Archives for category: Logic & Reason

I woke easily but wanting to sleep later. I lingered in bed for some time, but sleep wasn’t happening; the day had begun. I sat down with my coffee and opened my Facebook feed – generally a very positive place these days, because it actually does work to continue to refine my feed preferences over time. I block ‘news’ sites that aren’t legitimate news sites, choosing to refrain from injecting poison into my brain through my eye holes every day, if I can. I’ve even chosen to unfriend some long-time historical connections whose values, and means of expressing those, continued to cause me stress and rouse emotions like fear, panic, anxiety – hard to call them friends, if that is my reaction to their words, right?

The world is what it is, though, and incremental change over time on a global scale is crazy slow – because we don’t all share the same values, and frankly, it’s not even a given that we all make choices in favor of our own survival as a species. I mean… actually… it’s clear we don’t.

Isn't the beauty of a sunrise important, too?

Isn’t the beauty of a sunrise important, too?

Two articles got my attention in a fairly painful way this morning.  The first was an article about the artist Kesha losing a court case seeking to end her contractual relationship with a record company requiring her to continue to work alongside a producer who raped her. Wow. Seriously, Sony? Evil much? Is a record deal actually worth sacrificing a young woman’s mental and emotional health? My first thought is ‘how dare you?’, followed quickly by my own memories of attempting to report a sexual assault to my unit commander and being told I didn’t really want to ‘ruin that young man’s life that way’ and besides ‘it would be bad for unit cohesion’ and I should ‘grow a thicker skin – boys will be boys’. Yep. Apparently that’s still the world we live in. How about we fix that?

We could choose to change the path we're on.

We could choose to change the path we’re on.

The second article was entirely different, very peculiar, and tough to fit into my understanding of rational adult governance; the Southern Poverty Law Center produced their annual report of hate groups, and I guess I’m not really surprised, but… the Republican Party made the list this year. (Oh hey, guys – go you! It’s like an award for being… the worst people in the nation. WTF? Certainly validates my choice to register differently some years ago, just saying. Don’t hate.) Yeah. I actually don’t know what to say about it. I seriously doubt that my own Republican friends meet the definition of ‘a hate group’… then recall that I’ve unfriended a number of former associates, friends, and colleagues, for reasons very much relevant to the politics of hate: racism, sexism, xenophobia, religious fundamentalism, and political extremism of the sort that seeks to create a bigger and bigger divide between some arbitrary ‘us’ and some frightening ‘them’. So… huh. What now?

Taken in context, fully considering what you know of the world, yourself, are your individual choices building the world you want most to live in?

Taken in context, fully considering what you know of the world, yourself, are your individual choices building the world you want most to live in?

If Republicanism has indeed become a hate group… do we now see the wholesome, compassionate, educated, forward-thinking Republicans among us lead their party to a better way of viewing the world… or do they leave the Republican party? Those aren’t the only two options, of course. Another option is pissing and moaning about how misunderstood their hate is, and how they are only seeking to improve things for “everyone”, and perhaps something about how ‘that’s just a few extremists in the party’. Scary, though. If I were told, with supporting documentation and evidence, that ‘being an artist’ was a hate group… would I stop painting? Would I paint differently? Would living my own values require me to change my actions based on the new information – or would it require me to acknowledge the truth of it, and continue to live it?

What matters most? Taking care of me is not at the expense of others - it never had to be.

What matters most? Taking care of me is not at the expense of others – it never had to be.

When I realized I had gotten sucked into a very dark place quite early in the morning, even letting my coffee go cold, I set the world aside – it’ll still be here later – and take time for me. I calm myself with meditation, and take time to watch the morning unfold beyond the window. The sunrise was worth taking the time for it. A fresh cup of coffee is nice, too. I breathe, and let go of my own hurting resurrected by the unpleasant, uncomfortable, all-too-human hateful bullshit that snuck into my experience this morning. Hurts from the past don’t have to be indulged in the present; it’s something my traveling partner pointed out to me early in our relationship. Having the injury that I do, it’s often very difficult to ‘let things go’ once visceral real-time emotions are aroused, but it isn’t impossible. Verbs. Always with the verbs. 🙂

Be love.

Be love.

I don’t have to live within my emotional pain. It isn’t a requirement to hold onto the worst moments as though they define the present ones. They are now only memories, scars, and lingering impressions caught in my implicit memory. I allow ‘now’ to become prominent, again. I step more firmly into this moment. I hear the music in the background… it’s apropos and I smile, and relax.  I think of my friends, their wit, their wisdom – even the Republican ones. The world is damned scary filtered by fear and hate, isn’t it? That isn’t the world I actually live in, myself… You? Maybe it’s a matter of speaking up when we hear it around us, just simply saying ‘Dude, not okay!’, and reminding each other of Wheaton’s Law.  Maybe it’s bigger than that – maybe we’re not the most amazing primates, after all? Certainly we’ve got room to grow as beings. We live in the world we choose to build. Could we do better? Choose more wisely? Well… yeah. 🙂 Let’s do that!

Today is a good day for sunshine, and for logging off Facebook. Today is a good day for being. Today is a good day to buy products from companies that don’t promote hate, or rape culture, or slavery, or exploitation, or… I didn’t say it was going to be easy. It’s going to take practice. 🙂

I’m up earlier than I really need to be, and I have the day off. I’m okay with that; it’s simply more time in my day. My coffee is tasty, and the day begins gently.

This one is a short one this morning. I am thinking about reason, assumptions, and how we human primates build so much of our understanding of the world on incomplete or inaccurate narratives we make up in our own heads. It’s worth giving some thought to, I think.

This image is not a black and white shot.

This image is not a black and white shot.

Very few things in life are as simple as we make them. Very few things are ‘black and white’ – or more accurately ‘black or not black’, ‘white or not white’; the logical rules Aristotle left for us don’t account for the rich tapestry of ‘real life’, and humanity has long since moved on from the limitations of simple Newtonian physics, too. Just saying – allowing assumptions about things in life I don’t (or can’t) really know isn’t just a limitation, it colors my experience a great deal.

Today is a good day for not knowing, and for allowing reliance on certainty to fall by the wayside. Today is a good day to be unsure. Today is a good day to be open to more possibilities, and a broader perspective. Today is a good day to abandon assumptions, and let go of expectations. Today is a good day to be open; it’s a very different world that way.

I woke early this morning. It was with some effort that I fell asleep last night. Between those events I slept well and deeply, and I am appreciative of the good rest more than I am moved in a  negative way by the lack of sleeping in. My thoughts at the end of yesterday picked up where they left off this morning, with the fragment of an idea worth further contemplation; prohibition, ‘being’ positive or negative, and the many layers of rules, rule breaking, fault-finding and reinforcement on which so much human experience is built.

So many times my traveling partner and I have spoken about words, language, and communication, and it is not uncommon that my use of ‘phrasing things in the negative’ comes up as a linguistic quirk with some potential to frame more of my experience in negative terms (potentially further influencing my thinking and decision-making). “How are you doing?” might be the question. “Not bad.” I might say in response. It’s pretty easy to see the use of negative there – did you notice it a sentence earlier on when I observed that this use of language is ‘not uncommon’ for me? It’s a subtle thing sometimes. I don’t know with any certainty whether it is of genuine significance in any way but one; it causes my traveling partner some stress. I don’t know why, but it is a linguistic form that he is uncomfortable with, and this gets me thinking about ‘positive’ and ‘negative’ people – human beings for whom a clear state of one versus the other seems to be prominent in the day-to-day interactions we share, as a defining characteristic. We all choose, but the choices are not always obvious in the moment – or easy to change once we’ve built habitual uses of language and behavior (whether toward others or ourselves), and then there’s the humor thing; people often behave in a specific fashion for a laugh. That can be pretty confusing sometimes. Sarcasm as humor isn’t accessible for every ear; I am a bit ‘tone deaf’ in the sarcasm spectrum – particularly in text – and make an effort to avoid using it, myself (somewhat unsuccessfully if I am feeling angry or frustrated).

I think about a former colleague so negative in day-to-day demeanor that sometimes working with him was enough to cause my PTSD to flare up, forcing me to just go home to be out of that environment. Strangely, he’s a friend, and a really sharp guy, educated and an astute thinker – all but for his practice of pushing every perception, every observation, and every experience through an intensely negative filter and the resulting depression, resentment, cynicism, bitterness and expressions of futility are a huge downer. Finding out later that he isn’t actually saturated in that experience, but communicating in that fashion as a form of self-expression much of the time was actually really disturbing for me; he seemed unaware that it affected others.

I am often unaware of how my use of language affects others. I am having my own experience. (Aren’t we all?) Holding this thought in my awareness I understand that life’s many prohibitions reach me through many voices over a lifetime – voices that may not be aware of how the words, tone, and implications of each prohibition may affect me. I reached adulthood understanding that the choices in life were now entirely my own, but without any understanding of what that means, or how deeply I might have to dig to make the choices that would matter the most. This morning I sip my coffee listening to jazz, and wondering how to ‘end prohibition’ in my experience and live more positively – not just on the surface, with my words and actions in the most mindful moments, but also in those dark corners where damage lurks, replacing the negatives with positives.

Have you really thought about this, yourself? How many prohibitions are you living with? I think that over for myself and make a quick list… that becomes a majorly long list very quickly. Some of the items on that list are mundane, some are no longer practical or relevant, and some just sound… mean. Where did this bullshit come from? Don’t interrupt. Don’t fidget. Don’t swear so much. Don’t walk away while I’m talking to you. Don’t leave dishes in the sink. Don’t leave papers piled up everywhere. Don’t leave paint out open. Don’t leave half full coffee cups lying around. Don’t leave that door open. Don’t be late. Don’t be early. Don’t cry. Don’t yell. Don’t talk so much. Don’t let the laundry pile up. Don’t watch so much tv. Don’t spend all day in your room. Don’t ignore me while I am talking to you. Don’t procrastinate. Don’t sigh so much. Don’t play games with me. Don’t forget this. Don’t talk about that. Don’t miss the bus. Don’t eat with your elbows on the table. Don’t flop down on the sofa. … And don’t expect help sorting all this bullshit out later. For real.

The prohibitions of childhood become, overtime, manners and good conduct within social norms – or baggage. Some of the prohibitions we grow up with make a lot of sense; ‘don’t put your hand on the hot burner of the stove’ is one example of a very practical admonishment likely to save one a trip to the ER. On the other hand, ‘don’t talk so much’ just… hurts. It’s literally not ever stopped hurting, and every time someone dear to me shuts me down in conversation the message I hear is ‘your words don’t matter to me’, which sounds a lot like ‘you don’t matter to me’ in later moments of isolation or despair. We’ve built a culture that is both insensitive to the power of words, and insensitive to the delicacy of our human hearts; we’re fucking mean sometimes, to ourselves and to each other. Similarly; my lack of sensitivity with regard to how much I may be talking is equally at risk of cutting someone dear to me off from being able to express themselves, to converse with me, or may prevent them feeling heard. This awareness alerts me that it’s a more complicated puzzle – and I find myself wondering at the ‘why is this on my mind right now’ piece a bit distractedly.

Can all of life’s prohibitions be framed up in positive terms? Some surely can – ‘don’t leave dishes in the sink’ can be compiled with a whole bunch of detailed small prohibitions about housekeeping and life basics and pinned on the fridge with a magnet as ‘Live Beautifully’ – nicely positive. Will it remind me to take out the trash and recycling, vacuum, and do the dishes? So far, it generally does – because those are my choices, consistent with my own understanding of ‘living beautifully’. Clearly – your results may vary.

On reflection, I struggle to fit all of the prohibitions lurking in my background ‘programming’ into positive terms – some don’t seem to want to fit. I turn ‘don’t cry’ over in my head… I feel the lifetime of frustration and dismissal begin to rise as visceral emotions; hard to manage comfortably. I breathe and let that one go for now. I look at ‘don’t talk so much’, ‘don’t just keep talking’, and the correlated criticisms phrased as irritated questions like ‘are you every going to shut up?’ ‘are you even going to take a breath?’ and ‘can I just get a word in edgewise?’ – legitimate expressions of frustration heard with fair frequency over the years. Funny thing about this one; I rarely hear these expressed in this way from colleagues or strangers (because socially it’s rude) but still occasionally hear similar from loved ones. The words linger in my programming as remnants from other times in life, other relationships. My traveling partner is the most likely human in my experience at this time in life to express frustration with the stream of consciousness flow of near continuous talk – it stops being a conversation, realistically, if he is not also talking. He is eager to enjoy conversation with me. I don’t exactly make it easy with this injury; the executive functions responsible for managing social cues that drive the give and take of conversation are affected. I am learning to listen deeply, and engaging in listening as a verb of its own, to improve my ability to control rapid speech, and continuous talking. There are verbs involved. It takes considerable practice. I still mostly suck at it unless I am very mindful indeed; my results vary. I am a student. Listening deeply is a nice positive approach to counter the damaging prohibitions directed toward my flow of speech. Incremental change over time may be a thing – sometimes it is frustratingly slow. 🙂

I finish my first coffee of a lovely Saturday morning feeling like a kid that figured out a new math problem all on her own – a little triumphant, a little eager to go further, a lot humbled by all that I do not know. Making a connection between the subtle negatives of language, and the ‘programmed’ prohibitions still complicating my experience day-to-day seems useful. If my thinking is filled with prohibitions, rather than encouragements, it’s no wonder I use so much negative language; I’m overly focused on not doing, and not thinking, and eager to confirm that I am not… something. It is, at least, worthy of further consideration generally.

I can’t say I’m traveling this path without a map. I am reading a very good book that nudges my thinking in new directions, positively, and I’ve chosen to set Proust aside briefly to focus on it, finish it, and wring from it all the inspired thinking I am able to. “After Buddhism: Rethinking the Dharma for a Secular Age” is definitely making my reading list. From the book:

Dharma practice exposes the limits of human thought and language when we are confronted with the puzzle of being here at all. All people, whether devoutly religious or avowedly secular, share this sense of unknowing, wonder, and perplexity. That is where we all begin.”

How many times might I begin again?

How many times might I begin again?

Another new morning, another new beginning, another great cup of coffee after a good night’s sleep; it’s a lovely morning so far. I sip my coffee and think about choices.

Each day shows me a new horizon. Each morning I see it with new eyes.

Each day shows me a new horizon. Each morning I see it with new eyes.

Each morning I wake to choices. I choose whether to turn on the aquarium, or go straight for the bathroom first. I choose whether to put on music – and what music it will be. I choose whether to start the water boiling for my coffee before or after my yoga…and before or after my shower…and before or after I dress; now that I am using an electric kettle, there is no risk of boiling over or leaving a burner on. I chose that too.

When I first see my reflection in the bathroom mirror, I choose how I treat myself, and what observations I focus on, or make time for. This morning I found myself so adorable I made a point of trying to get a picture of how approachably sexy my tousled hair and sleepy smile strike me, myself. I choose whether to enjoy the experience of who I am, or to change it, or to wallow in the misery of ‘I can’t help it!’ – all choices.

When I roll out my yoga mat, I choose whether to take my time or to choose a shorter sequence. I choose whether to focus on the pain and what I can’t do, or to focus on how good movement feels and what I can do. Each morning I choose whether to take an opiate painkiller, even after giving them up completely; this will be a necessary choice to make until I am “completely over it”, and I respect and value myself enough to make it willful, and part of an authentic experience of life, struggle, and change. Each morning I choose, and each morning I move on from that choice content with other options; medical cannabis is enough. That too is a choice.

Pain isn’t a choice, how I deal with it is. Emotions often work that way too; the immediate reactive emotion of the moment may not be fully chosen, but whether and how I express it most assuredly is. I’ve come a long way, in very small increments, from being that woman crying “I can’t choose how I feel!!” to having the understanding that I can choose how I manage my emotions, how I treat other people when I am emotional, and I can choose practices that over time help me become less reactive. Nice choices…and yeah… my results have varied, and there have been verbs involved. Still are.

I choose the clothes I wear. I choose the name I use. I choose where I live, and where I work. I choose whether I smile, and whether I am cross when an unfamiliar man in a public place tells me too smile on a difficult day – I even choose whether I understand that stranger to be ‘encouraging’ or ‘an inappropriately demanding asshole trying to force me into some cultural role comfortable for him’. So many choices. I chuckle thinking about the upcoming election; there’s choice there too, and yes my vote ‘counts’ – if not because someone will be elected, then because it is an expression of who I am, through my choice. Choice, I realize, isn’t exclusively about the outcome that results – it is a statement of self. Well, damn…that makes choosing well, and in accordance with my values, kind of a big deal; it makes a statement about who I am. 🙂

You, too. Unavoidably. Even in the refusal to choose, or the desire to stop others from choosing.

I know, I know, “it isn’t that simple” (isn’t it?); we don’t always get what we choose! Actually…we don’t always get what we want. Choice isn’t a getting, it’s a more active process, and because my own will and my own choices are not the only will and choice in action moment to moment in my experience of life, sometimes… things don’t go as desired, intended, or planned. I chose to move to this bigger apartment – but the landlady chose to approve that change and allow me to do so. Clearly my own choice was not the only choice involved…but…in fairness, reaching back in time all the way to moving into Number 27 in May, every action as a rent-paying tenant from that point built the landlady’s likelihood of approving me to move into the bigger unit less than a year later, didn’t it? That’s a lot of intermediate choices, and I certainly didn’t make them with a future move in mind; I lived my life. From my own perspective, that’s where the future exists – in the choices I make every day, along this journey; when my choices are consistent with my values, and my values support and nurture the woman I most want to be, the resulting life… is mine. It’s mine regardless, but I like to suppose that when I live it authentically, based on values that have served me well and represent the best woman I am capable of being, the life I live on that basis will suit me and I will have a sense of ‘things going my way’ – even when they don’t. 🙂 So far, things seems to be working out pretty much that way.

Bad days are bad days. I have some. Being a human primate comes with some challenges, some difficult moments, emotions on tap, and frequent puzzles and frustrations. Being a human being comes with some amazing opportunities to grow, and to transcend the petty bullshit I could choose instead. The choices are a constant in the midst of continuous change.

How beautiful that each new day I can choose to begin again!

How beautiful that each new day I can choose to begin again!

Today is a good day to choose.

 

Fatigue still seems to be catching up to me unexpectedly easily. I wake comfortably this morning after a restful night, and not overly concerned about it, but it turns my attention to a number of life’s details that were quickly shifted to ‘later’ during the move, and attending to them makes sense, certainly putting them off indefinitely is a poor choice.

After yoga, a shower, and making coffee I remember that the quantity of coffee on hand is quite low. I order coffee, and recall that the wall heater uses considerable energy (costly) and that I had planned to get a second oil heater to keep the more spacious apartment comfortable; I make a note for later. While I am involved thus, I make a point of identifying assorted other quality of life details that need to be adjusted or refreshed for the new living space, and if nothing else, I give each sufficient consideration to have an idea what I will do about them, and when. I take time to consider my ‘breakables’ – a collection of delicate glass, porcelain, and crystal objects that I enjoy displaying and using; I made a point of boxing them all up for safety when it was clear that the environment was putting them at risk (before I moved into Number 27), and they have remained packed up since. No curio. (They used to ‘live in’ my sideboard, unless they were out, here and there.) I’ve bookmarked a couple lovely pieces to finish the dining room – a lighted glass door cabinet, and a cute chest with drawers that will serve well as a smallish sideboard; they compliment the light wood of the table. I find myself regularly brushing my hair out of my eyes and recognize that the more immediate need is for a haircut; I have Monday off, and book an appointment.

The day starts in this very grown up way, taking care of the needs of the moment, planning out the future quality of life improvements, and smiling that there is any sense that my quality of life actually needs any ‘improvement’. The smile pulls my attention, somehow, back to the quality of my life, generally, and the moment of contentment and appreciation finishes, rather amusingly, with the recollection that I don’t have a good mop for the much larger kitchen/dining room floor. I order one; that’s a ‘sooner than later’ detail, since a dirty floor will render a home seemingly filthy even when that is the literal only messy detail. (I am no longer that woman who has no will or energy available to live beautifully; I have the verbs for that.)

I feel relaxed and confident in my space and in my experience – and this feeling doesn’t feel ‘alien’ or unfamiliar. It feels more as if something treasured that was missing has been found. I think over my recent nightmare, still clinging to my consciousness, and the epiphany that followed and weave it together with the recollections of times past when I felt my most whole, my most adult, my most capable, and the when/where of those experiences – unsurprisingly nearly all of them at points in my life when I was living alone, however briefly… (with one notable exception; my relationship with my traveling partner, which tends generally be to very adult-to-adult with the exception of an extraordinary period of care and support when I needed it most, struggling to wean myself off of poorly chosen psych meds, and later when we were both working through issues associated with my injury, or my PTSD).

Trying to force myself to live comfortably in a pair-bonding cohabitation model of existence hasn’t worked out well for me, in any relationship. Attempting to cohabit with multiple adult partners (and their multiple very human issues) didn’t work out very well, either (although I could see myself trying again with a more rational choice of partnerships – a choice of more rational partners?). I find myself again and again allowing myself to be lead into over-compromising my needs, my values, or my quality of life solely to avoid confrontation, when I live with other people. It’s silly – and not a very efficient way to live harmoniously. Festering resentment is super unpleasant to live around, and to be quite reasonable about it, my anger is not something to be trifled with, but that’s a truth that is often not heard between primates until shit goes really wrong. Then it’s all neighbors on the news with quotes like “well, she always seemed very pleasant, I’m very surprised…”. It’s not a place I want to find myself, frankly. So. Other choices.

I am still getting used to the spaciousness here. Gone the utterly necessary compactness of … everything. Am I rambling? If I am, is it because there is so much additional room here? More than enough – which feels a tad strange very often, still. The roominess here, for one person, is ‘ample’. Perhaps even ‘ideal’ (for me). The idealness of it is taking some getting used to, and there is some point in my consciousness I occasionally catch discontentedly searching for ‘the worm in the apple’. Freaking human primate negative bias issues – like I need that bullshit! 🙂 Meditation works well to address that… I think I’ll do that.

Begin again... And then again. Each dawn is a new beginning.

Begin again… And then again. Each dawn is a new beginning.

Today is a choice day to begin with good choices. Today is a lovely day to spend the day on loving, and being love. Today is a fine day to reflect on the woman in the mirror, and the opportunity to live well that stretches ahead. Today is a very good day to take care of me, and in doing so I am changing my world.