Archives for posts with tag: ACT

As I sit here, feet up, hot cup of tea on the table next to me, basking in the commonplace comforts of home and hearth: indoor plumbing, clean drinking water, a home warm against autumn chill, a nutritious breakfast, electricity, efficiency improving appliances, clean dry clothes, internet access… I realize how very special every bit of that actually is. How luxurious. How extraordinary! I have the added luxury of good employment – I am neither exploited nor abused to earn my living, and I have leisure time I can count on.  I can comfortably spend this morning on yoga, meditation, study, and enjoy the quiet contentment of nourishing my heart and soul, of healing, of growing, of learning, in a safe and secure space, quiet and uninterrupted.  It seems very worthwhile to extend a few moments of real appreciation for all of it, to stop for a minute and make time for gratitude.

Gratitude is a pretty big deal. Thanksgiving is coming, and it is so easy to get caught up in the hustle of planning and shopping, so easy to get swept up in a moment of emotional turmoil over some small stressor, or challenge, or inconvenience, and forget about the thanks implied by the holiday we celebrate. So easy, actually, that experiencing everyday gratitude for everyday wonders often falls by the wayside in the flow of everyday life.  Delights and comforts are enjoyed but unnoticed, sampled but not shared, and entirely taken for granted, day after day.

This morning I am taking a different approach and enjoying my morning, even the everyday bits, with eyes wide, and immersed in the wonders of modern comforts and luxuries as though they are new. Taking notice, experiencing appreciation and gratitude, and slowing down the clock. I am contrasting my relatively luxurious experience now, with other times, other experiences; my life hasn’t always been one of everyday comfort, or everyday luxury.

I started the morning with a cup of tea, rather than a latte. I measured out the tea itself, loose, enjoying the fragrance of the dried leaves, and bits of lemongrass and dried citrus. Smiling at the recollection of the day I bought the tea, and the conversation with the gentleman minding the shop, I boiled water, first warming my cup, then preparing the tea. I watched the clock for four minutes, contemplating the clock itself, and the incredible step forward measuring time meant for humanity, and the simple convenience of having a timepiece in the kitchen.  The morning conversation as one partner headed for sleep after a night out, and another prepared for the work day, was cordial and practical.

Soon enough the house was quiet. A light breakfast presented a nice opportunity to consider the conveniences of store-bought bread, cured meat, and artisan cheese. The advances of humankind from its dawn to its present day are considerable, and many of my favorites are every day experiences: stores, bread, preserved foods like cured meats, jams, pickles, dried fruit. These aren’t even new things, but each individually represents some human being at some prior moment taking a step forward and making life better for every one of us in some fashion, if we have access to that product or service or experience.

I made another cup of tea, treasuring my experience of choice.  I have options – even with a simple cup of tea. Green or black? Sweetened? With cream? Iced or hot? Dainty porcelain cup with a history, or a robust mug chosen at a discount store because the words delighted me? My everyday life is even filled with choices of this sort. Options.

I spent time meditating, unmeasured time. The luxury of being able to capture, and measure time is pretty amazing, and we build a lot of our world on it, with the result sometimes being that it feels like time is in very short supply.  I am finding that when I also indulge the luxury of not measuring time, of not limiting it, time seems to slow down, to become more plentiful. The clock advised me after-the-fact that I had spent 37 minutes meditating. It felt like ‘just the right amount of time’, however it was measured.

I enjoyed my yoga practice on a different level. This too, I slowed down. Each pose its own moment, its own experience, and bringing as much mindful attention to the feel of it, to my breathing, to my balance, as I comfortably could. Stopping to review details on a new posture now and then, and enjoying the luxury of comfort and quiet. Calm. Content. Strong. Centered. These are not words I have had many opportunities to apply to my own experience, over the course of a turbulent life. I enjoy each moment awake and aware.

Now I chill and, feet up and my cup of tea near at hand, I write a few words. I observe. I feel. I consider. I find myself taking a moment of gratitude and appreciation for the friends and family that nurture me, and enrich my experience.

Gratitude feels lovely every precious day – and every day is precious.  Today I am practicing gratitude. Thanksgiving is coming; it’s always good to practice what we want to be good at. 😀

Practicing gratitude is like photographing mushrooms at dawn. I took scores of pictures of them, and although only one picture celebrates the experience, every picture I took was an experience worth having.

Practicing gratitude is like photographing mushrooms at dawn. I took scores of pictures of them, and although only one picture celebrates the experience, every picture I took was an experience worth having.

…You know how hard it can be…”  Thanks, John.

This morning sucks more than a little bit. Well, for the moment. It’s nice to have a steady reliable understanding these days that moments are just that – momentary. Thank you, Mr-Therapist, Sir, and thank you Jon Kabat-Zinn, Andy Puddicombe, Russ Harris, Brene Brown and Timber Hawkeye. Thank you thousands of years of meditation, decades of hippies, and one loving partner with more willingness to try than seems human.

This morning still sucks. Welcome to Hormone Hell. Fuck I want to be done with this! I’m tired of feeling frustrated by,  and ashamed of, being female because men who matter to me have their own struggles and challenges with what it is to live with and love women. Thanks, Dad, I definitely owe you one there.

I’m doing my best to ride the wave, allow myself room for my emotions (frustration, hurt, anger, resentment, and just enough yearning for intimacy and closeness to set my teeth on edge because it isn’t easy).  A few good deep breaths sounds easier than it feels. My chest feels tight, and the tears waiting to fall are making me angry – it still feels like a weakness to cry ‘for no reason’. It’s hard to allow myself the self-compassion to understand that ‘reason’ isn’t what drives tears.

My coffee is growing cold. With an interesting measure of spitefulness directed inward, I punish myself by petulantly allowing it, observing that choice with a measure of wonder, and some tiny bit of humor lurking in the background, because it is an empty gesture affecting no one but me.

This is about as close as I get to a good solid rant these days. lol. The breathing thing, as simple as that seems, really helps and just a bit less than 300 words later, I find myself growing calm again. No tantrum today, just some lingering sadness. i feel vaguely as if I am ‘just not what he’s looking for’. What an incredibly ugly feeling to have about someone who loves me so much. This is a morning when I would very much like to tell being female to fuck right off.

I woke in a pretty good mood. I’m regularly frustrated and challenged by how volatile my mood can be. That volatility, at other points in my life, has resulted in some incredibly poor decision-making, and real desperation to find balance and peace, decades of wasted time in therapy that wasn’t effective, years spent on medications of one sort of another intended to ameliorate some particular symptom, even hardcore psych meds – all because hormones on top of PTSD added to a TBI is a difficult experience to manage.  Hell, I’ve had PMS so severe that I was actually a threat to people living with me, other times so severe I actually felt suicidal.  That’s not okay. I sit here trying to make sense of that and I feel my feminist rage rise up inside myself – what about me, Medical Science? I want to make someone listen! Why don’t we matter more?  You’d think as popular for relationships as women are, that someone would give a shit about helping us be well and whole and comfortable in and with our experience as beings. It’s disappointing to me that I’m 50 and there’s still no real progress to speak of in understanding or improving women’s experience of themselves as sexual hormonal beings, or improving our place in the world.

Oh, hey, there’s that rant. I guess I’ve still got it in me. Push the right lever, a pellet pops out. God damn it.

I’m still a student of life, of love, of the world… and it is making a difference in my experience, every day.  Over months it has grown difficult to be provoked to aggression or confrontation, and I rarely trap myself in always/never thinking, or spiraling internal arguments where my hurt feeds the fallacy, which drives the hurt.  It is a pleasant change, and a morning like this affords me a good opportunity to see the changes within.  So, okay, in the process I am human.  I am human.

So are my lovers, and they can only take what they can take.  That seems not only obvious, but reasonable. I’m still sad to be alone right now, and that will pass.  I often choose solitude over difficult interactions, myself, and I understand walking away from tension.  Love is strange stuff.  I take care of me with deep calming breaths, with a few thoughtful words, some mindful observations, and gentle reality checks.  Before more than a few minutes pass, my heart is serene, and my compassion is for my lover.  I still feel a current of sadness tugging at my heart, but now it is for the price he pays, as much as for my own challenges and regrets.  It isn’t easy. Love is so worth all of it – but it isn’t easy.  We choose love.  It isn’t a choice we only make once.  That is the nature of commitment, not simply that it isn’t a one-time choice, but that it is worth choosing again and again.

That latte is definitely cold now. That’s okay.  It’s a small price to find that still calm place in my heart.

Today is a whole new experience. I hope I choose wisely. Today I am kind. Today I love well, and with my whole heart. Today I am compassionate.  Today I will change the world… or…at least my morning. 😀

I have come so far from this place.

I have come so far from this place.

Or, for that matter, what it isn’t.  These are subjects for another day – soon.

Today I am focusing on openness and intimacy, fearlessly approaching and being approachable. Eye contact. Observation. Being in the moment, because the moment is what I have. Making room to feel, to be involved in my own experience. Breathing, and finding that still calm place.  Taking practices of mindful self-acceptance, compassion, and gratitude, and applying them to my relationships with others.

Today I find balance, because I choose balance, and compassion because I choose compassion. Today I will change the world.

Every moment holds all the potential that exists to choose well.

Every moment holds all the potential that exists to choose well.

I start the day with a quiet morning. It’s lovely.

Yesterday turned out well.  Aside from some pretty understandable challenges with the morning, subjective, limited, and largely pretty inconsequential in the grander scheme of things, the day was a good one. I found myself more easily able to reach for the appropriate tools in the moment, able to make use of them in a pretty natural way, and more and more I find myself relying on the simplest basics of mindfulness to ease me through momentary stress. It’s so far beyond being a goodness that I don’t really have words to express the sense of relief I feel when I find myself looking back on a challenge from the perspective of having handled it well, and already putting it behind me ‘so easily’.

Therapy is… ‘blessed torment’. I’m not a practitioner of a major religion, so it feels odd to reach for those words to describe my weekly visit with my care provider, but… yeah.  It’s not the gentlest hour of my week, and the ripples through my Thursday, my weekend, and the days following are more than opportunities to reflect, to heal, to practice new skills.  It is a time to tear down what doesn’t ‘work’, isn’t functional, hasn’t served me well.  It is a time to challenge assumptions, ask powerful questions, to share painful ‘truths’ to be examined critically in a very bright light. It is a time to fight seemingly invincible demons, with an unstoppable army of… two.  It is a time to rebuild with a plan, and will, and intent, and compassion, and a time to reinforce the best of what I have, who I am, and the values I choose to honor.  I’m very fortunate to have met this particular being on my journey; for the first time, therapy is making a real difference, long-term, not just acting as crisis intervention.  Not one dime I’ve ever spent on myself has been more worthwhile.

Autumn is really getting into things now; fall foliage in radiant colors, chilly mornings, sunny afternoons, the smells of fall cooking on the air, the last barbecues of the year, the first fires in the hearth, and different flowers show their colors along the sidewalks and roadsides. I have no idea why fall is my favorite season.  I think of long walks around the lake near Ft Devens, Massachusetts, and beautiful cities showing fall colors: Augsburg, Annapolis, Portland. I love walking outside in the autumn, bundled in a warm sweater, cheeks rosy and a big smile.

Autumn days, autumn skies.

Autumn days, autumn skies.

I love the walks, the sights, the calm enthusiasm for life that I feel in the autumn.

Some of the most dramatic flowers show off in the autumn.

Some of the most dramatic flowers show off in the autumn.

I find myself feeling more focused and purposeful, without feeling driven or obligated.

I find myself enjoying this up close and with intent.

I find myself enjoying each moment up close and with intent.

Simple pleasures seem more than enough in the autumn.

I am content to look at beauty from more than one perspective, to linger, to savor it.

I am content to look at beauty from more than one perspective, to linger, to savor it.

Autumn feels more leisurely than spring, less urgent than winter, less defiant than summer. Autumn is also a time of year to openly and wantonly plan and daydream of coming Yule festivities. The winter holiday season, for me, begins with Thanksgiving, and lingers until New Year’s Day.  I love the winter holidays in all their lavish glory and festive excess.

The most awesome holiday wreath ever?! I think maybe...

The most awesome holiday wreath ever?! I think maybe…

So, here it is, autumn, a quiet morning of study, meditation, and yoga – and an excellent latte.  Later I will garden. It is time to prune the roses for winter, tidy the greenhouse for autumn crops, and cut back summer stalks that now obstruct rather than adorn.  Today, mine is a very pleasant experience.