Archives for category: The Big 5

This morning is better. This morning is even “good” for all the values of “good” that come to mind in the moment. It’s nice. No anxiety. I woke with my silent alarm, as the lights began to come on, and my morning routine felt… routine. The traffic heading to the more distant co-work space was light, and I got there “right on time” – by which I mean when I expected to. I got to the office with enough time to share a few words with my Traveling Partner, and enough time to set up without rushing, and to prepare for an early meeting. It all feels so… ordinary.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I take the few minutes for meditation in the morning that I usually do. The early morning call means my walk will come a little later, and that’s entirely fine. I feel steady, centered, and comfortable in my skin. I feel self-assured and confident that I am in the right place at the right time, doing things I am capable of doing well. It’s as if I were never anxious at all, which is a very nice feeling indeed.

I look over reminders for later. No stress there, either. This is a lovely start to an utterly ordinary work day.

I’m grateful to be without the anxiety that has been riding shotgun with my consciousness since I learned I’d be laid off from my previous job. Strange that quickly securing a new job wasn’t enough to beat back my anxiety…it was the more-than-satisfactory completion of a project that had been assigned to me when I started. I really needed that, I guess, to soothe the background hurt (purely emotional, and mostly fairly bullshit and unnecessary) that resulted from being laid off at all. Knowing those sorts of business decisions are “not personal”, and even being treated with great consideration by colleagues, doesn’t mean it hurts any less. I really enjoyed that job, and could have happily done that until I finally left the workforce. That’s not relevant to the reality of the situation – in a sense that role no longer exists at all. Even the company doesn’t actually exist anymore, as any sort of independent entity. This is certainly a circumstance in which practicing non-attachment is the healthy choice. I smile to myself, feeling reminded of how very human I am. I’m grateful things are turning out so well, and I sip my coffee and reflect on that.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. New day; new beginning. The (metaphorical) clock ticking in the background? It’s always ticking, whether I hear it or not. Paying too much attention to the sound of the clock becomes a distraction; there is much to be done in those finite minutes of each day, and many practices to practice on the way to becoming the woman I most want to be.

I let gratitude fill my thoughts for a few more minutes. It’s a nice way to begin a day, reflecting on what is going well, what is working out, what I am fortunate to enjoy in this mortal life, and the people I am fortunate to know. Dwelling on the challenges seems only to fill my life with frustration and anxiety. Savoring the very best moments is very different. The small joys, the things that suprised me in some delightful way, the coincidences and happenstance moments of luck or of beauty – those things are worth “dwelling on”, however small, and they fill my life with joy long after the moments have passed. Gratitude has become a favorite practice – it feels really good, and lifts me up.

I glance at the clock… it’s time to begin, again.

I woke up with a thing stuck in my head. Not an actual object physically lodged in my skull, just a thought lingering in the background as though it had been the topic of conversation, or the content of a dream I had. It happens to also be the wallpaper of my laptop, and a reminder that whether – and how – we use our words really matters. For human primates, spoken language is our primary form of direct communication. Written language follows pretty closely, I suppose, and language is a powerful tool that can bring us closer – or drive us apart. It can reveal profound truths, or build terrible lies. It can soothe hurts and cause real harm, too. The thing stuck in my head as I woke, though? It was this:

Borrowed from a post by Kyle Hill, a YouTube content creator.

Words matter. Meaning matters. Using words to directly communicate our experience or needs to each other matters. It’s definitely more efficient (and generally more clear) than less direct forms of communication, when used skillfully, with a bit of care. Of course, like any sort of “magic”, it can be turned to evil purposes, and be used for gaslighting, manipulation, deceit, misdirection, or to directly do injury (or persuade others to do injuries to one another).

I drove up the highway still thinking about words, language, and communication, and how difficult something that seems so simple at first glance can really be. We live in challenging times, and communication is both the cause of some of our difficulties as a species (and society), and also the solution. Weird, right? Hell, we can’t even be certain of sharing the same “dictionary”, as individuals; the nuances in how we each understand a particular word can vary our understanding so much as to be not at all related, undermining our ability to understand each other, and even limiting our ability to recognize that we have not understood.

Here’s an example. When you use a word like “liberal” or “conservative” what do you actually mean by that? Is it straightforward? Is it is a common and broadly shared definition of the term? (What makes you so sure of that?) When you use it, are you actually clearly communicating an idea – or is it “coded language” carrying more (or other) meaning than the definition that will be found in a published dictionary? Could you be more clear? Are you being less clear by intention? Is it actually “your word” expressing your own thoughts, or are you repeating someone else’s talking point, parroting a phrase or slogan, conveying a message that is not truly your own?

…Do you even know what you’re really talking about?…

It’s hard to go wrong with good basics…

My thoughts bring me back to The Four Agreements. Not my first walk down that path, either. This peculiar little volume has some powerful ideas in it. These ideas are framed in a spiritual sort of context that isn’t a good fit for everyone’s thinking (including mine), but the basic messages being communicated are profound, and worthy of consideration. One of these “agreements” is the recommendation to “be impeccable” with our words. The book makes it clear that what is meant is to be clear, accurate, truthful, and also kind, compassionate, considerate, gentle, and aware of the potential for lasting consequences when we speak to each other. Communicating well takes practice, and maybe a lot of that, quite probably “forever”. Totally worth it, though. Skillful communication is a healing thing that brings people together, when used to connect and share and build.

Why am I even on about this, this morning? No idea. I woke up with a meme in my head. lol I woke up to some sort of interrupted internal discussion of the power of words and how we use them. I drove to the more distant co-work space I sometimes work from, still thinking about words, language, and communication (and my own commonplace difficulties with good communication). I hadn’t yet exchanged words with another human being at all. I’m thinking about it even now.

My Traveling Partner pings me a greeting in the form of a cute “sticker”, and shares some words about a quality of life improvement project he’s working on – improvements to our media library, and how it is organized – and I reply. Successful communication. How do I define that success? We understand each other, and feel loved. Win. I glance down at the wee tray my Traveling Partner made to hold my “regular” glasses when I have my computer glasses on, and feel wrapped in love. Another form of communication, not in words, but in actions. Those matter, too.

What love looks like – sometimes.

I smile to myself, and sit with my thoughts in the quiet of the office. I’m grateful for the solitude, the quiet morning, my Traveling Partner’s love, a job that pays the bills (or will, once the paychecks start coming), a pleasant little home, and the ability to use words and language. Powerful stuff. I think about all the books I have yet to read, and the poetry I have yet to write. I think about delightful compliments I have been offered, and useful feedback I’ve been given that I have used to grow and become more the woman I most want to be. I contemplate the dark power of sarcasm, insults, and angry words, and the lasting damage these can do. I think about promises given, promises broken, and how much it matters to keep our word. I think about the way unexpected kind words can lift us up from difficult moments. I think about how sharing our experiences with each other through story telling and anecdotes can teach, entertain, or bring us together. Words are powerful indeed.

I sip my coffee and for a moment, I deeply miss my Dear Friend, with whom I might have shared these thoughts, and further discussion. Words connected us over great distances and many years.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I begin the day with words, and I’ll likely end it with words, too. I take a few minutes to meditate, letting the words fall away for a time, just being, and breathing. Now, it’s time to begin again. I glance at the clock, and prepare for the work day ahead. I remind myself to choose my words with care – because words matter.

New job, first day, and all of that went well yesterday. My headache was a 12 on a 1 – 10 scale as I headed home, and I did my best not to allow it to vex me. I was grateful it was a Tuesday – by longstanding practice, it is the Anxious Adventurer’s night to cook, which means less work (for me) and tasty tacos (generally).

… Turned out to be less than ideally easy to get to that moment…

My brain was exhausted when I got home, and the headache was kicking my ass. A shower might help, I’d thought, but no, it didn’t. I took additional pain medication and settled into a darkened room to meditate and hopefully ease my pain and maybe recover some cognitive energy to get through the evening on…

My Traveling Partner alerted me that he was facing unexpected difficulties and excessive time required in a project to do with server maintenance on our home network. My many many (hundreds of) gigabytes of images were…so many. Too many. Backups of copies of duplicates of old drive contents and folders of images I didn’t want to lose were carefully saved – and in several cases nested within each other, multiple times by several names – a byproduct of every tense OS upgrade, or computer replacement over time (for decades), and worse still, it was also all partially backed up as zip files from my old Google Photos app or on a cloud storage platform. Fuuuuuuuck. So many copies…of copies.

…Can I please do something with that fucking mess?!...

Yeah. I was annoyed and aggravated and frustrated to tears by the impatience and irritation in the otherwise entirely reasonable request. I’d even been working on it, piecemeal, much of the past year on and off, whenever I had a spare minute, was also thinking about it, and happened to be on my computer… But I hadn’t finished the important part (deleting the old copies) – I was pretty spectacularly busy with working for a living, caregiving an injured partner, running errands and keeping up the housework, and trying to stave off exhaustion as much as I could while managing chronic pain.

In an instant I felt unappreciated and disrespected – and invisible. I cried the entire time I pushed myself through the steps of reviewing each folder, feeling angry and unsupported. I wept frustrated tears while I deleted folder after folder, fingers crossed that I would not delete the sole copy of some image that has lasting value for me. I managed to finish the work needed in about an hour of mostly focused time, distracted only by my own tears and my Traveling Partner’s continued pings, messaging me continuing to explain why finishing this project matters to him in this moment and more generally, and checking on my progress. Unhelpful for me in the moment (trying to focus and work with a headache), but I recognized his desire to feel heard, and to reconnect and resolve painful emotions. I did my best.

… G’damn that fucking headache though, and not one fucking word of sympathy or care from anyone, which caused hurt feelings that lingered for a while in the background. I was silently mired in a very “fuck all of you” sort of place for a little while before I was able to let it go. Humans being human. I’m fairly certain everyone in the house was doing their best, but…as is often the case, it didn’t feel “good enough”. Our results vary, and as human primates we can expect a certain amount of bullshit and drama to be part of the experience. I chose to let small shit stay small and move on from it without doing anything more to address the circumstances directly.

A new day, a new chance to begin again.

Funny thing, this morning none of that mess is important or relevant at all. My tinnitus is loud in my ears, but my headache is an inconsequential 2 on a 1 – 10 scale. My Traveling Partner was awake when I left the house and seemed to be fairly merry as he kissed me goodbye for the day. It was a pleasant parting and I’m eager to return home at the end of the work day without resentment or ire. Resilience for the win. I’ve worked years to get to this place. I’m grateful that a momentary upset no longer sends me spiraling into chaos, futility, and despair that lingers for days or weeks.

I walked the local trail with my thoughts, enjoying the dawn. It’s a new day. It even feels good to have finished a project that had been stalled (and was seriously taking too long). I breathe, exhale, and relax. I can feel the reduction in the chaos in my life, having cleaned up my files. Funny how that works (for me). I’m grateful to my Traveling Partner for taking such skillful care of our network, and for making it clear that my failure to complete a project I’d started more than a year ago was holding up progress. I’m grateful that his own resilience allows him to bounce back from a tense or angry moment, too. I’m grateful that I never fear violence as a potential byproduct of his anger – he’s not that person.

I watch the sunrise contentedly from my halfway point. It’s a new day, a new moment. I’m okay for most values of okay, and there is no anger in my heart. It’s a fresh start – and time to begin again.

This morning is a new beginning. New job. First day. It’s a fully remote role, which is pretty routine for me these days, but… some things are not routine at all. New tools… some of which are familiar from other roles, at other times, but in other versions or configurations, too. New. Novelty can be challenging, sometimes. It tends to crack open any bit of complacency or assumption-making foolishness, presenting things from a new perspective, or by being wildly different than my recollection of that thing. Novelty isn’t bad. It can be refreshing and a wonderful route to new perspective or deeper understanding. It can be frustrating and vexing (mostly only if I fight it). I breathe, exhale, and relax.

One by one I go through the various email items in my inbox inviting me to this or that tool, system, or database. Routine – and also new. The process is familiar, the specifics are less so. I’m shortly finished with those items, and curious about others. It is still quite early in the morning, and it’s likely that the majority of the team members here in the US won’t be on until a bit later in the morning. I sigh with a mixture of contentment and relief. I’m grateful for the quick turn around from one role to the next. I’m even sitting at an open desk at the co-work space that had become so familiar and comfortable in my last role…though the little office that is assigned to that employer is no longer mine. This still feels a familiar and welcoming place, comfortable for working. My Traveling Partner had gently encouraged me to consider working from this location vs my office at home; he knows me well, and it is often the case that my frustration with this or that new tool or login process can cause my emotions to flare up uncomfortably (for both of us) on day 1, though I tend to be very emotionally “well-managed” during work days, generally, at this point in my life. (That wasn’t always the case, for sure, and both my beloved and I live with the emotional scars of that earlier time, and tend to be very considerate about it now.) We both dislike the experience of having to deal with my frustration with myself in the moment.

I smile to myself and just listen to the soft quiet of the office at this early hour. There is so much to learn, to do, to get sorted out – and there’s no hurry, this is just day 1. It’s definitely time to begin again…

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.