Archives for category: Turning 50
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The Strange Commute

January 29, 2014 //
2

Monday I drove the car to work. I don’t drive to work as a rule, it’s so rare that I managed to learn something new about perspective – and myself, and what I value in my experience – when I drove to and from work on Monday. I had planned, prior to the drive on Monday, to take the car on Tuesday and Wednesday as well, to arrive much earlier than usual for some meetings. Yesterday, I did not drive, and I won’t be driving today. I found another way.

It’s not a long commute in distance, about 11 miles. On the 1/2 pedestrian, 1/2 transit commute it takes me a bit more than an hour, one way, most days. Monday morning took about 40 minutes, in light traffic, and really didn’t seem bad. The drive home was very different. It took 45 minutes just to cover half the distance (the remaining half was easily managed in another 20 minutes), and apparently most folks behind the wheel of a car during commuter hours in my community are… total dicks. Yep. That sounds pretty judgmental, but I’m not sure what else to say about what I saw in the decision-making all around me. It wasn’t simply slow-moving rush hour traffic; people were driving with real aggression and hostility, making sudden lane changes that put themselves and other drivers at risk, ignoring emergency vehicles, cross walks, driving in the bike lanes – I’m not exaggerating, people were aggressively and carelessly putting each other at risk. Scary. I’m a skilled driver, and I’ve been doing it a long time. I’m not yet losing any significant amount of my reaction time to aging. I was disappointed in my fellow-man, and in a couple of instances genuinely afraid for my own safety. I took every possible step to ensure I did not have to drive to/from work again this week.

Funny, I don’t mind ‘commuter traffic’ when I’m not specifically commuting, and I generally find driving at rush hour just fine – I don’t mind being slowed down, I just relax and take my time. This felt so different. The only clearly identifiable difference was that I, myself, was commuting, too. I got into the car just wanting to go home. It really changes things, doesn’t it?

Once I did get home, and thankfully safely, it took me more than an hour to get my blood pressure back down, to really relax and start to unwind, to feel kind and human again – are we all going through that? If we are, why are we choosing it? How much domestic strife and bullshit spill over into our lives and loves because we’re cross about how shitty everyone – including ourselves – behaves on the rush hour roadways? Ick. Ick and blech. I’m making a different choice. I’m clearly not yet emotionally resilient enough, and firm enough in my own emotional boundaries to resist the volume of hate and nastiness on the road if I am, myself, commuting behind the wheel of my own car.  I’ll ride mass transit, and deal with grumpy strangers who are not guiding fast-moving killing machines.  It’s not just safer, it saves me so much time – once I count how much time is wasted getting my sanity and calm back after the drive time!

Yesterday was a lovely work day. Productive. Fun. I got home, feeling good and content and joyful… something went wrong. Not horrifically so, I suppose, but I ended up choosing a solitary evening of meditation over chill time with the family, because… I just couldn’t manage being with other people.  I felt cross, I felt disconnected, and trying to connect just seemed to result in new opportunities to feel dismissed, devalued, or ignored. It wasn’t them. It was clearly me, and it was a constant struggle not to take things personally, or overreact to small stuff. More than anything I just wanted to be touched, to be held – and I couldn’t get past how annoying the sound of voices seemed, and I would feel anger start to surge over and over again in response to things I know damned well I am not angry about, or over, or in response to at other times.

My attempts at self-compassion were largely received (by me) with more anger. <sigh> One of my loves commented with nothing but sympathy in his eyes ‘it sounds like hormones…’ followed by ‘I’m so sorry.’  Nothing he can do for that, of course. Me either. I’m advancing on The ‘Pause quite efficiently, and issues with hormones are rarer all the time, but when they do occur, I am no longer sure of what I’m going through, and perspective bounces between ‘totally have a grip on that’ and ‘what the fuck is going on with me now?’ I went to bed early, and mostly slept well – but my brain never really shut itself down. I had strange dreams all night, and kept thinking I was awake listening to voices,  only to wake for real and hear nothing but quiet. At least I slept. I woke to a new morning, a new perspective, and feeling pretty good. Calm, balanced. Ready for work. I’m even going in early today…

I won’t be taking the car. I have a commute I enjoy, and it doesn’t require me to drive in rush hour traffic, or see humanity – and my coworkers – at their worst. I’ll make the choice to enjoy that, and I guess I won’t be bitching about the inconvenience of riding the bus/light rail anymore, apparently I prefer it. 🙂

I'll just take the train, and walk from there.

I’ll just take the train, and walk from there.

 

 

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Categories Anxiety, Brain Injury, Free Will, Healthy Living, Menopause, Mindfulness, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Turning 50, Words

A Beginner’s Mind

January 25, 2014 //
0

Strange, beautiful, wonderful day; sights and tastes and conversations with strangers, and after all of it, I find myself at home, secure and comfortable, safe from the world – and from myself, which is a new thing to explore.

It’s been building for a couple of days, this strange juxtaposition of new learning and new experiences, this willingness to let go and allow life to unfold, fearlessly. I am unconcerned with whether it ‘is real’ or if it will last longer than now. It’s now. I am here, in this precious lovely moment, after this delightful day, and it feels so effortless to contemplate the quiet of evening ahead. This is nice. I hope to repeat it (the feeling, in general, I mean – the moment has been enough on its own, and unrepeatable).

Today I awoke at an odd time, later than usual, but ahead of the alarm – itself set for an out of the ordinary time of morning. My routine was in tatters before I ever woke, and knowing that when I descended into sleep the night before, I woke unconcerned about it.  I made two lattes, and enjoyed a morning of intimate, gentle conversation with a partner already awake for the day, and left with a smile near to the time I needed to, imprecise and free from chronological bondage, to catch the train to an appointment. A hair cut, and a manicure later, I headed for my last errand, thoroughly enjoying the day and feeling very pampered.

Today the world felt filled with possibilities.

Today the world felt filled with possibilities.

What made today so rare, so extraordinary? Well, for one thing, the sun shined like …well… something brilliant and without adequate words. I enjoyed all manner of odd experiences along the path of my day-that-routine-forgot. My morning was unscripted. My haircut is different – on a whim. I got my nails done somewhere I’d never been. I had a bite of breakfast at an odd little stand-up cafe wedged among the food carts; it was very early and I munched my breakfast sandwich standing alongside a small throng of ‘the unwashed masses’ panhandling for a shot at a sandwich. It was a very good sandwich, and the conversation wasn’t bad, either.   I had a maple cinnamon latte at a cafe obviously frequented by artists – I’d never been there, but the conversations swirling around me in the background were a giveaway. Later, as I headed home, I saw a SuperHero cross the street, quite properly, at the cross walk and head into a small pharmacy. I wasn’t surprised, which did surprise me. A block or two along the way, I spotted another, then another SuperHero – tights, spandex, cape, all of it.  I don’t always think to question the extraordinary. This was definitely one of those times. It was many miles and minutes later before I thought to wonder – SuperHeroes? Why were there SuperHeroes?

I was offered an earnest moment of self-awareness and perspective, along with the fun of the day.  To reach my last destination, I walked across the Burnside bridge.

The least interesting view of the Burnside bridge.

The least interesting view of the Burnside bridge.

To do so, I had to carefully make my way through huddled groups, tribes, clans, of homeless people finding what comfort they can, where they are permitted to do so. Years ago, I’d have felt invisible passing between and around them, camouflaged by my own indifference to their privation, and mine. More recently, I might have averted my eyes, instead, hoping to avoid interaction, and allow what little dignity I had to offer through my lack of observation. Today I felt humbled; aware that I’d just had my hair and nails done, a recent shower in a safe and secure home of my own, an exceptional cup of coffee and a nutritious breakfast, and very aware of what a privilege that actually is.

Not generally SuperHeroes, but mathematically likely they may be, sometimes.

Not generally SuperHeroes, but mathematically likely they may be, sometimes.

On the train home, I continued my reading (Buddha’s Brain). The books about mindfulness are piling up. Some take a practical perspective. Some take a poetic tone. Some are quite spiritual, but striving to distance themselves from religion. Others are about the science. I am still a student, of life, of love – of mindfulness. I still have PTSD. I am still a survivor of trauma, and of a brain injury. I’m still headed for menopause.  While those things are parts of my experience I’m willing to identify as ‘facts’, I am also no longer utterly dominated by them. I’m learning. I’m studying. Bit by bit, I seem to be gaining on real wellness and balance. I hope I never find myself taking them for granted when I have them – and it does look like ‘when’ now, more than ‘if’. I wish I could share it. It’s all in print, in every one of these books. Each book telling the tale in a slightly different way, with different words, and different authors of different traditions and styles of communication. It’s all there, though. Mindfulness. Meditation. Practice.

Practice.

Practice.

Practice.

It’s not about ‘practice makes perfect’. There is no perfect. No need of perfect. There is only practice. A bit at a time I am catching on to the idea that the journey itself is the thing to attend to.

Along the way, more practice.

Along the way, more practice.

Today, I face the world with a beginner’s mind. Today I am compassionate. Today I am tender. Today I am changing the world.  Here it comes.

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Categories Anxiety, Art, Brain Injury, Free Will, Healthy Living, Logic & Reason, Love, Menopause, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Parables, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, Turning 50, women, Words

A Suggestion, An Observation, A Paradox

January 23, 2014 //
0

Be kind to yourself. Just that. Simple as suggestions go.

The paradoxical search for enlightenment...

The paradoxical search for enlightenment…

“When you change your brain, you change your life.” from Buddha’s Brain: The Practical Neuroscience of Happiness, Love, and Wisdom (Hanson, Rick).

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Categories Brain Injury, Free Will, Healthy Living, Logic & Reason, Love, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, Turning 50, Uncategorized, women, Words

Waiting for the Dawn

January 21, 2014 //
0

I am almost eager for dawn to come, for the clock to tick around to that particular moment when I head out the door for work. It is a rare feeling for me. I enjoy it, and I don’t question or doubt it. It is simply a feeling, and a pleasant one.

My fears that I would again find myself utterly unable to manage balance and fulfillment in the 4.5 hours left to me outside the workday Monday through Friday (once sleep and hygiene are accounted for) have proved to be unfounded – at least so far. Yes, time is precious and limited during the week, but somehow the weekend was vast and satisfying, and I met needs I’ve had for sometime and had struggled to fulfill, even between jobs. Time is non-negotiable and does not take any shit off of me, for sure. I am learning to enjoy moments, without clocks, and time seems to slow down for me when I do.

This weekend was made up of relaxed mornings meditating, doing yoga, writing, and reading. Time to study, and time to dream, even time to do seemed plentiful this weekend. I feel rested, and because I didn’t feel run down and emotionally drained at the end of the week, just tired, I didn’t have to work so hard to recharge. A solidly good weekend makes an exceptional jumping off point for another week of work.

I wonder if my new understanding that I am not obligated to do any particular job, or for any particular employer, also contributes to the lack of that other feeling I have for so long associated with employment… obligation pushed to the point of feeling trapped and resentful. It’s very nice not feeling that. Feeling trapped into employment resulted in work feeling more like indentured servitude as I scrambled to cover bills, struggled to get to ahead, and found myself making choices to go without some small thing or another, and having to prioritize the needs of an employer over the needs of my own heart and soul. Too ‘lefty’ and ‘soft’ for you? That’s okay with me – you go ahead and choose differently for yourself. 😉  I find myself content and comfortable with putting myself at the top of my To Do list.

No pictures today. The commute certainly offers up occasional photo-worthy moments, and I carry my camera with me nearly everywhere…the last few days I haven’t used it much. I’m still getting the timing on my commute down, still feeling a tad self-conscious about missing a connection. I get two shorter walks, a ride on the light rail, and a ride on the not-so-light rail, amounting to a commute of about an hour – not much longer than the previous commute, but considerably more dependent on good timing for success. Soon though…I’ve been playing with settings and lighting and taking time to get more skilled with my little camera.

Life feels pretty good. I smiled as I headed into town for my appointment with my therapist yesterday with a smile on my face. Somehow, I still ended up in tears in his office. How the fuck are there still so many tears to cry?! It’s strange crying in front of him – he doesn’t make the same faces other men do, who have seen me in tears. Why is that, I suddenly wonder? And why has it not occurred to me to wonder before? He and I simply continue to talk, my face leaking mostly goes unnoticed. I wouldn’t mind figuring that out with other men in my life, too. The tears are largely pretty inconsequential, putting an important emotional conversation on hold over them is a big distraction. lol

So, here we all are… a few words, an imminent dawn, a Tuesday morning. The new routine slowly develops around new choices, ongoing needs, hopes, dreams, projects… I’m working on a manuscript, it’s enough to say that, I think. No plot spoilers from me. lol. Then there’s clay, and there are images, and there is paint, pen & ink, life and love, a few chores to do between the fun bits… It may be some weeks before I iron out the details and find myself easily writing every day, again, at least here. I’m writing a lot, reading more than I have in years (turns out that a Kindle is a great choice of gift for me). Life has flow and balance and joy… and coffee. 🙂

Today…I am, and for the moment it is enough.

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Categories Brain Injury, Free Will, Healthy Living, Logic & Reason, Love, Mindfulness, Perspective, Relationships, Turning 50, Words

Stories and Voices

January 5, 2014 //
0

It is a lovely morning for meditation, for yoga, for calm thoughts and contemplation, and for a good cup of coffee. It is, indeed, simply a lovely morning.

I love these moments, sometimes hours, between the last of time spent sleeping, and the beginning of time spent in the company of dear ones. Life is rich and complex and filled with shared moments of all sorts. It often feels busy and tumultuous, sometimes rushed and unstructured. These few quiet moments feel most ‘my own’. Oddly, I don’t at all consider myself a ‘morning person’.

I am beginning something. I’m not really sure quite what it is.

My strange companions on a new journey.

My strange companions on a new journey.

I found myself contemplating meditation (just thinking about that sentence puts a huge grin on my face) and feeling inspired to create something that speaks to my experience.  I explored my imagination on the subject, without limitations, just thinking about resources on hand and what exactly was it I was trying to say, share, or experience myself. I am not ‘a Buddhist’. I am, however, fascinated by the concept of the Buddha (“The Enlightened One”) as a broader idea. Certainly, as a student of life, and of love, I eagerly seek enlightenment, myself.  I wanted to craft a figure that somehow spoke to me on the subject… using glow-in-the-dark Fimo, would be satisfying, I thought.

This guy was the first.

This guy was the first.

There is quite a bit of distance to cover between inspiration and outcome. When I crafted the first figure, I was certain he is ‘not The One’…but…I really enjoy him, nonetheless.  I felt bemused and puzzled by how quickly my brain and hands intervened to create something quite different from what I thought I was going for. I contentedly considered him for a day. I sat in contemplation the next day, still considering the distance between what I considered to be my intent, following it like a thread from my inspiration, through my actions, my will…clay in my fingers…

Being puzzled takes on a face.

Being puzzled takes on a face.

Huh. I gave myself a moment to gaze on the quizzical little face with my own quizzical expression. Where did this come from? All my questions – all sorts of questions – suddenly felt ‘queued up’ and I experienced a sensation of being ‘overloaded’ and breathless with the unknown in life. There’s a lot of it. lol. I continued to work the clay – but I’d run out of glow-in-the-dark. I played with the knowledge as I worked, allowing words to become metaphors, and my thoughts calmed and became more still and easy. Deep breath in, deep relaxing breath out… fingers in the clay, mindful of the shapes, the color, trying this, then that…

What does the simplicity of mindful observation and breath look like?

What does the simplicity of mindful observation and breath looks like?

I smiled at the small calm face. I wondered at the simplicity of it. I had thought, when I was moved to craft a figure, initially, that once I had ‘done it’ I would be done. I continue to muse on the wee faces and heads, small figures expressing… things. I continue to be captivated by the figures, the process of crafting them, and their small significance – they express something for me. I found myself struggling to find simple words for what I am after – what I’m ‘going for’. The sensation of inspiration is, for me, rather dynamic and ferocious…but the feeling of the Fimo clay in my fingers is calming.

'Dynamic and ferocious'?

‘Dynamic and ferocious’?

I’ll likely keep making them. We are each having our own experience, moment by moment, and even the moments themselves are singular and unique and as individual as butterflies or snowflakes…or so it seems when I find the stillness to wonder at the fullness of a moment.

These small figures didn’t spring up unbidden from some mysterious recess of my heart, or some dark corner of my experience, long-buried. Nope. It’s more obvious than that.  When I was quite small, my Mother made some strange Easter egg ornaments – blown eggs (pretty uncommon these days, I think). They were painted and decorated. D’Artagnan and the 3 Musketeers are the ones of which I have the most clear memory. She also crocheted some ornaments for the Christmas tree – heads. Later, as an adult, I was delighted that some of them became mine, and each year I put one or two on the tree (they are delicate and I handle them with great care).

The one on the right is crocheted.

The one on the right is crocheted.

So, some obvious inspiration to draw from in my own experience. Then too, in so many of the anime series I watch, there are stone figures depicted in the forests and along the roadside. They often look like serene child-Buddhas of some sort.  Mizuko Jizo statues.  They fascinate and delight me. They touch my heart; they are used in a soul-soothing ritual for women who have lost a child.  This, too, is meaningful for me.

an example

an example

So here I find myself, contemplating small faces, Buddhas, journeys, emotions, experiences… and 5 children that were never born. Strangely emotional place to end up, but journeys are like that – even when I have selected my destination with great care, it often turns out that the trip wasn’t even about reaching that place. lol.

I have stories to tell. So do you. So do we all – we are each having our own experience. I hope to choose my companions with great care, today, and to treat them well – they are an important piece of my experience, and every journey is greatly enhanced by good company. 😀

 

 

 

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Categories Art, Brain Injury, Free Will, grief, Healthy Living, Logic & Reason, Love, Menopause, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, Turning 50, women, Words
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