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Mind-Altering Drugs

July 6, 2023 //
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It’s been a week since my airport misadventure with food-poisoning. I’m home. The holiday weekend is behind me. The work trip to Palm Springs is a handful of memories and photographs. I’m finally back on all the various medications I currently take, and back to my proper timing on those. I’m fully hydrated. I’m getting back into the gym starting tomorrow morning. Life is good.

…Why am I so fucking grumpy and cross with the world, today?? I feel like I’m taking all the right steps… all the right medications… I smile, sipping my afternoon cup of (decaf) coffee. It’s that, isn’t it? It’s the medications. I’m literally “on drugs” and it does actually take a day or two to settle down into that routine all over again, even after a minor disruption. It’s something we often don’t give much thought to. Mind-altering drugs? That’s all the damned drugs, people. Yes, and the coffee. And the Tylenol. All of it. All. Of. It. Changing your chemistry has the potential to change your mood – and your mind. So.

Take another sip of coffee. I breathe, exhale, relax. I look at the clock. The work day is nearing an end. My Traveling Partner rather sweetly made afternoon/evening plans to make room for me to just deal with my own bullshit without it becoming our bullshit. I feel loved. Understood.

It’s time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Summer, The Art of Being

Wrapping It Up

June 30, 2023 //
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I crashed fairly late last night after a noisy final dinner with colleagues at an excellent local Mexican restaurant. It was a bit “fancy”. A lot noisy. The conversations were lively. The mood was merry. I returned to the hotel still “vibrating” on that frequency and needed to take some quiet time on the patio in the moonlight, with my feet up. I connected with my Traveling Partner. I am eager to return home. He is eager to see me again.

A flower in the desert.

The team spa day, yesterday, was lovely and relaxed. I got an excellent massage. By the end of the day I noticed my feet and ankles were fairly swollen. It’s mostly the heat. In spite of drinking ample water (like for real)(a lot), I felt uncomfortably… puffy. It’s the heat, here. I had the same issue in other hot places, and I’m certain after seeing a new doctor that my various health concerns are likely related – or aggravating each other. I sat outside by the pool after dinner for some little while; it was the most comfortable place to sit with my feet up, sufficiently elevated to be really helpful. I put my ankle brace on my left ankle. I drank more water.

I crashed fairly late (for me), around 11:30 pm. I slept fairly well… until 02:52 am. I don’t know what woke me. The night was quiet. The room was dark. I got up to pee, but there was no urgency in doing so. I returned to bed and spent an hour or so adjusting the pillows as if I were going to return to sleep – I really wanted to. I even felt sleepy, but it just wasn’t happening. My mind was grinding through all the conversations of the week, over-thinking this and that, reflecting on some positives, and feeling irked about some shit that vexed me, while also making a point to let it go. And then let it go, again.

I finally got up at 04:30, finished my packing and laid out my clothes. I made coffee. Opened a can of cold fizzy water. Pulled my laptop back out of my “rolling office” bag and sat down to write and reflect, waiting for the dawn, and considering what to do about my last breakfast here… go back to that excellent breakfast restaurant…? Can I make the timing work and not miss my flight…? The restaurant doesn’t open until 08:00… my flight doesn’t leave until 11:15… the airport is only 2.4 miles from the restaurant…but… it doesn’t at all seem the sort of place one would drag luggage to, so I’d be having to return to the hotel, then go to the airport… I find myself working backward from my departure time, and mentally calculating how long I’d likely be having breakfast. I find myself feeling fairly certain I’d have an entire hour for breakfast, then wondering how long it took me the other day, the morning I enjoyed breakfast on my own. Looks like I spent almost exactly one hour at breakfast that morning… Feeling certain I could, if I wish, I let it go for now; I can decide later. It’s still very early.

I’m ready to go home.

I’m also ready for breakfast. LOL

…I’m less than ideally ready for morning, somehow. I’ll no doubt feel better after a cool shower (it is, after all, the fucking desert here). I drink my coffee and my water, and get ready to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Mindfulness, Moments, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Sleepless Nights, Summer, The Art of Being, turning 60

Recognize Progress, Experience Hope

June 20, 2023 //
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Progress can be slow. Progress can be so slow that it becomes useful to play mind games with oneself with regard to the glacial pace of incremental change over time, in order to stay focused, keep practicing, and maintain motivation and engagement with those elusive goals that seem always “out there”, not yet achieved. It’s hard sometimes, and it’s easier – too often – to lose ground out of frustration, or even “losing interest” (in the sense that the commitment to one practice or another is quite separate from the pain of struggling with one issue or another). The tl;dr? Adulting is hard.

This past weekend was an odd one. I fought pain and fatigue most of the weekend. It was a long holiday weekend, but the holiday (Juneteenth) is not truly “mine”. I find it frankly difficult to “celebrate” an event that quite explicitly documents the moral, ethical, and cultural shame (slavery and racism) of my ancestors (and a great many other people who look quite like me). Juneteenth-wise, what makes sense for me, truly, is to make room for quiet reflection; how can I, myself, in this lifetime here/now, do better to eliminate even implicit racism from my thinking, my words, and all my interactions? How can I cast my vote to further improve the quality of life and situations of Black Americans? How can I use my privilege (as someone who is white) more as an umbrella and not as a barrier?

The holiday wasn’t the weekend, though, it was just a piece of it. It was a strange weekend, productive, but also peculiarly emotional and I wasn’t at my best. I had a rough day yesterday, characterized by strong emotions, and in spite of the great start to the day, I mostly felt sort of like I was just a big bucket of slop all weekend long (although it was actually just yesterday that was so difficult). My Traveling Partner did his best to support and care for me. We got a lot done together. It was just a very weird day. I didn’t write at all. Got a couple walks in over the weekend. Got a lot of really good rest. Didn’t paint, or write. Did get a bunch of housekeeping done. There was a lot of honest conversation about deepening intimacy and being closer with my Traveling Partner.

There isn’t that much to say about the details that would have any legit relevance this morning. It’s more that there was honestly a lot of real progress evident, if I take a step back and look at things in a way that directly compares this past weekend to – for example – a similar three day weekend 10-12 years ago. So much difference as to capture a feeling of “being an entirely different person”. I’ve come a long way. I’ve worked at it. A lot. I’ve endured frustration and failure and realizations that this or that practice don’t work out as well as I’d hoped, or that “the progress up to this point doesn’t touch that issue”. My results have varied… but… I have gotten results. Worthy real change in quality of life, for the better (by far). Worth celebrating. Worth making note of it. Worth learning to observe real progress, even when the changes over time seem quite tiny. There’s some hope to be found in this, and I’m finding it. Feels good, even after a day as shitty as yesterday was (though even now I do not understand why it was such a difficult day).

And it’s already time to begin again…

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Categories Allegories, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, Healthy Living, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Spring, The Art of Being

Waking With The Sun

June 1, 2023 //
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Summer is approaching. Mornings, here, are sometimes still chilly. Night time temperatures still fall well below 50 F/10 C. Things cool off before the sun warms them once more. Some afternoons barely hit 70 F/21 C. Pretty comfortable weather, generally, and very good for sleeping… I wake with the sun a lot of mornings in spite of that. Like this morning. It’s nice quiet time for reflection, though, if I wake thoroughly and don’t find myself stumbling groggily through the first hours of the day.

This particular morning I am sipping my coffee and watching the sky beyond the windows change color, hints of pale grays and strange blues give way to peach, lavender, pink, and hints of orange as the sun rises. Pretty. I think about the flowers in the garden. I think about my upcoming birthday (11 days away, now) and our planned camping trip (5 days!). I think about pain, and pain management, and these stiff contrary bones. I think about recent delicious meals, and how much I appreciate my Traveling Partner’s cooking, and how nice it is that he’s been doing more of that lately. Good times, shared. I think about that, too. No misery here. It’s a pleasant morning. I think about the weekend ahead. I think about spending time in the studio… which competes for my attention, alongside “time in the garden”, “time on the trail”, and “time off-roading with my partner”.

Planted these last fall, and I’ve already forgotten what they are, other than “pretty”.

I pause my musings long enough to really appreciate how fortunate I am to enjoy so much of this life, so thoroughly. “This too shall pass.” Good times are wonderful. Savoring them, and reflecting on them, is delightful and healthy. Healing. Still, part of the point in doing so is to ensure they become part of my implicit memory as well, and a well-spring of future resilience upon which I can call when times are darker, and life feels less rich and satisfying. Just keeping it real; my results vary. I have some rough moments here and there. You too? We all do.

I write less often these days. Not because there’s nothing to say, nor because I am wrapped in joy 100% of my time, nor am I, contrariwise, wrapped in misery. I’m just over here living life. I write less because, honestly, I spent much less time in solitary reflection, and less time forcing myself through practices to pull myself out of some messy emotional quagmire. I live. Breathe. Exhale. Relax. Succeed. Fail. Begin again. I try. I explore. I set boundaries. I yield to circumstances. It’s life. It’s not perfect, but it’s also quite a lot better than “just okay”. I sometimes feel I am on the edge of “thriving full-time”, which is pretty remarkable, considering the entirety of my experience.

I sip my coffee feeling my moment shift gears from “quiet reflection” to feeling filled with gratitude and love. It’s a nice start to a new day. I smile and think about my partner, at home, still sleeping. My heart beats with love.

It’s time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, gardening, gratitude, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Spring, Summer

Fragile

May 25, 2023 //
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How am I still so fragile? After all this time? Tears come and go. At this point, after days of it, I’m not even sure why. Post-menopause, it “shouldn’t be” hormones… but… I keep fucking about trying to “fix shit” with my body as I age, so… I don’t know. Anything I take to remedy some ailment or condition has potential to fuck with my body’s systems and my emotional balance, so… yeah. I just know the world is too much for me. Just… all of it.

…I keep finding myself weeping and in real emotional pain… but why, for fucks’ sake, why??

…I mean… I guess it’s enough that the world is this messy strange violent circus of nightmares, with an ever-increasing body count. That, by itself, is worth weeping over. I just can’t sustain doing all the fucking crying, by myself. It would make more sense to stop the killing, wouldn’t it? I drink more of this bottle of water sitting next to me. Tears = drink more water. A lot more.

…I have the strange slightly hilarious thought that maybe the water drinking itself is causing the tears somehow. That’s ridiculous, it’s just a passing notion.

My sleep is chronically disturbed and restless, this isn’t new, it’s just… yeah… chronic.

Ping…ping…ping…ping… work pings on my consciousness. My Traveling Partner pings me eager to iron out details for this or that, or share something cool. Ping. Scam calls. Ping. Another email. Ping. An announcement in a Slack thread at work. Ping. A walk-up co-work colleague with a question. Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping. Everyone, everything, seems to want a piece of my attention, or a moment of my time. I feel overwhelmed, but it’s all quite ordinary. There’s nothing to see here.

A long time ago, in another life, a 14 year old me, feeling something similar, packed a small bag, and lacking any notable experience of the world, just sort of … walked away from her home, her family, and her life, headed… nowhere. Away. I didn’t have a plan exactly… I was “going to Florida”. Why? A rock star I was crushing on lived there, and… I don’t know. I thought I needed a destination? I was fortunate; I survived the adventure to return home to commonplace misery. I survived to see adulthood, to go on to survive domestic violence, military service, warfare, trauma… you know, life. I’m almost 60 now. Still holding on.

…Shit… is this about that? I don’t feel any obvious angst over turning 60, specifically, it’s more… the issues hang on right along with me. How much further does this journey go? How many more verbs are there? G’damn it – when can I relax and just fucking be?? I’m so tired…

…Why do I feel so trapped?… Why does this all feel so fucking pointless??

…I’ve got tools. I’ve got verbs. Choices. This isn’t “hopeless”… just hard.

…I’ve just got to begin again. Again.

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Categories Allegories, anger, anhedonia, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, Despair, Free Will, Frustration, grief, Hormone Hell, loneliness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Sleepless Nights, Spring, Summer, turning 60, War and News of War
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