Archives for category: Logic & Reason

I woke only a handful of minutes ahead of the alarm, feeling rested and content. I took advantage of the time to allow myself to wake slowly, gently, unfolding my awareness like a magic folding box until I was really quite wide awake. Meditation is very gentle on my consciousness first thing upon waking, and it is a favorite approach to returning to waking awareness. Meditation evolved and became yoga as my feet hit the floor and I unfolded my body, too, through a short series of easy poses. A shower. A coffee.

Over my coffee I read a blog post or two; other writer’s voices, other words of encouragement and growth, other perspectives. (I do what I can to avoid reading much ‘news’ these days, though some finds its way into my eye holes as a byproduct of work and life and interacting with others, most days.) This morning I treat myself well, almost tenderly, letting the potential ease of the day develop without being crowded by ‘have to’.

My mind wanders before I finish this post. I am distracted by the serenity of the morning as the minutes tick away and find myself still and calm, and contemplating recent favorite pictures from here and there; moments of delight frozen in time between other moments, memories in two dimensions, instant metaphors.

The loveliness of individuality.

The loveliness of individuality…

...and of shared experience...

…and of shared experience…

...the details...

…the details…

...the generalities...

…the generalities…

...and how different things can look, depending on where we stand...

…and how different things can look, depending on where we stand…

...perspective matters.

…perspective matters.

This morning life and love hit my bliss point; I am content, existing with a sense of sufficiency, and enjoying my current perspective. This ‘now’ is quite okay with me. Today is a good day to enjoy the moment.

I don’t do this sort of thing often, but when a dear friend, and a writer whose work I greatly enjoy, asks me to participate in something that could be fun, new, interesting, or just because they are dear to me and asked, I at least consider it… So here I am, at 4:00 am on a sleepless Monday morning, facing the questions put to me.  Many thanks for considering me, Oz. I am humbled to be thought interesting enough to share. 🙂

1. What am I working on?

Well, honestly, I’m ‘working on’ me. That’s really it. I write because the written word is a great way to communicate more slowly, more precisely, more poetically, and more lastingly than speaking aloud. The fundamentals of that idea don’t really hold up to much scrutiny these days, I suppose; there’s always video. Images, too, are lasting and rich with symbols and metaphors. I also take a lot of pictures.

2. How does my work differ from others of its genre?

I’m not sure what genre I’m in, and I don’t actually spend much time contemplating that, or related writer sorts of subjects, but I doubt my work differs significantly from the work of writers who are writing about similar things, aside from the details of who we each are, and the journey we are each on: mindfulness, meditation, healing, growth, compassion (and much, much more!). I doubt I’ve ever scratched the surface of ‘writers in my genre’ – there must be millions of people pouring their hearts into blog posts, doing their own best with growth, change and circumstances.  There must be differences to discuss, and commonalities, but they are beyond me without significant research.

One potential difference, is the lack of self-restraint regarding wordplay, I suppose. I often work oddball puns, references, weird humor, and bits of grammatical fun into my writing, and titles, and image captions tend to be a coherent and intentional part of the work, related to the body of the post very closely, although often tangentially, or from another perspective.  I have no particular concern that anyone else will ‘get it’… the bits of wordplay are more like easter eggs in code; a bit of fun for those that catch them.

3. Why do I write what I do?

Because I have to. Well, that sounds sort of dramatic, and I don’t mean it to… but what else would I write besides what I do write? That’s the not question, though, is it? Why do I write this blog from a positive perspective instead of drowning in bitterness and cynicism, perhaps? Or why don’t I write more graphically about sex, love, and romance than I do? Or even why am I so slim on pertinent details about people who may be mentioned in passing or by implication, but never quite allowed to develop as characters in a more full way?  It could be easier to break it down like that.  I write in the largely very positive way I do because it hurts to be foundering in a sea of pain, even emotional pain, and negativity is the last place I look for hope or solace; I don’t want to hurt anymore.  I don’t write more graphically about sex and love simply because I’ve used up all those words, there’s nothing more to say about the fun bits, the plumbing, the gymnastics, the heart and soul of it… this blog started at a different point in my life. There’s plenty to say about love and sex and romance in the world. My few words on that topic wouldn’t really be a value-add, and it could risk dragging the innocent reader through some of the worst of my chaos and damage. It seems unnecessary.  I also have a pretty firm personal mandate that this particular blog will remain as me-centric as it can be; my journey, my challenge, my life, my progress… it is, after all, ‘all about me’ – at least right here, for a few minutes, on a mostly daily basis, and I like to respect the privacy of friends and loved ones as much as possible. This blog is part of a healing process for me, a map of my journey, a log, and an ongoing reminder how human I am, and how commonplace my struggles are, it is not a place to lash out at others, or to be hurtful.  I’m still human; if I need to ‘just vent’ I save it for a private encrypted journal, a sort of practice range for words that are ‘like bullets’, and often find myself deleting the worst of who I am, which is a very nice feature of technology.

4. How does my writing process work?

It’s pretty simple; I’m having a conversation with myself, of sorts, contemplating what I am learning, what my understanding of the world is, and the meaning in my life and my choices.

I often start a blog post as a byproduct of other conversations, or reading and responding to something someone else wrote. When I am walking from one place to another, I write in my head, though generally poetry.  Those bits of internal dialogue often make it onto the page, here. My writing process is a tidied up look at the inner workings of my mind, and little more. I edit on the fly, and reliably fail to catch at least one significant spelling mistake when I hit ‘publish’. I have hungered to say just one particular thing in a particular way to the point of trashing thousands of written words that weren’t quite right, to try again. And again. Again. One more time, perhaps… and other mornings I sit down and bang out words that simply fall from brain to keyboard, thousands at a time without error or rewrite. Either way, it’s still that ‘conversation with myself’… or with a silent someone else, unstated, unidentified, and more important than mere identity. I write between 1000 and 5000 words a day, pretty easily. I’d write more, longer, more often…but people start noticing my lack of presence. lol

One of my daily challenges is around the simple practical missteps I struggle with because of my TBI.  As a result of that bit of baggage, I’m unsure who will be ‘up next’… I was not timely with my invitation. 😦 Having potentially let you down, I suggest that whether she chooses to participate in the My Writing Process Blog Tour, the blog of wisejourney is very worth exploring.  Certainly there have been many days when not one more step would be easily taken without her gentle words and lovely images to buoy my spirit on a difficult morning, and her blog was one of the first I began to read when I started down the path of real healing, self-compassion, and finding contentment in life.  I’m very hopeful that on June 16th, she’ll be ‘up next’.

It wouldn’t be a bad spot for a picture…

The beautiful thing about writers, is that although we are each on our own journey, and no one really has a map, sometimes the words of others function as a bit of pavement, a comfortable path for a portion of the journey.

The beautiful thing about writers, is that although we are each on our own journey, and no one really has a map, sometimes the words of others function as a bit of pavement, a comfortable path for a portion of the journey.

Today is a good day for honest words. Today is a good day to remember we are each having our own experience. Today is a good day for good choices. Today is a good day for love.

I slept in this morning, greedily immersing myself in more sleep after each moment of waking, until the morning light through the curtain, and the glow of the aquarium, had become too much to sleep through.  I crashed early last night, fatigued with hormones, hot flashes, emotional volatility and promise threat promise likelihood inevitability of largely unpredictable change future happenings. It’s been that sort of week.

It's still a journey. There's still no map.

It’s still a journey. There’s still no map.

Again, I find myself quite human. Indecisive. Fearful. Bolting from circumstances toward the unknown without patient and thorough consideration; traveling through life as a victim (again) instead of… well, whatever better options there are, and there are many (any of them would indeed be an improvement over panic).  Stress walks my PTSD down the aisle with my TBI and the resulting marriage, like many, is definitely not ‘made in heaven’.  In the middle of a terse conversation about entirely other matters, a partner observed in a frustrated tone that I could take a moment to show myself some compassion.

Well…yeah. Why wasn’t I?

This morning, over my coffee, contemplating recent events and conversations, thinking about needs, looking to understand ‘what matters most’ for me, looking to identify anything that could be tripping me up simply because it is unattended to… I read this in my newsfeed.  Purportedly an article about patience, it spoke to me on a deeper level, and although each and every numbered point is a reminder, rather than new information, the reminders were timely, and utterly relevant.  Meditation. Practice. Acceptance. Recognizing the infinitesimal line between the stories I tell myself, and what is – or may be.

There aren’t many things that calm me the way meditation can. How do I ever miss on that one? Still human.  I make choices, and in a brief moment on a sunny morning it can seem ‘no big deal’ to skip a few minutes of meditation… right? Free will… “I’m a grown up, after all”… “It’s such a beautiful day, and I’m in a great place…” “I just have to get this one thing done…” “It’s not like meditation is medication…”  My TBI already causes me a great deal of difficulty with building habits; not staying firmly committed is careless risk taking (for me) of the highest order.  My ability to show myself some kindness, some compassion, and to recognize my own needs and accept that meeting them is both critical and challenging, snuck off without my noticing and I dived into self-directed anger, resentment, disappointment with myself, berating myself for any decision that could have been hasty or in error, each moment of clouded judgment or poor reasoning… Yep. Still quite human. Still battling my demons, fighting my hormones, fighting the chaos and damage, fighting to go being enduring to achieve thriving. I sure don’t make it easy on me.

I do have ‘needs’, legitimate, non-negotiable, take-care-of-me, value-based, this-is-what-it-takes-to-thrive sorts of needs. Everyone does.  I have not always made it important to recognize and understand what those needs really are, beyond the survival basics, and it’s slow going learning what matters most to me.  I sometimes stumble on an issue, boundary, limitation, or need as an unexpected byproduct of some other event or decision-making; the undiscovered need becomes an unanticipated confound in reasoning that had seemed simple and clear, or becomes the thing that throws a beautiful plan completely off track. It’s inconvenient and inefficient to learn things in this haphazard fashion, and I rather pointlessly resent the crap out of it, wasting valuable time that could be spent understanding more that could be understood.

Patience is hard sometimes. Taking a step back and saying ‘this may not make as much sense as I thought it did’ can be very humbling. Looking into the face of an unmet need that has evolved over decades, as much because I have treated myself callously, and without regard for my own emotional wellness, hurts a lot. However much any one human being has ever hurt me, their efforts do not measure up to the pain and suffering I have inflicted on my own heart. That’s a hard thing to accept first thing on a lovely Sunday morning… but there it is.  How do I move on from the damage inflicted by others when I don’t allow myself to move on from the damage I inflict on myself?

For a few moments last night, I sat alone, still, bereft in my solitude, hurting, sad… frozen. I was immobilized by pain. The evening light began to fade… I sat quietly for uncounted long minutes, heart thumping evenly, breathing. Without planning it, I allowed my state of being to evolve from being emotionally paralyzed to a gentler place. Breathing. Aware. Letting the ‘weight of it all’ fall away.  I made room for my pain, for my confusion, for the simple basic needs of being human: resting when fatigued, comfort when emotional, healing when injured, sustenance, compassion.  I reached out to one partner, then another, open to healing, open to… being open.  Trusting and vulnerable.  They, too, are human.  We all understand the feelings of urgency, fear, need. We all make mistakes. We all struggle to make sense of out of our confusion.

Another perspective.

Another perspective.

I am standing on the edge of something…feeling a little as if the hike I took yesterday could have resulted in more clarity of thought than it did…wondering why it didn’t… feeling open, aware, trusting events to unfold as they will, for things to turn out in some fashion that allows for each of us to grow, to feel calm and secure, to discover and nurture ‘what matters most’ for our own hearts, to gently nurture and support what matter most for the hearts of others.

Today is a good day for calm, and  a good day for comfort.  Today is a good day to meditate, and show myself ‘a softer side’.  Today is a good day to be aware, content, and compassionate.  Today is a good day to change the world.

As recently as 5 years ago, my mobility (and joy in life) were incredible limited by my weight.  Over time I had continued to gain weight for a number of reasons, certainly including the very important reason that I really just didn’t do very much.  Between fighting my demons, taking medication to make that less difficult for those around me, and the slow descent into profound apathy toward life, in general, I gained weight at a predictably steady rate. When I started losing that weight, and slowing gaining some sort of motivation regarding life, if not actual joy in it, it was a process of choices and actions; progress was made over time.

I routinely walk between 5 and 8 miles a day, these days. I’m still heavier than I’d ideally like to be. My personal goal and sense of ‘this would be the most beautiful me’ are not particularly tied to cultural norms for beauty, over the years I’ve gotten past that bit of baggage, thankfully. I’d like to be healthy, fit, and able to live a long time.  Still, these knees and ankles don’t make it effortless, even now, and I’m not close enough to my goals to rest easy. There is more work to be done. I like enjoying my life, and for me that means freedom of movement, as much as I can manage. So, I walk. I do yoga. I get fitter. I get stronger. I make small gains in freedom of movement, gait, and comfort.

I still have a journey ahead of me, and with my partners eagerly embracing a new-found interest, or rekindling an old interest, in outdoor fun: hiking, kayaking, camping – I am struggling with a feeling of ‘falling behind’. It’s still a journey. It’s still my journey. The temptations of what I do not yet achieve with ease seem to be dangling in front of me, just out of reach. It’s hard not to be frustrated by that, sometimes. My journey, however, is my own, and it isn’t the same journey as the journey each of my loves, my friends, my associates takes; their journey is their own as well. I don’t grudge them their joys; I am human enough to experience envy and frustration at the tantalizing bits of those journeys I would like to share.

It isn't always obvious why the path is what it is.

It isn’t always obvious why the path is what it is.

So I wake this morning, quietly, hoping not to disturb the sleep of a partner heading into adventure today. I do hope for pictures, although I don’t expect them; life is best lived, full on, attentively, and in-the-moment. I wouldn’t ask him to sacrifice one second of that experience just to grab a photograph. I yearn to go along, sometime, and feel a poignant moment of recognition that I am not ready, yet.

So…more miles, walking, and it’s time to vary the terrain and stray from pavement. I’m shopping for a good daypack, and when I find the best fit, I’ll start walking with that, too. Every step forward, however small, is progress along the journey. It’s been a long time since Nijmegen, and I may never be fit enough for something like that again… but I’d love to be walking up a mountain trail with my loves, with my friends, to a destination in the wilderness, even if it isn’t very wild, or very far away; there’s a lot of beauty in the world, and I’d like to see more.

I spent the morning shopping for gear, feeling hopeful and encouraged, and ready to take another step.

Today is a good day for forward momentum. Today is a good day to experience life with eyes wide open, and an eager curiosity. Today is a good day to change the world.

Are we all secretly counting on miracles to make things right? Are we all after some sort of patent nostrum, magic potion, or a pill to make everything better? It’d be damned convenient, wouldn’t it? I mean, compared to having to build skills, habits, work through baggage, be accountable, and make good choices… a pill seems much simpler.

I’ve tried the pills; they don’t work. Well, they work, if by ‘working’ we agree to mean ‘have an effect of some kind’ for ‘some people’. Sometimes the effect they have fits the loose definition of ‘working’. Pharmaceuticals didn’t work out for me, personally. They tended to be too much, or too little, or had other more pronounced effects that were uncomfortable, unacceptable, or needed medication of their own. Over time I ended up taking a lot of pills, and for a net effect in improvement so slight that I was little more than a poster child for giving the medical community ‘a chance’.  I still struggled. I still suffered. I still hurt. I had a level of emotional volatility that wasn’t comfortable for anyone who had to live with me, and threw tantrums rivaling the most highly irritable three-year old, and did so with a ferocity and frequency that raw honesty requires me to admit was abusive to live with. I wasn’t okay.

This past weekend was a walk down memory lane, and serves to highlight how generally good the past year has been. Practicing mindfulness, meditating regularly, and learning different skills to identify and communicate my emotional experience in an appropriate way has done far more than any pharmaceuticals ever did. Still. This is a journey – and I’m far from reaching my destination.

So… pills don’t work. How about those miracles? Well, frankly, after this morning, I’m wondering if I should sign on to the miracle side of the argument… I woke early, damned early, crying in my sleep. The hot flashes the last couple weeks have been… extraordinary.  Over and over again, I find myself drenched in sweat, and right on the edge of freaking out because I’m overcome by feeling ‘too hot’.  Beyond being socially a bit awkward to be dealing with it so openly, it’s just seriously uncomfortable.  Take something for it! Sure! Except that medical science lags so far behind the hopes, dreams, and needs of women that it is little more than comedic at this point (are scientists even trying?). I mean, seriously? ED drugs are widely available, but in spite of the pure misery of billions of women dealing with their hormones and the effect that has on their relationships, there’s not shit of any real effectiveness available to deal with symptoms of menopause. Nope, we can all collectively go fuck ourselves, science is content with ‘bitches are crazy’ and leave it at that. Sorry. I’m feeling a tad bitter about the state of medicine and womanhood just at the moment.

I got distracted… by hot flashes. Go figure. The hormone thing is pretty attention consuming, honestly.

So. How about those miracles? Yep. Sitting here this morning, finding a moment of comfort staring at my monitor in the dim light of early morning, just sitting.  Taking a few minutes to calm myself and shush the infernal demons that woke me ahead of schedule. Feeling very alone. Feeling incredibly insecure about the future. Feeling pretty sad and overwhelmed. Wondering what the hell I could possibly ever do to make it up to people who love me, then feeling mired in suppressed rage that being female should feel like something I need to make up for… it was a rough start to the morning.  There was a quiet scratching at the door; at 5 am we’re all pretty cautious about keeping things quiet; everyone in the household has their own sleep challenges, and we all know how much it matters to get the sleep we can.  A wakeful partner checking in, a quiet ‘how did you sleep’ and a follow-up ‘are you up?’ from me.  Ordinary love, aside from Love never being at all ordinary… he headed back to bed, hoping for more rest. I resigned myself to continuing to face my challenges until the time came to leave for work.  I was settling in to breathing, being, meditating… and he quietly returned, crossed the room, and just stood near enough to touch, his tenderness palpable.  He said “I feel so helpless to do anything to help you with the menopause thing.” Honest. True. Loving. He headed to bed, and now I am writing about miracles.

It was a simple enough miracle of love; I felt lonely, my love connected with me, intimately, gently, honestly.  I need that, more than a cure, and feeling it matters so much this morning.  My demons have no real defense against love.

Today is a good day to love.

What time is love?

What time is love?