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The Dishes in the Sink

June 27, 2015 //
1

This morning I slept in. This morning I slept in so hard I missed a couple phone calls from my traveling partner. I woke hours later than usual, although I had gone to bed at a fairly normal adult hour sometime shortly after 10 pm, even taking that into account, I slept in far later than usual and managed a bit more than 9 hours of sleep. I woke with a stuffy head, a bit dizzy, and too groggy for the speed and dexterity I seemed to expect to have. I slowed myself down, answered the phone and enjoyed the sound of my traveling partner’s voice first thing in the morning – a lovely treat –  and afterward turned on the stereo, and eased my stiffness with some yoga.

Coffee time! Oh…hey…who  left dishes in the sink over night? Oh. Right. Me. I feel real irritation on the edge of anger surge through me, requiring a moment to breathe, and slow things down again.

Damn it.

Damn it.

I have some baggage around dirty dishes, associated with domestic violence at a point in life when my injury was relatively recent. Dirty dishes in the sink resurrect all sorts of chaos and damage for me, beginning with irritation and resentment, and moving through a spectrum of negative emotions. There was an emotional moment, hands clenching the edge of the sink, body trembling – I just want to make my coffee, now, but the dishes commanded my full attention; the dishwasher is full of clean dishes, and having forgotten to unload it right after work, and also putting off the dishes after dinner was made – promising myself to handle it ‘soon’ which became ‘after __’, which then became ‘before bed’, then didn’t happen at all. I’m irked at myself. I dislike disorder on a pretty powerful level – the disorder in my kitchen screams at me about the potential for disorder in the rest of my experience, and in my thinking.

I take a deep breath. I give myself a moment to recognize that nothing in the sink is actually an impediment to making coffee and enjoying it. Hell – it’s not even a lot of dishes, and they were rinsed before being placed in the sink. I am over-reacting. Still, my own perspective on the dishes is that taking care of me means an orderly tidy clean kitchen – for me. Because I said. (No other reason is really necessary – although honestly, a dirty kitchen is a health hazard.) I treated myself poorly by not making a point of taking care of the dishes last night. It’s necessary to recognize and accept both the circumstances and my feelings in order to take better care of me going forward – and to make amends and let it go. Yes, of course making amends is relevant even when I disappoint myself. I will face lingering irritation every time I look in the kitchen – and it may even stall my enjoyment of other parts of my day – until I make things right with me. It’s not about domestic servitude, obligation, the expectations of others, or rules – I really dislike dishes being left in the sink, and most particularly overnight. Why is not relevant to the moment.

This is not really even about dishes, specifically. I bring it up because it illuminates a particular point about self-care. How so? Well… in shared domestic experience dishes can quickly become major drama – because like a lot of small details, how people treat each other really matters. Being considerate of each others values is a big deal. That’s so obviously true when I think about my relationships with others…but what about my relationship with myself?  This morning I find that it’s also true within my experience of myself. I am annoyed with myself for treating myself poorly. I like waking up to a very tidy kitchen, a clean bathroom, soft vacuumed carpet under my bare feet, and details well-managed for beautiful living, and I know this about me…and rather inconsiderately still let myself down last night. So…now what? I have come far enough to know that continuing to mistreat myself by moving on from something as small as leaving a couple of rinsed dishes in the sink over night to berating myself for having done so is not ‘treating myself well’. Emotional self-abuse can take up a lot of valuable time on pointless bullshit. (I’m still annoyed, though, and I’ll be doing the dishes once my coffee is finished.)

I yearn to treat myself 100% as well as I would treat my most adored lover – and to do so as well as I would strive to do in the first precious weeks of connecting and investing in love. Seriously – why wouldn’t I treat me the very best I know how? That doesn’t mean Affogatos every morning – that would be mistreatment through over-indulgence. It doesn’t mean spending my disposable income on enticing frivolities – that would be mistreatment through failure to manage my resources for long-term comfort and success. It doesn’t mean refusing to spend another dollar on groceries to be frugal, at the expense of good quality nutrition and health – that would be mistreatment through a false sense of economy. (I can hear my traveling partner laughing and saying “well, what does it mean?”, and pointing out that I am phrasing things in the negative.) One thing it definitely does mean is practicing practices that build and maintain the quality of life in which I personally thrive – with a commitment to practical tasks and habits being established that keep a good household running well, however small. It means doing the damned dishes promptly. It means running the vacuum cleaner every day. It means – for me – making the bed in the morning, adjusting the curtains for the lighting I like, and keeping my home tidy at the standard that satisfies and pleases me, unapologetically – and also without treating myself badly by berating myself when I miss the mark. I am human, and this is a human experience. Highs, lows, successes, failures – my results vary.

I am feeling ready to stand out - unapologetically precisely who I am.

I am feeling ready to stand out – unapologetically precisely who I am.

I made my coffee, and I am taking time to enjoy it while I write. It’ll be a lovely day to catch up on a few things, and to take care of me by taking care of home and hearth – mindful service, not indentured servitude, because I can rather than because I must. Gracious delight and investment in self is a lovely approach to taking great care of this wee home I have made, and resentment is not an element of that experience. Like a child ‘playing house’, I have a clear idea of ‘home’ and what it takes to maintain that feeling – and it’s fun to do those things for myself. Even the dishes – although damn I wish I’d done them last night. 🙂

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

Perceptions

June 26, 2015 //
0

This morning the alarm seemed to go off much earlier than necessary. I laid in bed a few minutes – very unusual for me – lingering and waking quite slowly. I got through my morning routine faster than usual somehow, and my coffee was in front of me earlier than I expected. I danced through some videos…caught up on Facebook…now it is somehow ‘later than I thought’. Perceptions are funny things. My experience of the passage of time is my own, and it varies with circumstances, activities, moods – the clock ticks away (metaphorically, that is; I prefer a very quiet clock, myself) and I guess time passes at the same continuous rate, more or less – I have trouble thinking of it otherwise, but don’t actually know. There is a lot of science about time, or relevant to the matter of measuring time, and certainly the consideration of time was once a preoccupation of mine to the point of obsession…but what do I really know about it that actually matters? I know time passes, can be wasted pointlessly or taken advantage of, or used skillfully with planning, or enjoyed blissfully in moments of presence…regardless, it passes; that much I do know. For any one of us there is only so much of it available. Like a bad navigator giving directions (“it’s the last left turn before you get to…”) I sense that my time is finite, but have no ability to know precisely how much I’ve got…only how much I have used.

The uncertainties of time remind me how important it is to live – really live – every moment of my life right now. ‘Now’ is definite and real and here, this very minute.

My coffee has gone cold, I had sipped it once or twice while it was hot…and lost interest while contemplating time, timing, and perceptions. Yeah, that’s me. 🙂 I want the hot and the cold of it – similarly I want to wring every moment of living out of my life, without hurting myself or others, or behaving in ways that might potentially damage this fragile world, or this fragile vessel, in unexpected ways. How do I do that on a Friday morning, when my brain is still struggling to fully wake? Well…I guess this morning I’ll have an Affogato with local artisan ice cream…espresso ice cream. Yep. I’m an adult and I can have dessert coffee for breakfast if I choose. I like choices. 🙂

I take my time, frosting the glass and softening the ice cream while I brew fresh coffee with great care. The delighted smile it gives me makes my face ache, and I laugh at myself tenderly; I enjoy things with such whole-hearted (dis-inhibited) enthusiasm that it sometimes surprises others, or discomfits people. I have been told it is ‘child like’ (or childish).  This morning, alone in my small kitchen, I am entirely free not only to have an Affogato first thing in the morning on a work day – I am free to be utterly delighted to do so, without reservation or concern for the emotional experience of others. It’s lovely. It’s also thought-provoking. How much of my day-to-day experience do I keep harnessed and squashed down to a manageable, ‘appropriate’ or ‘acceptable’ dullness specifically to avoid discomfiting others? (and with such limited success…) How old is that baggage? I grin happily, take a picture of my coffee – because the picture will later delight me again with the memory of the moment – and dance my way from the kitchen through the living room, to sip my coffee looking out the patio door, across the lawn, watching the dawn unfold, with the wide-eyed enthusiasm of a child, before returning to words.

Tasty tasty self-indulgence on a Friday morning.

Tasty self-indulgence on a Friday morning, and a celebration of self.

So much of my individual experience is tied to my perceptions, my assumptions, my thoughts – and so much of that is (or can be) chosen, and crafted…how much damage do I do to myself by twisting my heart and soul in knots trying to provide some ideal perception to others – who are also 100% entirely free to choose their thoughts, their understanding, their assumptions, and similarly exist in the context of their own experience? It actually looks pretty silly from this vantage point to bother, ever, tweaking my behavior to give someone else a particular sense of who I am; I have no control over their perceptions, regardless. How much simpler to rest comfortably in my own heart, living my own life, and being this woman who I want most to be? Some people will like me, love me, and find a place in their heart with my name on it… others…not so much. How much does that matter? Enough to undermine my own joy in life? It doesn’t seem like a good value to trade my own powerful positive experience of self for a shell of existence crafted to suit the needs of others that ultimately cuts me off from the connection I seek.

Does that sound terribly ‘selfish’? What definition of ‘selfish’? Yours or mine? Do your own assumptions suggest that living my experience as my whole self would be a bad thing? Mine once did – for a long time I even felt that being myself might be some kind of ‘misbehavior’ or bad act. What a crappy way to treat myself! I am fortunate that I no longer harbor a sense that making the choice to fully be who I am undermines the good treatment I provide to others, or prevents me from investing in my relationships… actually… I think it may be necessary in order to find real satisfaction in the arms of another that I be wholly myself.  (Here’s a moment finding me thinking kisses and love to my traveling partner; he knew I needed to spend more time with me, and less time with everyone else for a while – he ‘got it’ before I did, and said as much, before we ever moved in together, 5 years ago. It was, in fact, one of his first observations of how I was living my life at that time.)

The tasty creamy Affogato didn’t last long, but the entire day is still ahead of me to be savored, and enjoyed. The weekend is almost here, and I am inclined to treat this woman I love so much very well. I feel inspired and energized (Coffee and ice cream at dawn? It could be my blood sugar surging. lol). I think I will enjoy the A/C this weekend and paint, and enjoy what time I can with love, Love, and lovers – and myself. 🙂

Today is a good day to enjoy me as I am. Today is a good day to love – and be generous with my affection, there is even enough for me! Today is a good day to treat myself as well as I strive to treat the world. 🙂

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Categories art and the artist, Brain Injury, Free Will, Healthy Living, Love, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women, Words

The Woman in the Mirror

June 25, 2015 //
0

My name doesn’t say much about me – you can call me Lisa if you’d like. Or not. Shakespeare had it right with ‘what’s in a name?’. You could ask me questions, a lot of them, and find out many details of my experience in life, my thoughts on those experiences, the values that drove the choices on which those experiences were built…but what do you know about the being within the fragile vessel by doing so? Some details. Cobbled together with some assumptions based on your own experience, your own values, and the choices you make about your understanding of the world, you will build a picture of ‘who I am’ that you are content to accept as ‘me’. Maybe you like that person, maybe you don’t – is it ‘who I am’ for anyone but you?

Do I define the journey, or does the journey define me?

Do I define the journey, or does the journey define me?

Am I any less constrained by those same limitations – even when I consider the question ‘who am I’, myself? Who is this woman in the mirror? Do I define myself by my experiences? Which ones? Are the traumas inflicted on me more important than the events I chose for myself? Is it my response or reaction to events that matters more? Is it my thoughts, or my creativity that define who I am? Does my injury define me? Is it my choices, my values, or how I treat others? How I wear my hair is not who I am, nor is what I choose to wear. The books I read are not who I am, neither is how I vote. My anger is not who I am, and my careless frankness isn’t either. Somehow all of it is – but even all of it seems some very small piece of who I am – like ‘dark matter’, it seems the ‘who I am’ puzzle is by far the vast, most important bit ‘about me’, making up most of ‘everything’…and also not easily described or defined. So…yeah. Who I am? Who are you? These are very good questions.

I woke this morning feeling content, comfortable in my skin, and subtly in conflict with myself, as if I had wandered off from an important discussion in progress by waking. I lingered in front of the mirror naked, looking over this fragile vessel and considering the being within. Mirrors made me uncomfortable for a long time; I could not bear to see the hurt, sadness, and astonished betrayal in my eyes, and I was uncomfortable with my aging flesh. This morning I stood calmly, enjoying the curves and lines of a body that has served me well over the years. I smiled at a scar I’d forgotten about, and recalled the event that put it there. I paused to appreciate that so much of the damage done by the violence of my youth seems to be sorting itself out; I can stand in front of a mirror and enjoy who I am.

There is a small shaving mirror mounted in my shower. I don’t use it for shaving, and it is not placed there for the convenience of lovers or guests. I put that small mirror there because I noticed that living alone cut me off from eye contact with my traveling partner and I really missed it, and felt the lack. My reading on the subject of emotional intimacy and connection suggested the lack could be more fundamental, and perhaps be addressed as a need that I could fill for myself and somehow ‘get by’ on that. I put the mirror in the shower so every day, every time I am in the shower, I have an opportunity to make eye contact with someone whose affection for me is singularly reliable, someone I want to know much better, be much closer to, and shower (lol) with Love. I felt a little silly even trying it out – it seemed like a ‘trick’ I was playing on myself. Turns out not to be a trick at all. I have lovely eyes. I enjoy my smile – even the small quiet smile that often gets missed or misunderstood. Eye contact with myself seems to have the good emotional benefits of eye contact in general. As practices go, pretty simple, and I feel more in touch with myself. It helps that I am unafraid of the woman in the mirror, and on good terms with the woman within.

The morning is pleasant, my coffee is tasty, and the music playing the background has me grooving in my chair while I write. This is an excellent moment. I pause the writing to enjoy it, and dance to a favorite track. The practicing of practices, and incremental progress over time have taught me that it is not necessary to be so fit that I can dance for 30 continuous minutes or more to benefit from movement. At my heaviest, I had stopped dancing. Heartache stalled my joy machine, my weight and arthritis were significant limitations, and I couldn’t move easily. Over time I just stopped dancing. When I started trying to turn things around in earnest, I rather awkwardly and uncomfortably also tried to begin dancing again. First it was just seconds. I was stiff. Self-conscious. Fearful. Reluctant. Awkward. Uncomfortable. Uncertain. But seconds eventually became a song. Song, singular, became songs plural. Songs became a playlist, and a playlist became my morning and I awakened to the powerful joy in movement – not just yoga. Not just walking. I love to dance. I probably ‘suck at it’ by all external standards – and that doesn’t matter a bit. It’s about the feeling of it, the sensuality, the freedom, the sensation of the beat and the pure primitive delight of movement to music. That’s all mine, and I am not living this life for anyone else. I’m not 20 any more, true. I’m not Ciara, never was. Damn, though, it feels good to hear the music I love and be moved by it in a literal way, and be able to dance. Meeting that need doesn’t require impressing anyone. 🙂

This morning I am contemplating ‘self’ and ‘other’ and considering what it means to be individual, and to connect with others. Asking myself what I expect of me, what I tolerate, what I enjoy – and asking myself if I am applying my values fairly to both myself, and my expectations of myself, and others dear to me, too. Am I too hard on myself? I know that I can be. Am I too hard on others? Do I attempt to hold them to a standard I can’t achieve, myself? Am I too willing to excuse behavior that isn’t okay with me, because I am hesitant to apply a standard I hold for myself? I know that I have that potential, for sure. What matters most? We are each mortal, each prone to mistakes and poor choices, each entirely predictably likely to behave consistent with our own values – not the ones we share willingly in words, or the values the society we live within recommends; we live our true values in our continued behavior over time. I suspect it is one thing we are powerless to do differently; we live the values we actually hold, changing our behavior may require us to change our values – or result in our values changing because we have changed our behavior. Being attentive to someone’s behavior is the only way to know their values with any certainty. Then what?

Like a mushroom, there is often more to a question than the obvious words.

Like a mushroom, there is often more to a question than the obvious words.

Questions on a Thursday morning. More questions than answers. Plenty of time to love the woman in the mirror, and dance. 🙂

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Categories Brain Injury, Free Will, Love, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, Summer, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women, Words

Meditation Over Coffee

June 24, 2015 //
1

This morning I chose meditation over coffee. It’s not as if I’m going to skip the coffee, there’s time for both on most any morning. Generally coffee gets to the head of the line as soon as my eyes open, but this morning I woke, somewhat groggy, pleased to have slept through the night, but feeling some nagging sense of ‘being unsettled’ that I have come to associate with ‘needing to meditate’. I am beginning to learn self-care in real-time response to needs (before they become crises, or events), allowing habits to be infrastructure instead of relying on them utterly. Incremental progress over time.

One coffee, one moment - but the picture is not the beverage.

One coffee, one moment – but the picture is not the beverage.

Choices matter. Meditation calms me, and sweeps in stillness and a feeling of being centered, where I had felt some vague unease when I woke. Change sometimes makes me feel uneasy, even positive changes. I enjoyed time in the company of the wanderer last night, and ended the evening feeling well-cared for, in the context of great affection and high regard. It was a lovely evening. It was a good time, and I’m still smiling. I likely woke uneasy as I struggled with my baggage, and having given priority to meditation first thing, I get to the part of the morning where coffee is a thing feeling content, calm, and that things are right in my world.

A different coffee, another day - and a question; why do I have so many pictures of coffee?

A different coffee, another day – and a question; why do I have so many pictures of coffee?

Balance matters, in relationships and in life, and I find myself eager to exchange morning greetings with my traveling partner, and find out how his evening was, and share smiles and Love before the workday starts. If we lived a bit closer, if he were likely to be up at this hour, if there were no commuter traffic…I would invite him to join me for morning coffee. It is a morning that I would greatly enjoy his charm, his affection and his conversation. It hints at lingering remnants of unhealthy co-dependence that when my phone hums a notification, I check to see if it is from my traveling partner, with a hint of disappointment attached to each coupon offer that arrives. There is still work to do. I have plenty to learn about life, about love, about treating others – and myself – truly well. It’s not the eagerness to hear from him that is the sign of co-dependence; Love is eager. It’s the subtle anxiety that results from not hearing from him, although there is no explicit expectation that I will, or requirement that I must, and no need to feel anxious, at all, that causes my concern about co-dependent behavior and thinking. Baggage – and not even baggage associated with my traveling partner! How unfair is that? I’m still carrying baggage from other relationships, in which I was treated poorly, manipulated and punished with jealousy, and petty possessiveness, and confused with ever-changing rules that could not be mastered and benefited no one. That is not now. I smile and the anxiety eases; this is a different life, in the company of well-chosen friends and lovers. There is nothing to fear aside from allowing fear to drive my decision-making, or color my experience. 🙂

It's not about half full or half empty - I'd rather consider 'is it enough?'

It’s not about half full or half empty – I’d rather consider ‘is it enough?’

I sip my coffee and think of 18-year-old me, heading for adulthood and innocently thinking that I could simply choose to be who I am, and joy would be waiting for me. My optimism didn’t last – and no wonder; it was built on a foundation of chaos and damage, and wishful thinking. I lacked the skills I would need to live the life I wanted, and lacked the awareness of my lack of skill. Life’s obstacles at that age seemed so personal, and so targeted. The “world” wasn’t ready for me, either – and I lacked the experience I would gain over time that now allows me to stand, facing the world with a smile, and say “you don’t need to be more ready than  you  are; this is who I am”. I don’t regret leaving youth behind, when I think about how damnably awkward and unsatisfying it was at the time. lol

A picture that isn't coffee, selected in error - and a great metaphor for gnosis; we are often right on top of the illumination we seek, unaware we have all we need to be enlightened.

A picture that isn’t coffee, selected in error – and a great metaphor for gnosis; we are often right on top of the illumination we seek, unaware we have all we need to be enlightened.

I am still a student, and life’s curriculum is endlessly rich, continuous, variable, repetitive, complex, obvious, wonder-filled, and sometimes studded with frustrations and disappointments. There is a lot to learn. I’m fortunate that I have so many opportunities to learn lessons about Love, love, and loving; I have a lot to learn, and a great deal of enthusiasm for the topic. Being as passionate and involved with the woman I spend the most time with (me) has been a very big deal for teaching me skills that I can put to work loving others. It’s a bit puzzling that I get to this place in part through making the choice to live alone… It is what I need for myself, right now.

Mmm...my traveling partner makes an amazing latte. Of course I miss that. :-)

Mmm…my traveling partner makes an amazing latte. Of course I miss that. 🙂

I do miss living with my traveling partner, especially in the morning. There’s something quite wonderful about being able to reach for him and find him there, or sharing small delights in the moment. Still, the challenges of the bit of distance are worth mastering to once again experience compersion as his relationship with his other partner improves, and to once again experience the great delight of novelty in our own experience together; passion loathes boredom or complacency. For now, my progress in therapy needs some space to maintain momentum, and my injury was getting in the way of meeting my traveling partner’s needs (and limiting his ability to meet mine). No regrets over taking a break from cohabitation, at all…although I do miss my traveling partner in the morning, over my second cup of coffee. 🙂

Like moments, the cup of coffee that matters most is the one in front of me now. :-)

Like moments, the cup of coffee that matters most is the one in front of me now. 🙂

Today is a good day to enjoy each moment exactly as it is, and make good choices for the moments to come. Today is a good day to listen deeply; we are each having our own experience, and each with our own story to tell. Today is a good day to connect, to share, to be. Today is a good day for Love, love, and loving. Today is a good day to include myself when I act on intentions to treat others well. Today is a good day to be the student.

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Categories Brain Injury, Free Will, Healthy Living, Love, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, Summer, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women, Words

A Very Basic Mistake

June 23, 2015 //
1

This morning I woke with some effort after a night of fractured sleep. I crashed early, and indulged my fatigue and sleepiness by allowing myself to stray from my routine. Once in a while that’s not a big deal, but each and every time I can make such a choice it is a certainty there will be consequences. This is how choices work, generally. 🙂 I started sleeping easily in my new place, then a very fatiguing week drove some choices to sleep at times I wouldn’t typically choose sleep…and now my routine is disrupted such that I’m not actually sleeping well during the night. Oops. It’s a bit of a beginner’s mistake with regard to good self-care, but being a proper grown up, and living alone, I’m the only one here to remind me to take care of me well and consistently. I’m very fortunate that I learn best from my mistakes. I make quite a few.

Last night I crashed so early that I had likely gotten a full measure of restful sleep by the time I woke sometime after 1:30 am. I meditated for some time. It was nearer 3:00 am when I checked the clock. I found sleep again at some point, and I know this for certain because the alarm woke me…I was dreaming that I was awake. (One of my least favorite sleep experiences is dreaming that I am awake.) This morning I am enjoying my coffee gently and giving consideration to self-care practices that I may be more inclined to let slip than others, and what steps to take to ensure that I do not, and wondering how realistic it is to attempt to manage my self-care through awareness and intent alone (which is something I am trying to learn) – the practices reinforced with calendar reminders, sticky notes, and habit are more likely to be reliably maintained. One limitation my TBI places on me as an individual is that habits sometimes just…fail. I wake up one day and have simply ‘forgotten’ somehow some key habitual behavior. It’s quite frustrating sometimes. Add to that my unreliable memory – things that are habitual sometimes don’t leave an impression on my consciousness, and I don’t remember having done them, or lack awareness that I have not. I have occasionally been startled to realize (in some cases weeks or months after the fact) that I simply abandoned some very helpful practice without any particular cause or decision-making – I just forgot. Rebuilding a favored, forgotten, practice or habit is no easier than it was to build in the first place. The importance of a given habit, or practice, has no correlation or apparent causal relationship to the potential I may wander off and forget about it – it seems pretty random.

This morning I am very much aware that living alone requires me to be quite mindful of my self-care practices. In the excitement of making myself at home, and exploring this whole ‘who I am now’ thing, habits are very much at risk of being extinguished without intent. Small things like a ‘bed time’ that nurtures my long-term good cognition and physical health actually matter – making exceptions for this circumstance or that one is ‘high risk behavior’ from the perspective of managing my PTSD, and treating myself well. Details that are very much part of my sense of ‘being at home’ are easily pushed to the side in favor of something more fun, sometimes, especially if I am excited or fatigued, with the result that I may find myself unexpectedly not feeling at home in my own environment – because I have failed to take care of me.

Fruit ripens in its own time.

Fruit ripens in its own time.

This one is not such a complicated puzzle; I will choose to practice the practices that work for me – even those associated with keeping me on task with practicing other practices. 🙂 I don’t find any particular need to be embarrassed or critical of myself on this point, either. I feel pretty capable of taking care of me; I spotted a weakness, and I am considering how best to shore it up, improve upon it, or solve for X.

Tonight I will spend time learning life’s lessons about taking care of me, while also enjoying the company of another. There’s quite a lot to learn there. Today is a good day for continuing education.

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Categories Brain Injury, Free Will, Healthy Living, Love, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, Sleepless Nights, Summer, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women, Words
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