Archives for category: Logic & Reason

Yesterday went sideways for a painful moment or two. I am more resilient than I was even a  year ago; some tears, some words, and a hot soak in Epsom salts later, I was okay. Saddened a bit that I am less skillful at face-to-face communication than I would like to be. Irked with myself failing to recognize that communication is not always what someone else is after, at all. Still…okay. The evening ended quietly, and pleasantly, and I managed to pass an interesting milestone that is quite new for me, although it was  painful moment – I asked my traveling partner to go, rather than continue an unpleasant moment for both of us. I didn’t regret the decision. I didn’t candy coat it. I didn’t go after him, changing my mind. I didn’t plead for him to return – or even actually want that. I took care of me, gently and without guilt or fear. Last night, I needed me.

I miss living with my traveling partner – the convenience of his nearness and warmth is lovely – but one advantage to living alone is being more able to invest in my self-care, and to continue to pursue progress in therapy at a time when much of what I am working on/through/with touches on intimate relationship experiences, emotional self-sufficiency, free will, and developing/maintaining a comfortably adult sense of self with an injury and trauma history that tends to push me in a co-dependent direction with any being that may wish me more good than ill. Living with me is not easy on anyone – me, included. For now, developing that relationship I have with myself is an important part of what I am doing lately. It’s harder to do living with a being I adore with whole-hearted enthusiasm, commitment, and affection so strong that I routinely put love – and my traveling partner – ahead of my own needs. This is a poor choice over time, I know, and I’ve felt it like a weight tied to our experience together. We both need a break from the chaos and damage, figuring out how to get one has been a challenge. How unfair that he has to deal with it at all? He didn’t bring me to this place, but he’s been quite a good sport about walking part of this journey with me in spite of that… but… I am my own cartographer. It doesn’t just ‘have to be that way’ – it simply is. Eventually, following someone else’s path leads me predictably astray from my own. There’s no ill-intention to it; we are each having our own experience.

It was my traveling partner who first made that observation to me, in these words, “we are each having our own experience”. It has been a powerful observation that holds great meaning and perspective for me.

A good reminder

A good reminder

This morning I woke gently from a night of deep restful sleep. No tears. No nightmares. No residual ‘ick’ or emotional hangover. This is an interesting change, and I’m not inclined to question it. I feel appreciative of progress made over time. I am living my own life – right now. There are still going to be some painful moments; emotion is part of my human experience, and there is no ‘happy ending’ besides the one I create for myself.

Yesterday is behind me. Today is ahead of me. Tonight is hours away, and it is still the middle of the work week. There is plenty to do here at home – some housekeeping, a few remaining moving in tasks, a stereo to hook up. I decided to give up on the huge wall-mounted monitor – even on its stand it takes up too much wall space for something that is of little importance to me; I am quite content watching movies, anime, and favorite shows of all sorts on my laptop, or a bigger monitor than my wee laptop – but I earnestly prefer my wall space be reserved for art, and don’t really watch much television at all. On the other hand… music doesn’t sound the same on the laptop, even with my sound bar. It’s not at all the same as listening to music through a good amplifier and great speakers – filling the house with sound, and feeling the bass in my bones. I want that experience back in my day-to-day existence with the music I like best, myself. It’s been more than two years of compromising my musical taste because it wasn’t preferred in the household – now the household is mine, and I play the music I love, myself.

Somewhere across the distance of life's journey, I am connecting with myself.

Somewhere across the distance of life’s journey, I am connecting with myself.

I find this slow process of unfolding and becoming and allowing myself to acknowledge, accept, and invest in my own taste and needs without distraction or compromise both interesting and sometimes quite emotional. So far I am delighted with the results, and not inclined to take direction, or be blown off course by what suits anyone else – even my traveling partner. This sometimes sets up some powerful internal conflict as I untangle me from all the baggage that isn’t actually ‘me’. Love is what it is, and loving well demands that I open my heart to others – but also that I nurture my own heart, and satisfy my own needs. When I take the best care of me I am more able to love well…but I may not be the person my lover assumes me to be. Is there risk that love will be lost along the way? That’s a complicated question that lacks a clear answer…but I am certain of one thing; I can’t love easily if I am not the person I actually am, and any love returned to me can’t easily be experience, enjoyed, or sustained if it is intended for someone other than the me that I actually am.

The sum of many parts.

The sum of many parts.

This is not a sad morning, or moment. I feel encouraged and strong, and something like the way I feel in that moment at a trail head, pulling on my pack, adjusting the straps, and double checking my map before I head down the trail, eyes wide with wonder, awake and aware. I don’t know where my path will take me, and I’m okay with that. Today is a good day for solo hiking.

I am having a difficult moment. I write those words simply, and hoping that perhaps seeing them on the page in such a practical no bullshit way might give me some kind of leverage, a way to pull myself from the edge of this pit. It feels harder than that. Given a chance I know that it probably isn’t any more difficult that giving myself some tenderness, some compassion, and maintaining the will to look the truth straight in the face, fully accepting disappointments, hurts, and all the small things that don’t feel good. Awesome is possible…but the effort to lift a finger to let go of the hurting long enough to change it is hard to muster right now. It won’t stay this way ‘forever’, however much I hurt right now.

I am not skilled at managing my emotions. I’m still such a beginner. I feel my feelings so strongly – as if they are the only real reality, the only true truth. Intellect tells me it isn’t so. Study suggests perspective matters. Practices, over time, have resulted in so many fewer such moments like this one. Here I am now, though. This one’s harder than most, lately things have been very good. It’s not helping matters that I have no name for this feeling…some mix of disappointment, sadness, frustration, loneliness, and grief…and over something probably pretty small in the bigger picture.

I wrote more. I deleted it. I wrote more after that. Deleted it, too. Writing. Reading. Deleting. Contemplating words in rows. Feeling feelings. Tears slide down my face, ignored. I write. More words. I delete them; they say nothing. I am uncertain what I feel beyond this gray heavy hurting and loneliness. People are not who I expect them to be, or who I want them to be, or even who they once were. People are only who they are, in this moment now, and not even reliably so; I persist in expecting things, assuming things, wanting things. Mere mortals, one and all, each with our own baggage, our own failures, our own hurts – each of us the ‘good guy’ in our own narrative, and making it up as we go along. Something about this must be worth it – most of us keep at it. Again and again.

...Maybe a picture of some flowers will help?

…Maybe a picture of some flowers will help?

I am covered in mosquito bites. The itching drives me mad. I am in tears, head stuffy, eyes swollen. I am resentful of my weakness and my failure – how the fuck did I manage to fuck up a nice bit of hang out time with my traveling partner so easily? I mean, aside from being utterly human? My head aches with doubt and insecurity. Right now, nothing feels good, or holds any promise. This seems an unfair extreme, and rationally I know to doubt the intensity of it. Right now, I feel sad…and a lot of other stuff, none of it any good.  My demons head for the playground. I feel stalled and helpless – and angry with myself that any one other human being anywhere has this kind of influence on my state of mind, however loved, however well-intended, however valued.

Words on a page. Maybe I should delete more of them? What is there to be gained in words about tears? It is wishful thinking to hope the demons might be distracted by a handful of words. They are not inclined to listen deeply, to be considerate, affectionate, supportive, or friendly – they don’t have my best interests in mind at all.  They do not love.  I do, though… it’s just hard right now. First I’ve got to swallow this bitter pill, with a side of fail sauce – then, later, when there are no more tears, sometime after a shower, after time spent meditating, after some sleep…maybe then it won’t be so hard to be alone. I may be doing quite a lot of it in the future – there’s really no way to know what the future holds for  me.

Some moments are harder than others. They’re all just moments, brief and ephemeral – good or bad, they are over so quickly. Hurting sucks, but it will also end. Eventually tears dry. Eventually wounds heal. Eventually, wherever I happen to be will be okay with me. I focus on something small; I am okay right now…it’s a place to start.

Begin somewhere, and keep taking steps.

Begin somewhere, and keep taking steps.

…later…

Change is. Really. That’s even okay – sometimes it takes getting used to. Sometimes there are regrets – and apologies. Sometimes there is distance. Words can be misunderstood. The summer showers of my emotions pass quickly. I’m okay. Tears do dry. 🙂

I woke very early this morning – 3:08 am. There was no particular reason to wake so early, besides not being asleep anymore. I had crashed for the evening a bit earlier than I have been for the past few days, but not so early that a 3:08 am wake up really amounts to adequate sleep. I’m not tired, though, and after meditation, I let my body call the shots and get up for yoga, and coffee.

This morning I take my coffee with just a hint of sugar (about half a teaspoon) and a splash of half and half (half a tablespoon). The beans are from a local roaster, and I smile thinking of the sunny Saturday visit to the now-nearby Farmer’s Market; it has a very different feel than the downtown Farmer’s Market I have frequented for years, and also quite different than the small one near my former residence. I like them all.

Choices come in many forms.

Choices come in many forms.

 

The time taken making coffee is more mindful, now. Using the pour over method of brewing my morning coffee leaves no particular room to wander off, or to be distracted. I enjoy both the process and the result. I enjoy sipping my coffee, savoring the awareness that each element of this cup of coffee in my hands has been chosen by me quite specifically… The cup is one that I bought shortly after moving the last time. (I had purchased one for each member of the household in white ceramic that says ‘Life is Good!’ – mine is the only survivor.) I selected the brewing method after auditioning several, knowing I would be giving up the espresso machine I had grown so used to. I selected the kettle, the burr grinder, the drip cone – even the filter papers were a choice from among several brands, and types. I selected the beans, and the grind. I brewed it, choosing even the quantity of coffee being used, then chose to serve it with a little cream and sugar. This modest accomplishment is meaningful to me; this cup of coffee is representative of my will in action, and my freedom to choose. This cup of coffee is a small piece of ‘who I am’ and enjoying it says much about the choices I make to savor my experience. It’s a small thing… from some vantage points. It is a fairly big deal for me, in the context of healing and growth, and life’s extensive curriculum on mindful living and good self-care. My Big 5 have a role to play in this simple cup of coffee – because living alone doesn’t take The Big 5 out of the game; I have opportunities to treat myself with respect, consideration, compassion, and in the sense that I put effort into my experience, there is reciprocity when my experience delivers something wonderful back in a ceramic mug at 5:00 am. I am open to my successes, however small. Yep. The Big 5 is accounted for. Clearly, enjoying this tasty cup of coffee contentedly and satisfied that all is well in this moment is a nice step forward in The Art of Being, too. A good start to a Monday, all around.

Today didn’t have to start so easily. I could have chosen differently when I woke. My demons were lurking in the background at the ready, waiting to tell me tales of doubt and fear, waiting to fill me with insecurity and sadness. Which is real? The feelings I didn’t choose, or the feelings I feel now? Would the doubt, insecurity and sadness be ‘more real’ or ‘more true’ of my experience – given that I could likely justify those feelings with thoughts, given a moment to ponder them and become invested – or is this simple delight in a cup of coffee on a Monday morning, and the smile on my face more real and true of my experience of myself, because I am experiencing it? We choose so much of our experience. I am sometimes frustrated when sadness or despair creep over me unexpectedly – I would not choose them willfully, and once I am mired in those blue moods, it can be difficult to remember to choose differently.

Feet up, relaxing - a worthwhile activity.

Feet up, relaxing – a worthwhile activity.

I am quite human. I am enjoying the experience of living alone, and it suits me well. On the other hand, life with my traveling partner has gone a long way to heal some of the chaos and damage that once prevented me from connecting with others in an intimate way, and prevented me from being vulnerable; close contact wasn’t something I enjoyed or craved beyond sex. That has changed, and although I enjoy living alone, I miss hugs hello and good-bye, and cuddling in the evening, and conversation over my second coffee in the morning… Thinking about the loss of those things in my day to day experience quickly brings tears to my eyes – which surprises me every time, because it seems to defy my contentment, and to mock the day-to-day ease of life in this solitary space. I don’t understand the tears, and I find myself resentful of their intrusion, and uncomfortable with myself in those moments. Stray tears interrupt me when I answer the question ‘are you happy?’ – because although I am, I miss love, Love, and contact.  It is an interesting emotional balancing act, and I sometimes wonder if I am ready for this particular piece of life’s curriculum. I sometimes feel a bit like a child in school, having skipped ahead in the book eagerly, and suddenly finding myself in over my head, and not easily able to understand the material in front of me.

“Are you happy?” is a question worth asking. It is a question worth contemplating. When the tears fall, I take time to comfort myself, mostly with a reminder that ‘happily ever after’ isn’t a real thing, and that ‘happy’ isn’t what I have been seeking for some time now. I enjoy it when I feel it, but I no longer pursue it. I am content with contentment, and sufficiency is…you know where I’m going with this… sufficiency is enough. Making ‘happy’ a goal fucked me over way too many times to want to continue to chase that dragon through my remaining years. Happy is a choice, and a moment to savor when I am fortunate to enjoy it – contentment can more easily be built and sustained on good practices.

A few tears do nothing to damage this beautiful life.

A few tears do nothing to damage this beautiful life.

The apartment was warm and a bit stuffy this morning when I woke. I opened the patio door and the front window to let the fresh air blow through while I sip my coffee and write. In the distance I hear the traffic, still sparse in the early morning hours. Rain begins to fall. I enjoy the sound of rain. The apartment has cooled off and the air is fresh and clean. I am content, and calm, and feel at ease with myself and the world – and my choices. I am so close to ‘happy’ I can reach out and touch it, pretty much any time. This maddening brain injury sometimes trips me up; a question about whether I am happy causes me to consider ‘why would I not be happy?’ – launching thoughts of the challenges and losses, and the emotions associated with those thoughts are immediate, real, and visceral, even in the abstract, and I find myself in the strange position of feeling feelings that are not the same quality of ‘real’ as the moment I am living. Hard on me, hard on people who love me – particularly those that pose the question seeking the positives. It is an interesting pile of rubble swept aside as ‘trivial’ among the details of the chaos and damage…looks like it has come time to clean up that corner of my heart more thoroughly, if only to more fully enjoy the delights of this life I am living.

The rain falls. The fresh breezes blow through the apartment. My coffee cup is warm in my hand. I have uninterrupted time in the morning to meditate, to write, and to be.  Lonely sucks – solitude is precious. There are verbs involved, and my results vary. 🙂

Today is a good day for choices. Today is a good day to savor contentment, and a good cup of coffee. Today is a good day to practice the practices that care for me most skillfully, and best meet my needs over time. Today is a good day to love the woman in the mirror. Today is a good day to make eye contact, and share smiles with the world.

I’ll be moving over the next day or two, and while I am sure I will have plenty to say about it I am also aware that all that can keep another day or two besides, and that once I power down my laptop for the last time before the movers arrive tomorrow, it will be a week before my internet connectivity exists outside my phone, or my office. I could tether and go on with writing, but instead I will take a break, enjoy some down time, and focus on the tasks and process at hand.

If you are missing me, in the interim, and we’re associates offline, please email me or phone or reach out on Facebook; all those things are at my fingertips most of the time. (It is the 21st century, after all.)  If your sole connection to me is through these words, and you find yourself missing the sound of my voice, please check out the Reading List or play a nice hand or two of blog post roulette – I sometimes find some lovely moments lurking in past posts.

I’m ready and excited to move. I feel capable, and the time spent planning has paid off enormously. I will miss these few still moments in the morning, writing over my coffee, even for the handful of days that I am away from it. It is a valued self-care practice, and a lovely nurturing routine, for me. I do have others, and they will get their turn to shine this week. 🙂  I hope your moments are well-chosen, and that you take care of you. Enjoy the journey!

See you on the other side…

I will, thanks. :-)

I will, thanks. 🙂

I find waiting both difficult, and peculiar. Sooner or later, I find I am waiting…for something. Like change, waiting simply is. It wasn’t that long ago that I used to say “I suck at waiting”, and if you understood me to mean “I wait in frustration and make no effort to wait skillfully” then it would also be true that I sucked at waiting. Seriously, though, it generally sucked most when I invested in making it suck more than it had too, which is to say ‘at all’. Waiting is another practice wanting an opportunity to be practiced. Waiting gently, calming, and without investing in some moment beyond now is a good practice for building emotional resilience, strength of will, and perspective.

Do roses wait to bloom?

Do roses wait to bloom?

I am waiting, today. I am waiting gently, skillfully, and with contentment that the outcome is inevitable – at least, the result of there being an outcome is a given. What the outcome will be, in fact, is the thing on which I wait. It’s rather annoying, sure, and I feel impatience to be on with things come and go, increasing in moments of distraction, dissipating when I am focused on other things. There aren’t really a lot of words (of my own) to write about waiting – and it is such a common experience for humanity that I have nothing noteworthy to share. I wait. I breathe. I consider the moment when waiting is ended, and endeavor to take a practical approach that prevents my daydreams from escalating and causing disappointment when the waiting ends – real life is still on the other side of the waiting, and it cares not one whit what I am daydreaming about. 🙂

It’s been something like…2…almost 3 weeks, I think, of contentment. Sure, emotional weather comes and goes, but the climate in my own experience is quite nice. Some part of that contentment is a byproduct of standing on the threshold of an important change, embracing this moment eagerly, and even more eagerly looking ahead to the next experience. I am walking a path that I am paving myself, one choice at a time, and although this is generally true…I rarely feel it so fully. I could get very used to this feeling of being capable, calm, and content. (I hear the demons sniggering in the dark; their turn will come, and they know that’s true – because this too shall pass. Learning the practices to disarm them is part of what this whole journey is ‘about’.) I tend to be a woman of action, as much as I am ‘a planner’, and I’ve done some first-rate planning here – and now I am moved to take action. Waiting comes first. Waiting always goes to the front of the line, and waiting is. So, I meditate. I breathe. I walk. I smile. I consider the moment. I consider others in my experience. I consider my experience. I practice practices. I commit effort to other tasks. I follow through on details. Then there’s more practice… and still I am waiting.

Although waiting often feels endless, I am finding that my own tendency is to exaggerate the wait, and to run it together with other waiting; I’ve only been waiting to hear back on my lease application since Friday…only…realistically I knew I would not hear anything over the weekend (the office is closed), and the paperwork was submitted late in the day. So… waiting since…yesterday. It’s hard to fuss over a one day wait that I knew was coming. I still find that I do. It is the nature of eagerness to provoke a sense of waiting. I am learning to wait with great skill and contentment, certain that an outcome is an inevitability and that I am capable of turning the outcome – whatever it is – to an advantage.

There is tremendous freedom in connected self-reliance, and finding contentment instead of chasing happiness. I am surprised every day how much ‘contentment’ feels like what I thought I was seeking when I sought ‘happily ever after’. There is confidence in good planning, and security in knowing that the plan has a back up, and a back up to the back up, and alternatives to preferred choices that are every bit as comfortable for me as the choice I favor. It’s hard to ‘fail’ when there are so many possible successes in front of me.

So, I wait. Today is a good day for waiting, and waiting is. Today is a good day to enjoy this moment, now, unaffected by waiting – because it is a moment every bit as worth savoring as any moment to come, and it is mine to enjoy. Today is a good day to enjoy the journey – and the waiting.