I overlooked writing at all yesterday. I mean, to be clear, I “wrote” quite a lot, as a function of the work I do for a paycheck. A lot. What I failed to do was any other sort of writing: introspective, meditative, creative, nothing of that sort. I arrived home from work wholly exhausted, brain fatigued, dragging myself along on pure willpower alone, and the awareness that if I didn’t do this or that task, no one else would either.
… I managed to hold enough in reserve to make dinner…
I’m still tired this morning. My last several nights have been restless and my sleep interrupted and full of nightmares and stressful dreams of failure, futility, and pointlessly chasing unachievable goals. Hell, Elon-fucking-Musk even made an appearance in one of my unpleasant dreams and he was just as big a clueless out-of-touch douchebag in my dream as he is reported to be in life. Bleh. G’damn I hope I sleep better tonight.
I’m in a ferocious amount of pain and filled with resentment at insurers who don’t want to cover long-term services that maintain better quality of life and reduce pain, but without “fixing” anything. My occipital neuralgia flared up some days ago after quite a long time of only dealing with it occasionally; it’s clear that the additional care I had been receiving was actually reducing my pain. “Fuckers,” I snarl quietly, but I don’t know who I am most angry with – my insurance company or the rich assholes who built this stupid entirely profit-focused system. This is a fucking dumb way to approach medicine.
I sigh quietly. Let it go. I’m paying out of pocket for the care I need, today. It’s not a sustainable choice. I can’t do it often, but I definitely need some help managing the pain right now, after three exhausting work weeks that I am happy to put behind me.
Dawn on the marsh
It’s a new day. Boots on, cane in hand, this trail isn’t going to walk itself. For now I’ve got the place all to myself, a treat for my fatigued consciousness. Solitude. No people. No need to speak or hear words. I breathe, exhale, and relax. Today, self-care first. Then, I’ll begin again.
The drive to the office was relaxed and routine. My coffee isn’t bad (neither is it actually good, it’s just coffee). The view from the office window at dawn hints at a warm afternoon, later. A good day to be in the garden.
I’m in the office.
The waning “pink moon” setting as the day begins.
I sigh to myself. Breathe, exhale, relax. I take a few minutes for meditation before work begins. I plan the day ahead. I do a thoughtful body scan, and consider how best to manage my pain and the stiffness that results from the combination of sore muscles and arthritis. I seek the one, and try to avoid the other, but ultimately pain is pain; managing it as well as I can is a good practice. Not letting it run my life is an important choice. They both require a committed effort; there are verbs involved, and a steady willingness to care for this fragile vessel with a full measure of consideration, and my whole heart. I stretch and sigh again, before wondering “at what point is a sigh just a deep breath?” I let all that go and watch the moon set.
Yesterday was lovely. My appointment with the surgeon I was referred to went well, I guess, for some values of going well; I got referred to a different more specialized surgeon. lol Progress? I guess so. The Anxious Adventurer set up two more of the small raised beds for me in my new “west side garden”. It’s small space, and sure, it’s narrow, and limited, and the big A/C unit is right there, but… it’s also just outside my office window, and rather private (not visible from the street the way the front garden is). The first bed is already planted in strawberries, and since I started those from mature plants in 4″ pots, there are already flowers. I smile at the thought and yearn to feel the soil under my fingers as I fill the other two beds with soil and plant them with… something. I don’t know yet. It’s a spot that only gets afternoon sun, and I haven’t yet decided what else to plant there. Maybe just more strawberries? Something with flowers? Perhaps a clematis in that extra large black plastic nursery pot left over from when all my roses were potted (so many years, so many roses)? I smile, feeling my shoulders relax. I get so much joy from my garden I easily forget how I loathed the time I spent gardening as a kid. It felt like an obligation. A demand. Manual labor, nothing more or less, and I was sure that I had better things to do with my time. It felt like indentured servitude, then, and I longed to be 18, and master of my own affairs and decision-making.
What have you planted? How well do you tend your garden? (It’s a metaphor.)
…I’m grateful now for the time I spent in my parents’ garden; I use those experiences a lot, in my own garden, now. I’m still doing most of the labor. lol I don’t resent it any more. I appreciate help when I have it, but I love the work and my only resentment is that aging has robbed me of considerable strength and endurance for it… I have to choose my tasks wisely, and plan the work thoughtfully.
I hope the work day passes quickly. I’m eager to be back in the garden. I think about love and gardening awhile longer. I’d plant honeysuckle or jasmine instead of clematis, but either of those has serious potential to aggravate my Traveling Partner’s allergies rather a lot. I’ll miss them, maybe, but clematis offers lovely dramatic flowers, and will be less likely to be unpleasant for my beloved. I would not willfully choose to harm him. I think about how much I adore him. How my love is returned in equal measure; everywhere I turn in my home I see his love in the little things he has done or made for me. Even yesterday. New work skills, hobbies, creative endeavors, tools and materials, are often tried out or put to use the first time in some new something or other for me. I feel so loved.
A token of his affection, 3D printed, using Hue Forge.
The journey from being mired in trauma, sorrow, despair, or ancient pain is not an easy one. There’s no map. There is no sherpa to carry the baggage accumulated over a lifetime. There’s no handy tutorial. It’s a hard mile and we have to walk it ourselves, but every step, every moment, every sun rise is a chance to walk on, and to begin again. We become what we practice. We have choices. Sure, it’s a lot of work, and it’s often slow going. We stumble. We fall. We fail. It’s human – all of it, so very human. When I began this journey years ago, I only wanted to “be mostly okay” – to feel something good, at least as often as not. I wanted to manage the chaos in my head and to silence my nightmares.
I find myself, now, in a very different place – mostly thriving. Contented. Joyful. Even happy, rather a lot of the time. I wasn’t trying to get “here” – but once I got there, I just kept on walking. Kept working at healing. Kept practicing practices. Kept making better choices and slowly becoming someone more like the woman I most want to be. The journey is the destination – this isn’t new-age-y bullshit, although it is as metaphorical as it is practical – it’s quite real and you can make the journey yourself, from wherever you are now, to that place you most want to be, or at least someplace much better than where you feel you are. Keep walking. One day at a time. One practice at a time. One moment of studious self-care at a time. Making the decisions that the journey requires isn’t always effortless or obvious or even “painless”. Sometimes adulting is hard. I’m not telling you how to do the thing – I’m just saying it can be done, and hoping to provide some measure of hope and encouragement on what is admittedly a difficult journey. Life. Healing. Becoming. It’s not a journey of miles or moments, or hours or days – it is a journey frankly measured in years and decades. A lifetime. But the time does pass, and the miles do add up – and we do get somewhere as we go. Incremental change over time adds up. We become what we practice.
What are you practicing?
If I stopped writing today, I don’t know that it would be missed. There is so much life to live… I enjoy taking a moment to reflect on it, though, and doing so brings me great joy and peace. What about you? What are you doing to cultivate contentment? To find joy in your experience? To build emotional resilience? To become the person you most want to be? It’s not too late to make that journey – you only need to begin again.
I had a moment yesterday. Feelings of loneliness and despair began to well up seemingly out of “nowhere”. It wasn’t “nowhere”, of course, these are troubling, baffling times for ethical compassionate people who want (and work) to see good in the world. I took a moment to shed some private tears and regain my balance, to self-soothe, and step back from thoughts of things I can’t influence directly or change in any practical immediate way.
“Breathe, exhale, relax.” I reminded myself. It helped and the evening moved on.
There’s still blue sky overhead.
If you’re hurting and struggling with the strange terrible times we’re in, you’re not alone, I promise you. Be kind. Be considerate. Be your best self in spite of seeming to be surrounded by a world of monsters. Look with scorn on terrible people, but don’t let them transform you. Don’t become the thing you find detestable. Don’t let the bad acts and cruelty of the world make you cruel, yourself. Resist the poor choices your own anger and fear nudge you towards and stand firm on your resolve and your convictions. Be the person you most want to be, not whatever facsimile of humanity it may seem that you are expected or encouraged to become by circumstances, systems, or corrupt individuals. Be honest. Be real. Speak truth to power. Make the wisest choices you can for the greatest good within your family, tribe, and community. Be the change you wish to see in the world. It’s not a platitude if you make it real in your own experience.
Remember that the goblin king has no power over you. He is a farce. He is a fiction. Make your own choices. Use your own words. Be the main character in your story, instead of an NPC in the game of life.
It’s a new day. A new beginning.
This morning I watch the sunrise. I listen to birds singing cheerily along the trail. No tears. I am okay right now. Sometimes shit gets hard because I actually do care, and all by itself that can be a hell of a burden to bear. It’s an interesting path I’ve chosen in life, and it isn’t paved, and I don’t have a map. Sometimes the going is easy, sometimes it is difficult. Regardless, it is a worthy journey of being and becoming, and I walk on.
I sigh quietly as I walk. Trolls and monsters and lines on maps – it’s a strange and sometimes scary world, but the journey is the destination and it isn’t really “about” any of that. Those are worldly distractions. I remind myself to be present, here, now. To be kind. To be the woman I most want to be. To make wise choices. To listen well and deeply, and to love with my whole heart.
I listen to my footsteps on the trail. The clock is ticking. It’s time to begin again.
Prices have been going up noticably since the election, and longer. They rarely go down. Some of this is due to human greed. Sometimes it’s about demand for a limited supply. Sometimes it’s about chaos and uncertainty, and regulatory bullshit. There’s always someone making money off of rising prices, though it may not be who we assume it is.
Recent price of blueberries. I am waiting impatiently for the blueberries in my garden.
I’m as frustrated and angry as anyone else over the weird petty and destructive policy making coming out of Washington DC these days. 61 (almost 62) and I’ve never seen the bullshit quite so deep. We have failed to elect a competent, skillful, effective government (unless your goal was to bring about the decline of Democracy altogether). It’s pretty horrific. I’m not sure what everyday folks were expecting – or how they were played so easily by power-seeking billionaires.
…Still…
Life goes on. Mostly pretty comfortably routine, moment to moment. I’m not personally reliant on the market fluctuations, beyond how such things affect the prices of groceries and gas (and they definitely do). I have been spending less with greater care, like a lot of people. It’s necessary. Instead of steak, we have chili. Instead of dining out, we cook at home (which is healthier anyway). Instead of going to a distant specialty market for some interesting ingredient I can’t get locally, I use a recipe that doesn’t require exotic ingredients at all. Choices are being made every day. I’m still choosing to live well, as much as I can, but I’m choosing to do so more affordably. It’s clearly necessary, and I may as well get really good at it. Soon enough things like oranges and bananas may become seasonal, coffee may become a luxury for the wealthy, and dining out impractical due to the lack of restaurants still in business.
… Sorry. I’m being a bit gloomy, eh? I’m in a ferocious amount of pain today and it may be coloring my thinking. I’m just saying, maybe it’s time to embrace simpler things and more affordable pleasures, disconnect from the Internet and social media, go outside, and exist in the real world among real people, and be less dependent on so many systems thoroughly outside my own control? I do remember a life before the Internet existed at all… A time when bad news didn’t travel as far or as fast, and it was more difficult to deceive or influence an entire population. I mean… I think I remember that world. Certainly there were fewer billionaires and they weren’t straight up buying the fucking government for their own benefit.
I stretch and sigh, and remind myself to be here, now, and let that shit go.
An excellent pot of chili, and an affordable hearty meal.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. I think about the romaine lettuce and bok choy growing in the garden. I think about the radishes, carrots, and spinach sprouting in neat rows, and the onions and leeks standing tall in their corner of the garden. I feel myself relax. What matters most? How can I best care for hearth and home and family? It’s important to do more than exist in difficult times. It is helpful to act, to choose, and to create the life I want to live and the world I’d like to live in. Yes, there are surely assholes, nitwits, and idiots literally everywhere, but I don’t have to hang out with them, or allow my life to become about them. I’m free to choose differently.
It’s raining this morning. Not a hard rain, just occasional sprinkles, but the wind is blowing like those rain drops have places to be, right now. lol I don’t let it stop me from getting a walk in, this morning, in spite of the pain I’m in. This morning it’s both the headache and the arthritis. I deal with it, and walk on, grateful to walk another mile. I walk with my thoughts to my halfway point and stop for a little while, to write and reflect and watch dawn become a new day.
I think about ignorance and failure for some little while, and ponder all the many things I don’t (and possibly can’t) know. It’s a good time to buy books and read more. I often find inspiration and even real hope between the pages of a book. My own journey suggests that reading may be one of the most valuable skills a human primate can develop and use. I’m proud of the small library of excellent books I’ve accumulated over time. I’ve read nearly all of them, with some exceptions (some of the books my Traveling Partner owns are distinctly outside my areas of interest), but I cherish even those; they represent more to learn and know. They are well-chosen, well-written and purposeful.
I smile to myself. My book wishlist is huge. I definitely don’t have space for all of them, but… I’ll continue to add to the books I own. How to cook things. How to make things. How to survive things. How to garden and how to fight tyranny. How to think and how to paint. How to listen and how to love, and books about why all those things matter. I sigh contentedly thinking about books and gardening, and what it means (to me) to live a good life. The wind blows, tossing the trees from side to side. The dense gray clouds overhead don’t appear to move at all, they are a smooth homogeneous mass other than the strip of blue sky peaking through near the eastern horizon.
I finish my writing, and get to my feet. The clock is ticking, and it’s time to begin again.
I stop along the trail for a message from my Traveling Partner about a housekeeping detail. I’d rather it would have been a greeting or a love note, but it was not. It was a complaint (phrased as a request for action). It’s not an unreasonable request, not at all, and I add it to my list of shit to do without further discussion.
It’s a new day. What will you make of it?
Once upon a time, I was often the most negative person in most groups or conversations. I was cynical, irritable, easily angered, frustrated, and disappointed with people and circumstances, and I found very little joy in life. I complained a lot, about a lot of things, often. I told myself I was funny but that couldn’t have been much fun to be around. I sip my coffee and reflect on how much less often I complain about things these days and how much joy and contentment I find in life, generally. I’m in a very different place. (It took work and practice to get here.)
It isn’t that there is actually less in the world to complain about (I mean, seriously? We’re basically watching the world burn). I don’t find value in complaining as a form of communication, in my relationships. It has its place, I suppose. The negativity of it grates on my nerves. There are better ways. Kind frankness and gentle words are more comfortable to receive and more pleasant to act upon, day-to-day. My Traveling Partner, long ago, asked me to be less negative, and since then I’ve walked a very different path – and I’m glad I did (although it turned out he meant something different by it). I enjoy my life so much more. That’s the thing about negativity; it’s emotionally corrosive, and undermines joy, limits satisfaction, and creates discontent. Who needs that?
I get it, though, it’s so easy to be negative about unpleasant experiences and circumstances. So satisfying to complain – like picking at a scab (and it has about as much real value). A constant stream of negativity and complaining isn’t pleasant to be around, though, and it may result in the loss of relationships or connections with people who just don’t have the energy or will to endure it. Something to think about, eh? Certainly my own relationships have improved greatly since I gave up chronic complaining as a “feature” of my character. I still make an occasional complaint or negative observation; I’m very human. I don’t live my life in that place, emotionally, though. Complaining rarely improves anything; it is action that creates change. I get more done by embracing change, taking action to make my life what I most want to live, and by seeking out joy. It takes far fewer harsh words and frankly just feels better as an experience. I didn’t change the world; I changed the way I experience it. Worth it.
Walk on. It’s not personal.
I smile to myself. I’m having my own experience. It’s a lovely morning. I get to my feet and back on the trail. It’s a good day to begin again.
Evening Light 