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I’m sipping this great cup of coffee, this morning, before work. The news is still focused on the pandemic. No surprise. It’s getting weird, though. The number of people frustrated enough by stay-at-home orders to begin protesting those is fairly astonishing. Seriously, People? Stay-the-fuck-at-home. Good grief. This is not about profit or economic measures of success, it is about survival. My suspicion is that most of the folks suddenly raising their voices in protest are being manipulated by business interests (in some cases filtered through politicians or pundits) eager to get back to making profits, and avoid the looming risk of having to actual pay substantial healthcare and sick leave benefits long-term, beyond this crisis. It’s too easy to capitalize on individual frustrations with having to stay at home. Some folks already live on the ragged edge of what they can afford, and they can’t legitimately afford to be either out of work, or staying at home. It’s uncomfortably harsh, and very few people have received any of the promised relief being discussed. Still…

…Stay-the-fuck-at-home, for fuck’s sake. Lives are depending on that. People you know and care about. People you rely upon, but have never met. Real people.

The weekend was lovely. This cup of coffee is excellent. This moment is calm and characterized by contentment. It’s the beginning of another work week. I take time for gratitude (I am fortunate to be able to work from home). I also take time for perspective (not everyone is able to work from home) and empathy (how scary to feel confined while resources run low). I consider the practical details (delivery services are available) and the people who make it possible for everyone else to stay at home – because they are out there working, for the rest of us (delivery drivers, cooks & stockers, warehouse workers, waste collection people, mail carriers, healthcare professionals…). Complex times.

I sip my coffee and think things over. My cuticles are ragged from stressful picking at them when I’m not aware of it. Fucking hell – the least I can do is not tear at my damned cuticles. lol I find some value in that thought; maybe that’s the “hook” I need on which to hang that change of behavior long-term? It’ll take practice… my results will vary, most likely… but it is a choice, and I can begin again.

A small change can really impact our quality of life – even during this time of pandemic. 🙂 A choice can become a practice. A practice can become a change, over time. We become what we practice.

…What are you practicing?

It’s already time to begin again. 🙂

Talking Heads and coffee, this morning. 🙂 I find myself wondering if that younger me, that 1980 me, could have seen me, as I sit here now, even in her wildest imaginings. Could she have understood that anything like this fairly commonplace contentment and day-to-day ease and joy was even a potential outcome? Could I have gotten here, in life, sooner? I think about what that might have taken to achieve. Then I consider what it might have taken from me, to have achieved it “sooner”… I mean, timing has had it’s own results, actually. (For starters, I likely would not have ended up in the line of work I am presently, nor would I have met my Traveling Partner.)

YouTube stalls. I find myself both annoyed and amused. (“Oh no! What will I do without my digital media fix!!?” is a fairly insignificant thing to bitch about in the grander scheme of things, right? Read books. lol) I sip my coffee watching the lights inside my computer tower blink and flash and fade. Pretty. I run the network diagnostic on this computer. Everything appears fine “on my end”. I shrug it off as “gremlins” and try again. Everything’s fine.

How often is life like that? We have a momentary challenge, perhaps a moment of frustration, and we escalate into full troubleshooting “fight the system!” mode, without pausing even a moment for perspective… and that challenge melts away to the petty nothing it always was, at some point. Given a moment, that may have occurred much sooner…but being human, we often don’t give a situation that moment that it needs – a moment of real presence. A moment for perspective. We often put more emphasis (and value) on acting quickly than on acting wisely.  Something to think on for awhile, at least for me. 🙂

The music plays on. I sip my coffee thinking about perspective, and presence, and the value in taking a moment. 🙂

Days go by, even in this life in the time of pandemic. Social Distancing – still a thing. Yesterday’s sunny day brought people outdoors, probably too many, too soon. It makes sense to remain cautious, and considerate. I sip my coffee and plan the day ahead. I’m grateful for delivery services, “contactless”curbside pick up services, and streaming media. I sip my coffee, grateful for “sanity projects”, and a comfortable place to live.

This empty cup, and the clock on my computer, remind me it is time to begin again. 🙂

So much effort in keeping small things small, in being considerate day-to-day, moment-to-moment, in managing reasonable boundaries, in clear communication… all the things.

(It’s all worth the effort.)

Perspective – gaining it, maintaining it, and keeping it, is huge right now. I’m not any better at it, I think, than anyone else. More effort. A lot of deep listening. A lot of letting shit go. A lot of “taking a step back” and “trying to see things from another point of view”.

I don’t claim to have a lock-down on making things work. I often struggle with my timing, my phrasing, my “tone of voice”, my TBI, my bullshit & baggage – like anyone else.

Today is another fairly ordinary day of life in the time of pandemic. I’m at work, working. My Traveling Partner is also at home. So far it isn’t unpleasant. It does get “real” now and then. We manage it – probably as gently and skillfully as either of us understand how to do, or are able to.

Today, I don’t take much time for words. Seems like a day for actions. 😉

…It’s time to begin again. There are verbs involved.

I measure a hike in miles. I think measuring my progress over time, as a person, may be easier to do in words.

I started this journey, here, in January of 2013, after my emotional wellness crashed hard at the end of 2012 (due to the combination of a traumatic breakup, a fairly (terrible) new relationship I’d gotten tangled up in, and a serious flare up of my PTSD in the aftermath of the infamous Delhi rape in December 2012). While I sought therapy, I also sought a more useful way of communicating and reflecting on my experience, and ended up here. Since that very first blog post, a rather shy introduction, I’ve written 2013 posts, in 7 years, with an average word count of about 700 words.

…I’ve written, right here, 1,317,956 words. Yep. 1.3 million (and a few more) words…

…I haven’t solved anything by doing so. I haven’t “fixed” myself, or the world, or made any noteworthy mark on society, as far as I know. I’m not bitching, I’m just saying – these are the words of one woman. One human being. One perspective. The word count will no doubt continue to grow. I manage about 187,000 words a year. I write nearly every day, even when I don’t write a blog post (I’m not even going to try to quantify all those words). I average 286 posts per year, which, while it doesn’t amount to reliably “every day”, shows some astonishing constancy. Still… I do miss an average of 79 days each year… about 6 and a half days per month, although I doubt there’s that sort of reliable monthly cadence to it. lol. It feels more as if I take a breather, now and then, for a few days, or when I’m out in the trees camping, and then shake that off and get back to it.

…I find myself wondering how many total words I’ve written, and spoken, over the course of a lifetime… a lot of words, no doubt. 🙂

I sip my coffee and smile. This morning feels good. That’s enough. 🙂

It’s been a strange week, in some respects. I’m sitting here with my morning coffee, mulling over the strange sights I have seen, standing in front of the office, taking an occasional break from working. I see a lot of things. Our building is immediately opposite a large hotel, and surrounded by restaurants, banks, businesses, public gathering places, and transit stops. There’s a lot to see, is what I’m saying. Homeless people. Busy people. Angry people. People who are lost. People who are pre-occupied. People who are exceedingly well-dressed. People who are dressed, well, as though they are in Portland (it’s pretty casual here). People with ear buds in their ears, talking to unseen others over wireless connections mingle with schizophrenic people; it’s not always possible to tell which are which simply by the conversations.

…It’s a city. There are a lot of people. Human experience is vast and varied. I see a lot of things passing by, as I stand quietly enjoying the theater of humanity existing. Too often, I find myself wondering how long this will last…? Humanity, I mean. We’re doing a pretty poor job of thriving, as a species, it seems.

Yesterday, I walked past a man laying on the pavement, flat on his back, head lolled back and somewhat downwardly, past the curb, sort of (but not quite) into the street. Nothing about it looked comfortable on a freezing morning. He was not wearing a coat, or wrapped in a blanket, or covered up at all, really. He did not appear to be “sleeping” so much as unconscious. People passed by, glancing down, walking past. He was in front of a Starbucks. Some time later, he was gone.

Later, I was startled to see a man run screaming and yelling from inside the hotel across the street. Not a guest, obviously, from his clothing; a homeless man, perhaps, unkempt, and pants literally around his knees as he ran, hobbled, up the street and away from security, who chased him half-heartedly. I heard later, from the doorman of the building I work in, that the running, screaming, man, had been defecating in the actual lobby of the hotel.

I saw a well-dressed woman, obviously a professional woman of some sort, well-groomed, and precise, talking on her phone outside the building. She was sort of fixed to the spot where she stood. Face tense. Jaw clenched. Trying to “hold it together”, until her emotions broke like waves against the stillness of her face, and she began cursing and weeping at the person on the other end of the call. In an instant, she was as human as anyone. In an instant, people began to avoid her physical space, and turn their faces away from her suffering.

I saw a younger woman on a bus stop bench, rocking and crying, making her misery quite public, while she stayed somehow still very private, herself. People simply walked past.

Misery is pretty common in a city. Maybe everywhere. I used to be immersed in it, myself. I have cried in public, unable to hide “the shame of my emotions” at a time when I found them shameful, but too far gone in the experience to care about it anymore. I have run screaming, angry, or hurt, or frightened. I have had tense public phone calls that would have been better handled privately, personally, and face to face. I have laid still, sick or injured, immobilized by my circumstances in some other part of my life, stalled by the chaos and damage.

…Fucking hell, I am so glad I stand where I do, today. It’s been a bit of a journey getting here. I don’t take my current good fortune for granted; it could happen to anyone. Frankly, any of it could. It’s one  of the fundamentals of our humanity; in spite of the wealth of variety in the human experience, misery is both plentiful, and tediously similar, no matter the circumstances. And any one of us could be “stuck there”, at any time. No kidding. If you aren’t miserable, right now, take a minute to really feel how good it is to feel a bit better than that. 🙂 Celebrate getting to this better place, or celebrate having never had to experience real suffering (if you are that fortunate, thus far in life) – it’s worth a moment of recognition and appreciation.

The fact that Thanksgiving is behind us, already, is not sufficient reason to turn my back on gratitude. Gratitude is lovely all year long.

I arrived home last night, after a somewhat trying commute, and there was my Traveling Partner, relaxing, waiting for me. The house is spotless, aside from my studio, and I’m committed to tackling that this coming weekend. Moving things around improved how comfortable things are, and somehow I’m not completely disrupted. It’s pleasant. I am enjoying the changes we made, together. I take a moment to sip my coffee, and feel grateful for all of this, too.

Reading the news, or observing the passing theatrics of human misery standing on a city sidewalk, it’s easy to forget the joys in life. They’re worth experiencing. They are even worth wallowing in, if you’ve got enough joy to do so. 🙂 It’s okay to enjoy life’s pleasures – I try to avoid being a dick about it, though, and refuse to avert my eyes from human suffering. I’m not sure what to do about it, sometimes. (A lot of times.) I think, probably, we could do more, better, to alleviate a great deal of suffering in the world… probably harder to do that, if I’m not willing to be aware that it exists. I think about an X who tried to “buy her way into heaven”, unsuccessfully, of course; heaven is not for sale. We build heaven with our actions (there are a lot of verbs involved), our compassion, our concern, our authentic resolve to change the world – did I mention action? Yeah… this planet isn’t going to take better care of itself. We’ve got work to do.

Don’t like what you see around you? The answer isn’t in turning away from the problems. What are you going to do, to change the world? Check the time. It’s already time to begin again.