I spent yesterday tidying up at home, and waiting for my insurance company to send someone. Still needing to find serial numbers, receipts, and the sorts of documentation insurers may want on items that have been stolen, I spent the morning combining the search with the housekeeping. It’s been more than 24 hours since I came home to the chaos of the break-in; I still find myself checking all the doors and windows to be sure they are locked, as though that would have made a difference (it’s my default to keep them locked).

Most of the lingering anxiety and agita have diminished. Late in the afternoon, an actual detective stopped by, asked some additional questions, photographed muddy footprints under the window through which someone (or multiple someones) accessed the apartment on Tuesday late in the afternoon. His visit, encouragingly, came with the suggestion that it is possible they found one or more of my belongings in an area pawn shop (well, that’s where they would have been headed, sure).  I find myself hoping it is the laptop, willing to shrug off the rest as “excess baggage”. He seemed very pleased that I had the serial numbers, receipts, and invoices.

There’s one thing about this experience that I know the recovery of my stolen goods won’t restore, and no amount of investigating will resolve it; this place no longer feels safe. This place is no longer “home” – at least not now. Maybe that will change? I’m open to that – change is. I know my heart, pretty well actually, and I suspect this moment will continue to catalyze the search for a more permanent long-term residence on a mortgage instead of a lease. In the meantime, I suppose I won’t be too hard on myself for checking doors and windows, or waking up feeling wary in the darkness. Under the circumstances, those things are no longer a matter of “being silly” in a “perfectly safe place”, just a reaction to a demonstrated lack of security in an unsafe world. Wow. That sounds pretty grim.

A pause to appreciate something nice can be so helpful. :-)

A pause to appreciate something nice can be so helpful. 🙂

I take a few minutes to breathe deeply, to relax. I sip my coffee in the predawn quiet. I am at the dining table. The quiet here isn’t silence. The trickle of the aquarium, the noise of the refrigerator, the distant whine of a train idling at the platform, the tick of the clock, and my tinnitus, all remind me that quiet is not a volume setting, it tends rather to be a place I find within myself. I’m not there yet. It may be awhile. I nod knowingly, to myself, and correct my posture – as though that changes anything else, at all. Well, if nothing else, it feels correct (and therefore corrected), which also feels more comfortable – and more ordered – which tends to promote that sense of “things being okay”, that often precedes a sense of safety… all of which I need to feel “at home”. I’ll get there yet. It’s a journey, and I’ve had to begin again.

The panic and hysteria of Tuesday night are behind me. Now it’s tasks and processes, restoring order, finding a feeling of safety again, and recovering my quality of life along the way. The insurance company let me down and missed on their service level agreement, by failing to reach out to be before 5 pm last night. Humans being human, no doubt. I never found myself angry about it. I didn’t honestly want the face-to-face contact with strangers in my space to continue. The day spent alone, quietly, was good healing time spent tidying up, and meditating. It felt enough of a relief from distraction that I am now acutely aware that the TV – really, video media of many types – had overstayed its welcome, and exceeded whatever unstated ideal use standard I apparently do have. I’m not missing it.

I didn’t sleep much (or well) on Tuesday, and I was too fatigued to make much sense of things, yesterday. Most of the day I was fairly numb, and focused on practical tasks – the doing of which was keeping me awake for the expected arrival of the insurance person. Once 5 pm came and went, I began to wind down for the evening. I don’t recall if I had dinner… I remember having lunch (around 3 pm, I think). I crashed for the night very early – around 7:30 pm? I woke to the alarm. I smile, recognizing that I clearly did feel safe enough (and fatigued enough) to sleep deeply. I take a moment to sit with that awareness for some minutes. My conscious perception of safety is not a perfect match for my implicit awareness – and taking time to be aware that I feel safer that I may suggest to myself when I think about it seems worth doing. Thoughts and feelings are different elements of our consciousness, neither is the ideal leader (for me); I work toward balancing them. Being very human, I mostly practice. I often fail. I’m okay with the failures; I learn the most from those, and I can begin again (apparently) any number of times. 🙂

I notice the clock; it’s already time to get ready to head to the office. I go to the studio to grab my laptop bag to more comfortably return to the office with my work laptop (I brought it home from the office in a tote!! lol)… and discover that my laptop bag is… gone. Well, of course. They took the laptop, only makes sense that they’d have looked all around the place for the laptop bag that was carefully put away in the back of a closet. So weird. I’m guess I’m glad they took such care… I mean… if I get it back it will lovely if it isn’t scratched up or wrecked. I feel a wave of anxiety sweep over me. “What am I not noticing is missing??” I take another deep breath, and relax; if I haven’t noticed it is missing, how important to me is it really?

Today is a good day for perspective. Today is a good day to stay engaged in this present moment, right  here. I am okay right now. 🙂 Still takes practice. 😉

I got robbed last night. Feels odd to say it. Non-metaphorically speaking, my home was broken into,  things were taken. It was a new (for me) and fairly terrible experience. 

This morning’s post is written awkwardly, on my phone. The interface behaves differently. I’ve had little sleep.

The worst of it was in those moments of increasing awareness, as I arrived home, thoughts full of anticipation for the evening ahead. Looking back on it after less than four hours of sleep, it seemed much worse last night. This morning I feel fortunate they only took some electronics. They took my laptop. Other things matter less. It’s a lot to process… but I am okay. That matters most. So… now what? I mean… after filing the police report, and the insurance claim… after getting some sleep, after securing the premises… after the practical things are handled, and the tears have dried up… now what?

…I guess I begin again.

The alarm woke me. I wasn’t sure what that seriously irritating noise was, initially. I was in motion, uncoordinated and stumbling, before I was quite awake. I remind myself to grab my hiking staff before I leave for work; on the slick pavement I do well to have the additional support. Uncertain footing over rain-slick autumn leaves has been slowing me down.

Uncertainty has been slowing me down. Oh. Right. Yes, actually, it has.

On the other hand, feeling certain is not necessarily of value, on its own. If I embrace a bullshit idea, and bolster it with a feeling of certainty and conviction, my feelings don’t change the character or quality of the idea itself, and my feelings are not enough to make a bullshit idea a great idea, or to convert belief into fact. How I feel about something and the thing about which I have feelings are quite separate, and independent of each other.

a random picture from along the morning commute

a random picture from along the morning commute

I smile and sip my coffee. My thoughts move on.

This morning a steady rain falls. I open a window to listen to the rain. The rain stops. Yesterday that might have peeved me. I never did develop a clear understanding of what was on my mind yesterday, though. It seems to have passed at this point, like a rainstorm in the darkness; unseen, but still affecting me, until it finally passes by without revealing itself.

The rain-fresh air fills the apartment. My coffee tastes good. There are dishes yet to do, and some tidying up before I head to work. There is still time for it, and time to meditate, too. One morning among many… I wonder where this one leads?

 

 

 

My anxiety woke me during the night. No particular reason, as far as I could tell… perhaps my anxiety was concerned I’d forgotten it? No matter. I got up for a few minutes. “Checked for monsters.” Went back to bed. My sleep was restless. I woke feeling out of sorts.

"Anxiety"  10" x 14" - and she feels much bigger than that, generally.

“Anxiety” 10″ x 14″ – and she feels much bigger than that, generally.

I sip my coffee discontentedly mired in suspicion and unease. This isn’t about “reason”, and I don’t go looking for reasons. If I were to allow myself to yield to the temptation to “figure this out” in the early morning, before I’ve really quite woken up, before I finish my first coffee, I would be inviting the sort of deep down personal attack on myself that wells up from the dark corners, where the chaos and damage still lurks. It’s neither necessary nor helpful to “figure this out”; these are emotions, and I’ve just awakened from a night of troubled sleep…so… yeah. Nothing to figure out, really. I’m feeling.

This is a good morning to breathe, relax, make room to allow myself to feel my feelings without acting on them, and let them go without attachment to them.

My thoughts shift. I write some about emotion. I write about reason. I doubt the value in my words and delete all of it. I feel myself full of doubt. My nightmares, too, were full of doubt. Doubt and unease and insecurity. I breathe, relax, sip my coffee. It’s hard not to pick at those feelings, like tiny wounds. Experience suggests my wisest course is to make room for them, be open to what I can learn from them, and to maintain perspective – the broad deep perspective of 53 years that understands that this too will pass, and that emotions are more like street lights than news stories. Experience suggests letting the emotional content of my dreams color my day is a poor choice, and unnecessary – I commit to choosing differently. That used to sound like an impossible task, now I understand it as a practice. My results may vary.

I make some notes, on paper. I list the emotions and feelings quickly, without any deeper intention. I review the list, and next to each, write an emotion or feeling that amounts to a “conflict of interest” in the sense that the existing uncomfortable emotional experience can’t “compete” or continue to hold my attention were I to fill up on the other. Insecurity is the easy example, since its “opposite” experience is fairly easily identified – security. Feeling secure versus feeling insecure, feeling emotionally safe versus feeling uneasy… and having identified the preferred experience, I will cultivate that. No need to tear myself down for the emotional experience I’m having now, I will build something different, by choice. Small changes sometimes get big results.

Dismissing my feelings out of hand is ineffective; emotions tell me things about my experience, and how that’s working out for me, and although they are not a reliable source of information (because they lack precision and simple clarity, and because sometimes they are simply a byproduct of skewed biochemistry) they are my early warning system that emotional inclement weather may lay ahead. A night of nightmares and unease may mean I’ve got something on my mind that needs my attention, that I may be overlooking or avoiding. (And it may not.) Tonight will be soon enough for all that. It is an unfortunate truth of adulthood that sometimes work comes first. I sigh aloud, and sip my coffee.

My emotional life belongs to me. How I treat myself is a choice I make. The relationship I build with myself is singularly intimate, and colors every relationship I have with others. Being present, awake, and aware, in my experience with the woman in the mirror has its own unique challenges – and value. There are verbs involved.

Begin again.

Begin again.

Today is a good day for emotional self-sufficiency and continuing to cultivate emotional intelligence. Today is a good day to be present and engaged in this moment, here. Today is a good day to change the world, even if only in the tiniest way, in one single moment; every change matters.

There is so much we get to decide for ourselves, so many options on life’s menu to choose from moment to moment, day to day, over the course of a life, lived. We choose a lot of stuff. We make a lot of choices. Many decisions are in our hands. There is something we don’t get to decide; we don’t get to decide if we’ve hurt someone else. They get to decide that, as the person who feels hurt. Period. End of discussion. Non-negotiable. We only know our own intention, and we’ll lie to ourselves about that, if it suits us. (Yes, you too. Yes, me too.) We tend to make ourselves the protagonist in our own narrative – and “the good guy” as well.

Yesterday I hurt my traveling partner’s feelings. I wasn’t sure how initially; I was feeling pretty fucking hurt myself, as it happened. He’d managed to hurt my feelings, too. He brought his hurt feelings to my attention immediately. I felt crappy for hurting him, angry that he’d hurt me, and resentful that he “got to it first”, resulting in also feeling that I had no legitimate opportunity to speak up about my own hurt feelings with him directly, without undermining the sincerity of my apology for hurting him. It was a less than ideal situation for good communication, or affectionate support. Still… I muddled through, and stayed true to one understanding of emotions I have learned I can count on; when we feel hurt, whatever the circumstances, we want the person we perceived has hurt us to acknowledge our suffering, and the part they played in it, and if possible we want them to make it right (or at least to apologize sincerely without making excuses). It’s an important part of treating others well to be able to apologize wholly, to mean it, and to handle that quite separately from our own hurts. That’s hard sometimes.

It's hard to unsay the words.

It’s hard to unsay the words.

I don’t always recognize that I’ve hurt someone. I don’t always understand why they are hurting. If they are hurting, and they tell me they are hurting, I accept that the hurt they are experiencing is truly their experience; it isn’t up to me to decide for them what hurts. No amount of comparison to my own experience, or other experiences, can serve to define, clarify, or place limits on the experience of someone saying they are hurt; it’s their experience, no one knows like they do. Let’s put another period right there, while we’re at it – this is also a non-negotiable on life’s journey; we don’t get to tell someone else how they feel. Just stop doing that shit. (I still catch myself, sometimes, and it usually begins innocently enough as an attempt to connect, to understand, to empathize… doesn’t matter much how it begins, if it ends with me telling you how you feel, I am in error for doing so, regardless whether I am coincidentally correct about your emotional state.)

Search all the books that matter most to you, there are still verbs involved. :-)

Search all the books that matter most to you, there are still verbs involved. 🙂

I’ve gotten decently skilled at some of the emotional intelligence stuff… It hasn’t necessarily eased the journey in any noteworthy way. lol I am quite human, and struggle most with emotions within the context of my most passionate intimate relationships like pretty nearly everyone else. I’m okay with that, it is a process and there is no lack of love. I felt sad to have hurt my traveling partner’s feelings. Keeping my sadness to the side, without disrespecting my own emotional needs, I made myself commit to listening deeply, however much his words hurt me (there was nothing abusive about them, just painfully frank, and striking directly at where I also hurt most, myself, in that moment). In listening with great care, and great compassion, I stayed open to accepting that I had hurt him, regardless of my intent. I apologized. He lashed out, hurt and angry, and I apologized again for hurting him, while I wept private tears. My morning felt pretty blown. My head ached. I felt heartsick.

Perspective matters. I often find it here. ;-)

Perspective matters. I often find it here. 😉

I took the space I needed to care for my own heart. That was a mixed effort for some time. It got easier after my traveling partner had time to give consideration to the morning, himself, with a clear head, and unencumbered by his own hurts. He apologized to me. We mutually acknowledged the misunderstandings, the miscommunications, mistakes resulting from the order in which text messages were received or read, the way key words and phrases evoke emotional reactions, we reinforced our value to each other, and took time to say soothing, caring things. We moved on.

Be love. It's a choice. Love is a verb.

Be love. It’s a choice. Love is a verb.

Did I hurt my traveling partner’s feelings deliberately? No. I wouldn’t. It’s not my way and I find no value in willfully treating people poorly. Did I hurt his feelings at all? He said I did, therefore that is his experience; my own, in that moment, is not relevant to his experience – even if I am also hurting. (Those are quite separate experiences.) It’s hard not to respond to my lover’s pain with my own pain – but it’s not productive, generally, to do so.

Our own pain easily manages to feel like the worst pain we’ve ever known (and generally without regard to whether we’ve ever hurt worse in the past, in other circumstances). Our approach to the pain of others is different – we want to fix it, to help, and we most certainly don’t want them hurting, we try to make it go away, or try to ignore it. As silly as it seems to read it in print, we behave as though we can use our words to re-craft our experience omitting their pain. It just doesn’t work that way. Sometimes people hurt. Sometimes we are the reason why they are hurting. The result, too often, is that we put our own pain ahead of the pain of others and end up imagining our pain hurts worse, when we cannot possibly know that, and can’t validate that assumption even by asking. The kinder choice is simply to be compassionate about pain, and to apologize when we’ve hurt someone. In mutually supportive relationships among equals, this is a reciprocal practice.

It’s still super hard though; if I feel hurt I want that attended to, and letting it go long enough to care for the pain of another is one of the more difficult practices I practice. Sometimes the result, as with yesterday, is that after that hurt person is cared for, they return that care and soothe my hurt in return. Sometimes that is not the case, and I must care for myself. The thing about that… it’s okay. I’m getting pretty good at caring for myself, and when I must, I can count on me to do so pretty skillfully. The most important thing is to refrain from treating myself badly while supporting someone else. Yesterday I managed it through a haze of tears over text communication… I don’t know that I could have done it with as much success in person. I’m still very much a student. I need more practice.

I keep practicing.

I keep practicing.

My traveling partner and I enjoyed a splendid fun evening, later on, and not “as if nothing had happened” – that’s a place I don’t personally want to get trapped. Instead, we enjoyed the deeper intimacy of two human beings, fully human, loving each other humanity and all, awake and aware, present with each other. When we greet each other our embrace wrapped us both in warmth and affection, and the shared understanding that we’re really there for each other – even when we’re the ones bringing the pain. Those sincere reciprocal apologies built on respect, consideration, compassion, and openness, delivered with awareness, and accepted with heartfelt relief make a huge difference. We go forward stronger. Love wants a good apology without reservations, and without excuses. It’s okay to save reasons for another moment, a different conversation, some other time.

This morning I sip my coffee, content and calm. No lingering tears, no “emotional hangover”. It’s nice. It’s been a long journey to get here. There is further to go. Today is a good day for housekeeping, and becoming the woman I most want to be. Today is a good day to practice loving well.