Archives for category: Love

Thanksgiving is over, and the holiday season has begun. Black Friday is a memory.

Thanksgiving was simple, quiet, intimate and amazing – unscripted, and as it turned out, entirely unplanned. We’d made dinner reservations to go out. It seemed the better choice at the time we made our plans; I have a very small kitchen, and although more than a year has now passed since I moved into my own place, my kitchen efficiency is still somewhat limited by the loss of some favored gadgets and appliances that I have not yet replaced… like my Kitchen Aid mixer, which I miss greatly.

I’d had my mixer for decades; it was a wedding gift left from my first marriage. It had become redundant when I moved in to the big house “with everyone”, and the newer mixer on hand won out. Mine became someone else’s cherished favored kitchen appliance (I no longer remember who). It was a painful moment to move out with the hurt and anger of the break-up flavored by the poignant loss of an appliance I’d never have given up except – love. It’s strange to me that the intense feelings over the break up have diminished, but the irritation over allowing myself to be so short-sighted as to be persuaded to give up my mixer, when there was ample room to store it more or less forever, somehow persists, particularly as this kitchen, now, is so small that there is neither space to store it, nor space to use it. lol Silly primates, emotions lack substance. Better to let such lingering ire just go; it serves no purpose now save to remind me that I do want to replace that mixer – which, I am well aware of, without the emotional reinforcement.

My Traveling Partner and I planned to be spending the afternoon and evening together. At some early point in the day, we agreed neither of us was particularly enthusiastic about our dinner plans, although the restaurant is one we both enjoy. I canceled the reservations. Hell, frozen waffles and powdered hot cocoa shared with my traveling partner in a tent in the dead of winter, wrapped in love and enjoying each other’s good company would still be a Thanksgiving to cherish; it isn’t about the venue or the menu. I looked over the pantry, committed to using what I had on hand. The drenching rain that had fallen all night, and continued through the morning was ample discouragement from any grocery shopping, and most places were closed. Could I pull off an unplanned Thanksgiving dinner for two? Neither of us had any specific expectations beyond sharing the time together and enjoying each other. I would do  my best. My best would be enough.

It was a simple meal. Chicken breasts baked in foil, seasoned with sage, onions, and chives from my container garden. Steamed baby Nero di Toscana kale, and savory baked heirloom carrots, from my autumn vegetable garden. Canned corn and box stuffing; durable staples always on hand from my pantry. I even had a solitary can of cranberry sauce left from… whenever. It was a lovely meal. We had a great evening. Around the time that our friends next door returned home from dinners with family, we were also settling in to relax and we all gathered together over music and friendly conversation. It was appropriately festive and joyful. It never needed to be elaborate.

I slept in Friday morning, and woke to my Traveling Partner awake ahead of me, working on his set list for a gig later in the day. We had coffee together. A bite of lunch a little later. When the time came he packed up his gear and I played roadie helping load it into the car. Then he was gone and quiet filled my solitary space, along with happy daydreams of love, and good intentions about housekeeping that never quite came to fruition. 🙂

I did my traditional Black Friday thing, which is to say, I stayed home and did not participate in the retail frenzy that exploits so many workers on a day of the year when they might like to be at home with their loved ones. (Go ahead and take a moment to reflect on how few potential four-day weekends exist for most “entry level”, retail, restaurant, or service industry employees, and then reflect on how much you have valued and needed that precious limited down time in your own life…I’ll wait.Do you suppose you really needed that discount on a crock pot more?) I’m okay with paying a reasonable price for goods and services, and I’m more than okay with doing my part to refraining from adding to the literal Black Friday body count that seems unique to American greed.  It is my tradition to spend Thanksgiving weekend setting up the holiday tree, lights, baking holiday treats… it is a long weekend, suitable for all those things. I didn’t do any of that yesterday, I just relaxed in the happy glow of being well-loved, reading, meditating, daydreaming about the future, and just generally enjoying myself quietly and in a state of great contentment. It was lovely. It was enough.

Misty mornings seem to offer the potential to remake the world, differently.

Misty mornings seem to offer the potential to remake the world, differently.

This morning I woke from a night of peculiarly interrupted sleep, and feeling rested, in spite of that. I gazed out over the misty meadow, considering where to the put holiday tree, sipping my coffee, watching the Canada geese stepping through the meadow, feasting on whatever it is they pull up from the mud along their way. My squirrel visitor returned, too, and enjoyed breakfast while I had my coffee. The Northern Flicker who comes by regularly joined us, taking a few moments to enjoy the seed bell and the suet feeder before departing. A flock of red-wing blackbirds took his place. There is nothing spectacular about this gentle morning, nothing to exclaim about, nothing I am inclined to change. I am content. As it turns out, contentment is quite every bit of “enough”, and far more easily reached than “happily ever after”.  I smile, and sip my coffee; it has grown cold in the morning chill of the room. I pause my writing to consider lighting a fire… later, perhaps. A lovely long walk on a misty morning, first, sounds like just the ideal thing to precede a hot shower, a mug of cocoa, and a crackling fire in the fireplace. 🙂

As with most things, even "enough" is a matter of perspective.

As with most things, even “enough” is a matter of perspective…

...What is "within reach" depends, too, on our perceptions, and our tools...

…what is “within reach” depends, too, on our perceptions, and our tools…

...We are each having our own experience.

…We are each having our own experience.

I’m still sitting around in comfy clothes, sipping my now-cold coffee, smiling out over the meadow whenever I glance out at the world. This feels good. I feel safe. Content. Loved. I have enough to get by on – and not that “oh fuck what now, it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay, we’ll all get through this, just breathe” level of “enough” that requires real commitment to staying present in this moment. (We all have those moments, eventually, it’s part of the human experience.) This morning it is the “oh hey, nothing to fear, nothing to want for, it’s all good my friends, can I pour you a coffee?” level of enough, and those times can feel so delicate, so precious and rare… I think because it has taken me so long to understand that they must be enjoyed with the same deep commitment to savoring them, lingering in that headspace, and revisiting the recollection again and again, as one might do for some grave challenge or anxiety-provoking moment, otherwise they seems to slip away. So, this morning, I’m here, enjoying now, enjoying me, and even enjoying my cold coffee in this chilly room, before I do something different – just to be sure I don’t forget how awesome this moment here also is. 🙂 Today, this is enough.

Merry Everything, everyone, and Happy All-of-whatever-the-fuck-this-is-right-here! May your day be merry and bright; it’s not holiday-dependent. Enjoy this moment, too. 😉

 

It’s a true thing; language functions by agreement. We understand each other because we believe we share definitions of terms. It’s often true that we do (more or less, individual subtleties and variations notwithstanding). Language also fails to function – by agreement; we often implicitly agree that in order to “keep peace”, to avoid “starting shit”, to evade “drama”, we overlook failures to explicitly clarify our meaning, even though we’ve seen that we are not communicating with clarity.  Well, damn, people, don’t do that. Just saying.

My idea of a beautiful Thanksgiving holiday and yours may differ – it’s generally not the sort of difference that causes terrible heartache, unless someone defies some commonly held familial, tribal, or community tradition based on novel (or merely outside the group) thinking. What about words like “equal”, “truth”, “non-biased”, “fair”, “considerate”, “honest”…? Our dictionaries differ, and we do tend – as human primates – to give our own point of view a great deal more weight than someone we perceive as “other” than ourselves. We find a lot of words to fight over.

It's hard to unsay the words.

It’s hard to unsay the words.

Last night OPD made a special delivery to my place, unexpectedly. My peaceful evening was shattered by angry voices. Not just angry – the sort of enraged fury that seems unique to people who are frustrated, struggling, emotionally invested, feeling unheard, and coming from a place of learned helplessness and impotent rage. Domestic violence makes that sound. It’s that bit just beyond lovers quarreling, that scary place where imminent violence seems highly likely…. and it’s not okay. Entirely unacceptable to treat love in that frightening, disrespectful, and callous fashion. It’s entirely unacceptable to treat one’s neighbors to it, either. It was after 10 pm, after community “quiet hours” begin, and completely audible through the walls. I could have put in earplugs and turned up the stereo to mask it… but I was acutely aware of two very important (to me) things: firstly, those are my friends over there, treating each other in that shabby fashion. Secondly, and most importantly, many years ago I promised myself I would not be a bystander to domestic violence. No excuses, no fear, no “it’s not my business” – no standing by and letting someone go through that, the way I once had to, isolated, frightened, hurting, injured, and without emotional support.

I threw on my coat, and went next door. We have a shared understanding on the knock we use; a roommate opened the door, knowing it was me. He had that “I’m staying out this, sorry about the noise” look of apology and discomfort on his young face. I nodded as he opened the door ever so slightly wider, and I walked purposefully past him toward the ongoing screaming. I could feel my symptoms surging from my own stress; this particular kind of verbal violence, emotional violence, the screaming at each other with such relentless deaf fury triggers my PTSD just about faster than anything else can – and I needed it to stop. For me. I stepped between them and began the process of separating them, helping them de-escalate, reminding them their behavior is simply not acceptable adult behavior (and no, I don’t care who you are, or who did what, or who is “right”, or the why of any of it all – knock that shit off, it’s not okay).

He had asked her to leave. It’s his place. I backed him up on that, knowing they definitely needed some moments or hours to calm the fuck down and get their heads right. She threw drama “I’m not taking anything! No one will ever find me! I’m never coming back!”. It was bullshit and drama, spoken from an emotional place, feeling hurt, angry, frightened, stressed out, not heard, treated badly… all of the things. Still unacceptable drama and bullshit, and I really wish someone had firmly said as much to me when I was a much younger, very volatile woman, myself. (Boundary setting is a useful skill. I am grateful to have survived my first marriage to undertake to learn some.)

She left, he was still storming, wanting to justify his anger, to explain himself, to demonstrate how his reaction was understandable. I didn’t argue those points, just kept reminding him the situation was not about “right”, only that it was an emotional situation in which his behavior was not appropriate. I pointed out how much time he has taken to grow as a man, to become the man he most wants to be, on his terms, and that this behavior was no part of that. I reminded him that his own dignity and self-respect were at stake here. I reminded him how young she is, and that we are each having our own experience. I reminded him that I, myself, for my own reasons, cannot tolerate that kind of violent behavior in my vicinity, and that indeed I do consider that emotional and verbal violence to be “violent” and that it causes human beings great pain. Hell, he was obviously hurting, himself. He was hurting himself. Hurting her. No one needed to raise a hand in violence; the damage was being done quite efficiently using only words.

I went home, hoping things would stay quiet. Already pretty stressed out to be exposed to the drama and bullshit. Triggered, aware, sad for them – hoping I’d done more good than harm, and hadn’t burned bridges with friends over it. Would I choose to intervene if I knew with certainty it would end my friendship with someone? Yes, I would. That shit is not okay – and its high time people (all of us) were more committed to saying so, each and every time it comes up. Violence? Not okay. Racism? Not okay. Exploitation? Not okay. Being a dick to people on mass transit? Not okay. Small stuff and large stuff. None of my business? Well… I suppose if I am content to watch the world burn, maybe that would be reasonable. I think we can do better. I think we can treat each other well; there are verbs involved, and a shared responsibility for the quality of life for all our neighbors and brothers and sisters and strangers and “others” who are not like us. The screaming and abuse has got to stop though. Non-negotiable, at least for me.

I heard the door open and close next-door, a little later. Quiet voices. I sat with my memories. It was a long time before I slept. I woke this morning, Thanksgiving Day. I woke this morning, grateful. I’m grateful to be alive. To have survived domestic violence – to have survived hell – with a heart still capable of loving, and eager to see my Traveling Partner; the first person to look me in the face in a moment of emotional violence, utter hysteria and rage (years ago, early in our relationship), and say “this is not okay, and you have to stop”. Thank you, Love.

Love matters most.

Love matters most.

Today is a good day to be grateful for the easy stuff – and the hard stuff too. Today is a good day to appreciate love and lovers and moments of profound change of perspective. Today is a good day to be honest, to be frank, to be compassionate, to listen deeply, and to love well. Today is a good day to change the world. ❤

Thank you for reading. Thank you for everything you do to become the person you most want to be. If you’re feeling up to it – let’s change the world. 🙂

I woke far too early, but wasn’t awake for long. Well, sort of. I woke coughing, almost choking, “on dust”. My throat was dry and scratchy. I looked at the clock, it was 3 am, one of those difficult to call bits of timing… Stay up? Go back to sleep? I took my morning medication and gave going back to sleep a try, pretty certain I’d be up in a few minutes. I may or may not have been asleep when the alarm went off; it came as no surprise, and did not startle me. I feel rested, I woke quite easily, if I was actually sleep. It’s sometimes hard to tell with me – I sometimes dream I am awake. lol

My traveling partner beat me to wakefulness this morning. His greeting was waiting for me when I picked up my phone. It was a lovely few minutes of conversation to share and start my morning, once I had replied.

I refrain from looking at the news; it has become a cesspool of hate, deceit, treachery, disappointment, and did I mention the hate? Ick. I’m also generally staying away from Facebook, even making a practice of logging out if I do access it at all. I removed it from my phone; I have to make a specific effort to check it, which includes reinstalling it, and logging in. This is not a “head in the sand” manuever; I am taking care of myself, and the surge in hatefulness is hard to bear witness to with regularity. So. Less of that. Less of all of that.

I’m not ignoring the hate, I really can’t. It’s not okay at all. I just make my stand quite publicly in everyday situations, every day. Giving up my seat on the bus to the pregnant woman who the other commuters are making an obvious point of ignoring. Saying out loud “Ma’am, would you like to take this seat? I see that the younger commuters don’t realize how difficult maintaining your balance would be, pregnant on a moving train” or sitting down next to a young woman who some creepy dude is intruding on, and making light conversation until he moves away, or gets off the train, or intervening in creep-tacular moments of weird with a firm “hey, that’s not okay, and it needs to stop” out loud, quite audibly, and no nonsense, directly to the person being objectionable, eye-contact free of charge. No heroics, I’m just pretty fed up with hateful bullshit, and at a point in life where I am fairly fearless about calling it out.

In the simplest terms, I’m no “bystander” – this is my life. If I don’t like hateful bullshit, it’s important to explicitly object to it. Every time. Tolerance is not an appropriate reaction to the mistreatment of others.

Just a reminder how pointless it really is to blame the incoming individual (for the role of president) for all the hate and rudeness in the land. He may have given it branding and explicit approval, but he’s not the cause; all the same things that cause it everywhere else cause it in him as well. We make it right by making it right. We right the wrongs by righting the wrongs. We end our silence by speaking up. It’s a very good time to practice treating others well, and learning that treating ourselves can’t be at the expense of others. Attempting to treat oneself well at the expense of others, or at the expense of the world, rather misses the point of treating anything well at all.

I'll make a point to stop to appreciate beauty, too.

I’ll make a point to stop to appreciate beauty; it is one way I treat myself well, and also very much worth doing. So many verbs!

I’ll spend the rest of the morning preparing for the day, meditating on loving kindness, practicing the practices that improve my quality of life in each moment, building a more resilient, emotionally intelligent woman to face in the mirror each morning. It’s a good morning for that. It’s a good day for kindness. It’s a good day to be the change I want to see in the world.

There is so much we get to decide for ourselves, so many options on life’s menu to choose from moment to moment, day to day, over the course of a life, lived. We choose a lot of stuff. We make a lot of choices. Many decisions are in our hands. There is something we don’t get to decide; we don’t get to decide if we’ve hurt someone else. They get to decide that, as the person who feels hurt. Period. End of discussion. Non-negotiable. We only know our own intention, and we’ll lie to ourselves about that, if it suits us. (Yes, you too. Yes, me too.) We tend to make ourselves the protagonist in our own narrative – and “the good guy” as well.

Yesterday I hurt my traveling partner’s feelings. I wasn’t sure how initially; I was feeling pretty fucking hurt myself, as it happened. He’d managed to hurt my feelings, too. He brought his hurt feelings to my attention immediately. I felt crappy for hurting him, angry that he’d hurt me, and resentful that he “got to it first”, resulting in also feeling that I had no legitimate opportunity to speak up about my own hurt feelings with him directly, without undermining the sincerity of my apology for hurting him. It was a less than ideal situation for good communication, or affectionate support. Still… I muddled through, and stayed true to one understanding of emotions I have learned I can count on; when we feel hurt, whatever the circumstances, we want the person we perceived has hurt us to acknowledge our suffering, and the part they played in it, and if possible we want them to make it right (or at least to apologize sincerely without making excuses). It’s an important part of treating others well to be able to apologize wholly, to mean it, and to handle that quite separately from our own hurts. That’s hard sometimes.

It's hard to unsay the words.

It’s hard to unsay the words.

I don’t always recognize that I’ve hurt someone. I don’t always understand why they are hurting. If they are hurting, and they tell me they are hurting, I accept that the hurt they are experiencing is truly their experience; it isn’t up to me to decide for them what hurts. No amount of comparison to my own experience, or other experiences, can serve to define, clarify, or place limits on the experience of someone saying they are hurt; it’s their experience, no one knows like they do. Let’s put another period right there, while we’re at it – this is also a non-negotiable on life’s journey; we don’t get to tell someone else how they feel. Just stop doing that shit. (I still catch myself, sometimes, and it usually begins innocently enough as an attempt to connect, to understand, to empathize… doesn’t matter much how it begins, if it ends with me telling you how you feel, I am in error for doing so, regardless whether I am coincidentally correct about your emotional state.)

Search all the books that matter most to you, there are still verbs involved. :-)

Search all the books that matter most to you, there are still verbs involved. 🙂

I’ve gotten decently skilled at some of the emotional intelligence stuff… It hasn’t necessarily eased the journey in any noteworthy way. lol I am quite human, and struggle most with emotions within the context of my most passionate intimate relationships like pretty nearly everyone else. I’m okay with that, it is a process and there is no lack of love. I felt sad to have hurt my traveling partner’s feelings. Keeping my sadness to the side, without disrespecting my own emotional needs, I made myself commit to listening deeply, however much his words hurt me (there was nothing abusive about them, just painfully frank, and striking directly at where I also hurt most, myself, in that moment). In listening with great care, and great compassion, I stayed open to accepting that I had hurt him, regardless of my intent. I apologized. He lashed out, hurt and angry, and I apologized again for hurting him, while I wept private tears. My morning felt pretty blown. My head ached. I felt heartsick.

Perspective matters. I often find it here. ;-)

Perspective matters. I often find it here. 😉

I took the space I needed to care for my own heart. That was a mixed effort for some time. It got easier after my traveling partner had time to give consideration to the morning, himself, with a clear head, and unencumbered by his own hurts. He apologized to me. We mutually acknowledged the misunderstandings, the miscommunications, mistakes resulting from the order in which text messages were received or read, the way key words and phrases evoke emotional reactions, we reinforced our value to each other, and took time to say soothing, caring things. We moved on.

Be love. It's a choice. Love is a verb.

Be love. It’s a choice. Love is a verb.

Did I hurt my traveling partner’s feelings deliberately? No. I wouldn’t. It’s not my way and I find no value in willfully treating people poorly. Did I hurt his feelings at all? He said I did, therefore that is his experience; my own, in that moment, is not relevant to his experience – even if I am also hurting. (Those are quite separate experiences.) It’s hard not to respond to my lover’s pain with my own pain – but it’s not productive, generally, to do so.

Our own pain easily manages to feel like the worst pain we’ve ever known (and generally without regard to whether we’ve ever hurt worse in the past, in other circumstances). Our approach to the pain of others is different – we want to fix it, to help, and we most certainly don’t want them hurting, we try to make it go away, or try to ignore it. As silly as it seems to read it in print, we behave as though we can use our words to re-craft our experience omitting their pain. It just doesn’t work that way. Sometimes people hurt. Sometimes we are the reason why they are hurting. The result, too often, is that we put our own pain ahead of the pain of others and end up imagining our pain hurts worse, when we cannot possibly know that, and can’t validate that assumption even by asking. The kinder choice is simply to be compassionate about pain, and to apologize when we’ve hurt someone. In mutually supportive relationships among equals, this is a reciprocal practice.

It’s still super hard though; if I feel hurt I want that attended to, and letting it go long enough to care for the pain of another is one of the more difficult practices I practice. Sometimes the result, as with yesterday, is that after that hurt person is cared for, they return that care and soothe my hurt in return. Sometimes that is not the case, and I must care for myself. The thing about that… it’s okay. I’m getting pretty good at caring for myself, and when I must, I can count on me to do so pretty skillfully. The most important thing is to refrain from treating myself badly while supporting someone else. Yesterday I managed it through a haze of tears over text communication… I don’t know that I could have done it with as much success in person. I’m still very much a student. I need more practice.

I keep practicing.

I keep practicing.

My traveling partner and I enjoyed a splendid fun evening, later on, and not “as if nothing had happened” – that’s a place I don’t personally want to get trapped. Instead, we enjoyed the deeper intimacy of two human beings, fully human, loving each other humanity and all, awake and aware, present with each other. When we greet each other our embrace wrapped us both in warmth and affection, and the shared understanding that we’re really there for each other – even when we’re the ones bringing the pain. Those sincere reciprocal apologies built on respect, consideration, compassion, and openness, delivered with awareness, and accepted with heartfelt relief make a huge difference. We go forward stronger. Love wants a good apology without reservations, and without excuses. It’s okay to save reasons for another moment, a different conversation, some other time.

This morning I sip my coffee, content and calm. No lingering tears, no “emotional hangover”. It’s nice. It’s been a long journey to get here. There is further to go. Today is a good day for housekeeping, and becoming the woman I most want to be. Today is a good day to practice loving well.

You still here? Me, too. 🙂 I needed to take a couple days to shore up my emotional reserves, to take care of my very human heart, to reach out to friends and connect, share, and build.

What an ugly bridge-burning election year it has been. Some of my relationships won’t recover; I don’t maintain relationships with people who mistreat me, these days, and where the heated rhetoric finally crossed my boundaries and became abusive, cruel, mocking, or emotional mistreatment, I have chosen to take care of myself, stay true to my values, and ended those relationships. Yes, even with family members. No one gets a pass on abusive behavior. Tolerating abuse is how so many of us get so fucking wounded in the first place.

Yesterday was Veteran’s Day. I could have written something… I could have re-posted something I’d written before. I didn’t feel moved to do either. I didn’t much want to think about war. I didn’t go out at all. I honestly didn’t want to risk having to be thanked by some well-meaning clueless citizen this year, thanking me for my service with absolutely no understanding whatsoever of what exactly they are thanking me for, and no understanding what their “thanks” has cost me (and so many others). Most people just don’t know, don’t care to know, wouldn’t get it if I tried to tell them – and their thanks is a hollow platitude at best, even when entirely well-intended and heartfelt; many of them won’t follow-up in the polls, with their representatives, with their dollars  – or even with their basic decency, day-to-day. (If you’re bitching about the homeless panhandling in your neighborhood, and taking no productive steps to assist and support those human beings, you may as well stop thanking veterans at all, just saying.) Yesterday, I did what I could so that the only thanks I was exposed to was from my brothers and sisters at arms, and those few others who have looked into the face of war, and actually understand.  The rest? Deserves to be heard by someone who will value the sentiment.

Each morning I begin again. Each morning it is easier, and I feel more settled, more resolved to continue to steadily pursue change, more committed to being the woman I most want to be. Incremental change over time; we become what we practice. I don’t practice hate. I practice treating myself and others well. I practice speaking up about my boundaries clearly, simply, and without compromising my values. I practice intervening when I see others being mistreated.

My meditation practice has continued to serve me well. Just the simplest practice of sitting quietly, breathing comfortably, and letting my thoughts come and go without criticism, evaluation, or attachment, provides welcome relief from becoming emotionally spun up on some new bit of social upheaval. Yesterday, I spent hours apprenticed to a master…

I invited a squirrel to visit. She hung around all day, and shared her wisdom.

I invited a squirrel to visit. She hung around all day, and shared her wisdom.

Funny how little stress there is, even in the most terrifying world events, when I remain engaged and present in this moment, now. I spent the day practicing. Meditating. (Taking pictures of my visitor.) I chose my entertainment with care. I began making holiday cards for the upcoming Yule holiday. Life goes on – it has to, or what’s the point? Living my life still has to be part of living my life, right? These moments, here, spent engaged and present, rather than fractured and distracted by the media, by advertising, by life’s busy agenda elsewhere, these moments here are the ones that matter most. Remember to take time to enjoy yours. 🙂

She doesn't spend much time on Facebook, and doesn't read the news.

She doesn’t spend much time on Facebook, and doesn’t read the news.

Today is a good day to be awake, aware, and present in the only moment that really matters; now. I think I’ll go do that… Today is a good day for brunch. 😉