Archives for category: Frustration

Daybreak arrives as I get back to the trailhead. I’ll head to the grocery store next, then home to tackle housekeeping chores for another week. I’m tired just thinking about it, and my “background” pain is a not uncommon, distracting, 6/10. My tinnitus is crazy loud, drowning out the sound of traffic on the nearby highway. It’s Sunday though, not much traffic.

A view of a day and a beginning.

A huge flock of Canada geese overhead pulls me out of my irritation over the physical limitations of being a human primate. Loud enough to distract me from my tinnitus for a moment. I watch and listen as the flock fills the sky overhead. The rain that had paused long enough to enjoy my walk along the marsh resumes. Drizzly chilly autumn weather is probably the primary cause of my pain today. I took medication for that. It hasn’t helped. I distract myself by continuing to watch and listen to the geese. I mean, I try. My results vary. I sift through the seemingly endless crap in my apparently bottomless handbag looking for my Capsaicin – it doesn’t “fix” anything, but it might give me a bit of relief. Shit. Looks like I left it home. In my minds eye, I can see it on my bedside table, clearly. In this moment, here, I’m still going through the motions of dumping my purse and double checking every pocket. A very human moment.

I sigh, annoyed with myself and with my pain. The rain falls harder and a dense fog creeps in. Forecast says pain all day, time to accept it and move on. Too much to do to let it take over.

I sit with my thoughts awhile. Meditation helps with pain management, particularly if I resist the temptation to focus on the pain. Sometimes it’s hard. I keep pulling my attention back to my breath. It’s a practice. My results vary. I breathe exhale and relax. I let my mind wander to the painting I’m working on. It needs something, and is unfinished. I think about that, instead of the pain I’m in. I shift uncomfortably, but whether it’s physical discomfort or “artistic energy” isn’t clear, and maybe doesn’t matter. Another breath. I watch a doe tentatively walk by, watching me. She steps slowly, with care, her soft gaze assessing my presence; friend or foe? She appears to decide my still, quiet, form is no threat, and stop to nibble on tasty bits of what remains of the meadow grasses. Still watching me, she walks on. I smile to myself. “Yeah, I get it, girl. It’s time to walk on. It’s time to begin again.”

I sigh and stretch and fuss a bit with this all too human aching mortal body. Fuck pain, I’ve got shit to do.

I got to the trailhead still seething with irritation. I didn’t sleep well. It’s raining, too, hard enough to discourage walking the marsh trail. I sit with my thoughts and my discontent awhile.

…Short work week and already off to a bad start. Shit…

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I work on letting small shit stay small. I remind myself that taking someone else’s emotional bullshit personally is counter productive – and also not necessary. I practice non-attachment, and letting all that go. I pull myself into this quiet calm moment, present with (and for) myself.

I remind myself that the “hard start” to the morning doesn’t have to become the whole day.

Another breath. A moment of perspective. An opportunity to reflect in a still, solitary moment. A chance to begin again. It’s enough.

… Let’s see where this path leads…

It’s a quiet morning. I’m sitting with my thoughts before my walk, and before the sun rises. I’m drinking coffee and thinking about how far I’ve come and what a strange journey life is.

About 14 years ago, my Traveling Partner nagged at me for being “so negative”. I worked hard to change my approach, and was pretty successful (especially after I got help through therapy). I found out much later he was intending to be critical only of the way I used language, not my attitude towards life! For example, my most common response to being asked how I was doing would have been, then, “not bad”, instead of “fine”, or “good”, or however I was actually doing. This was the specific thing he didn’t care for, and purely a matter of style. What I worked to change was my actual, legit fundamental negativity toward my experience of life, the lens through which I perceived all my experiences. I succeeded in making profound changes to the way I view and experience life. I’m glad I did, but I was puzzled and more than a little annoyed that what my partner had been criticizing was a matter of communication style, nothing more.

Hilariously (in a funny/not funny sort of way), I now find deeply negative people – people whose outlook on life is chronically pessimistic, or always anticipating some shitty outcome – super irritating to have to be around for long periods of time. People who respond to circumstances with sarcasm and bitter disappointment before anything actually goes wrong vex me. I just don’t want to be around that all the fucking time. It’s exhausting. Doesn’t matter that I used to be one of those people, I’m generally not anymore, and I don’t really want to waste precious mortal hours being annoyed with life – nor with the people who are themselves annoyed with life. I have other shit to do.

I sigh to myself, stretching and working to ease my physical pain, before my walk on a chilly foggy autumn morning. It’ll be beautiful along the marsh trail. The quiet is lovely. Daybreak reveals the gray of the fog obscuring the view. The park gate groans and screeches as it opens, then clangs in place. I think to myself that I haven’t walked the river trail in a while, and change my plan. Change is. I smile to myself. We can’t know in advance what the outcome of a change may be. We can’t be assured that anyone else will appreciate a change we’ve made, however much it suits us. We can only do our best, walk our own path, and over time find out where that leads us. I’m content with being a more positive person day-to-day, inclined toward general optimism and joy, and leaning away from bitterness and disappointment. Life will surely dish out enough of that shit without me seeking it out or making a practice of it!

Untitled, 7″ x 9″ pastel on Pastelmat, 2024

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I contemplate the time I’ve spent painting since I switched to pastels. It’s fulfilling and healing time. Artistically, I’m in a good place as a human being. I’m enjoying the medium and the work I’ve been doing. I learn more every time I sit down to paint. I “feel heard” (at least by the woman in the mirror) every time I look at these new paintings. It’s a good feeling, satisfying and nurturing. Self-care comes in many forms. So does communication.

This mortal life is too short for negativity and bullshit. There’s so much to see and enjoy. I lace up my boots and grab my cane. I silently dare my pain to keep up with me. It’s time to begin again.

This path won’t walk itself!

Sharing that important opinion? Don’t bother. I mean, okay, your opinion matters to you. It feels good, maybe even important, to “be heard”, and social media gives that sensation a tremendous immediacy, as though you can actually share your relevant (seeming) opinion with the important (seeming) people you perceive as capable of making changes, or needing to be informed of your (“obviously”) critical thoughts and perspective. Only… mostly? No one is actually listening, and generally no one gives a damn about the random commonplace utterly ordinary (often ill-informed) opinions of the average Everyperson on social media. Maybe you go viral because what you said is sufficiently amusing or poignant or well-stated – but mostly you won’t, and mostly no one is listening, and generally no one gives a shit. Hilariously, we’ve mostly (as a society) given up on snail mail, though it sometimes carries real weight. Even that, though, often just amounts to more “screaming into the void”, and trust me, most of what you feel most inclined to say with such urgency isn’t even novel or noteworthy or of any great import. It’s been said by someone somewhere already. Most likely. Human primates tend to be fairly conformist thinkers with limited imagination (in my opinion).

Posts on social media often just sound like someone shouting at their television. It’s pretty pointless and not even very gratifying. lol This? Right here? It’s an example of that; it’s my opinion. I didn’t do any actual research. I don’t actually “know more” than someone else does. It’s just my own impression, based on my own experience. Is it worth sharing? I’m willing to be sufficiently honest with myself to admit that I don’t know that it really is worth sharing; it’s just my opinion, and I’m choosing to share it without any certainty that it matters at all. Hell, it probably doesn’t, and it’s likely that very few people will read this, and fewer still will care.

I write because I write, it’s really that simple (for me). I’d be writing anyway, and this I do know for a fact based on my lived experience over many years. It’s too easy to get caught up in the bullshit drama and artificially inflated sense of importance on social media – so I left social media. I still talk back to thumbnail titles and news headlines, because so often the content isn’t worth actually watching or reading; everything I need to know is in the bullshit click-bait title, right there up front trying to get my attention, and seeking my engagement. I “engage”, more often than not, by commenting aloud whatever my personal bullshit opinion is, and I move on to the next item. This amuses me without inflaming anyone else, and it’s every bit as likely to “move the needle” on some issue (which is to say, not at all). Less time wasted of these precious limited mortal hours.

I’m feeling a tad cynical, I guess. I need to paint, and walk trails with my solitary thoughts, and distance myself from the many disappointments of humanity – and oh good g’damn there are so so many. Humanity kind of sucks, and our best efforts to do better are not nearly enough. Please keep trying though; the effort does matter. I silently remind myself to do my best, and that the journey is the destination. It’s not about what anyone else wants or needs from me. It’s about what I want and need from myself; to be the person I most want to be, the “best version” of myself that I can become over time.

I sigh quietly, looking out into the morning fog. It’s a chilly autumn morning, and this morning I am waiting for the sun. It’s Saturday, and there is no hurry. The morning is mine.

I sit with my thoughts and my coffee. Later, I’ll begin again. It’s my path, and I’ll walk it my way.

Disappointment and sorrow are part of the human experience. So are misogyny and poor decision making, I guess. I feel sad this morning. It’ll pass. I breathe, exhale, and relax, and take time for gratitude.

I’m fortunate. I’ve got a nice little house in a good neighborhood. I’m married to a man I adore and who loves me unreservedly with his whole heart. I’ve got a good job and my health is better than it’s been in a long time. My commute each morning is a pleasant one, and I enjoy long walks on lovely trails nearly every day. The bills are paid. The pantry is stocked. My stepson helps around the house. It’s a good life and I am fortunate. Four years feels like a long time, but it will pass, and the future is unwritten.

It isn’t generally helpful to waste time on anger that can be better spent on joy. It isn’t generally helpful to grieve horrible shit that hasn’t actually happened yet. I do my best with it, sitting here quietly before my walk, thinking my thoughts.

Another breath. I lace up my boots. It’s time to begin again.