Archives for category: health

It was the anxiety that woke me, drenched in hot sweat, feeling a weight on my chest, breathless and on the edge of panic, in a quiet, dark room, in the wee hours before dawn. What the hell? I forced myself to remain still, and artificially calm. “Breathe!” I commanded my still waking consciousness sternly. I exhaled slowly, emptying my lungs. Another deep breath, another slow complete exhalation. I turned on a dim light as I continue to breathe, exhale, and relax.

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

“Anxiety” 2011

Anxiety is a very human experience. Certainly there’s no shortage of shit that might make us anxious in the modern world. Here? Now? In a dimly lit comfortable bedroom in a safe suburban neighborhood during the quiet hours before a new day begins there really doesn’t seem to be anything going on worth feeling anxious about. That’s all anxiety is, after all, a feeling. The lived experience of human biochemistry misfiring in the darkness. Fucking hell I definitely dislike feeling anxious. The worst of it is the way my mind immediately goes into overdrive trying to ascribe an “obvious” cause to it that seems plausible enough to become difficult to shake, however ridiculous it actually is.

I get up. Dress. Head out for the local trail I favor for a pleasant morning walk. The anxiety goes with me, this morning. It is what it is. I keep breathing. I keep reminding myself that “anxiety is a liar”, which I have found to be reliably true.

A peaceful spot suitable for a moment of reflection.

I sit with my thoughts awhile, near a small chapel alongside the first section of the trail. I’m in no hurry. Coffee with a friend a little later, and a bit of a drive to get there. The morning is my own. I think wistfully of my Traveling Partner, still sleeping at home. I hope my anxiety didn’t disturb his rest.

I breathe, exhale, relax. Meditation before my walk isn’t my usual practice. This morning I need the benefit of that cultivated moment of peace before I set off down the trail. There’s no self-critical pressure being applied, no disappointment over feeling anxious. This is the moment I’m in, and the experience I’m having. It doesn’t seem to be connected to anything, and I’m not surprised by that. I’ve got a diagnosis for good reasons. This anxiety is “disordered” – it’s “not real”, in the sense that there is no external cause at all. It is inappropriate to the circumstances. Baggage. The leavings of past trauma and whatever the fuck else causes a human body to fire off a bunch of chemical signals that suggest there is some dire circumstance afoot. (There just isn’t, and anxiety is a liar.)

On the other hand, the feeling of anxiety, the experience of the chemistry of it, is very real and very troublesome. I breathe through it, repeating the cyclical breathing I know specifically helps calm my nervous system. That’s very real, too. I’m still surprised how much effect specific breathing patterns can have on my subjective experience. The way my breathing can directly and immediately change how I feel is amazing. Sometimes it takes a bit of discipline. Real practice. Verbs. Persistence.

I stand and stretch as it begins to sprinkle. I’m fairly close to the car, so I walk back for my rain poncho. The walking also calms my anxiety quite a lot, especially when I am present in the moment and not all up in my head.

Even as the anxiety begins to dissipate, I feel it clawing at my brain trying to latch on to some idea or experience to find justification that will feed it. I keep brushing aside the impulse to make it “about” something. Not helpful. I roll my eyes and walk on down the trail.

For some of us, building and maintaining mental health and emotional wellness is a lifelong endeavor that can feel a little frustrating when it seems endlessly unresolved. Solutions feel impermanent, because they are. Life doesn’t stand still and mental illness is pretty persistent. Whether we take medication or practice a strict diet and exercise regimen, or maintain a committed meditation practice, or see a therapist regularly, or some combination of things that we’ve found some measure of success with, for many people mental health isn’t a given – it’s a struggle. There’s no easy cure in a pill. Mental health isn’t that simple. Trauma remakes us. The ideal biochemical balance for any one human primate isn’t clear. There’s a shitload of trial and error involved in finding what works for any one human being – and finding it doesn’t guarantee lasting relief.

…So… This morning I woke to anxiety. This morning I walk with anxiety. This morning I practice the practices that work best for me, not out of habit, and not because I generally find value and resilience in them, but because I really need all the tools at my disposal to kick anxiety’s ass another day.

As I walk, I feel the anxiety slowly beginning to dissipate. Sometimes it takes awhile. I’m grateful to deal with it alone this morning; less risk of unnecessary drama erupting from the lies my anxiety tells me. I breathe the fresh scent of petrichor and Spring flowers. I exhale the last remnants of tension from this mortal body. I repeat the breathing and the feeling of relief is also repeated. Breathe in, breathe out, walk on… It mostly works for me, and this morning it’s enough.

… Like anything else, anxiety is impermanent. It will pass. If I don’t feed it, it will starve…

I get to my halfway spot with my thoughts, and a beautiful sunrise on an overcast drizzly morning. I’m okay for most values of “okay”. My results vary, but there’s really nothing amiss and it’s a lovely morning. I can begin again.

I don’t have all the answers. Some days, I’m fairly certain I don’t have any “answers”. At least, not to the questions I’m asking. This morning there’s this, though, which seeks to answer a whole lot of the “hard questions”, and offers a different path humanity could follow.

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

This morning i feel hopeful, but also more than a little cynical; human beings (particularly wealthy ones) don’t like plans that require those with much to give anything up for those with little. We’re sick like that. Still, I read an article about the report (a report prepared by knowledgeable experts in the relevant fields and based on a metric fuck-ton of data over decades) and it certainly sounds promising. I track down the link to the report for later. I definitely want to read the whole thing.

Human beings, being human. Most of the people who will be arguing about this report and its recommendations won’t actually read the report. They’ll read an article in the Guardian or the NYT or the Washington Post, and blurt out redigested opinions they don’t actually hold based on any depth of knowledge or real commitment, and behave as if they had a thought. That’ll be supremely irritating but it may be an unavoidable byproduct of our desire to “sound smart” – style over substance. I sigh to myself; I’m not immune. I’m human, too. I’m definitely going to read the actual report though; I enjoy feeling hopeful.

I walk down the trail on this chilly morning. Peculiarly, it feels more like autumn than Spring. I’m glad I wore a fleece over my sweater. The sky overhead is a cozy comforter of puffy gray clouds. There’s a strip of open sky on the western horizon and the blue gray hills in the distance are enhanced by layers of far off clouds that mimic still more hills, as if even taller mountains are beyond those hills I always see. It’s a visually appealing illusion. I find myself tempted to return to the car and drive to those faraway hills.

…It is a work day, an ordinary Thursday, and not the day for adventure…

I yawn as I walk. Still waking up. The morning is a festival of green hues. The dark greens of the oaks and pines, the bright strips of green that are the young vines in the vineyard create a lovely scene. The yellower and bluer greens of this or that flower or shrub keep things interesting. It’s a beautiful morning. The feeling is deepened and enhanced by this fragile feeling of hope. It’s a nice beginning to a new day.

As I walk, a realization hits me; I never saw my Traveling Partner stumble even once last night! I’m given yet another moment to feel hopeful and encouraged in life and I feast on it. I’m not starved from joy these days, I definitely get an ample portion, but little gives me more joy in the moment than my beloved’s continued recovery from injury. It’s the very best “birthday present” I can imagine.

As I walk, I notice that I feel physically less “weighed down by life”, less burdened, and I marvel at how much my emotional experience determines my physical experience. I’ve noticed it before, too; when I feel sad, pain seems worsened along with my mood. When I feel merry, my pain often lessens, too – or seems less bothersome, however bad it is. I’d say “that’s funny”, meaning strange, but I don’t want the observation confused for amusement. It’s useful. We not only become what we practice, we inhabit an experience colored by our emotions. That seems like an important detail.

I get to my halfway point almost unexpectedly. I have been lost in my thoughts. I sit awhile listening to the creek beyond the trees chortling as if amused by my human foolishness. I watch the illusion of mountains on the horizon begin to curl and shift and take on a pink color from the sunrise. They definitely look more like clouds than mountains, now.

… Change is

I breathe, exhale, and relax, grateful for my warm sweater and cozy fleece. I meditate awhile, feeling fortunate to have these quiet minutes to enjoy before a busy work day, aware that this is a choice. This? Here, now? It’s a familiar path, even metaphorically, but that doesn’t diminish the value in the path, the metaphor, or the lessons I can take from walking it. It’s a nice change to feel so hopeful.

I watch the clouds shifting and the changing light and shadows as the sun rises. I savor this hopeful feeling, grateful for the moment. I get ready to begin, again.

Hope is a feeling. Change is a verb.

I feel pretty good this morning. I probably have my Traveling Partner to thank for that, this morning. I’m grateful for the care and consideration he shows me.

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

Yesterday was a busy one at work. Busy and chaotic and filled with pressure to complete tasks. It was filled with “wins”, but also? It was a lot of work. Cognitive effort is still effort. Cognitive fatigue is still fatigue. Exhaustion doesn’t care how you got there. My capacity for manual labor and physically taxing tasks isn’t what it was at 30. The work I do now isn’t dependent on that. I can still manage to thoroughly exhaust myself over the course of a busy week or day. Yesterday, I returned home from work so completely “used up” that I could not visualize food sufficiently well to prepare a meal, and when my beloved suggested I should take some time to take care of myself and not just sit on the couch numbly hanging out with him (but not really present), I started crying. Fatigue.

He was right though; I very much needed to take care of myself rather urgently.

…If I had rejected his suggestion I might not be where I am this morning, relaxing at a favorite spot along a favorite trail as the sun rises, feeling merry and rested…

Sunrise

I chose self-care. I withdrew to a quiet room with my paper journal (it’s barely that, it’s more a combination coloring book, sticker collage, and poetry notebook) and my stickers. That doesn’t sound “grown up”, I know – but self-care isn’t about appearances or performance. I sat in a dimly lit room, resting my display-fatigued eyes for a little while. I meditated. In the stillness, notifications and phone silenced, I breathed and exhaled and relaxed, letting the stress of the exceptionally busy day recede into the past.  I looked over my stickers contentedly and began decorating a new page (with various sizes of colorful butterflies). Later I might add words to the page, a poem, a thought, something interesting I’ve noticed maybe. The result is a sort of illuminated book of…notions? It’s a very calming practice for me, and another contemplative practice I can choose when I need to nurture something within myself that has been spent.

… Your results may vary; choose nurturing restorative practices that work for you

Once I had rested my mind, my eyes, and my senses, I returned to the living room feeling much refreshed. The evening was a pleasant one spent hanging out in the good company of my beloved. I went to bed at the usual time (pretty early, but I’m up early, and trying to keep later hours hasn’t managed to shift that waking time at all). I slept well and deeply. I woke feeling fresh and ready to take on a new day, and another mile.

Self-care matters.

I promise myself that I will be more considerate of this fragile mortal vessel today. There is more work to be done. I remind myself to protect my time – and my peace – and to make wise choices about the quality and quantity of the media I consume. There’s a lot out there that has no relevance or importance to me at all, and there is no need to waste my attention on it.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. It’s a new day full of opportunities and choices. I remind myself to choose wisely. There is so much to learn and see and do in one mortal life, and it isn’t all about me, all the time. Life is bigger than that. Choose easy or choose hard, we’ve only got so much to give and our time is finite.

I’ll make my walk a short one today, my aching knee tells me that’s a smart choice. I’m grateful for my Leki trekking pole that is my everyday cane (very light weight, has some shock absorbtion built in). It has been durable and worth what I paid for it, some 10 years ago. I wonder again why we burden our elders with the poor quality rather heavy canes I see used commonly… don’t we care enough to make life just a little bit easier for our elders? Haven’t they worked hard enough already?

I sigh and get to my feet, ready to begin again.

I was on the trail just at daybreak. I was up an hour early. In the late Spring, and summer, months it hardly matters; I’ll have daylight for my walk, which beats walking in the dark. Why walk in the dark at all then? Because my morning walk is a practice, for me. It helps start my day gently, with some calm-building exercise and a bit of time for meditation before another work day begins. It works for me.

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

The difference between a “practice” and just some thing I happen to do or try is that a practice has some ongoing specific purpose (otherwise it might be better described as a “ritual”) and recurs with some fixed cadence in a “no end in sight” sort of way. “Practice” suggests continuation of effort, a progression, an active doing. I’m not generally going for “mastery”; the practice itself is the point, however skilled I may (or may not) become.

Meditation is a practice. Walking in the morning before work is a practice. Using a “panic checklist” to ground myself in the midst of a panic attack is a practice. Taking time for self-reflection and writing each day is a practice. A lot of things we do in life could potentially be a practice. In my own use of the term, I am explicitly referring to the things I reliably do to support good mental and emotional health (and to a lesser degree physical health). Most of my practices are things I do every day, with few exceptions. Some practices are things I do when specific conditions are met, or a particular need arises.

An activity of some kind is more likely to be a “practice”, to my own way of thinking, when it is done a specific way for a specific purpose. For example, my morning walk; it is a meditation practice as much as anything to do with fitness, so I walk with a relaxed comfortably brisk pace, and without distractions (no music, no companion, no talking) awake, alert, and aware of my surroundings. I walk, being present and mindful. Oh, sure, some days the pace is difficult, and perhaps I am slowed by disability. Human. Sometimes I walk distracted by my thoughts and rather “far away”, it happens. Very human. Some mornings pings from my Traveling Partner cause me to pause along the way, or perhaps I keep stopping to take pictures. That’s another reason it’s a practice; I’m always working at getting it right. Failure is not only an option, it’s pretty fucking common and very very human. (We learn more from our failures than from our successes.)

Walking as a practice is about steps – one after another after another down the trail, a metaphor for life and living. Meditation as a practice is about discipline, consistency, and creating resilience. Each practice has a point, a purpose, and generally a few fairly simple steps. The apparent simplicity is not an indication of how much effort may be required or whether the practice will be simple to adopt or maintain. I keep wanting to get a healthy strength training practice going. I seem quite good at failing to do so. 😆 Also very human.

Viewing various health supporting activities as practices lets me grow with my learning over time without feeling pressure to perform at some particular level or demonstrate some kind of mastery; I am free to be a student, a learner… a practitioner. Very freeing, and in that freedom I find ease, and value, and joy. Are there more efficient walkers logging more miles on more difficult trails? I don’t doubt there are, but that doesn’t matter and is not relevant to me. Are there individuals who reach advanced states of consciousness or divine revelation through meditation far beyond any achievement of my own? Probably, sure. What’s that to me? It’s not a competition, at all. It’s a practice. I do mine for me. What any other individual is doing or achieving isn’t part of my experience.

I breathe, exhale, and relax – and get on to my meditation practice, after taking a few minutes to write and reflect, from the vantage point of this bench alongside the trail I favor most mornings. Practicing the practices that have proven to be helpful for me. We become what we practice. I sigh and think about that again. Practice. I’ve got a nice set of dumbbells at home, a weight bench, and a very good yoga mat. I’ve even got the time in the evening… a fitness practice suited to my years, and my abilities, is only one step away; the doing of the thing. There are verbs involved.

I sit with my thoughts awhile longer, mostly reflecting on the “why” of really committing to a strength training fitness practice. The improved strength and muscle tone will feel better, and movement will become easier. I may be able to improve my walking speed, and go further, faster, or walk more challenging trails. Improved fitness will likely mean improvements in my breathing and lung capacity. Strength training will improve my caloric burn rate, which may shed some pounds and improve my physical form aesthetically (I like the look of a fit, strong, healthy body). Improvements in movement, fitness, and strength have a really good chance of improving my sexual health – and although I don’t talk much about sex explicitly, I’m still interested, and sexually active (when I can overcome my disabilities). Anything that makes that easier is worth doing! So… strength training? Yes?

I think I’ve got myself talked into it, but practicing a practice isn’t about thinking about it. There are verbs involved. I’ll need to begin again. I get to my feet and look down the trail. It’s a beautiful Spring morning, very promising. I inhale the scents of Spring and exhale feeling content and encouraged. Where this path leads may not be certain – but the journey is the destination. That’s enough for an excellent beginning.

Sometimes it’s necessary to do a “reset” and update some settings. I gaze into the little strip of trees along the creek bank. It’s hard not to notice the apartment buildings on the other side. I sigh to myself, frustrated by this feeling of my consciousness being encroached upon. There’s a certain lasting fatigue that seems to linger even after a good night’s rest. I fight it unsuccessfully with sleep, meditation, healthy breaks from work, half-assed attempts at boundary setting… I need to “reset my OS” (metaphorically speaking).

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

I’ve got a room booked on the coast for the weekend, and a couple of meetings I can’t dodge between now and hitting the highway heading for a sunset ocean view. My Traveling Partner is right; I need a break, and I also need to reset my understanding of what he’s capable of, now. I breathe, exhale, and relax. Nice morning for it. I haven’t even packed yet. I rarely do anything so spontaneous. I chuckle out loud to myself, and hearing the sound, I am struck by how much it resembles my Mother’s laugh, and my Granny’s. I smile. I’m okay with that.

I got home last night after some quick grocery shopping, to discover that my beloved had cleaned the house more or less top to bottom over the course of the day. He’s clearly less disabled than he has been. I’ve got to stop behaving as if he needs continuous assistance with everything. It’s not true, and I am myself made of mortal flesh. I’d do well to recalibrate and adapt to the new normal. As I think the thought a wave of relief washes over me. I’ve worked so hard to care for him, and endured much. I’m due a bit of a break and he’s surely due the opportunity to simply be, without my constant worried fussing.

“Baby Love” blooming by the front door.

A simple question remains; will the damned deer ever stop eating my fucking roses?! Oh. “No.” The answer is no. 😆 But that’s not the question. The actual question is; can I get myself to slow down and care for myself, for real? Buy a couple new bras that actually fit? Get my hair cut? Maybe sleep in? Spend a day painting without distractions? Shop without anyone else in mind? It’s not at all easy to give up all the caregiving habits that were so much a part of the last two years. It is now necessary to complete the process of shifting gears again, back from steadfast accommodating caregiver to partner, friend, and lover. I am relieved and grateful… And I need a break to care for myself and update my thinking.

“Rainbow Happy Trails” blooming, too.

… And the deer will go on eating my damned roses, because they are having their own experience and care nothing about the circumstances of my human life…

“Whimsy” finally blooms for the first time since I planted her.

For real though, I’m glad I got some pictures of the roses in bloom yesterday, because this morning the flowers are all gone. I sigh to myself. Life isn’t perfect; it’s a journey. The journey is the destination. (And deer eat roses.) I’m not even bitching (well, maybe a little),  by most definitions, things are okay. Hell, I’m making a little weekend getaway to the coast happen on very short notice. That feels good even if the price of gas is still eye poppingly expensive. $5.33?? Are you kidding me with this shit? Ffs, take his toys away and put that senile old clown on a fucking time out. 😆

The sun rises behind me. A low mist in the vineyard hints at a cooler morning. It may be chilly on the coast. I remind myself to pack a warm sweater and wear my fleece. I smile, feeling light. It’s time to begin again.