Archives for category: The Big 5

I considered not writing today at all; my most popular post, historically, is a Valentine’s Day post from another year. I certainly don’t need to compete with myself for attention. I took time to read it again, this morning, myself – it still rings true with me, and it was a nice start to my morning to ‘see what the fuss is about’.

Be love.

Be love.

My lovely morning continued with pleasant conversation with my traveling partner. We exchanged catching up details, words of affection, Valentine’s Day pleasantries, and shared affirmations of our continuing deep romantic commitment to each other. He moved on with his morning, and I with mine. I feel well-loved and secure. Moments of hurting only threaten that feeling for those moments of hurting and moments are brief in the scale of an entire lifetime; it’s very easy to lose sight of that in the midst of a hurtful moment, but losing sight of it doesn’t change the truth of it a bit. It’s one of the best things about impermanence; the stuff that sucks is also impermanent. 🙂

Words of love - the most valued words.

Words of love – the most valued words.

I’m sipping my coffee and savoring the flavor of it; I selected a different varietal coffee bean than I generally do (in fact, I purchased a small assortment this last time, specifically with this weekend’s enjoyment in mind). No reason, other than feeling adventurous, and not wanting to become complacent with what I know I enjoy. Taking a chance on what is new can be very rewarding itself – or a shortcut to a reminder of what works best. Today I am fortunate – my choice is pleasant and satisfying as it is, and I feel rewarded for taking a chance on something new.

Even a cup of coffee can show love.

Even a cup of coffee can show love.

I am enjoying life in the context of being well-loved by the woman in the mirror. Romantic love is a wonderful roller-coaster of emotions, sensations, and moments, and there is nothing quite like it. I thrive on feeling loved – but how limiting if that feeling can only come from the love I receive from another?! Fortunately, that does not seem to be the case, and quite the contrary; if I am unable to love the woman in the mirror, treat her well, and enjoy her as the being that I am, I will be severely challenged to actually love any other human being well. Certainly, experience has shown I am only able to love another with whatever skill I have at loving myself – any illusion to the contrary is a staged production based on social contracts, marketing, and mythos. I’d rather have ‘the real deal’, myself; authenticity is different, and yes  – better.  The romantic love shared between connected engaged lovers is a very different experience than love of self, to be sure, I’m just saying I am doubtful it is possible to love well without loving oneself; I haven’t seen it done.

Getting here was a journey - it is a journey to sustain love, too; there are verbs involved.

Getting here was a journey – it is a journey to sustain love, too; there are verbs involved.

The skies are a dismal leaden gray this morning, and there is a soft tapping here and there of raindrops on windows and walls. It’s not raining hard enough to make hiking unpleasant. I see geese and ducks making their way across the soggy meadow through the window of my studio, and wonder if the crow that visited my patio yesterday might return today. The grasses are so lush, and the willow tree is now covered with green-gold whips of spring budding, about to burst forth as leaves – spring so soon? The twisted gnarled pine in my view is near enough to see the tiny cones and dark needles with silvery gems clinging to them, raindrops not heavy enough to fall farther, waiting to sparkle in a moment of sunshine breaking through.

A thread in my tapestry, a color in my palette, so much of life is fueled by love.

A thread in my tapestry, a color in my palette, so much of life is fueled by love.

I feel a surge of restless energy and love pouring through my veins and my consciousness – but what to do about it? Paint? Hike? Bake? Masturbate? Being human certainly provides plenty of options. Considering the choices in the context of the best possible self-care takes baking off the list immediately; I don’t need the spare calories, and managing my weight over time requires continued awareness of my lack of impulse control.  There’s room in the day for the rest, and more; I could get the week’s housekeeping done today, setting myself up for a leisurely day off tomorrow, and a relaxed work week. My day begins to take shape as I sip my coffee and write: a hike through the park on a drizzly morning – maybe down to the hardware store (a pleasant 3.5 mile round trip) to check out bird feeders and such – basic housekeeping, painting…

So many ways to say "I love you" to the woman in the mirror...

So many ways to say “I love you” …

I pause to laugh over the sight out my studio window; a rather large flock of Canada geese making their way across the meadow – by way of the gravel path between the community I live in and the park, walking slowly single file, quite evenly spaced and seemingly in order of size (largest first). They file past for some minutes (big flock – 30 or more geese), and bringing up the rear are some ducks. (I wonder where they are going.. and remember that I often used to see geese and ducks floating in the community pool early in the morning from the patio door of my previous unit.)

...so many ways to say "I love you". Are you listening?

Are you listening?

So…yeah. Valentine’s Day. There isn’t much to say about it that I haven’t said before, and it’s still another great day to take the very best care of the human being in the mirror – every day is – and in so doing, be more easily able to love others. 🙂 I think I’ll go do that.

I woke early this morning. It was with some effort that I fell asleep last night. Between those events I slept well and deeply, and I am appreciative of the good rest more than I am moved in a  negative way by the lack of sleeping in. My thoughts at the end of yesterday picked up where they left off this morning, with the fragment of an idea worth further contemplation; prohibition, ‘being’ positive or negative, and the many layers of rules, rule breaking, fault-finding and reinforcement on which so much human experience is built.

So many times my traveling partner and I have spoken about words, language, and communication, and it is not uncommon that my use of ‘phrasing things in the negative’ comes up as a linguistic quirk with some potential to frame more of my experience in negative terms (potentially further influencing my thinking and decision-making). “How are you doing?” might be the question. “Not bad.” I might say in response. It’s pretty easy to see the use of negative there – did you notice it a sentence earlier on when I observed that this use of language is ‘not uncommon’ for me? It’s a subtle thing sometimes. I don’t know with any certainty whether it is of genuine significance in any way but one; it causes my traveling partner some stress. I don’t know why, but it is a linguistic form that he is uncomfortable with, and this gets me thinking about ‘positive’ and ‘negative’ people – human beings for whom a clear state of one versus the other seems to be prominent in the day-to-day interactions we share, as a defining characteristic. We all choose, but the choices are not always obvious in the moment – or easy to change once we’ve built habitual uses of language and behavior (whether toward others or ourselves), and then there’s the humor thing; people often behave in a specific fashion for a laugh. That can be pretty confusing sometimes. Sarcasm as humor isn’t accessible for every ear; I am a bit ‘tone deaf’ in the sarcasm spectrum – particularly in text – and make an effort to avoid using it, myself (somewhat unsuccessfully if I am feeling angry or frustrated).

I think about a former colleague so negative in day-to-day demeanor that sometimes working with him was enough to cause my PTSD to flare up, forcing me to just go home to be out of that environment. Strangely, he’s a friend, and a really sharp guy, educated and an astute thinker – all but for his practice of pushing every perception, every observation, and every experience through an intensely negative filter and the resulting depression, resentment, cynicism, bitterness and expressions of futility are a huge downer. Finding out later that he isn’t actually saturated in that experience, but communicating in that fashion as a form of self-expression much of the time was actually really disturbing for me; he seemed unaware that it affected others.

I am often unaware of how my use of language affects others. I am having my own experience. (Aren’t we all?) Holding this thought in my awareness I understand that life’s many prohibitions reach me through many voices over a lifetime – voices that may not be aware of how the words, tone, and implications of each prohibition may affect me. I reached adulthood understanding that the choices in life were now entirely my own, but without any understanding of what that means, or how deeply I might have to dig to make the choices that would matter the most. This morning I sip my coffee listening to jazz, and wondering how to ‘end prohibition’ in my experience and live more positively – not just on the surface, with my words and actions in the most mindful moments, but also in those dark corners where damage lurks, replacing the negatives with positives.

Have you really thought about this, yourself? How many prohibitions are you living with? I think that over for myself and make a quick list… that becomes a majorly long list very quickly. Some of the items on that list are mundane, some are no longer practical or relevant, and some just sound… mean. Where did this bullshit come from? Don’t interrupt. Don’t fidget. Don’t swear so much. Don’t walk away while I’m talking to you. Don’t leave dishes in the sink. Don’t leave papers piled up everywhere. Don’t leave paint out open. Don’t leave half full coffee cups lying around. Don’t leave that door open. Don’t be late. Don’t be early. Don’t cry. Don’t yell. Don’t talk so much. Don’t let the laundry pile up. Don’t watch so much tv. Don’t spend all day in your room. Don’t ignore me while I am talking to you. Don’t procrastinate. Don’t sigh so much. Don’t play games with me. Don’t forget this. Don’t talk about that. Don’t miss the bus. Don’t eat with your elbows on the table. Don’t flop down on the sofa. … And don’t expect help sorting all this bullshit out later. For real.

The prohibitions of childhood become, overtime, manners and good conduct within social norms – or baggage. Some of the prohibitions we grow up with make a lot of sense; ‘don’t put your hand on the hot burner of the stove’ is one example of a very practical admonishment likely to save one a trip to the ER. On the other hand, ‘don’t talk so much’ just… hurts. It’s literally not ever stopped hurting, and every time someone dear to me shuts me down in conversation the message I hear is ‘your words don’t matter to me’, which sounds a lot like ‘you don’t matter to me’ in later moments of isolation or despair. We’ve built a culture that is both insensitive to the power of words, and insensitive to the delicacy of our human hearts; we’re fucking mean sometimes, to ourselves and to each other. Similarly; my lack of sensitivity with regard to how much I may be talking is equally at risk of cutting someone dear to me off from being able to express themselves, to converse with me, or may prevent them feeling heard. This awareness alerts me that it’s a more complicated puzzle – and I find myself wondering at the ‘why is this on my mind right now’ piece a bit distractedly.

Can all of life’s prohibitions be framed up in positive terms? Some surely can – ‘don’t leave dishes in the sink’ can be compiled with a whole bunch of detailed small prohibitions about housekeeping and life basics and pinned on the fridge with a magnet as ‘Live Beautifully’ – nicely positive. Will it remind me to take out the trash and recycling, vacuum, and do the dishes? So far, it generally does – because those are my choices, consistent with my own understanding of ‘living beautifully’. Clearly – your results may vary.

On reflection, I struggle to fit all of the prohibitions lurking in my background ‘programming’ into positive terms – some don’t seem to want to fit. I turn ‘don’t cry’ over in my head… I feel the lifetime of frustration and dismissal begin to rise as visceral emotions; hard to manage comfortably. I breathe and let that one go for now. I look at ‘don’t talk so much’, ‘don’t just keep talking’, and the correlated criticisms phrased as irritated questions like ‘are you every going to shut up?’ ‘are you even going to take a breath?’ and ‘can I just get a word in edgewise?’ – legitimate expressions of frustration heard with fair frequency over the years. Funny thing about this one; I rarely hear these expressed in this way from colleagues or strangers (because socially it’s rude) but still occasionally hear similar from loved ones. The words linger in my programming as remnants from other times in life, other relationships. My traveling partner is the most likely human in my experience at this time in life to express frustration with the stream of consciousness flow of near continuous talk – it stops being a conversation, realistically, if he is not also talking. He is eager to enjoy conversation with me. I don’t exactly make it easy with this injury; the executive functions responsible for managing social cues that drive the give and take of conversation are affected. I am learning to listen deeply, and engaging in listening as a verb of its own, to improve my ability to control rapid speech, and continuous talking. There are verbs involved. It takes considerable practice. I still mostly suck at it unless I am very mindful indeed; my results vary. I am a student. Listening deeply is a nice positive approach to counter the damaging prohibitions directed toward my flow of speech. Incremental change over time may be a thing – sometimes it is frustratingly slow. 🙂

I finish my first coffee of a lovely Saturday morning feeling like a kid that figured out a new math problem all on her own – a little triumphant, a little eager to go further, a lot humbled by all that I do not know. Making a connection between the subtle negatives of language, and the ‘programmed’ prohibitions still complicating my experience day-to-day seems useful. If my thinking is filled with prohibitions, rather than encouragements, it’s no wonder I use so much negative language; I’m overly focused on not doing, and not thinking, and eager to confirm that I am not… something. It is, at least, worthy of further consideration generally.

I can’t say I’m traveling this path without a map. I am reading a very good book that nudges my thinking in new directions, positively, and I’ve chosen to set Proust aside briefly to focus on it, finish it, and wring from it all the inspired thinking I am able to. “After Buddhism: Rethinking the Dharma for a Secular Age” is definitely making my reading list. From the book:

Dharma practice exposes the limits of human thought and language when we are confronted with the puzzle of being here at all. All people, whether devoutly religious or avowedly secular, share this sense of unknowing, wonder, and perplexity. That is where we all begin.”

How many times might I begin again?

How many times might I begin again?

I woke too early, but didn’t get up until 5 minutes before the alarm; I turned it off, grateful to avoid it. I have a headache, feels like one from being dehydrated and whatever else goes with crying. Easily resolved; I drink more water.

I woke with my consciousness free of emotional debris – that’s a nice change that occurred somewhen, over time. It’s a new day. I find myself glad it is just one work day away from a long weekend. I feel as if I need the rest, though I am doubtful resting will be my first choice; in spite of last night’s… difficulties, I feel inspired to paint. It’s an almost overwhelming feeling and I find it difficult to remain in this moment, in this time/place, so overcome am I with thoughts of what could be appearing on my canvas(es).

So…another day. I begin again. I don’t know where it will take me. I wish my traveling partner well with my whole heart, somewhat saddened that we’re unlikely to spend any part of Valentine’s Day together; we go days, sometimes weeks without seeing each other. We managed to get through last evening, unintentionally, without even embracing. How odd. Unsettling and unsatisfying occur as words in my thinking, too. It’s okay – move along, brain, nothing to see here. 🙂

The work day starts super early on Fridays – but this morning I didn’t forget that (which is probably why I woke at 2:30 am, and did not return to sleep; last week I forgot it was Friday when I woke on Friday morning, and was very nearly late, which I don’t handle well). Coffee soon…

Today is a very good day to begin again. I’ll start right here…

Be love.

Be love.

I’m no good with raised voices. My insides go tense and weird and I panic, chest heavy, struggling for breath. I maintain calm by force. I remind myself to breathe. Tears slide down my face recalling my traveling partner tersely telling me, voice cutting with emphasis, that he feels I don’t allow him to experience his emotions. I struggle for breath in the face of astonishment at how often I have felt that experience, myself, and how many other times one of us has said as much to the other. Fucking primates – how do we treat each other so poorly, and with so little regard?

I just sit down and cry. He’s left, of course. He suggested it. I agreed. Choices. Verbs. I’ll probably cry awhile, evening feeling blown and wishing I hadn’t bothered, or had canceled when I realized I had a headache, before the work day ended; he was clearly not in a great place when he picked me up.

Shit. So, here I am. Tears. Disappointment. Heartache. He said good night without saying he loves me; that’s meaningful and so rare that I’m fairly certain it is a first. It hurts. A lot. The sad starts taking over, and I move from the living room to the keyboard, hoping that words will diminish the pain. I feel incredibly alone right now, and I hurt. There’s a wee rational bit leftover, somewhere in the background, earnestly trying to pull my attention back to right now, succeeding only in causing me to worry about this one human so dear to me, driving upset with me, maybe even feeling unloved, and icy fear sweeps over me and I hope that he feels enough better when he gets home to let me know he’s safe…

p.s. I love you.

p.s. I love you.

I don’t actually understand what went wrong this evening. It seemed so random and strange. I don’t know what ’caused it’ – and from the things he said before he left, our recollections are so different as to be pointless to compare. We were not having similar experiences at all. I was not understanding him, nor did he seem to be understanding me, like a conversational fun house mirror, the words seem to mean entirely different things heard than spoken. I know he had a headache. I know he has an ill pet at home. I know I’m not the best with the communication stuff sometimes. Something went very wrong. I wish I knew what would make it right.

"You Always Have My Heart"

“You Always Have My Heart”

What a poor choice of way to end an evening… I could choose better, but…it’s hard. I breathe deeply and try to understand why it feels wrong to put aside the hurting and pick up a book, or have a quiet cup of tea and let it go. I want to make it right… I feel at fault. It’s not helpful – and it’s not quite the same as feeling responsible, or accountable, or just feeling a moment of compassion that two people who love each other so much still have moments like this. It’s hard not to dive deep. It’s hard not to go numb. It’s hard not to punish myself. I’m okay right now – that’s hard too; there are verbs involved.  I think about emailing him – the emotional equivalent of drunk-dialing, and I refuse to indulge myself; neither of us need the drama, and I am too fragile to be certain of avoiding it, and being reasonable, and kind, and grown up.

I remember the nice moment a bit earlier when he told me I was sweet, with so much love. Tears start again. Words feel empty and incomplete. I go for my checklist; meditation next.

Perspective isn't always easy; verbs require effort.

Perspective isn’t always easy; verbs require effort.

Today was a lovely day, with just one difficult moment. Moments matter – and they’re just moments. I’m okay right now, and a few tears haven’t hurt me before. This is a safe quiet place, and moments pass. I hear a mocking voice in my head tell me ‘maybe if you throw more platitudes at it something will stick’, and feel a moment of further hurt that I hear it in my partner’s voice. Well, crap. If my brain is going to start playing mean games with me, it’s definitely a good time to step away from the internet. Tomorrow I can begin again.

Fatigue still seems to be catching up to me unexpectedly easily. I wake comfortably this morning after a restful night, and not overly concerned about it, but it turns my attention to a number of life’s details that were quickly shifted to ‘later’ during the move, and attending to them makes sense, certainly putting them off indefinitely is a poor choice.

After yoga, a shower, and making coffee I remember that the quantity of coffee on hand is quite low. I order coffee, and recall that the wall heater uses considerable energy (costly) and that I had planned to get a second oil heater to keep the more spacious apartment comfortable; I make a note for later. While I am involved thus, I make a point of identifying assorted other quality of life details that need to be adjusted or refreshed for the new living space, and if nothing else, I give each sufficient consideration to have an idea what I will do about them, and when. I take time to consider my ‘breakables’ – a collection of delicate glass, porcelain, and crystal objects that I enjoy displaying and using; I made a point of boxing them all up for safety when it was clear that the environment was putting them at risk (before I moved into Number 27), and they have remained packed up since. No curio. (They used to ‘live in’ my sideboard, unless they were out, here and there.) I’ve bookmarked a couple lovely pieces to finish the dining room – a lighted glass door cabinet, and a cute chest with drawers that will serve well as a smallish sideboard; they compliment the light wood of the table. I find myself regularly brushing my hair out of my eyes and recognize that the more immediate need is for a haircut; I have Monday off, and book an appointment.

The day starts in this very grown up way, taking care of the needs of the moment, planning out the future quality of life improvements, and smiling that there is any sense that my quality of life actually needs any ‘improvement’. The smile pulls my attention, somehow, back to the quality of my life, generally, and the moment of contentment and appreciation finishes, rather amusingly, with the recollection that I don’t have a good mop for the much larger kitchen/dining room floor. I order one; that’s a ‘sooner than later’ detail, since a dirty floor will render a home seemingly filthy even when that is the literal only messy detail. (I am no longer that woman who has no will or energy available to live beautifully; I have the verbs for that.)

I feel relaxed and confident in my space and in my experience – and this feeling doesn’t feel ‘alien’ or unfamiliar. It feels more as if something treasured that was missing has been found. I think over my recent nightmare, still clinging to my consciousness, and the epiphany that followed and weave it together with the recollections of times past when I felt my most whole, my most adult, my most capable, and the when/where of those experiences – unsurprisingly nearly all of them at points in my life when I was living alone, however briefly… (with one notable exception; my relationship with my traveling partner, which tends generally be to very adult-to-adult with the exception of an extraordinary period of care and support when I needed it most, struggling to wean myself off of poorly chosen psych meds, and later when we were both working through issues associated with my injury, or my PTSD).

Trying to force myself to live comfortably in a pair-bonding cohabitation model of existence hasn’t worked out well for me, in any relationship. Attempting to cohabit with multiple adult partners (and their multiple very human issues) didn’t work out very well, either (although I could see myself trying again with a more rational choice of partnerships – a choice of more rational partners?). I find myself again and again allowing myself to be lead into over-compromising my needs, my values, or my quality of life solely to avoid confrontation, when I live with other people. It’s silly – and not a very efficient way to live harmoniously. Festering resentment is super unpleasant to live around, and to be quite reasonable about it, my anger is not something to be trifled with, but that’s a truth that is often not heard between primates until shit goes really wrong. Then it’s all neighbors on the news with quotes like “well, she always seemed very pleasant, I’m very surprised…”. It’s not a place I want to find myself, frankly. So. Other choices.

I am still getting used to the spaciousness here. Gone the utterly necessary compactness of … everything. Am I rambling? If I am, is it because there is so much additional room here? More than enough – which feels a tad strange very often, still. The roominess here, for one person, is ‘ample’. Perhaps even ‘ideal’ (for me). The idealness of it is taking some getting used to, and there is some point in my consciousness I occasionally catch discontentedly searching for ‘the worm in the apple’. Freaking human primate negative bias issues – like I need that bullshit! 🙂 Meditation works well to address that… I think I’ll do that.

Begin again... And then again. Each dawn is a new beginning.

Begin again… And then again. Each dawn is a new beginning.

Today is a choice day to begin with good choices. Today is a lovely day to spend the day on loving, and being love. Today is a fine day to reflect on the woman in the mirror, and the opportunity to live well that stretches ahead. Today is a very good day to take care of me, and in doing so I am changing my world.