Archives for category: The Big 5

I am sipping my coffee on a warmer than average morning, grateful to have ice for iced coffee. Grateful to have coffee. Grateful to be as fortunate as I am. I am drinking this coffee and reflecting on how “lucky” I’ve been over the course of a lifetime, so far.

Meditation over coffee… like a sunrise in my thoughts.

I’ve survived a lot in this life: childhood sexual abuse, rape, domestic violence, head trauma, brain damage, military sexual trauma, poverty, homelessness, anxiety, upheaval, and despair… and illness, and injury, and poor decision-making. It’s been much. I did survive, though, and I’m here, now, and generally speaking I’m okay, for nearly all values of “okay”, and life is good. Even the insecurity of being unemployed, presently (well, as of later today) doesn’t sway my impression that I’m fortunate, and have been rather lucky my entire life. You may find it surprising that I see myself as “lucky”, but let’s face it – I’ve survived a fair few things and find myself here, now, with a good attitude about life, and feeling positive and hopeful, generally, and alive. My childhood was difficult – but I did make it to adulthood. My early adult decision-making was spectacularly poor – but I did survive those decisions and their consequences, and moved on to better things, and found greater wisdom, eventually. Considering that I managed to get past all that before I had a “complete set of tools”, I think I was lucky indeed. Things could have been much worse.

…At no point was surviving all that I’ve been through a given; more than once I could have died…

It was luck and happenstance that brought my Traveling Partner and I together, late in 2010. I still had a head full of chaos and damage, my hormones were wrecking my life daily, and I was awash in unresolved trauma, and mired in misery. How lucky was I that my beloved saw past that to the woman I could become? In 2013, on the edge of making an irrevocable decision about living life, I found a therapist who was actually able to help me – a massive stroke of good luck, and I am enduringly grateful. In 2015, I chose to step away from damaging drama and ended an unhealthy relationship that was undermining my emotional wellness, and I chose to live alone for a time. Though my relationship with my Traveling Partner remained important to me throughout the time that I lived alone (no “break up” or separation, we were simply living apart, still deeply in love, but working in different places), it was a healing time that allowed me to “grow up” quite a lot in ways I’d never managed before. I’m grateful (and fortunate) to have a partnership that could withstand that bit of distance for a time, even supporting and encouraging me. Lucky. It’s not just those years that I’ve known my Traveling Partner, either. Year after year. Address after address. Job after job. Friendships. Acqaintances. Experiences. I’ve been damned lucky in this very human lifetime of chaos, and trauma, and change. I try not to overlook my good fortune and privilege. No one actually “pulls themselves up by their bootstraps” and makes it entirely on their own. Choices matter. Relationships matter. Luck matters.

We don’t “win the game” solely through the cards we’re dealt, nor even how we play the hand. Luck matters. Happenstance. Circumstances. Coincidence. The actions of others. Good fortune and good friendships matter. What we do with what we’ve got matters – but so does how we perceive it all, and how we understand it. We create a large measure of our own experience, moment by moment, in our own heads. How we view the hand we’re dealt, and the options we are able to recognize, have a lot to do with our perspective on life.

Don’t forget to dance, when you feel moved by the music

I sip my coffee and think my thoughts and start my morning with gratitude. It’s a warm morning and the air quality continues to worsen as the wildfires to the east continue to burn. I’m grateful (and lucky) that they aren’t much closer. My Traveling Partner pointed out the poor air quality as I left for the last day at this job, in this office, and suggested I take my walk later on, in some large retail space with air conditioning and filtration, rather than tax my lungs with the dirtier air outside. I feel loved that he thinks of such things and affirm that I’ll take his advice. I’m grateful for the consideration of my colleagues, as we wind down this work together; I feel hopeful, not despairing. I feel supported and considered, not fearful and in shock. I am grateful to be comfortable and self-assured in this chaotic space between jobs; I’ve been here before, and I know it’ll be okay. I’ve been lucky in the past, and I’m grateful to have the positive perspective to rest on while I get something new lined up.

“Fortune favors the bold” – it’s worth noting that to a degree we each make our own luck. It doesn’t do much to just sit around “feeling positive” – there are verbs involved. There is work to be done. There are skills to hone, and resources to assess and to organize. Chillaxing on the couch playing Hello Kitty Island Adventure won’t get me a new job (probably)(most likely)(that’d be a remarkable amount of luck!), so I’ve still got to get on with things. Set a plan. Take steps. Act. Begin again in the face of every failure, every rejection, every “no”. I don’t fit everywhere, in every role – but I do fit somewhere. I’m fortunate to have developed so many highly transferrable skills in a lifetime. Sometimes I make fit happen. Sometimes I stumble into it. Sometimes it may be handed to me. Sometimes I work for it over many days with much careful decision-making. Luck happens along the way.

This morning I feel less tense than I have been feeling, mostly because it is “the day”. The last day – and there are steps that could not be taken before this day had come. I’m ready, though; I’ve got a plan and I feel lucky, and grateful.

I sip my coffee and think my thoughts. The clock is ticking. It’s time to begin. The path ahead is waiting.

In spite of the heat I spent some time in the garden yesterday (before it got too hot, in the cooler morning hours). I happily watered and weeded, and reflected on the chaos that has arisen over weeks of hot weather, busy work days, and other shit that just had to get done. Time is a limited resource, and so is the energy I’ve got available to get things done with.

I found myself doing what I tend to do when I observe chaos creeping further into my day-to-day experience; I made a list. I took some notes. I contemplated the varying levels of urgency and the considerations driving that.

The chaos in my garden.

There are peas dry on the vines ready to harvest for next year’s planting. There are carrots ready to harvest, and favorite salad greens that bolted in the heat (may as well harvest those seeds, too). The deer were haphazard with their “helpful” pruning of tomatoes, but I’ve still got a few tomatoes ripening, hidden in the greenery. Thirsty roses want deeper watering, and need a bit of pruning. There is so much weeding to do. Work had gotten busy, and I had gotten tired with other every day tasks on top of that, and I fell behind on several of the things the garden needs to thrive and be beautiful and productive. Our choices have consequences. Now I’m faced with those; I put my attention on work (for a job that I won’t be doing any longer) and let the garden go a bit wild, and the weeds remind me that my own choices allowed them to thrive.

I’m neither mad nor frustrated. The garden manages to be lovely regardless, and I enjoy my time spent there, even on a muggy summer morning before the heat of the day sets in. There are roses blooming at the edge of the lawn (at least one of which does not know the meaning of “winter” and will likely bloom all year) and it delights me to pause along the walk to see them there in the sunshine, drops of water glittering on the edges of colorful petals after morning watering.

“Baby Love”, blooming in the summer heat.

I spent the day contentedly creating order from chaos. I find it a useful practice for reducing background anxiety and stress. Chaos in my environment tends to result in chaos in my thinking. Tidying things up, clearing out clutter, and working down a list of tasks that need doing has proven to be a really good practice for managing my stress and anxiety. When those tasks are specific to supporting my own needs as an individual, it also feels like self-care. Conveniently enough, there nearly always seems to be something to do that meets those needs. lol Laundry. Dishes. Hanging up the various pairs of earrings that have managed to find some random resting place here or there in the house. Putting books away. Filing paperwork that has stacked, waiting to be filed. Dusting. Pulling weeds in the garden and from the flower beds as I pass by on my way to some other task or destination. It quickly becomes a form of meditation, when I stay engaged with the task and present in the moment, and don’t allow myself to “wander off” in my own head.

All along the way, task by task, hour by hour, there are moments of wonder, delight, and beauty that turn up to be savored and enjoyed. A colorful display of flowers. A lingering romantic hug with my Traveling Partner. A beautiful blue sky. I make a point of really enjoying these (and so much more) whenever they occur. Another sweet way to reduce stress and anxiety; really being present for moments of joy and beauty and savoring them. It matters so much to allow myself to be delighted, even for an instant.

A colorful display of flowers in the summer sun, at the grocery store.

I am never too busy to enjoy something beautiful. (I find myself wondering when I’ll next be in the city… maybe I can work in a trip to the art museum?)

Change can feel so incredibly chaotic. The loss of familiar routines feels disruptive. Managing the stress and the anxiety that can come with change can feel overwhelming – until I break things down into smaller pieces, and create order from the chaos one task at a time. Breathe, exhale, relax – like any practice, there are steps, and I’ve got to do the work myself to experience the results (otherwise, we’re just having a conversation about it, eh?).

I sip my coffee as the sun rises. I won’t be watching that from this office window much longer… Change is. Jobs end. We are mortal creatures, and however tightly we cling to some experience, or person, or moment, we will face the reality of impermanence sooner or later. The plan is not the experience. The map is not the world. Reality will be what it is without regard to our thoughts or feelings about it. Practicing non-attachment has tended to make me more practical about change – and chaos, and I no longer take such things so personally. I’ll take a new breath, and I’ll begin again. Really, what else is there to do?

For now, I sit with the quiet, and this good cup of coffee, and I look over what needs to get done today. I make a plan. I smile when the thought of my beloved Traveling Partner crosses my mind for no particular reason; he is a steady presence in my life whether we’re in the same room or not, and I am grateful to be so loved and supported. I reach out to a friend via email wondering if they have time to get together for a coffee sometime soon? It’s the relationships that matter most, in work and in life.

A hazy dawn, a row of birds gathered on a powerline.

I sigh to myself, feeling this contentment and practicality like a firm foundation beneath my feet. I’m okay right now, for nearly all values of okay, and that’s enough. The future is unwritten, and I can’t see where this path leads… but this feels like a good place to begin, again.

Oh, damn – that’s the sound of “the other shoe dropping”. Familiar. Well, hell – that means change, eh? I get a fresh glass of cold brew, take a breath. Honestly, the uncertainty is more stressful than the knowing. Seasons, cycles, and change – it’s just time, again, to begin again. I’d maybe even say “nothing to see here”, but it feels bigger than that from this vantage point, and I’m feeling that moment. I breathe, exhale, relax, and take a deep satisfying drink of icy cold brew. I let thoughts come and go, reflecting on the circumstances a moment longer.

…Doesn’t much matter what the circumstances are, this is a very human experience, and it’s likely we’ve all been through (so many) “shoe-dropping moments” in life. Change is – and we don’t always choose it. I’m okay, for most values of “okay”. It feels good to have my partner in my corner, encouraging and supporting me. This particular bit of change is job-related, and honestly seems rather mundane, considering some of the heinous shit going on in the world right now. I definitely do like things easy, not gonna lie, and it’s disappointing that I won’t be enjoying this role until I eventually retire (because yes, I’ve enjoyed it that much), and I really don’t enjoy the chaos of changing jobs at all. But I also feel more or less okay. Fine with it in the sense that it really is pretty mundane as changes go, and I’ve been through it before. So many times. I smile to myself, thinking about my “professional timeline” and all the many stopping points along the way.

…I would have retired a long time ago, if I could have afforded to do so, but even if I had it would not stop changes from coming, they’d just be other changes…

It’s easy to be angry when change comes. It’s rarely useful (except in the rare circumstance in which the motivational power of anger can be harnessed with a sense of purpose for good use). I sip my coffee content to deal with the change.

I sigh to myself. I’d like to take time to paint. I’ve no shortage of inspiration, but the household feels “crowded with activity”, and I’m often (usually) a participant. That sounds like an excuse, but I do find it difficult to paint productively while also juggling conversation, caregiving, and the day-to-day routine of keeping a household humming along. Then, too, there’s this thing I have been having to deal with all year… my hands. The specific position and grip pressure of my hand and fingers when I am holding a brush or pastel has begun sporadically (and unpredictably) causing me pain in the joints of my thumb. Arthritis? Feels different than that. Tendonitis? Closer, but I really don’t know. I do know the pain is aversive and creates a reluctance to paint at all, sometimes. Disappointing, but real. Between wanting uninterrupted time for doing creative work and finding that hard to get, and the pain that turns up unexpectedly when I do paint, I just … don’t. This, too, will pass. Probably. For now, it’s not the thing that is truly top of mind… I just happened to think about it, just now. A passing thought about something other than work and looking for work.

…I let my mind wander on…

Life’s journey isn’t a reliably easy one. I am even pretty sure, based on my own experiences and observations, that “easy” is more a matter of luck than anything else, and “ease” is not an expected part of the human experience. We’re fortunate when we find a moment of “ease” to rest within, and to enjoy. I sit sipping my coffee, reflecting with gratitude on the many moments of ease and good fortune that have found me, over a lifetime. They aren’t “everything” – life can be fucking hard – but they are something worth cherishing. When hard times come, I don’t look back on the easy times and good times with anger, frustration, resentment, or despair (not any more). I’m far more likely to take a moment, now and then, to appreciate how good I’ve had it, and how often that has been the case, and “fuel up” to endure whatever hardships have (or may) come my way. They’ll pass. Generally things do – good or bad.

I’ll find a new job. Maybe even very quickly (though that isn’t a given, and this is a difficult time for jobseekers, generally). Will it be the amazing experience of “work joy” this one has been? Maybe not. Hell, probably not – such experiences are quite rare (so I hear). Most of my work experience has been some degree of tedium, or aggravation, or pure hell in some environment that feels a like purgatory, watching a clock tick off the hours until the next pay check, while I do my damnedest to produce my best work and to be the best professional I can, hoping for better next time. I work to earn my pay, and use that pay to support my life. In a very real sense, I am converting the finite mortal hours of my life into spendable currency. I reflect on that for some moments, and consider my worth. Each time I find myself in this in between place, I am also… “finding myself“. It is an opportunity to learn and grow. Fill in gaps in my professional qualifications. Understand what I want more than I did at the start of the last job. Understand what I need better than I understood it previously. Look ahead. Plan. Consider new options.

The very first time I was ever “out of work”, it hit me hard. I was pretty young, but I’d had that job, advancing through the ranks, for 15 years. I had literal hysterics over it. I felt as if I had lost my sense of purpose. I did not handle it well at all. I felt really lost. I felt “blown off course”. Then, later, I felt really… spoiled and stupid and foolish, because I had known it was coming, refused to deal with the reality, and done nothing to actually prepare. I pulled myself together, and figured out what resources I had. I moved to a new place on the other side of the country (in a battered used Ford F-150, with all my mechanic’s tools in my toolboxes strapped down carefully in the bed), and I began again. (I make it sound simple, but it was a process, and it was weeks, and the outcome wasn’t ideal.) In the two years that followed, I changed jobs 4 times before I found something that could last (it didn’t). I moved 4 times. I left my first marriage. It was a complicated season of change.

During that two years, I learned something that would be valuable for all the years that followed, and continues to serve me well; jobs end. They are not the totality of our lives, they’re just… jobs. I learned how to handle lay-offs and ends of jobs graciously while I was in construction. The job always ends. Each new job, I’d show up, do the needful, and be sent back to the union hall once the job was over. Job after job. Season after season. Year after year. In the downtime in between, I painted. It was brutally hard work, paid pretty well, provided good medical care, and I had seasonal breaks for leisure (and for physical recovery from the effects of manual labor on this fragile vessel). The most important thing I learned in construction was how to face the end of a job. I haven’t forgotten.

So… here I am sipping my coffee in an office that will soon no longer be a place I come for work. Probably. (I could end up with an employer who seats me here in this co-work space – hard to know, it’s a small world.) I’ve got a few more days. I’ve got options. There are verbs involved. Tasks to deal with. A resume to refresh and “version” for the various industries that hold my interest (and higher than average potential for jobs I’ll do well).

Change is.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. This all feels so… commonplace. I feel fairly “unbothered”, although I also feel a mild amount of annoyance over it; the work I do here has been valued, necessary, and no doubt there will be consequences if those tasks are not assumed by someone, but that’s not my concern, now. No, the annoyance is simply that I really liked this particular job, company, and team, and was figuring on staying in this role until I leave the workforce (probably at 70). It is what it is. It’s not “personal”. I smile to myself, grateful to have had the chance to really enjoy the work I do for awhile. That’s been rare. I’ve often been employed doing things I’m really good at, and don’t enjoy at all. Less than ideal, but quite practical and commonplace. I feel a pang of disappointment and… grief? It passes quickly. The future is unwritten, and the menu of life’s Strange Diner is vast and filled with things I’ve yet to try. The trick is to choose wisely, eh?

The sun rises beyond the window. I arrived before dawn. It’ll be a warm summer day, and sunny, later. The morning is mild and pleasant. The air in the neighborhood around the office is filled with the scent of garden flowers. It’s a lovely time to get a walk in before the heat of the day. The need for self-care does not diminish when change comes (quite the contrary, it intensifies). I think a walk sounds like just the thing. It’s a good time to begin. Again.

This is about Ozempic and whether/why it amounts to “cheating” to achieve a weightloss result, and “aesthetic culture”, and moral failure, and self-control, and all manner of other related things that just happen to be all tangled up together in my own experience of life as an American woman carrying “a few extra pounds” (more than a few, unfortunately), viewed through the lens of my own experience(s). I’m providing this wee summary to more easily allow you to simply move on if the topic lacks interest for you, personally. 😉

…You could just watch South Park “The End of Obesity”…

When Ozempic became “a thing” in the news (early in 2022), it was mostly due to celebrity endorsements for weightloss and shortages having developed because it had become commonplace for people who are not diabetic to be prescribed a GLP-1 (which is what Ozempic is) for the sole purpose of losing weight. I’m not criticizing – whether you’re grossly obese, or just a few pounds over your “ideal weight”, we live in a world that puts a lot of emotional effort into blaming and shaming “fat” people, and puts a ton of emphasis on “thin is beautiful”. Thin sells products. So do feelings of guilt, shame, and envy. The conversation in the media immediately began swirling around who should have these GLP-1 drugs available to them, and why, and the 100% ridiculous (and unaffordable) cost of them to individuals (and insurers). Celebrities whose transformative weightloss was a topic of discussion were picked to pieces over did they use a GLP-1 or lose weight “the right way”? (Who decides that? It probably shouldn’t be a matter of public opinion.) The articles about terrible side effects followed. What I found interesting at the time was that the first GLP-1 approved for treating type 2 diabetes was approved in 2005. No fanfare. No media hype. No alarming back-and-forth about side effects. All that developed much later – after it was clear that GLP-1s could “cause weightloss” as a side effect, and they became popularly prescribed off label by GPs to clients who could afford them in spite of the offensively high retail price (long before insurers would cover them for weightloss).

…2005… They were in use for decades without any remarkable controversy. Safely. Huh.

When I started thinking about them and whether I might benefit from them, myself, I was only aware of them because of the media hype to do with weightloss, and that was where my own interest was centered. In spite of my type 2 diabetes, a GLP-1 hadn’t really been discussed. To be fair, I was not “open to” the diabetes diagnosis, in spite of serious difficulty managing my blood sugar (it seemed to clear up any time I corrected my diet by more or less eliminating sugars, and got my weight down a bit).

At one point, faced with quality of life and health threatening weight, and my difficulty managing it, (and my Mother’s similar challenges) I got serious with myself and managed to shed almost 150 lbs over about 18 mos. Over time, in part due to stress, in part due to health and mobility challenges of various sorts, I gained some of that back (and I’m not at my ideal weight). I lost a lot of it, again, then gained it back, again. It’s been a challenge and it’s a serious health concern. But – I did lose all that weight, without a GLP-1, or medical intervention of any sort. It is possible for many people (and for some people it just isn’t). I say this because my thinking on weight, weight management, and various medical options regarding weight management are built on my own experience, and are nuanced.

My thinking evolved over time, and I tried a lot of things to manage my weight when it became a problem. I was self-critical and hard on myself after I gained weight in my 30s. I wasn’t overweight “all my life”. I was healthy, fit, and a “curvy muscular” woman when I was in the Army. I was faced with a culture of “fat phobia” that tended to promote an unhealthy leanness that I could never catch up to with my muscles and curves. Emotionally, that was hard on me. I struggled to see my own youthful beauty. Society’s messaging was harsh and unyielding. Be thin. Non-negotiably, thin was “pretty”. Thin was “sexy”. I even achieved thin for awhile – it wasn’t healthy for me to be a size 0 at 5 foot 6 inches tall.

I’m bouncing around a bit here, sorry. The tl;dr is that I was “coached” over a lifetime that my weight was my own to manage, that the acceptable beauty standard was “thin” – preferably like a pre-teen girl – and that failing to achieve that standard was most likely a moral failure or a lack of effort on my part.

We each walk our own hard mile. I know I can (possibly) lose the extra weight I’m carrying, with a serious reduction in calories and an equally serious increase in exercise. That’s the basic deal; eat less and exercise, right? I’m also quite human. Mobility issues and disabilities often make exercise difficult or complicated (no jumping rope on this f*ed up ankle, I’m just saying – I’ve got limitations). Other medications prescribed for chronic medical issues can change the efficiency of my metabolism (or rob me of my will and energy). Food and great dining are truly among life’s most profound sensuous pleasures, and it can be difficult to say no to some treat. That’s just real. “Emotional eating”? Another challenge. The cost of healthy calories? Yet another consideration. Losing unhealthy weight is not universally easy.

I decided against Ozempic for losing weight, figuring I’ve lost weight before, I’ll just keep at it, you know? The side effects sounded pretty terrible, too. And the expense?! Nope. Not worth it.

My blood sugar was still an issue. I was also struggling with other health concerns, including chronic fatigue, irregular (high) blood pressure, fairly ordinary middle-age stuff like that. My doctor was insistant this time; my diabetes needed to be managed. We tried this, we tried that, I eventually ended up on metformin (common), which immediately reduced my quality of life with near-daily diarrhea that had the potential to force me to stop going out on the trail for long walks. It was problematic. That’s how I ended up giving a GLP-1 a try – for my diabetes. (That I refused to acknowledge for far too long, and now deal with the consequences of that stupidity.)

Within 60 days, my blood sugar stabilized – normal. Then my blood pressure. I felt somehow younger and more energetic, too. Weird. Yes, I also lost the near-constant focus on food, eating, meals, sweets – in fact, meal planning to cook meals for my family became almost impossible for awhile. lol I just wasn’t thinking about that. Huh. Wild. I did lose some weight. Quite a bit, actually. Then – relatively recently – on a stable dose that serves me well with few side effects (and those I do experience are manageable) – my weightloss stalled completely. I still get all the other benefits, but a new reality unfolded; for those of us who take a GLP-1 for diabetes, there may not be quite so much aggressive weightloss coming quite so easily. There are still verbs involved. I still need to do an appropriate amount of healthy exercise (human primates need exercise, that’s just part of what we are as creatures). I still have to manage my calories. Frustrated with my lack of weightloss, and watching my Traveling Partner manage his post-injury weight gain (and closing in on his goal weight quite efficiently) I finally put the pieces together…

…I can be a little slow sometimes…

It’s the calories. I’m still eating calories that support the weight I am right now. I started on the GLP-1, reduced my caloric intake as a byproduct of starting on that medication and losing interest in grazing, snacking, sweets, and impulse eating, and lost weight until I got down to the weight supported by the calories I’m actually consuming. Well… that’s fucking obvious. LOL So… now I have to reduce my caloric intake down to the quantity that will support my goal weight. Of course. Nothing to see here. So ordinary it is almost not worth mentioning.

You know what is worth mentioning? It’s just mean to be shitty to people because of their weight. It’s definitely rude and inappropriate to comment on it. You know what else is worth mentioning? It’s also not your fucking business how someone is managing their weight, their health, or even what their personal aesthetic is. Do you think someone is “fat”? Well, okay, you have an opinion. Let it go. If nothing else, just shut up about it. It’s most likely not your concern, at all. Is taking a GLP-1 “cheating” if the only reason someone takes it is to lose weight? I’m not sure that’s anyone else’s business in the first place. It’s inappropriate to be taking it for vanity weight loss if there are shortages that prevent people who need it for their health and wellness from getting it. Still not your business (or mine) who is taking it and why. Like any other medical question, that should be a conversation between patients, doctors, and caregivers. (And it would be nice if we could all take a wee step back and stop hassling each other over appearances.)

Taking Ozempic has changed my life a lot. My poor impulse control, for example, just generally (a byproduct of head trauma and brain damage) is now notably improved (like, just not a problem), which was an unexpected bonus. I’m not distracted by the thought of food or thinking about the next meal, which means I can more easily focus on what I’m doing. I have more energy, which means I get more done – including the exercise I need to be healthy. My health concerns are mostly well-managed – and this has also resulted in being able to discontinue several other medications, which means my body isn’t having to process all those other drugs. My quality of life has improved, and sure, I lost some weight. There are still verbs involved. I still have to watch what I eat, still have to get healthy exercise and take care of myself. It’s not a fucking magic trick, it’s just a treatment for a medical condition.

So, here I am, 16 months after starting on a GLP-1, still human. Still working, walking, and being. My results vary. I still have to practice healthy practices. Still have to eat right and exercise. Ozempic isn’t a cheat code to perfect health, or achieving my ideal weight – it’s just a medication. It does have serious side effects, which seem to be more of a problem for consumers taking larger doses solely for weight loss, than for people taking it to manage their diabetes (something to consider). For me, the side effects have been mild, and limited, and tend to be easily managed by eating a healthy diet that maximizes plant fiber, protein, and includes plenty of water. I supplement my magnesium. I make a point to drink a yogurt beverage with reliably good quality active cultures (several varieties). I feel good on this GLP-1; it changed several “small things” and has had big results (for me). It’s not for everyone, I’m sure.

One day at a time, one step at a time, I walk my own path. You’re walking yours. Neither of us actually have the time to waste on criticizing other people’s choices with regard to personal aesthetic or health, wellness, or beauty. There’s too much to do in life to waste it on interfering in other people’s business, isn’t there? I hear that clock ticking in the background (here in the office, it is a literal ticking clock that I hear). It’s already time to begin again…

People are funny. We like “certainty” – a lot. Which is sort of inconvenient considering just how much uncertainty there really is in life. In the world. In the way events play out over time. Change something, and other things also change. Make a choice, and events unfold differently than if a different choice were made. Seems like something that could be very useful, if embraced and understood, but understanding uncertainty is not the easiest thing… Perhaps better to simply accept it?

Uncertainty often comes with a measure of anxiety – maybe that’s why we seem to dislike it so much? (I say “we” because observation strongly supports that this isn’t a “me” thing at all; it’s quite common.) It’s often easier to just lock in on a particular way of thinking, or a particularly useful piece of “knowledge” in some moment, and insist on the rigid truth of it, compared to gently accepting a lack of knowledge and making room for curiosity (or unknown truths to come). It’s scary to be uncertain (sometimes).

I sip my coffee, thinking about yesterday. I drove home feeling more and more ill. Knowing a colleague had tested positive for COVID that very morning, and that I’d had some measure of exposure, I allowed myself the thought that maybe it was “all in my head”, just from hearing that news. My Traveling Partner looked at me when I arrived home; I definitely did not look well. So, maybe it isn’t COVID (test was negative), but I’m down with a bit of something or other. Uncertainty. I don’t even know “how sick I am”, or whether this will pass quickly. I just feel like crap. I woke after sleeping something more than 13 hours, interrupted briefly a couple times. I know better than to return to sleep without having my coffee; that’d just be an unwanted headache later. So. I’m up for a little while, sipping my coffee and thinking my thoughts, which are sort of gloomy and unsettled, probably because I’m sick and just not feeling my best. Harder to be positive.

Aches, pains, symptoms… The coffee is good, though, and I’m “okay” for most values of okay. There’s nothing really going on. It’s just a sick day at home. I’m grateful that it isn’t a whole lot worse. I’m grateful to have sick days. I’m grateful for an employer who strongly discourages working while ill. I’m grateful for a Traveling Partner who cares for me, and the Anxious Adventurer, who was willing to run to the store for sick day supplies so I didn’t have to go out and spread this around. This is a good place to be. It could most definitely be worse.

I reflect on the value of “leaning into” uncertainty, and take a moment to contemplate what could be driving my background anxiety lately. Work, maybe? I face things head-on. I look over my resume. I love the job I’ve got, but there’s still “uncertainty”. The human mind is an amazing thing; it’s hard not to be aware (on some level) that my average churn point professionally as been around two and half years for almost two decades. I think that’s on my mind as I approach my two year anniversary on this job. Instead of being fussy and anxious, I update my resume and reflect on the work, the job market, the opportunities (or lack of) for advancement. I think about “what I want to be when I grow up” (still my favorite way to frame the question of what to do professionally). Most of my job changes have been about better benefits, or more money, some have been about redirecting my skills into a different role or industry. I think about money, and debt, and the distance from here to retirement. I think about life. There’s a lot of uncertainty. Running away from it doesn’t change that. I make some updates to my resume, and look at job opportunities in my areas of interest. Curiousity is a soothing anodyne to anxiety, and I use it frequently. It has been more effective than any of the drugs I was ever given. (CBT for the win!)

I breathe, exhale, relax, and let all that go for awhile. My head aches, but I don’t know if it’s “just the usual headache”, or if it’s “viral”. Uncertainty. Doesn’t matter. Once this coffee is gone, I’m going back to bed anyway. I decide on a video game to “go with” the last of my coffee. I’ll begin again later.