Archives for category: Turning 50

It’s been a long day. I’m ending it with a backache, a headache, and quite content to see this one reach its conclusion.  It’s ending well; I don’t want to give a different impression. It’s just been a day that began well, is ending well, and in between…it wasn’t horrible, wasn’t tears or trauma, wasn’t even noteworthy in a way worth noting. It was effort well-spent, small stresses well-managed, tasks completed, begun, and otherwise dispensed with. Satisfying, overall, more or less…I’m just…done. So very done for today.

...finally...evening light.

…finally…evening light.

Funny thing, I suspect the fatigue, perhaps even the pain, stem more from what I’m not doing, than the things I am – or have been – doing today. That ‘conversation with myself’ isn’t going to go away. Taking care of me, and healing, and growing and learning to nurture myself and invest in my own experience, my own needs and giving myself the support and respect I need from myself isn’t the easiest thing I’ve ever undertaken. I’m a handful – the wreckage, the chaos and damage, the ancient pain – it all adds up. Walls built over years keep me out, too.  Introspection easily becomes a sort of mental geodesic dome of fun-house mirrors, reflecting my poor assumptions and bad programming back onto myself again and again, splintering, fracturing, breaking up a momentary understanding into confusion and incoherent half-baked wishful thinking, or worse still, fears and insecurities built on enough of what is real to mislead me into self-loathing, or frustrated rage. I’ve had to find another way.  It’s a journey, not a destination – I’m pretty sure of that, now.

There is still so very little ‘knowing’, and so many questions. I am a student…of life, of love, of truth, of what is…of what is not…of what may be…what isn’t so likely…and bit by bit my firm certainty in the world reveals itself as an illusion, a defense, a sort of camouflage to protect me from the one person I can never ever be saved from. Yep. Me. Her.  Me-at-18, me-at-20, me-at-30… me…then. Let’s not talk about then, shall we?

Mindfulness isn’t about pretending something isn’t. Healing isn’t a score card, and no amount of pretense can will me whole of heart and mind. So…I have to make room in my experience for her.  For me.  That earlier iteration of chaos and damage that is who I have been. So much chaos. So much damage.  It’s on my mind, and it is a distraction from my every day experience, this need to face myself, in a way so honest and so direct that she can not evade my questions with her answers, presses on my consciousness with such force.  So now what? I have to find the words…the time…the place…

I’m glad the day ends, and ends well. I need my strength. I am here, now, and having survived and endured her ‘then’, along with her, I know her strength well.  I don’t know the outcome…I know she won’t take a dive. I know I can’t afford to lose, or forfeit. 

Night falls and I am glad to rest.

 

 

It’s been a week since my last post. It’s been a rather long, strange week since my last post. Sometimes simply terrifically serene, other times stressful and anxiety-filled on a level that became some sort of unpleasant emotional dessert. That’s ‘dessert’ with two of the letter ‘s’, not ‘desert’ with only one, meaning to say that at some points the stress and anxiety rose to a level of elaborate internal torment so subtle, well-crafted, and painful as to be extraordinary to the point of transcending what it was and becoming almost iconic and representational of something far more archetypical – ‘fancy’, as it were. (Not pleasant or tasty, however, not in the least. ) This has been a week of peculiarly personal time with myself, endlessly interrupted and repeatedly derailed by the incessant demands of real life.  I’ve felt on the edge of some sort of really important epiphany or understanding of …something… that I can’t quite ever achieve because the trash needs to go out, or the plants need water, or ‘please pick up milk on your way back…?’, or answering just one quick question, or to take a look at something (it’ll only take a second), or what was that thing I meant to do… I very much want to blame everything outside of myself for it… It wouldn’t be quite ‘fair’ to do that, though, it seems to me, since it is the predictable byproduct of wanting to please, wanting to meet the needs of loved ones, and not really much wanting to deal with the chaos and wreckage at all… so, the anger directed outward, unreasonable, directed inward, damaging.  I drift; lost, and frustrated, and feeling ‘unable to finish a thought’.

...finding time to finish a thought isn't always easy...

…finding time to finish a thought isn’t always easy…

I woke this morning … feeling disgruntled and discontent. Aggravated ahead of any aggravating stimulus, and wishing to be in a different place, time, and headspace.  I’m fortunate to have a real ‘force of nature’ in the department of emotional support and perspective, in the person of my dear partner…up with me at dawn more often than I expect, and equipped with the will to ensure his love for me is felt and not merely imagined, and the experience not to get sucked into my personal hell; with his help and affection the morning is not wasted, not a loss, not even bad, actually. I feel my challenges, but today they are not calling the shots.  🙂

I feel like I have ‘too much to do’ and that I am struggling to keep track of it all.  It is an illusion brought on by a desire to complete something else entirely – that unfinished thought I am trying so very hard to avoid thinking, I suppose. Hormones?  Could be. I feel angry in the background.

Words...failing me.

Words…failing me.

Today the thought of ‘mindfulness’, or at least the feel of the word in my consciousness, has me feeling testy and cross. The demons have taken up arms and the fight is now to the finish. Success for me may mean their doom…we all know it. Now, our uneasy truce is open warfare, and I am fighting for my life. I will use guerrilla warfare, if I must – and attack them with mindful actions, if blocking mindful meditation is their current strategy.  So, today: gardening, laundry, the small tasks of modern domesticity that build a chill experience for the week to come.

Still…I want so much to solve the current puzzle, learn the lesson, complete the thought… I am at a place where it is becoming necessary to have a conversation with myself.  That 20-something woman I once was, and the woman of 50 I am now don’t exactly see eye to eye on a number of issues. Somehow, she has taken the side of my demon forces, and she’s making it damned difficult to sift through the wreckage and heal, and build order from chaos. We clearly need to talk. She screams at me in my nightmares that there is no forgiveness possible, that there is no honor in healing, that I have no right to be happy, to become whole…to abandon her…and the pain.  She is trapped in another time, and has only her limited perspective, and her pain – she does not heal, or grow. She wants vengeance, she wants a voice… I can not give her vengeance, and I do not know how to give her a voice; we do not agree about a number of things.

My voice...if I choose to use it.

My voice…if I choose to use it.

Well. Sunday quietly beckons, offering respite from the chaos and warfare within through labor and service to life and love. Is it enough?

Well, maybe, maybe not…’sexy’ is pretty subjective. Interesting concept, too; part emotion, part aesthetic, part visceral response to…someone. Sex is a big deal for a primate. I guess maybe a few people get The Sex Thing figured out pretty easily. I thought I had. I mean, The Sex Thing has always been a subject worthy of considerable contemplation (and practice), and I’ve long wondered why we don’t take it all so much more (and less) seriously. We don’t expect nuclear physicists to wake up when they turn 18 and suddenly know what is unknown, or expect educators to be born fully formed and possessing all the known information of the universe to pass on to the youth of the next generation, or expect needed knowledge or skills to be magically in our possession without taking the steps to learn them, refine them, enhance them – and share them with others. Somehow, someone somewhere got the dumb-ass idea that sex doesn’t require – or warrant – study and education and skill building. lol.  I’m still – after giving the matter approximately 39 years of contemplation – I’m still entirely bemused that as a culture we can be so incredibly short-sighted, and yeah…just not very bright, to think for a moment that sex doesn’t rate the same serious study and pursuit of knowledge that any other meaningful endeavor in life is expected to require.

Oh…maybe sex isn’t ‘meaningful’? Yeah, we can stop there. All I need, personally, to ‘prove’ the meaningful quality, the value, the importance of sex is a moment to observe the huge amount of human bandwidth that goes into getting sex, having sex, stopping other people from having sex, regulating sex, talking about sex, thinking about sex, writing about sex, video taping sex, measuring things that are relevant to sex, cataloging practices and achievements that have to do with sex someone, somewhere, is having – real or imagined. There are multiple industries that support our appetite for sex, and our sometime desire to stop ourselves from craving or pursuing some particular detail that really does it for us as individuals. If sex weren’t meaningful, we would have no need to enact laws that regulate or govern it, or our freedom to have it, or our restrictions from having it – and we sure wouldn’t be spending any of our limited mortal hours speaking in envious, or horrified, tones about the sex someone else is having.  So sure, meaningful, obviously.

Sacred? Could be…but to whom? Why? What quality about it? Does one person’s sexual take on life, the world, and ‘everything’ have any real relevance to anyone else’s? Does what we know, think we know, or once thought we knew about sex have any permanence? Mores change. Taboos change. “Normal” isn’t any more ‘real’ than the thinking that defines it.

Honestly, it’s on my mind a lot lately – sex. The whole thing; how it feels, what it means to me, what I like, what I need…and mindfulness.  The March Toward Menopause continues, slower than I’d like, but perhaps I need the time? I’m not the same woman I was at 18. I understand the world differently. I understand myself differently. Even sex is different…and I haven’t ‘figured it all out’, yet. (We’re all adults here, right? Can we talk about this?) The mindfulness practices I am learning are so helpful in so many areas of life – my overall stress level day in and day out is much lower, and I feel more comfortable living my life and enjoying my experience…and I am still struggling to figure out how to apply ‘mindfulness’ to sex. Seriously.  So far, most of my experience applying mindfulness to sex, or attempting to, results more often than not in an intensely ‘self-conscious’ experience, with far more awareness of small points of physical discomfort, concern about my partner’s experience in the moment, and ‘performance anxiety’. I’m pretty sure that last one is a pretty huge indicator that I’m not making best use of the potential in mindfulness, at least where sex is concerned. lol  Fuck, at least I’m still laughing about it. I like sex too much not to keep trying…but I do tend to be a bit on the ‘think-y’ side…so of course, I go looking for any available resource. What do I find?

A quick Google search for “Mindfulness and Sex” returns more than 5 million hits, and the first two pages include links to some excellent articles…and I’ve read them, each and every one. Hell, I took notes. I did further reading on relevant topics. It hit me today… it isn’t that mindfulness ‘isn’t working’ for me, where sex is concerned. 😦  It is working…and I am becoming aware that some of my experience includes feelings of anxiety, of performance pressure, of physical discomfort, of subtle moments of resentment or anger when things don’t go quite as hoped, and of simple self-consciousness and concern about the small details that matter, and my partner’s experience.  Mindfulness isn’t broken because my experience isn’t universally simple, easy, and ecstatic – it is working quite nicely – because my experience isn’t actually simple, easy, or a matter of getting from arousal to ecstasy quickly and without complications. It isn’t reasonable to expect it to be, is it? Sexual trauma survivor…going through menopause? Right, looking at it in print, it seems pretty silly to have expectations of sex that could be filmed in a single take, with the history I have. lol.

It’s looking like ‘dealing with my shit’ is going to include a whole new understanding of my sexual self…I’d like to embrace that as an adventure, an opportunity…no, no that’s not quite true. I’d like it not to be on my agenda at all. Seriously? How do I even start? What are the ground rules? Why can’t I just ‘take a class’ at the local community college? Why didn’t my education prepare me for this?

Well…I haven’t figured everything out, but it is still a lovely summer day. 😀

Lovely pink flowers on a summer day.

Lovely pink flowers on a summer day.

As in a morning sunrise

It is a quiet morning, beyond my common understanding of quiet. I am still and serene. I am… ok. It’s been a couple of days to take care of my fragile heart, to heal and to rest. My eyes still tear up when I think about Tuesday morning, and I hurt down deep that ancient pain can still touch me at all. That it can reach through progress and every day delight to grab hold of my experience and continue to torment me saddens me a great deal, and so much of that vague simmering undercurrent of anger in ‘who I am’ is about this…that the pain of what-has-been can still touch me.

I see the reflection of my face in the dark mirror of the unused side monitor…I don’t look broken. I don’t look like I’ve lost my mind. I see the hint of a smile, and a subtle knowing look that suggests ‘you can’t fuck with my head so easily’…although I don’t think that’s accurate, as much as how I see that reflection; a hint of a woman I am becoming, more than the woman I have been in the past. There are also big colorful earrings…which is for the moment more relevant to my pleasure in that reflection. They match my shirt. I feel a moment of familiar affection for this complicated being that I am. Becoming more…’aware’…has also resulted in some fun moments of friendly exasperation over being so very human. I’m endlessly amused by my vanity…do earrings really matter? That the purple of these bold cheap purple and green daisies is quite the same purple as the hand-me-down purple thermal delights me in a sweet and simple way. It isn’t that the purple is a match that matters, as much as the delight. The delight is more about where the earrings and shirt came from. Every material thing I cherish has a story, or holds a memory.

Today isn’t trivial. Today isn’t tragic, either. It’s just a day. It is, however, a day that has started well and for now that is more than enough to put a smile on my face. It was a tough week…strangely, and wonderfully, it’s an enormous improvement over other, older, more difficult weeks.  It’s been about resting, recovering, healing…instead of ‘more of the same’ and the pain and anger and the tears.  The mindfulness practices I am learning have helped more than I can describe; imperfect perfection. I need a lot more practice. lol. Progress, though, is enough to show me I am choosing a path that is taking me to some desirable destination. Again, that’s enough. It wasn’t so long ago that I’d have spent days bouncing in and out of horrible states of rage and despair, frustration and tears, unable to get ‘unstuck’ from ancient pain, unable to be aided or consoled, begging for mercy, unheard. Then there’d have been days and days of fatigue and exhaustion, wandering around in a blue funk, teetering on the edge of ‘more of the same’, until it all finally ran its course. This is so much better.

It is Friday, though…and that means therapy. Progress is awesome. Doing the work that supports further progress…not always so awesome. It’s ok, though. I have the support of my partners, and 50 years of life experience to remind me that my demons only have the power I give them, and that the journey is not about the goal, or measuring the distance walked, as much as enjoying the experience over time.

No pictures today, and far fewer than a thousand words.

It occurred to me today, as I unfolded from another night of nightmare-filled sleep to find myself safe in the arms of morning, that 50 years is a much longer time to contemplate going into it, than it is looking back.  I mean, on my 10th birthday I doubt I spent much time contemplating the first decade of life, or the next few to follow, it was far more likely I spent it thinking about me, in the moment, and… presents. lol. Now, I’m 50, and facing a very realistic likelihood of living another 50 years, or more. 50 years. Ahead of me. 50. That seems like a lot of nightmares, opportunities to miscommunicate, arguments with loved ones, disappointments, tedium, and all the disarray and mess that being a human primate promises and generally delivers.  It also seems like a lot of time to try new things, learn, become the woman I most want to be, to change the world for the better, to enjoy love and Love, to hang with friends and hear what they have to say about things that matter, to fight just causes, to celebrate milestones, to support and nurture what I value…and for hugs, kisses, sex, great glasses of wine, tasty bites of interesting foods, amazing music and art, new friends, new ideas, and a lot of cozy nights on the couch with lovers watching TED Talks… or whatever the equivalent of that might be, in 2063.

The menu in the restaurant of life is a long one – and everything is ordered a la carte, no matter how much we put into trying to plan all the details of the meal.

I feel sexy, and alive, and strong – in spite of everyday stress, and every night nightmares – I feel capable, and enthusiastic about life.  It’s a nice place to be. There are so many experiences I would like to have – I’m not sure 50 years is actually enough for the easy ones, and I’m often doubtful I’ll get to some of the odd stuff I’d like to explore. I resist the term ‘bucket list‘, because for me life is not about checking off a to do list (except on weekends, when it is a matter of managing the chores and essentials. lol) – but there are things I want to do – not ‘before I die’, just ‘at all’ because I want to, because I have done them before and loved the experience, because they are things I yearn to experience because they resonate with me, or because they would be a living protest in the face of my demons. I guess I do list them, because I’m human, and making lists is something many of us do. 🙂

(I pause a moment and wonder, if I had every list I’d ever compiled, without regard to purpose or state of completion, would I learn something about who I am?)

Seriously, though, who doesn’t have some sort of personal accounting of what they’d like to do, see, achieve, share, experience, know, or understand? Some of the things on my list are strangely specific, others are inexplicably odd (at least to me). Some look like an easy victory in list management, if only I would take the first step and get it done, others lack even the vaguest notion of a starting point, or have an as yet unreachable prerequisite.

This morning I am thinking, perhaps not so oddly, about things that are morning related… I’d like to have brunch with a lover in a lovely regional bistro on the Chesapeake Bay, watching sailboats make their lazy way along the waterfront, and feeling the heat of a summer morning slowly become a muggy summer day.   I’d also like to awaken tangled in clean sheets and heavy comforters in a sunny German Gasthaus, have eager unreserved sex, and a hearty breakfast over strong coffee and bad jokes – in Augsburg, or perhaps Munich – and then stroll the fussganger zone looking at art, crystal, and porcelain. I’d like to visit the Carpathian mountains, hiking and camping with a friend, and learning some Romanian. I very much enjoy supporting a good cause and seeing the world change through actions and voices…I really like that one, it’s one I’d want to do again and again. (In 50 years I’ve been awed to see so much history unfold…eager to see what more there is out there.) I’d like to visit a Pacific Island chain, something remote and simple, and walk on a quiet isolated beach and see the sun rise, and set. I’d like to visit Las Vegas in a very sexy sports car, exploring the city at night, and driving in the desert in the outskirts in the wee hours of morning before heat and sleep become the priority concerns.  I would like to paint in an isolated mountain cabin alone for a week, and in a yurt near the beach during a storm, and in the comfort of a charming bed and breakfast in Carmel, California – painting until inspiration is fulfilled, then wandering the galleries and talking to other artists about other inspirations.

There is a clear theme is my wish list for my next 50, and the theme from this vantage point is ‘satisfaction’ and ‘fulfillment’ – not trophies or brag-worthy endeavors, just simple pleasures of the heart and spirit. My heart. My spirit. My satisfaction. On a morning like this, finding those moments doesn’t really seem difficult. I’m near the end of this latte, and these thoughts… time to live a few moments without words. 😀

...walking a serene path.

…walking a serene path.