Archives for category: more than a little bit of bitching

Finding My Way

October 6, 2016 //

Have you seen my way of doing things? I’m asking, because I may have lost it…

I got home last night, after a long day at work, still feeling quite merry and content, in spite of a handful of ill-mannered commuters (yes manners are still a thing). Perhaps they’ve also lost their way? My traveling partner had evening plans, though they didn’t appear on his calendar (his plans often don’t) and I expected a quiet evening at home. My expectations were unrealistic and quickly reset. First, the pharmacy rang me, just as I got home; my Rx was filled and please pick it up… Well, that’s going kill 90 minutes of my 4 hour evening to do it by bus, probably about the same to walk. I sigh, and step over the threshold, into my sanctuary of … Oh hey, damn. Dishes in the sink. An empty pop bottle on a side table. Recycling really needs to go out. Another sigh. I get to work on the dishes while I figure out how to handle the trip to the pharmacy, settling on asking a friend for a favor – maybe he’ll give me a ride there & back?

One thing I love about living alone, generally, is that there are certain things that make me feel very much at ease, and comfortable, and cared-for, that I reliably do for myself. I like to wake to no dishes in the sink and a clean kitchen. I like to come home to that, too. I prefer that no beverage containers or used dishes be left laying about, and usually have the dishwasher ready-to-go for dirty dishes to make that easy. I enjoy a measure of order – it’s one way of fighting off the chaos within. I take the trash out most days, because I don’t like the smell of it, ever, at all – so out it goes, on the regular, no nagging or reminders required. I like to get a lot of those sorts of tidying up details kept up – it matters to me. The order in my environment reflects my own sense of being – and that works with disorder, too. If I come home to disorder, expecting order – the order I typically quite specifically prepare for myself – it is jarring. Unpleasantly so. Other people, other needs – other habits.

My neighbor was available and happy to help. By the time he was ready, most of the housekeeping was done. I still hadn’t had dinner. My blood sugar was low and I was starting to feel irritable. There is no time in such a short evening for fucking about with extra shit. I feel frustrated by that. I’d grown used to being at leisure, and able to just take care of me in the fashion that feels most natural to me.

I’m still feeling frustrated and irritable when I return home from the pharmacy, but coping with it – no tears or tantrums. I swallow some orange juice and have a hard-boiled egg while I finish off things like taking out the trash and recycling, and having a shower, then making a salad for dinner, and… the evening is over. Yeah. I gotta figure this weekday evening thing out. I need a more elegant flow. A more routine routine. A more comfortable fit. I feel on the edge of tears, for really no “reason”, and more than a little confused by the flood of unexpected emotion. A deep breath. Another. I don’t fight off my emotions, anymore; I listen. Emotions are not about “reason”.

Taking a moment to be kind to myself, I remind myself that I just started a new job, just as a planned house guest arrived with all the chaos of visiting travelers, and at that same time I also got sick – greatly limiting my ability to keep things up for myself, certainly not up to being a live-in maid for guests. With a house guest and my traveling partner coming and going without any particular planning, and very different habits at home than I have, myself – things got a bit untidy. Oh, not terribly so, and anyone with kids at home would laugh off my frustration, almost certainly. Day-to-day, these days, I live in a fairly ordered environment in many respects, more so perhaps than many people would really be comfortable with. It suits (and soothes) me. I pause to recognize that it is, nonetheless, quite a luxury, and that building it is a commitment to myself. I breath. I consider my needs. I consider my aesthetic. I consider my… time. Yep. I’m a planner – by trade, and by tendency. I open my calendar, and feel myself relax.

It wasn’t that long ago, I used to let my own quirks frustrate me, instead of using them to my advantage. My moods ran my life, called my shots, and ruined my relationships. I blamed emotion generally, and cursed its very existence, seeking any method to shut that shit down – permanently. I grew up hearing women called crazy, generally in the context of expressing emotions, often very strong emotion. Made sense to me – emotional tantrums seem “crazy”, particularly when they spill over seemingly inappropriately onto some innocent bystander’s experience. Only… it’s garbage. Emotional intelligence, unfortunately, is not yet taught commonly in our schools – or in our homes.

“Emotion and Reason” 18″ x 24″ acrylic w/ceramic and glow details

Our emotions are not criminal. Our emotions are not the bad guys. Our emotions are not beyond our control – and controlling them is not necessarily in our best interests. We’re not creatures of pure reason who happen to be inflicted with emotion as some sort of disorder. 🙂 We are also not creatures of pure emotion, struggling to bring order to the chaos through the magical power of reason. We are creatures of emotion and reason. Our emotions shout at us to be heard, and it’s hard to fight to make good decisions through that din, without at least some emotional intelligence.

As a female human being, I have often been told – verbally or non-verbally, explicitly or implicitly – that I am “too emotional” or that my emotions in some moment are the problem. Often whatever circumstance, information, or behavior that has caused some shit storm of emotion is over-looked, or excused, because hey – emotions can be blamed for … everything!! Only… no. I’m not having it anymore. My emotions are not a criminal act. Treating them as though they are is very misleading self-deception. To be fair, I’m also not yielding the “driver’s seat” in life to pure emotion – that just seems silly. Emotions aren’t a crime, or a handicap, but they are also not the best tool for certain sorts of decision-making. What works best for me are emotion and reason, balanced, working together, awake, aware, and present – this is what I’m practicing, myself, and this is who I am. Well… mostly. Generally. As a goal, and with some practice. A lot of practice. 😀 Yep. There are verbs involved. My results vary. 😉

I sip my coffee feeling relaxed. My after-work efforts last night made a difference in my morning, even though I was frustrated by how little time there is in an evening, these days. Last night my frustration didn’t take over, and didn’t wreck my evening. I woke after a restful night. Enjoyed unmeasured quiet minutes of meditation, some yoga, a lovely hot shower, and now this excellent cup of coffee. I feel content. Relaxed. Worthy. This morning, in the context of very different emotions, my experience is pleasant and comfortable. My emotions told me something about what matters most to me, and because I listened and took action to address the things that do matter to me (quite directly, by doing some basic housekeeping, and also making a point to enjoy some non-housekeeping minutes before calling it a night), I feel heard. No tantrum. No drama. My calendar now has the weekend planned, and Saturday set aside for “serious housework”; the fall cleaning I’d done just before returning to work was completely undone by having guests, parties, coming and going, and being sick. I know I will get great satisfaction from restoring order. 🙂

Another sigh. Taking care of me just isn’t ever about anyone else. The standards that matter are my own. The needs that must be met are also mine. The time taken to care for myself is always well-spent. Today is a good day to begin again, and to invest in taking care of me; when I do, I am more able to treat the world well, and to be love. 🙂 That’s enough… It just takes practice.

Tags art and the artist, be the change, begin again, being and becoming, breathe, can you hear me now?, emotion and reason, emotional self sufficiency, emotions are not insanity, good self-care, mindful living, mindfulness for beginners, mindfulness matters, my home my rules my way, perspective, practicing the practices, sufficiency, taking care of me, TBI, The Art of Being, there are verbs involved, tidying up, walking my own path, what matters most?, who are these tripping bitches?

Categories Brain Injury, Free Will, Healthy Living, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Perspective, Relationships, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women, Words

Well, That’s Certainly Human

September 25, 2016 //

Last night, late in the evening while hanging out with my traveling partner, I caught myself sniffling a bit. I shrugged it off and really thought nothing of it. Some minutes later, sniffling again, my traveling partner looks at me with a thoughtful expression and matter-of-factly notes “You got it. You got my cold.” I sort of brushed that off, hey – probably not? Maybe? Please? By the time we called the night over, I was sneezing.

This morning I woke too early, stuffy head, hearing muffled on one side, painful scratchy throat… I’m sick. Damn it. How tediously, grossly human. New job, new sickness? Nope, that’s for later, most likely; that one usually hits me about 3 weeks into a new call center job. lol I still have that to look forward to. This is more a souvenir of my traveling partner’s recent travels. Germs from afar! Like a present! 🙂 I’m still smiling, still laughing… probably spending much of the day in bed. I’ve still got work tomorrow. Shit. Sick at work in an open office environment is both unpleasant to endure, and likely to encourage the spread of this wicked whatever-the-fuck-it-is. I’m fortunate that I can simple grab my laptop and make haste for a smaller space in which to work, safely away from coworkers. I take a moment to feel grateful I spent yesterday on laundry and housekeeping.

This writing is interrupted regularly for dealing with the biological outcomes of being ill. I find myself wondering “why bother?” knowing I’m unlikely to get around to saying anything particularly meaningful. I frown at that thought, and wonder a bit morosely if I ever do; life filtered through the misery of sickness. lol I’m okay. It’s a cold. It sucks, but it’s very human.

I write a bunch more words, about nothing much at all. I delete them due to lack of substance. I write a bunch more words, about mundane details of life. I delete them, too, due to a perceived tone that seems subtly whiny, and carelessly inattentive to points of privilege I am fortunate to enjoy (a roof over my head, a secure place to sleep, potable hot and cold running water, indoor plumbing, a private bathroom, a well-stocked pantry, a fast internet connection… an internet connection, at all… there’s a lot that is easy to take for granted). I’m sick, and my writing reflects it. There are a lot of people who have a rough time of things in life. I’ve just got a head cold.

It is a head cold though, and having one feels miserable. Safe social practices make sense: hand-washing, covering coughs and sneezes, refraining from close contact, refraining from sharing utensils, food, or beverages, avoiding food prep tasks for other people’s meals, bleaching counters and surfaces – where possible, as I go. It’s not a lot, but these steps tend to slow the spread of illness. Even as sick as I am, I’ll take these steps as consistently as possible; being sick sucks, why would I spread that around? I “play it like a game” to stay mindful of good practices, since being sick also tends to cause a certain lack of fucks to give about pretty much everything else. I “win the game” if no one else I interact with catches the cold. 🙂

Today is a good day for exceptional self-care. Today is also a good day to be mindful that I’m ill, and that illness is contagious. Today is a good day for a large box of tissues, and a handful of practices, and a good book. 🙂

Tags and a big box of tissues, breathe, good self-care, head cold, home sick because I'm sick at home, practicing the practices, taking care of me, this too shall pass, very human

Categories autumn, health, Healthy Living, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching

The Phone, the Data, & the Tears

September 20, 2016 //

I remember my very first smart phone. I was a little overwhelmed, and unsure I had any need for some of what it could do. Over time, I added apps that were useful to me, removed the ones that weren’t. I built bad habits that took my attention away from living people, right along with just about everyone I knew, and then many of us eased up off of that, returning to a more civil, emotionally connected life, engaging with my friends more deeply when we are together, and setting aside the distractions of devices – as much as I can figure out how. Some of us, of course, remain more fully attached to the devices that are so convenient… I did not see myself as one of those people. Then, last night my phone died. Battery ran down unattended in a busy moment during the work day, and peculiarly, efforts to revive it were… ineffective. At least initially. I got it charged, and powered it back on after work and… oh hell. My data is gone.

My data is gone. Well… shit.

Now, frankly, a calm adult “well, shit…” is not how that went down last night. There was a moment of pure panic, some agitated troubleshooting, and then… well, I fought off hysteria and tears, sort of, and vented over email to my traveling partner. That sounds grown-up-ish… right? He phoned immediately; he knows me. The sound of his reassuring voice undid my resolve to hold back the wave of strong emotion, and I fell completely apart – my data is gone!! It felt… personal. It felt terrifying. I felt… unrecognized by my phone. Only… that sounds kind of silly, and it didn’t feel at all silly. It felt entirely terrifying… two weeks of fitness progress… that was what stung most in the moment. He talked me down. Reminded me, rationally, calmly, that the progress itself isn’t in the phone, or the tracker, or a spreadsheet. He talked me through calming breaths. I was okay, and it wasn’t a disaster – however disastrous it felt – and it would be okay. I would just have to start over.

Oh. Right. Begin again. Just begin again. Okay… I can do that. I know to do that. It’s a thing I do. And breathe. I’ll breathe, too, that helps. It helps a lot, the panicked infrequent gulps of air I was surviving on weren’t really helping.

I set up my phone, again, frustrated that wouldn’t restore from the backup, either. My phone is not enjoying the Marshmallow upgrade. It is what it is. Each time I open another app I rely on, and find that my password isn’t saved, my data isn’t there, and the app is functionally fairly useless without being set up all over again I experience another wave of frustration… and grief… and then anger that I’m grieving over data. Then, finally, I let all that go, and let myself sleep.

This morning my phone is just a phone. There are no tears. The anger, the hysteria, the sense that all is lost, have dissipated in the night. It’s convenient to have a phone that has GPS and email. This one is no longer my ‘back up brain’ and I am once more painfully aware why there is still value in hardbound books, handwritten letters, and moments of conversation with friends face to face; data lacks substance. Data is easily lost. Data can be destroyed. Data is not memory. Data is not living. Data, most importantly, is not identity. Hell… much of what I consider to identify me, doesn’t really. So much of it is changeable or arbitrary. I find myself back to the question lingering in my thoughts recently, “who am I?”… I know one thing with fair certainty, I am not a phone. 🙂

I’m still irritated every time I look at the fucking thing. (This too will pass.)

I sip my coffee thinking, for a time, of all the ways in which I may suffer if suddenly – for example – there were a global power failure, and just… nothing that operates on electricity. Well, that’s the most catastrophic loss of data I can imagine, honestly, so that’s where my thoughts go. I’d be okay, for most values of okay, and the data itself would be far from my first concern. When did our data become so important? When did my phone become such a powerful presence in my experience – hell, for that matter, when did it become a fucking “presence”?? There are things to consider here, and one of them is untethering my self from my phone more completely. Maybe starting with my camera… It’s something to consider.

Some of life’s curriculum is disruptive and painful. (Some of it only feels that way.) Only a very small portion is catastrophic, and few of us ever know real catastrophe, and then only rarely – my phone’s untimely demise definitely does not count among life’s catastrophic events. I woke feeling grateful for a supportive partner, willing and able to help me keep things in perspective. I woke feeling grateful to be working again, and for the resources to repair or replace things of value when they fail. I woke feeling grateful that my own fleeting memory, however it may fail me, is “built-in” and doing a pretty splendid job, generally. I woke feeling grateful that my experience is still my experience, and feeling grateful to be without pain. I am okay right now… and a phone is just a phone.

Well, sure. This.

Today is a good day for perspective, and a good day for gratitude. Today is a good day to put down the phone. 🙂

Tags anxiety, be here now, begin again, breathe, data plan, experience, fail sauce, Gnothi seauton, HTC One M8, it's just a phone, know thyself, knowledge is power, Marshmallow, MBSR, perspective, ptsd, put down the phone, taking care of me, TBI, what matters most?, where's my data?

Categories Anxiety, Brain Injury, grief, Love, Metaphors, Mindfulness, more than a little bit of bitching, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, The Art of Being

Practicing on Paper

September 16, 2016 //

No witty words today. No observations of particular note. No emotional salve. No imagery. Today, I practice. I haven’t yet found my social security card, which I didn’t realize I’d misplaced until I happened on it some weeks ago. It was conveniently already in a place “that makes sense”, where I “couldn’t possibly lose it”, and which I had already forgotten, previously. It wasn’t my best decision-making to leave it in that location trusting that I wouldn’t forget it, yet again.

Well, damn… Where did I put that?

This morning I am made entirely of human, and the practicing with be all of those that help me ‘keep myself together’ in the face of potentially an entire day of small frustrations while I hunt down this worthless 2″ x 3″ piece of paper no one gives two shits about until it’s time to fill out an I-9 for employment. I’m somewhat amused to live in a state without reciprocity between the DMV and Social Security Administration, because I’d have been able to order a replacement online to be mailed to me if they did, and I’m mostly pretty done with being angry about it; amusement is what’s left over. Suffice it to say my in-person visit with the SSA was not ideally successful; I feel victorious over my issues to struggle with public tears on the phone with my traveling partner and nothing worse.

It’s just a piece of paper. It is not “who I am”.

So. The practicing. Today I’ll both look for the card (again), and maintain positive self-soothing practices hoping to keep my experience of frustration very minimal. That sounds so… easy…

I can't help think there's got to be a better way... it's the number that matters.

I think there’s got to be a better way… it’s the number that matters. (Hello? 21st century? Can we get an upgrade here, please?)

“Easy” doesn’t describe my experience of frustration very often. Frustration is my kryptonite. My results may vary. There are a quantity of verbs involved. Taking care of the woman in the mirror such that she is efficient, focused, committed – but not a frantic madwoman tearing the house apart enraged or hysterical – is one of the more major challenges I deal with when faced with frustration. That’d be quite the tight-rope act 3-4 years ago, or more. Today it feels like an exam. A test. Well… sure, okay. I’m being tested. Good test results may rely on good general self-care… it’s at least somewhere to start. So. Coffee. Yoga. Meditation. A nutritious balanced breakfast between 200-350 calories. Exercise. And the cherry on top; time spent considering how very often I do find things, lost things, misplaced things, things that have been moved in a thoughtless moment. I find things. It’s here somewhere. 🙂

Helpfully, it’s quite unique in appearance.

Sometimes the practices I need most turn out to have benefits I didn’t consider before. For me, the opposite of frustration is not “gratification”, it is “emotional ease”. The last time I misplaced something dear to me, that remained lost, unfound, perhaps “gone forever”, I lost myself in hysterics for hours and felt low and rather lost, myself, for many days. I grieved. It seems excessive, generally, for lost stuff. Today is a good day to treat myself better than that. 🙂

It’s just a bit of paper.

Somewhere in my mind’s eye, I imagine an orderly school room of children, a teach or test proctor at the front… “Pencils up! And begin.” Today is a good day to begin again. It’s enough.

Tags be here now, be the change, begin again, being and becoming, breathe, choose wisely, cognitive ease, cognitive strain, emotional self sufficiency, frustration is my kryptonite, good self-care, I am my own cartographer, it's just a silly bit of paper, MBSR, meditation, mindfulness matters, perspective, practicing the practices, ptsd, reactivity, taking care of me, TBI, The Art of Being, there are verbs involved, what matters most?

Categories Anxiety, Brain Injury, Free Will, Healthy Living, Logic & Reason, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, The Art of Being, The Big 5, Words

A Great Place to Start

September 14, 2016 //

Don’t be a dick. It’s a good beginning. It’s also “Wheaton’s Law“, and a solid rule for living comfortably among others. 🙂

This morning I woke up comfortably 10 minutes before 5 am, well-rested, and having slept through the night. I considered going back to sleep long enough to roll over and find real comfort (no real reason to insist I get up early), but my mind was awake and ready for the new day. I got up. Yoga. Meditation. A few minutes gazing contentedly out into the night sky, still filled with stars. I sat down to write with a smile…

Seriously. Just don’t. 🙂

Yeah. Wow. Thanks, Facebook, for one more opportunity to practice openness, compassion, and acceptance that we are each having our own experience. The lessons in life’s curriculum are sometimes unpleasant. I’m quite taken by surprise by the hateful, fearful, narrow-minded, judgmental things people can say about one another… although, rarely about those dear to them, generally they save the hate for generalizations they’ve made about groups of ‘others’ they assume don’t share their values – or, apparently, their humanity. It’s appalling enough from strangers. I’m (figuratively) stricken speechless when it comes from someone on my own friends list. :-\ Don’t be a dick.

…But… It really is an opportunity to practice acceptance, and to practice a kinder approach to others. Because we are each having our own experience, asking questions instead of making assumptions becomes a way of finding out more, when I approach a friend fearlessly and ask why they’ve said what they’ve said, and inquire, too, how it is to be taken. (I often find that what I’ve read is intended sarcastically, or ironically, and I find those qualities difficult to detect in text, without additional context, myself.) Sometimes people legitimately don’t seem aware that they may sound hateful. Sometimes I straight up ask that question, “Are you aware how hateful you sound, here?” Sometimes I don’t really know what to do, as when a family member or loved one of someone dear to me says something clearly hurtful, cruel, diminishing, or abusive to my dear one; sometimes involving myself is clearly a mistake, or potentially unwelcome. Lately, there’s been a lot of hateful rhetoric on Facebook. I worry that people don’t realize that it does matter, and is hurtful. Don’t be a dick.

No, everyone isn’t being soft or weak when they don’t care to be abused, or refuse to tolerate abusive dialogue. No, it isn’t ludicrous when vulnerable, wounded people want a ‘safe space’ to be heard. No, it isn’t unreasonable when traumatized people still dealing with PTSD want trigger warnings to more easily choose to avoid triggering topics, language, or people. These are people seeking to take better care of themselves – and that’s entirely okay, and rational, and when they must also stand up to ridicule or resistance just to request that support, it’s beyond okay – it becomes heroic. Don’t be a dick.

Attacking people because they hold a political view you don’t like? Don’t be a dick. It’s possible to make your point without personal attacks. Using abusive attacking language toward someone you say you love because you’re angry with them (or the world)? Don’t be a dick. Why would you treat people you love that way in the first place? Really? How is that love? Feeling resentful that someone struggling reaches out for help and gets it, because you struggle too and “no one helps you“? Don’t be a dick. Isn’t it okay to ask for help? Isn’t it okay for someone to choose provide it? Isn’t it okay to receive it? Just seriously don’t be a dick. How hard is that?

“Don’t be a dick.” It’s a great practice. It does require some self-awareness, and a willingness to be honest with yourself in your worst moments, able to acknowledge that you are, indeed, being a dick in the first place. Then, the next step, fucking stop doing that! It would be a nice value add to also make it right if you’ve already gone ahead and followed your worst instincts, and treated someone badly because you were committed to being a dick, instead of being the person you most want to be. Choose your words with care. Think how you would take it yourself if you heard those words, delivered just that way, by someone you think cares about you, in a similar moment. Not liking the sound of it? Do you find yourself reaching for a rationalization? (Because, if you do, it’s probably a dick moment that you could let go, just saying; kind words need no justification.) Don’t be a dick.

For those reading these words, thinking “fuck kindness” (and I know you’re out there), I can only say “please reconsider”. I know you’re having your own experience, but damn, the stain left on our own hearts by our own ugliness saturate our souls far more deeply than the hurtful words of others ever can. Hate changes us. Don’t be a dick.

It could be that you live in the context of hate and fear every day. It may not be that easy to tell that you’re being a dick, if everyone else around you is also being a dick. Brief hurt looks preceded by uncomfortable laughter are a good sign to look for; just because hurtful words are laughed off by our friends, doesn’t mean we’re being encouraged to continue with being such dicks all the damned time. Just stop. It’s not as funny as we may have grown to think it is, and it’s a form of humor specifically based on hurting people based on vulnerability or disadvantage. We can do better as human beings. We don’t have to be dicks. It’s a choice.

As with any choice, there are verbs involved.

I’m aware that these words likely won’t really be heard by any of the humans who need to hear them most; some people are righteous about being dicks, convinced of their position with moral certainty, comfortable telling the world to ‘toughen up’ and swallow more of their shit. I’m still saying it – because I won’t be that friend who let you keep being a dick without telling you I find it unpleasant. 😉

Practice the practices that take you closer to being the human being you most want to be.

Today will be a lovely day to be the best of who you know yourself to be, to be kinder than you must, to be more open to hearing about someone else’s experience, to provide a moment of help because you can, to reach across one of the many fairly random pointless divides we have created among ourselves as human beings and say “that’s not relevant to your humanity”, and treat each other truly well.

Tags be love, be the change, begin again, being and becoming, choose wisely, choose your words with care, don't be a dick, kindness is a free service, listening deeply, my home my rules my way, OPD, perspective, practicing the practices, relationships, taking care of me, The Art of Being, The Big 5, there are verbs involved, what matters most?, Wheaton's Law, Wheaton's Law enforced here, words matter

Categories Free Will, Healthy Living, Love, Metaphors, Mindfulness, more than a little bit of bitching, Perspective, Relationships, The Art of Being, The Big 5, War and News of War, Words

Finding My Way

Share this:

Well, That’s Certainly Human

Share this:

The Phone, the Data, & the Tears

Share this:

Practicing on Paper

Share this:

A Great Place to Start

Share this:

Archives