Archives for category: women

First, I’m going to start calling ‘Christmas’ Giftmas instead – not out of any disrespect, and certainly I won’t be correcting people who wish me well for Christmas (that’s just rude), but having long shortened ‘Christmas’ to ‘Xmas’ in a somewhat unsatisfying display of ‘I’m not actually a christian but I enjoy this holiday, which isn’t really christian but much older, and can’t we all just get along??’ – I’m just calling it as I enjoy it most: Giftmas. It is the season of giving, after all. 🙂

So excited! :-D

So excited! 😀

Wanting, needing, yearning, craving, lusting, desiring – all feelings that push and pull at my very human heart, piling up and shouting for my attention as a gifting holiday approaches…only… That’s been changing. It started changing when I re-discovered the ‘true meaning of Giftmas’ some years ago, in the arms and smile of my traveling partner, on a year when it seemed there ‘wouldn’t be any Christmas’ because we just didn’t have the resources to pull that off so soon after break ups, and moving somewhat unexpectedly, and into a place that was every bit of twice as expensive.

The magical Giftmas that almost wasn't.

The magical Giftmas that almost wasn’t.

The holiday magic my love delivered to me that year blew away the slow-building disengagement and cynicism that had begun to erode my holiday joy over the years. I’ve never forgotten. As I have continued to improve my relationship with the woman in the mirror, and to tread a more mindful and compassionate path, my relationship with ‘Giftmas’ has changed, too. Even the language I use to discuss the holiday, the foundation of my joy and enthusiasm, and the things I am most eager to see, experience, and do, have changed rather a lot over the last 4 years of holiday celebration. I mean…seriously. “Giftmas” is just one of many small changes.

The household I recently moved out of didn’t put the same value and appreciation on the winter holiday season that I do myself, one housemate even simply not finding life worthy of celebration, and last year I found myself almost secretively setting up the entire holiday experience up in the loft, out of view of ‘non participants’ in a peculiarly furtive, somewhat self-protective way. This year, there are no such concerns, and no need to hold anything back out of concern for overwhelming the uninvolved. lol It’s not that simple, though; I have also changed, myself.

Holiday lights welcome me home each evening.

Holiday lights welcome me home each evening.

I used to be able to assemble a lengthy Giftmas list with dozens of items in all possible price-points quite quickly – things I really really really (really?) wanted, yearned for, lusted after, or craved, without regard to how realistic or practical. My eagerness to receive gifts was a prominent part of my holiday well-past childhood. It’s not that big a deal now, and I struggle to list things that I want; I don’t want for much, and my place is small. Most of my most eager yearnings are for connection, for contact, for experiences out in the world, for moments, for emotions… that’s a tough list to shop from. I am eager to give, these days. For me, this is generally less about giving on a global scale; charity and compassion for the world can’t wait for one day a year. Giftmas is a lovely occasion to pause the routines of life and really think about those dear to me, and seek some small thing I could give them, and see their delight, their fondness, their joy reflected back to me in their smile, because they feel cared for, appreciated, valued, and visible. I am eager for the gift-giving part of Giftmas this year. It’s a lovely place to be with myself, and far easier to satisfy than the lustful cravings to receive more retail offerings, myself, like some petulant child-god pacified only by trinkets and cash.

Moments of encouragement or unexpected joy are some of life's most beautiful ornaments.

Moments of encouragement or unexpected joy are some of life’s most beautiful ornaments.

I love this holiday, and I’m excited to sit beneath the Giftmas tree awed by the wrappings, bows, and twinkle lights, pulling one package after another loose from the wee stack of them, handing one to my traveling partner, and watching his face, and taking time to enjoy his experience, and to really share these precious moments. Awake. Aware. Mindful. This is going to be a wonder-filled holiday…however many or few the gifts beneath the tree; the best gifts this year are intangible. The best gifts are moments.

Where’s mine? That’s an important question…and this is me ranting about the underlying frustration with finding real ‘work:life balance’. You can skip this one if you prefer the lovely pictures and focus on day-to-day mindfulness and search for balance and stillness. This… is not that. 😉

Perspective matters.

Perspective matters.

If I am over-extended, over-committed, over-worked, and rushed to a point that I more easily overlook needed medication, appropriate breaks for self-care, measured healthy calories to sustain good health and cognition, I can’t sustain emotional balance, physical wellness, and maintain all those logistical quality of life details that matter so much… rent…bills…vacuuming…showering… Just saying – how about we all take a nice deep breath and take a step back from being dicks to each other all the fucking time? That other person over there, that didn’t meet your expectations this time, or that time, or some other time – still human. Still having their own experience. Still entirely worthy of common courtesy, consideration, and patience. How about showing some? If we make a collaborative effort on that, culturally, the whole fucking world improves just a little bit. (This is a reminder for me, myself, as much as anything. I could do better on this.)

Raise the minimum wage? You bet – paying people appropriately is simply the right thing to do, and it is pretty ugly that we can say ‘he works full time’ and ‘he doesn’t make enough money for rent and groceries’ about the same person. Any person. And guess what? We’re all people. The same thing is true of time – we’re all human. People. Beings of emotion and reason, creative, romantic, philosophical beings who live and laugh and love – and need time for those things. No one needs time to be employed by some other person on some other agenda; we do need an exchangeable form of our life force to pay for the goods and services required to support our desired quality of life. That so many are not being paid what our human life force is worth as human beings is tragic. That anyone at all would argue that the life force of some human beings is worth more than others is… yeah. To be approached with caution at best. Go ahead, tell me how the average CEO is truly worth more money hour-for-hour than the guys who built your roads, your house, who pick your produce, who sweat over ensuring you have power after a storm, who work in factories manufacturing the goods you want so badly. I’m ranting. Sorry. This matters to me.  You matter to me. People matter to me. Even in my most solitary least social moments, I still value human life, and struggle to understand why it so often seems that many people just don’t, not even their own.

It makes me ache to see people tear each other down to somehow excuse modern-day indentured servitude: pay so minimal there is limited potential to survive, and no real hope of actually thriving or ‘bettering oneself’. I’m spitting into the wind. Job crisis? No problem; reduce the standard work week, refuse to allow salaried employees to work more hours than that, and insist businesses go ahead and hire the staff it actually takes to do the jobs they want done. Pay people to retire earlier in life if they choose to (so they can afford to). Ensure wages are adequate to live on, and stay so. Job crisis over. Yes, I am saying that businesses take the hit on the bottom line – less profit, more labor cost. Human labor is worth far more than we make it out to be. I’m not afraid to say that; businesses are building their success on the backs of those employees, capitalizing on the limited mortal lifetime of individual actual real human beings who might very much enjoy living their actual fucking lives doing something they truly enjoy and thrive on. So… not fast food, probably. Not a call center, probably. The reason jobs are work is because businesses do actually have to pay people to do them. We don’t all wake up and just go to call centers, food service jobs, or gas stations just because we totally love the fun of it; we do it as part of an agreed to exchange of our precious life force for cash money to use as we may. We have so much more to offer ourselves and the world than 40 hours of grinding unrelenting tedium for employers who are (in some cases) actually destroying the world (or just up to no good).

If you do work you love, I applaud you. If you have found a way to love the work you do, regardless what sort of work that is, or whether it benefits you beyond a paycheck, I applaud you, too. I haven’t figured that one out yet. I earn an adequate living doing something I am very skilled at, and most of the time it’s enough that it be so. Tonight… I am tired. I hurt. I’m struggling to understand why I choose to spend so much of my limited mortal lifespan on something that has no potential to nurture my spirit, or build memories of wonderful experiences, or deliver real value to my life… beyond that infernal bottom line. There are bills to pay. This is such a limited and precious mortal life… what is appropriate compensation for the irreplaceable minutes with loved ones, or hours spent walking in the forest, or… yeah, the entirety of a lifetime we can’t replace once spent?

My perspective on work:life balance is very different at 52 than it was at 25. Maybe that’s as it should be? There’s more to understand here, and some hard questions to answer for myself about what matters most. Maybe for you, too? Perhaps the answers are as individual as we each are as people? Does the man or woman of 70 who is angry about ‘forced retirement’ have any less right to their experience and will than does the man or woman of 45 who would prefer to retire from the world of day-to-day hourly wage employment to write the novel they have within them? Does it matter what drives that preference? I don’t have answers – but I’m pretty sure cookie cutter solutions aren’t the solution, and falling back on what my grandfather found right and proper will likely not work for me. We are not ‘one size fits all’ in life.

Autumn becomes winter; there's only so much time, and all of it is 'now'.

Autumn becomes winter; there’s only so much time, and all of it is ‘now’.

I am more questions than answers. Tonight I am also tired, in pain, and feeling rather terse with myself ‘for even bringing it up’, as if ignoring a wound has any potential to heal it. So, I take time to take care of me, meditation is a good practice in this head space, a healthy meal, a good night’s rest. There is time to consider, to wonder, to contemplate – there is time later to ask questions, to make choices, to figure out what works and do that thing. Tonight it is enough to slow down, and take care of me.

It’s been that sort of day; wholly relaxed, defined by contentment, nurturing, fulfilling, satisfying…all manner of lovely descriptions come to mind. Strangely enough, I made choices to create this day, and then chance weighed in pleasantly (it doesn’t always go that way, of course)… I suspect, if I had enough practice, enough perspective, and enough awareness, I could create this kind of gentle still day on any day, in any place; the ingredients are sown, nurtured, and harvested from within.

Today I'm not making this complicated.

Today I’m not making this complicated.

I slept in, although my night was somewhat interrupted by the background awareness that this is my only day of leisure for many to come; that’s enough to make me wakeful. Still, I slept in well past my usual waking hour, and woke gently – even lingering in bed for some 20 minutes or so, stretching, breathing, and letting my consciousness catch up with the day. I’ve been kind to myself today. Yoga, meditation, a short walk, healthy meals, time spent reading, time spent writing… time spent, well-spent invested in my own company, my own joy. My traveling partner has been a delightful presence in the background, at his own place, exchanging messages and emoji with me throughout the day. I enjoy love – and I enjoy loving.

A lovely misty morning walk before the rain began.

A lovely misty morning walk before the rain began.

At some point, sitting on the love seat, watching the rain come down just on the other side of the glass patio door – which in this small apartment functions rather well as a ‘window wall’ – I really saw my container garden, again in disarray left by the crews of workmen over weeks. I went outside into the rain, without any regard for it, and changed the entire arrangement of potted roses and herbs – and why not? It’s mine. I was inspired by something I noticed in the careless placement of the pots; they formed an attractive low ‘wall’, visually, and with only some minor adjustments will provide a bit of a privacy screen in the summer – and immediately gave me space to sit under the eaves, dry even in the rain. Better still, and what caught my eye in the first place – all of the plants now receive natural rain. I’d had several tucked back against the building (based on where the sun fell), and while there are some advantages to that from the perspective of lighting, it required me to water far more often.

…I didn’t really move them around for efficiency. I just wanted to enjoy my garden. 🙂

It’s been that kind of day – a day for me to enjoy. I’ve very much enjoyed it. There are verbs involved, of course, and practices… It’s been a lovely restful day. It’s been enough.

The week ended well, which wasn’t something I expected, but I do often find that dread is a poor choice of foundation for anticipating or predicting things with any reliable level of accuracy. My back is aching, and it will be a short weekend, but I am not suffering, or struggling, or fussing with frustration over what is not, or even what is.

It was not obvious at first glance what the day might hold for me.

It was not obvious at first glance what the day might hold for me.

I am home, comfortable, and relaxed – although I am still in street clothes for the moment. Dinner is in the oven; it made sense to get it started before I shower away the last reminders of work (the tension in my shoulders, and the subtle sense that a presence of the office lingers on my skin).

I allowed myself to enjoy the beauty of the dawn uninterrupted by anxiety or dread.

I allowed myself to enjoy the beauty of the dawn uninterrupted by anxiety or dread.

I let my traveling partner know I’d be offline this evening after scrolling through my Facebook feed and realizing I could easily kill all the hours of my short weekend doing so; I choose differently tonight.

A bold blue evening sky lead me home.

A bold blue evening sky lead me home.

There are a lot of changes coming, some seasonal, some grand, some inconsequential to the point of going unnoticed were I not the person I am. I forget sometimes that this quantity of change is sometimes stressful for me in ways I can prepare for by being aware – and being kind to myself. There are as many good things about change as there are uncomfortable things about change – and there are so many changes I straight up embrace (still dealing with some of the consequences of change, nonetheless). I’m not bitching about change – there’s no point. Bitching about change is a little like complaining about spelling mistakes; the complaint changes nothing whatever, and really… it just is, sometimes. I can observe the change, accommodate the change, resist the change, embrace the change and build on it… I definitely have choices. Change is okay.

I took the scenic route; this is my life, why would I cheat myself of beauty or of love?

I took the scenic route; this is my life, why would I cheat myself of beauty or of love?

It’s a quiet autumn evening solo, and it feels comfortable, safe, utterly without anxiety in this precious tender moment of my time – spent entirely on me. It’s beautiful, and it’s enough.

Being love. Being the woman in the mirror. Being content on an autumn evening.

Being love. Being the woman in the mirror. Being content on an autumn evening.

This is primarily a ‘well, obviously’ sort of parable, I’ll warn you now; there is no new information here, you already know this. It is a cautionary tale, a reminder, and a warning – like any good parable, a teachable moment being snuck into the day by way of storytelling. 🙂 This one is also ‘work related’, and very specific in that context. This is The Parable of the Wheelwright.

A beautiful morning for a journey.

A beautiful morning for a journey.

A man of vision preparing for a long journey comes to a famously skilled wheelwright to order a covered wagon for his great journey. He has a vision, and shares his needs clearly and simply. The wheelwright takes his order, and asks questions about finishing details like color, and fabric, the size of this feature or that one, and the extras her new customer may want. It is a reasonable order. The wheelwright is a busy one, serving multiple customers in the community. She provides the man with a receipt for his order, and advises that his wagon will be done in one month – four weeks from that day.

The wheelwright is skilled and orderly, and lays out the work for the new wagon so that each detail will fit the others, and the work will be assembled smoothly, efficiently, and be ready when the man comes for his wagon in four weeks; this is done in such a way that all her customers will each receive their orders on time, completed with the great skill for which she is known. The work commences in the ordinary way. The wheelwright loves her work.

Before the end of the first week, the man of vision returns to the wheelwright agitated, and eager to get started on his journey. His wagon is not ready, and will not be ready for 3 more weeks – as agreed to. “Can I just get a wheel today?” he asks excitedly. The wheelwright observes that a wheel is not a wagon, and will not serve his purpose well, but the man insists he must have a wheel that very day, well-made and able to be affixed to a wagon. The wheelwright does have a wheel ready… made for a different wagon altogether, for another customer, but she is reluctant to give it to the man – it’s not made for his wagon at all, and giving him this wheel now, it may not fit his wagon when it is ready. The man insists, and takes the wheel that she has made, over her objections – he is sure it will be just fine, and departs contented.

Nearing the end of the second week, the man returns. He eagerly requests another wheel. He inquires if perhaps he could also have the canvas wagon cover as well. The wheelwright explains that a wheel is not a wagon, and that having just two wheels would not serve his purpose well. She points out that a canvas cover made for another wagon may not fit the wagon she makes for him. He is unconcerned and urgently wants what he wants, and insists on having a second wheel and the canvas cover that very day. The wheelwright explains that while she does have a wheel and a canvas cover on hand that she could give him, they were made for other wagons – and that taking these items from other jobs will put her behind on her work on those jobs (which have due dates much sooner than his wagon) which will delay completion of his wagon – which will not be ready now, until 6 weeks. The man is annoyed that his wagon is delayed, but insistent on having the second wheel and a canvas cover that very day.

At the end of four weeks, the man returns for his wagon – which is not ready. The wheelwright reminds him of the two wheels and the canvas cover which he received ahead of schedule, and how these choices delayed completion of his wagon. The man seems surprised that these actions would change the outcome of his original order, but agrees to return in two weeks for his wagon. Over the next two weeks, he sends several small changes to the wheelwright by messenger, requesting different fabric for the canvas cover, and a different style of spoke for the wheels.

When the man returns in two weeks for his wagon. He is surprised to see other customers waiting at the counter, angry that their orders are not ready on time. The man’s requests had delayed other jobs than his. The wheelwright did not seem to be enjoying her job anymore; she felt as if she could not work efficiently or skillfully with the frequent interruptions and changes, but the man only sees his own vision, and does not see the unhappiness of the wheelwright. When his turn at the counter came, he requests his wagon. It stands on blocks, with only two wheels and no cover, and he is angry and disappointed. The wheelwright reminds him he has taken two wheels ahead of schedule, and the canvas cover – and that if he will bring them in, she’ll attach them to the wagon.

When he returns with the wheels and the canvas cover, the wheelwright attaches them to the wagon. It doesn’t stand level; the wheels are three different sizes. Only two of the wheels have the sort of spokes the man requested, and the canvas cover is a very different fabric than he had decided on after the work was started. The wagon appears quite poorly made, and insufficient for the man’s great journey. The man is angry, and disappointed, and taking receipt of his wobbly wagon he departs grumbling about the poor workmanship and wondering how this wheelwright ever came by a reputation for being extraordinarily skilled, concerned that his journey would now be a failure ‘due the lack of skill of that damned wheelwright’. The wheelwright watches the man leave and considers taking up some other work altogether, finding the making of wagons frustrating and unsatisfying.

The very same week as the man of vision submitted his order for a wagon to the famously skilled wheelwright, another man had submitted his order to a wheelwright who had only recently set up shop in the community. This other man submitted his order with great care, having never ordered a wagon but certain of his needs on his upcoming journey. He listened with care to the recommendations of the wheelwright, and departed on her promise to have the work finished in four weeks. In four weeks he returned to take receipt of his wagon, and it was ready. Other customers had arrived ahead of him, and were receiving their wagons with great satisfaction, each wagon completed and beautiful. When his turn came, he received his wagon as well, completed, beautiful, standing level, and looking precisely as he had requested in every detail. Even the interior was well-finished, with handcrafted comfortable seats and cushions, and little details to make the experience of using his wagon extra nice. He was delighted with the perfect beautiful wagon and left with it exclaiming to all he passed that indeed she was a brilliantly skilled wheelwright… including to his friend, a man of vision, who would submit an order for a wagon the very next day.

I enjoy a good change of perspective.

I enjoy a good change of perspective.

Is this one a tad over obvious? Ah, but here’s the thing… the punchline… the plot twist; the wheelwright could have said ‘no’.

There’s a lot to learning about taking care of me. It’s a nice evening for it.