Archives for category: more than a little bit of bitching

America is fucking scary these days. I’m pretty sure I never imagined, once the Cold War ended, that we’d be standing on the brink of war, again, ever. Which… was silly of me. We’re primates. No “better” or worse than other primates. Fancy, but yeah. Primates. We fight over shit. We crave power, but having power corrupts our thinking and behavior. We draw imaginary territorial boundaries, and then fight over those. I wake to it in the morning, first thing. I go to bed at night fighting the anxiety it causes.

I remind myself to breathe. To relax. I put digital media aside, and remind myself also that this moment, right here, alone in this room, is not a scary moment, nor a scary place to be. I find comfort in now. I re-center myself right here, in this moment, in the quiet. It’s a practice because once I turn away from this moment, reach for a device, a connection, or respond to an email, I start wrapping myself in distress and despair once again. It’s necessary to continuously check myself; I am okay right now. That’s important, because in my okay state, I have the emotional resources to help another. So. Taking care of me, and maintaining a gentle readiness for action.

Life continues for all of us, even in the face of unexpected disruptions in routine, in order, and in the day-to-day sense of security and safety. It’s dismaying to see the clock rolled back on corruption and civil rights so suddenly – but I do see it. I’m not blind. I’m not turning away. I’m not excusing it or pretending it isn’t happening. I protest. I resist. I object. I call it out. I begin again. Like the signs on the bus say “See something? Say something.” America, I’m here for you. I don’t care what race you are, or what religion, or what lifestyle you embrace, or whether you have finally attained citizenship – we are all American.

Yesterday, I invited some of the neighbors over for coffee. Women I see and talk to regularly. Immigrants and refugees, lovely women rebuilding their lives in America. I see them as American. We sip coffee and talk about our fears. We lean on each other. We share laughter. They are from Syria, Algeria, and Libya – my own ancestry is primarily English and German – also immigrants and refugees. Every American who is not an indigenous American is an immigrant, a refugee, or descended from one. How the hell are so many of us also racists? It’s so vile. (This is why we can’t have nice things.) My neighbors and I talk together over our coffee about racism – here in America, and in the places they have come from. We talk about our fears, and the future. We talk about the way laughter in the face of our fears heals our hearts. We talk about community. I introduce them to South Park. We laugh some more. We make plans to watch South Park together again next week. ๐Ÿ™‚

Later, in the evening, I share time well-spent with my Traveling Partner. We talk about many of the same things as with my neighbors, earlier. No surprise; good-hearted people everywhere are shocked, appalled, ashamed, angry, bewildered, and outraged. We hold each other. Share our fears. Find solace in intimacy. We talk together about the future, hopeful that there is one – neither prepared to wonder whether that’s realistic. The “Cold War vibe” is very real. He admits to his concerns. I make observations that we’ve been here before, and that there have been other presidents sick with evil, racism, xenophobia, misogyny, and hate before. The calm in my voice doesn’t do enough to camouflage my own feelings of doubt and insecurity. We support each other. It was a lovely evening, generally, and I feel grateful for his support in trying times.

Everything I do to enjoy life, and to share that joy, makes life more enjoyable all around, generally, and improves the world. Every time I drag myself from my self-crafted pit of anxiety and despair about the world, to experience this moment right here, now, for what it is, savoring my experience, cherishing it, and favoring myself with my own affection, respect and consideration, I improve not only my own experience right now, but also ensure that I have the emotional resources to carry on when times are genuinely tough. Taking care of the woman in the mirror matters, too.

Today is a good day to be and to become. It is a good day to reflect my values in my choices and my actions, and the way that I interact with the world. It is a good day to be kind, and set clear boundaries. It is a good day to be there for someone else. Today is a good day to change the world. โค

I work for a company that has a small interaction center. (We used to call them “call centers”, but the world has gone way beyond phone calls, these days.) My work supports that interaction center. Working in an interaction center, in an open office environment, working closely with more than a hundred other human beings, sharing a kitchen, sharing the restrooms, sharing surfaces, dishes, and utensils, comes with a higher than usual risk of contagious illness. Just as I arrived home from running errands yesterday, happily thinking about the concert I’d be going to later, I was ruthlessly struck down by some microbe to small to see, of unknown origin – but probably work. It is what it is. What it was, last night, was uncomfortably and rather grossly biological, miserable, and spent with unpleasant symptoms of sickness. I didn’t go out. (I hear the concert was fantastic.)

I don’t remember when the worst of it had passed. I don’t recall when I collapsed into a restless interrupted sleep. My fever broke sometime in the wee hours, around 4 am, I think. I woke very late in the ย morning (for me), feeling some better, sort of, still plagued with this headache, guts emptied out completely in one fashion or another over the course of the preceding hours. I get up dizzily, committed to coffee, and wanting to check in with my Traveling Partner, so that he wouldn’t worry whether or not I survived my miserable night. I know, I know – I sound so dramatic about it, but truly I was miserable. I feel some better, enough both to piss and moan about how miserable I was, and also enough better to drag myself out of bed, dizzy, and attempt a cup of coffee. That’s a headache I’d like to avoid later, if I can… So far so good.

I had an entirely other blog post in mind, inspired by yesterday’s shopping trip… but no. Today I rest. I drink fluids. I care for the woman in the mirror and this fragile vessel. ๐Ÿ™‚ Today that’s enough.

It’s the day. The majority of Americans are dreading it (the actual mathematical majority of voting citizens). Today I’ll commute through throngs of Portlanders making their voices here in public spaces, and finding solidarity in outrage and anger. I’ll be focused on getting to and from work today. I’m no less outraged, no less concerned about our future, and I am also taking action. I’ve chosen different actions, for myself.

I’ll be phoning and writing to Congress. I’ve got a couple handy links:

http://www.house.gov/representatives/

https://www.senate.gov/

Postcards are inexpensive, and have the added value of making their message clear to all who handle them. In an age of tweets and texts and slogans, keeping it brief also has the advantage of being something that can be read at a glance. Short, powerful statements uncomplicated by rhetoric, written at roughly a 4th grade level will be the win on postcards. Instead of a long detailed letter seeking to persuade, giving ideas the ‘ad slogan’ treatment and getting as many into the mail as possible is the idea. I mean, I could write something long, insightful, honest, vulnerable, and real about why I personally don’t want to see the minimum retirement age for Social Security raised… I mean… holy shit, I so don’t want to still be having to work for a living when I’m fucking 70!!! Instead of 5 pages that won’t get read, I’ll go with something like “Lower the Retirement Age for the Well-being of Seniors!”, and other postcards that say “Remove the Income Cap on Social Security Withholdings; Everyone Pays, Everyone Wins”… And I’ll just keep at it. For four years. Longer.

Anyway. You have your own path to walk, your own voice to raise, your own concerns to share and to act on. Do it. There are verbs involved. Find your way. If everyone takes just one action and makes it their own, with commitment, and reliably beginning again – and again – whenever they feel beat down. Well… change is. Making change is where the power is.

My day-to-day writing isn’t about American politics, or even American life. Certainly it isn’t about our crap-tacular failure as a culture to take care of our citizens in a civilized way, or how ruinously stupid and corrupt our government appears to be becoming, so I won’t bitch about it much. It’s scary, though, isn’t it?

Today is a good day to be the change.

It’s evening, and rather late. A strange time for me to be writing. I’m okay with that. There’s a warm fire crackling in the fireplace. I’m home, safe, warm, and contented. It’s definitely enough… It’s strange that I’m here, now, tonight.

I went to bed last night with a plan for the work day. I’d be up very early, with the intention of getting into the office by 6:00 am, fully expecting to commit to 12 hours to catch up what had gotten pushed to the side while I worked from home on these recent snowy days. It was a good plan, realistic and carefully considered. I set my alarm. I checked it again, as I got into bed. I had a back up alarm set on my phone. I made sure my alarms were not muted, even though my phone was on Do Not Disturb. Sleep came easily.

…There may have been a moment during the wee hours when I opened my eyes briefly, and only enough to see the time on my fitness tracker, assuring myself it was not yet morning, and returning to sleep, I don’t really know for sure whether the vague recollection is actually from last night…

I woke at 6:19 am. It was much later than I planned to be up. Later than the alarm was set for. Later than I commonly sleep even when I don’t turn on an alarm. Waking was difficult. I was groggy, struggling to understand the beeping. I turned off the alarm. It didn’t go off. I shook it, as though that would do anything. I got up, aware that I was late, and began to dress hurriedly, still not awake, clumsy, awkward, stiff, stupid. I picked up my phone – the alarm was still chiming. I shut it off. I opened my work laptop and typed words intending to communicate I was on my way. Irked at myself. Shit! How could I be late, today?? I had that crazed “everything relies on right now!” angry surging roaring panic running through my bloodstream, filling my thoughts. I slowed myself down, again and again, facing the panic, facing the inwardly-turned fury. I admitted to myself that I felt disappointed in myself. Angry that maybe – just maybe – it could be self-sabotaging behavior. I stopped for breath. I inhaled deeply. Gave myself time to accept my own humanity. Gave myself a moment of compassion, sympathy, understanding – how human am I? Very. Always have been – and it’s totally okay. I got my things together, and left for work. Feeling humble. Feeling human.

Some journeys are easier than others.

Some journeys are easier than others.

I was waiting for the bus (not my original plan, either), when my Traveling Partner messaged me a good morning, and his supportive reminder that I am enough. It’s just a moment. A small thing. All totally true, and I slowly continued the commute, eventually making it in to the office at about the same time I always do.

Wait, or walk? Today I wait.

Wait, or walk? Today I wait.

The day passed quickly and wasn’t at all what I expected. I’m glad I hadn’t built those expectations up in my head, instead choosing to let go and let the day unfold, doing my best in each moment. The day came and went quickly, and ended more or less the time it generally does. Generally speaking, a good work day. I returned home feeling mostly pretty good.

Now, I’m just relaxing here, in this quiet place, wrapped in comfort, a fire crackling away merrily, and a tasty glass of sherry that I’ve mostly overlooked, just sipping on it now and then, as the hours pass. If I’d stopped to write in that moment this morning, I would not have been able to look ahead to this delicious heady calm.

Right now, right here, it doesn’t matter at all whichย of the many practices I practice got me from where I was years ago, to where I am now. Yep. It’s taken years. Literal years, many practices, and a lot of verbs, and the journey stretches farther on, and beyond anything I can imagine. Years of practicing. Years of beginning again. So many verbs. Incremental change over time – it happens in increments. It takes time. I’ll keep practicing.

I woke up this morning with a thought echoing my head. It’s gone now. I let it go understanding that chasing it isn’t really likely to help get it back, and the sensation that I’ve forgotten something important is no true indicator of the value of the thought that slipped away. I make coffee, and wander off and forget it. I take up my unfinished to do list from yesterday, and set it down somewhere… and wander off without reviewing it. It’s not that it is important, it’s just that it was my intention to sit down with the list, and my coffee, and consider the day ahead. It’s of no real consequence; I shrug it off as not yet being awake and move on with the morning.

There is snow on the ground left from yesterday. This morning there is more snow in the forecast. I feel cozy and warm here at home, content to stay in and enjoy the day from the warm side of the windows. Later I’ll build a fire in the fireplace, perhaps put my feet up and read a book. I savor the moment of contentment, while also making room for the recollection of past hard times that would have colored such a day very differently. Hardship changes our view of the world. Hardship is a different experience to be having – and a lot of people are having it.

I wonder briefly why are we not kinder to those facing hardships, or people struggling, or people whose circumstances or injuries wreck their quality of life? I say “we” when I think about this, not because I am myself cruel or inconsiderate of unfortunate others as a practice or by intention, but because I’m just as likely, I think, to be cluelessly insensitive, wrapped in my own current contentment in life, or whatever privilege I am fortunate enough to have. I say “we” because when I look at “all of us” – and include things we excuse as “Schadenfreude“, we all tend to look pretty terrible as a human population. You may be inclined to excuse this; the catharsis and relief of laughter… or… something… right? Well, I’m betting that generally speaking, the person being laughedย at would probably prefer to have some help, instead, and hey, maybe not to be humiliated in the face of injury, pain, or embarrassment. ย Just saying. We laugh at the misery of others, and make excuses for that instead of helping, and it’s a common enough thing that we’ve given it a name to make it okay with ourselves. We can do better, as beings. We could choose to be compassionate. We could choose to be kind.

I don’t know why this is on my mind this morning. Perhaps because I heard that my young niece had been laughed at when she fell, tangled up with her service dog. How was that funny? People are incredibly cruel. Fancy monkeys, and no better than that, so very often. Me, too. I have my own moments of failure to live up to what I could become as a human being. I’m not a fan of laughing at people who have fallen, or making fun of people; mockery is something I find extraordinarily unpleasant, and see it as an act of hostility, as a personal attack. My more likely failure that leads me to cruelty is insensitivity that is a byproduct of having my own experience, and forgetting in some moment that the other person’s experience, being similarly their own, is not what I imagine it to be. Assumptions don’t function well as facts.

Our assumptions about others are highly likely to result in misunderstandings that can lead us to be cruel, or to mistreat people. We tend to make more assumptions, and check them with less care, about people who are dear to us. That’s something to think about. How often have I tripped up and treated my traveling partner poorly because I made an assumption about his experience, his character, his thinking, or his understanding of the world, that was entirely incorrect? It’s easy to “fix” this one; don’t make assumptions. Ask questions.

Even in those “passing stranger” moments, rather than bust out laughing when someone falls, (which assumes a lot of things, one of which is that any comedic potential in that moment has more value than the human being having the moment themselves) maybe ask if they are okay. Yes, and even if they are laughing – because people often laugh in the face of personal embarrassment, to save face, to ease the sting, to make light of a hard moment. That’s not an invitation to join them in laughter; it’s an invitation to help, to determine if they are okay, and to ease their insecurity in that moment. We’d do well to stop being such dicks to each other. The future of our world may depend on it.

This morning, I’m safe at home. Somewhere out there, someone is walking to a destination, very carefully, on icy sidewalks. If you see them fall, maybe help them up, and ask them the one question that really matters just then, “Are you okay?”

Today is a good day to care. Today is a good day to take just a step toward being a better human being than I was yesterday. Today is a good day to do some small thing to improve someone’s quality of life, by being kind. Can kindness change the world? I don’t know; the world hasn’t tried it.