subtly different understanding of the meaning of each? Don’t they function very similarly almost to the point of sameness? Is there any ‘real’ cause to make a distinction between the two? If asked, could I support that with logical proofs? Would it make one whit of difference to other people using the terms slightly differently – and would either of us really ever know that we did not have a shared understanding of such subtleties?

I spend a lot of time thinking about language, meaning, and how I communicate with the world…and how and what it communicates to me. So much of what I understand of what I hear, read, see and infer has as much to do with me, myself, as any intended meaning launched my way willfully.  Assumptions are a big deal, because they undercut the meaning of one’s communication with others – and until someone speaks up about the lack of understanding, it isn’t evident; we’re simply having very different conversations with each other than we understand ourselves to be having. Very inconvenient, if the purpose of shared communication is also a shared understanding. We all make assumptions – to move so quickly through life processing the quantity of information from our senses, and make something of it in our thinking probably requires it. It can go very badly, though…

I think of lovers who quarrel a lot and wonder what their assumptions about each other’s feelings must be? I remember points in past relationships where I had, over time, come to assume that my partner was an adversary. Adversarial assumptions create conflict before words are even spoken. I have learned to choose differently in the context of loving relationships; a lover is not an adversary. If I am unable to comfortably assume affection and good intent of loved ones, how much love do we actually share? I found it an illuminating question to ask, at a number of points in life. I finally found answers, for myself, that I can live with.

I think about the way assumptions shred meaning in work conversations and social conversations, too. Clear, simple language is sometimes challenging for me; I find my voice in poetry, in word play, in layers of meaning, and metaphors. I value very frank and direct conversation, and also enjoy the beauty in language. Those things don’t necessarily ‘go together’ very comfortably; I sometimes ‘lose my audience’ in conversation. The nuances of meaning in [American] English words (my ‘default’ language day-to-day) are sometimes quite extraordinary…precious…precise…poetic…beautiful…confusing as fuck. I seriously doubt most people notice or care about the distinction between ‘very’ and ‘exceedingly’, or ‘excellent’ and ‘exceptional’. I probably drive my traveling partner crazy ‘looking for the right word’ fairly often – I am very relaxed about myself in his company and find myself ‘looking for the right word’ – out loud, while I am talking, in the middle of a sentence. No doubt it robs me of clarity to do so. Still…if I use language that doesn’t mean what I intend to convey, or is not understood to have that meaning, I am not having the conversation that I hope to have. It is worth it to ‘say what I mean’ – but if I am not understood, having done so, it is time to examine the assumptions standing in the way.

Have you taken a look at your assumptions lately? They are the foundation on which much of our experience is built – from ‘the sun will rise again tomorrow’ to ‘that food is no good because it is past its expiration date’ to ‘I know what you mean’ to ‘the answer to “how are you?” is “fine” ‘. It’s a lot to keep track of if we had to sort it all out fresh every time with proofs, and evidence. Still… there is value in checking in on those assumptions and replacing the ones that are out-of-date – or patently foolish – with more functional material. I find it particularly valuable to seriously test any assumptions that are built on perceived differences between me, and those other than me; most of the time assumptions about people’s differences are garbage. Some of the assumptions about our samenesses are garbage, too. I definitely find value in testing the assumption that I ‘know what you mean’. I probably don’t. It’s the reason listening deeply is a practice I am committed to practicing – being really skilled at listening is generally more effective for determining meaning than talking is. 🙂

The time slips by unnoticed this morning. My coffee is cold, and I’ve used more words than necessary to say “I find value in listening when I am listening, and asking questions to gain clarity” and “assumptions are often incorrect” and “words matter, and our understanding of their meaning can’t be assumed to be shared; it often isn’t”.

Today I will begin again, and practice listening deeply. (I definitely need the practice.)

Today I will begin again, and practice listening deeply. (I definitely need the practice.)

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Categories Brain Injury, Free Will, Logic & Reason, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Perspective, Relationships, The Art of Being, Words

Finishing Touches

February 24, 2016 //
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I arrived home last night quite exhausted. I made it a gentle evening, and crashed out quite early. I slept well and deeply, and woke comfortably to the alarm. In all regards, quite a nice way to finish off a challenging work day and move on. I woke this morning having forgotten about the closet doors. When I moved in, there were no closet doors at all. They were still on order and not yet installed. They arrived, and were installed yesterday (with the exception of the closet door in my bedroom, at my request). I had inspected the work when I arrived home, and not given it another thought. This morning I awoke without having closet doors in mind, and was a bit startled when I stepped into the studio to write… closet door. Big broad, vast, visually impressive, white sliding closet door… across the entire end of the room, where previously the shelves with my art gear, and the top shelf with not-yet-unpacked breakables sit safely, had been ‘part of the view’ since I moved in. It was a bit odd. Different. More… ‘finished’.

I find myself thinking about ‘finishing touches’ generally, you know – those items, tasks, elements, and moments that really round out an event or experience in a way that feels ‘complete’ and satisfying, or fulfills some specific aesthetic. Love, too, has some opportunities for ‘finishing touches’ – and that could be quite a literal thing, as with tender contact, touches, and afterplay following sex, or something deeper – like the unexpected love note days later, found tucked away somewhere undiscovered, found in passing during a difficult moment, filling a tense emotional space with love and recognition. Finishing touches seem to be more about an awareness, a perception, than about the thing themselves… and I continue to contemplate finishing touches as I sip my coffee.

Reflecting on a turn of phrase or a metaphor provides new perspective.

Reflecting on a turn of phrase or a metaphor provides new perspective.

There are ‘finishing touches’ along the far reaches of the negative spectrum of my emotional experience, although I generally don’t call them ‘finishing touches’ so much as ‘the straw that broke the camel’s back’ or ‘the deal breakers’. The ‘finishing touch’ on my first marriage was how my spouse treated his son, and his mother (in both cases, badly). The finishing touch on the long-term relationship that followed was a complex singularity – an evening of trampled boundaries, disregard, unexpected violence, inconsiderate nastiness, and intimidation; it was a hell of a finish, no doubt, and quite a sudden cascade of deal breakers in one seemingly endless evening. The finishing touch on a relationship that followed – a ‘long term’ relationship characterized after-the-fact by its brevity (less than 3 years), was the development of a peculiarly chronic neglect, disregard, and emotional weaponry launched by a mentally ill partner; I was in no shape to provide the support she needed, and I needed day-to-day simple decency from a disordered partner unable to provide that to anyone, in any relationship (at that time). When I think of those events in the positive terms of ‘finishing touches’ rather than the negative terms of ‘deal breakers’ and ‘last straws’, I find myself feeling more settled and content with the way things turned out; it makes sense that those relationships ended, and the events that finished them off do settle things, in a fairly ‘completed’ and ‘finished’ way, providing a ‘why it makes sense’ that they ended. I find myself aware that a ‘finishing touch’ is a form of closure – and it is found within, requiring no assistance from another party, no ‘last words’, no ‘parting gift’, no give and take; it belongs to me, and exists as part of my own understanding of myself, and the context of my life in which I exist. The ‘finish’ of a finishing touch is a perception, and as such, also beyond the realm of argument, requiring no validation. 🙂

The closet doors do result in a more finished look here, generally. The paintings hanging in the hallway provide a similar sense of things being ‘complete’ and ‘finished’. It feels comfortably grown up, and properly a residence, in a way that differs slightly from #27, which I so recently adored, and moved from. It is a similar feeling to moving from the barracks as a young soldier, into housing ‘on the economy’, or moving from a college dorm, into a ‘real apartment’. My previous apartment was set up for artistic live/work…but so small and compact that it was very nearly a studio apartment, and felt rather like a spacious bedroom sometimes. This new space feels very like a house, from the inside, and having separated my studio and creative work space from the rest of the residential spaces, also very comfortable… and sometimes strange. It seems more… finished. I’m still getting used to it, and sometimes find myself simultaneously delighted and vaguely uncomfortable with the spaciousness, or feeling both relieved and uneasy to have it generally all to myself. I remember as I write those words that growth itself often feels very uncomfortable indeed. I smile. I am okay with where I am in life; that feels really good.

Begin again; the finishing touch in one moment becomes a cherished reminder of the beginning for another.

Begin again; the finishing touch in one moment becomes a cherished reminder of the beginning for another.

The leisure morning at home nears its end. I notice when I check the clock. Finishing touches are possible here, too; there is time for some housekeeping, and those are the finishing touches on my morning that become my beautiful welcome home at the end of a long work day. 🙂 It’s a very good day to treat the woman in the mirror well, and to live my values authentically. It’s a very nice day for finishing touches.

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Categories Brain Injury, Free Will, Healthy Living, Love, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, The Art of Being, The Big 5

Tug of Work

February 23, 2016 //
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I am struggling to find balance this morning. I feel it most as I fight off the impulse to rush into the office ahead of schedule, even before the building is unlocked to all the staff. I recognize there is no rational purpose to doing so, and that doing so is not likely to provide relief of the subtle tension that has built since yesterday evening. I struggle to ‘let it go’ – I’m prone to remaining fixated on things that have urgency or importance projected into them by others; I feel the urgency as an emotion, and a compulsion to act. I’m not saying this is a peculiar thing, or that it is not shared by many, it is simply my experience this morning.

It began last night, actually. Just as my traveling partner and I exchanged well-wishes for a night of good rest, someone on my team at work texted me to alert me that a system change did not (or maybe did not) go as planned; all seemed well, except he himself was no longer able to access our system on his own credentials. Damn it. Texts were exchanged. I sync’d my work email and caught up on the relevant thread and without meaning to at all… I was ‘at work’ and working. After a while I realized that I was not going to be able to do the best possible troubleshooting from the perspective and information I had, and also faced needing to rest for the next day… and that’s when I realized I was caught in the sticky web of some other agenda than my own, and at risk of treating myself badly. Yep. That matters more.

I put the work on pause. Silenced my phone. Dimmed the household lights that remained. I took a seat on my meditation cushion, and took steps to distance myself from work in order to sleep. It took awhile. It took almost an hour of meditation, appropriate medication, and another half an hour of recreational reading to calm my mind such that sleep was possible. I woke once, around 1 am. Work thoughts surfacing in dream content woke me; there were mistakes in the dreaming that got my attention, and in my dream I began troubleshooting all over again. What woke me was a mistake that would not respond to action taken to resolve it. I got up to pee, and returned to sleep with relative ease. When the alarm went off this morning, some portion of my consciousness was already fully awake, although my body was still asleep, and – you guessed it – I was ‘working’ already. 😦

I was up and dressed to leave so quickly, it was necessary to halt myself and undress in order to have a shower; I was about to leave for work, without a shower, coffee, or actually taking care of myself in any way at all. Foolish, and although in some moments that sort of urgency may have it’s place, I’ve not seen it rewarded much in life in any practical fashion of lasting value; it drives stress, high blood pressure, and inefficiency. Cultural programming puts way to much focus on work/employment concerns as it is. At a distance, I recognize that being prepared, skilled, and efficient don’t require urgency, compulsion, or reactivity – practicing the more balanced calmer approach to work is complicated by an environment and society that continues to react, to be compelled, and to find all matters related to work to be ‘urgent’, when indeed they simple are not. So… I struggle some this morning to maintain a sense that I am my own highest priority at this hour of the day, not yet in the office, coffee in front of me. I breathe, and let it go – again. I find my mind coming back to the problem, and again I breathe and let it go. Now is not the time for that. ‘Now’ is time for me, particularly this now, so early in the morning, carved out of each day specifically for my own needs.

My consciousness still feels encroached upon inappropriately, and the ‘tug of war’ between me, what I need myself, and that ‘foreign presence’, the demands of employment. I fuss, back and forth, picking up the thread on the work puzzle, reminding myself of my own needs and putting it aside again. Back and forth. Woven into the fabric of my morning, even filling my words, here, with work. I sip my coffee, and take a few moments to relax, and listen to the soft music in the background, to be present, even noticing the chill of the room, and making room in my experience for distant sounds of traffic, the hum of the refrigerator, to notice my tinnitus seems unusually loud, to feel and to breathe. As ‘now’ becomes more prominent, work falls away again. It is a strange sort of dance, back and forth. I don’t care for it at all, and the morning is less than ideally comfortable.

I think about what I need most to care for myself, and what I may need this evening. I recognize that I am ‘pushing myself too hard’, although I am doing all I know to do to pull back on that, my greatest success is awareness, this morning, more than any real change. Practicing, always practicing – and incremental change over time being what it is, this experience this morning is less intense, less disruptive, less agonizing than other such experiences have been – hell, I slept. I even slept fairly restfully, although my mind was very busy, and my dreams were colorful and surreal, filled with detritus left over from the work day, in the form of strange object placement or events (seriously – a ‘portable thermostat’ one might stick on a backpack for ‘go anywhere’ climate control?? Yeah. Our office is seriously cold all the time.)

Breathe. Begin again.

Breathe. Begin again.

Well. Here I am. Still at it. Still practicing. Still taking care of me. Still beginning again and using verbs. Sure – yes, and of course – this is a very human experience, and I sometimes work very hard to endure the most uncomfortable challenges and find my own way. I’ve got a lot to learn on this journey… On the other hand, I am my own cartographer. I have choices – so many choices – and while choosing to calm myself, to take care of myself, to enjoy my time and be engaged and present in this moment isn’t always the easiest of choices (how much easier would it have been to rush to the office without pausing for coffee?!), the value in slowing down and taking care of my own needs is very real.

I think for a moment of my friends – some grinding away years of their lives on shit jobs they don’t care for, others involved in endeavors that feed their passion professionally, all of us exchanging some measure of time for currency we can use to fund the lives that matter to us most. I find myself hoping that they know how important they are to themselves, and that it is their life that has the value, not their employment, and that they find time to really live, to really love, to enjoy each precious moment. Impermanence is a thing too, and we are mortal creatures; there is no time to waste. I use my sympathy and compassion for my friends’ experiences to ease my resentment in this moment; I would so much rather sleep in, then spend the day painting, writing, tending my garden… you know, living my life, and there’s time for that, but before I do, I’ll just need to go over there and exchange a portion of my life force for some pieces of paper, and a balance in a bank account…

 

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Categories Anxiety, Brain Injury, Free Will, Healthy Living, Mindfulness, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, The Art of Being, The Big 5, Words
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