Archives for posts with tag: be kind

G’damn, yesterday kind of sucked. I was in so much pain that managing it required more effort than usual and I ended up spending a notable portion of the day just laying down. I didn’t get shit done… like,  not anything, beyond making waffles for breakfast. Today I’m in less pain (so far), but my allergies are bad. I’ve already gone through an entire travel pack of tissues, and I’ve only been awake an hour and a half.

Yesterday didn’t go all that well, generally. Between my pain, my Traveling Partner’s pain, and various complications of managing chronic pain day-to-day, the result was an unfortunate amount of poor communication, inadequate mood-management, and vexatious terseness with each other that was the opposite of “getting along”. I’ve rarely felt so unwelcome in my relationship. I’m definitely not casting any blame; neither of us was up to delivering our best in the way of support,  encouragement, kind words, affection, or even a welcoming presence,  like, at all. It was unpleasant, but could have been ever so much worse. I sometimes wonder if we (either or both of us) fail ourselves – and each other – by being too tolerant or accommodating of poor behavior because we do both know just how much worse it so easily could be, because we’ve both had those other much worse experiences in prior relationships…? We for sure could potentially have done more, better, to treat each other well yesterday. We didn’t. We’re both quite human. It was on my mind when I woke this morning, and as I dressed and slipped out of the house with as much consideration for my partner’s sleep as I could muster.

I went to bed feeling frustrated and a bit peeved. I woke feeling only concern and love, and wanting to soothe my partner and invest positive emotional energy in the day ahead. Here’s hoping that works out for us both.

New day, new perspective, new opportunity.

I hit the trail feeling hopeful and stronger than yesterday, and substantially recovered from the exertion of my camping trip, and subsequent return. I feel up to tackling a good couple miles along the river and the edge of the marsh, and feel optimistic about following through on my list of shit yet to do, before the new week begins. Feels pretty good – definitely better than yesterday!

At my turn around point I sit for a few minutes listening to the birds and breezes, and the traffic in the distance. Memorial Day. Hey, I’m not feeling weighed down by grief and grieving, this year… remarkable. I sit with my feelings awhile. Gratitude and a moment to contemplate those who have fallen, with fond thanks, and soft sorrow… seems enough this year. I’m okay.

I sigh out loud, and breathe the Spring air deeply, taking in the scent of flowers. I think about my Traveling Partner, still sleeping at home (I hope), getting the rest he needs. The sun climbs higher, warming my shoulders as I sit, watching the river flow past. I hope today is mellow and cheery and relaxed. We both need that visceral experience of being wrapped in love and in the good company of someone dear to us. I’ll do my best to deliver… painfully aware that “my best” yesterday was not even close to “good enough”. How do I make ammends for my part in yesterday’s unsatisfying experience? I sit with my thoughts awhile longer…

I hear voices approaching from somewhere down the trail. Must be time to move on. lol I get to my feet, and prepare to head back to the car, and on to the next moment. It’s already time to begin again. Hopefully my results today are better than yesterday… they do vary.

My coffee is hot this morning, after weeks of taking it iced first thing in the morning. It’s just that I woke so very early that there was no coffee to be had on the route to work, and honestly it just didn’t really matter. I’ve been growing less dependent on having it with any “first thing in the morning” urgency, which is a nice bit of freedom. I brewed a cup of coffee when I got to the office, after a very relaxed drive (no traffic at all), and made myself a breakfast salad of fresh greens with a handful of cashews, and some lovely plump blueberries quite cold from the fridge. The combination of timing and circumstances has started the morning quite well. I heard from my Traveling Partner on my way into the city; he’s up early too, looks like.

The weekend was a lovely one. I got quite a lot done. My Traveling Partner and I shared an unfortunate bit of stress on Saturday, late in the morning; I’d managed to overlook taking medication that does affect my emotional volatility (or potential for it) if I don’t take it, and there we were dealing with my bullshit unexpectedly. I feel fortunate that I did notice relatively quickly, and grateful that he understood. He gets it. We successfully moved on from that moment, and the weekend was otherwise quite nice.

I got a few things done in preparation for my camping trip… just 5 days away now (okay, 6 if I count today). I do worry just a bit about how easily my partner can handle things and take care of himself while I’m gone. He’s recovering from his injury, and that’s been a slow process. He manages most stuff pretty well without much difficulty, but still appreciates help with a lot of things. I sip my coffee and think over ways I can “be there for him” while I’m gone. Things like making sure the bathroom is stocked with fresh towels, the linens on the bed are fresh, there’s plenty of iced tea made, and providing easy to prepare food options that don’t require a bunch of complex kitchen work or standing around, all seem like pretty standard things I can do… but… is it enough? Is there more, or other things, that I can do to make the experience a good one for him? The one inescapable challenge is that he’d definitely rather be with me than without me, even for a few days. At some point, I have to be okay with that, accepting, understanding, and grateful to be so loved. The away time is good for me, and I for sure need the rest and the solo time for meditation and self-reflection – I just want to also make sure it’s not a hardship for my beloved, as much as I can.

I didn’t see the aurora borealis over the weekend, though it was apparently visible in my community; too many of my neighbors have aggressively bright outdoor lighting on their homes and decks and the light pollution made it impossible to see the colors in the night sky from my home. The warm weather we’ve had (that may or may not be associated with the ongoing solar storm) certainly did splendid things in the garden! The salad greens are a dense and tasty assortment, ripe for harvest, the radishes are plump and spicy, and there are peas on the vines nearly ready to be picked. The roses – those mature enough to flower – have plump buds ready to bloom, and it looks like a good year for roses (if only the deer will please stop eating the tips of the new canes off!). “Baby Love”, a rose my Traveling Partner gave me after we moved in together back in 2010, is already blooming like crazy, and is nearly always first to bloom (and last to stop).

“Baby Love” in bloom.

One of the tasks on my list for the weekend had originally been to drain, clean, and refill the hot tub for the season. After the planning conversation with my Traveling Partner late last week, though, we decided to “decommission” the hot tub in favor of having it removed, repairing the deck (much easier without a 6 person hot tub standing on it!), and then replacing the hot tub with something more modern, quieter, and more energy efficient. I do love having the hot tub, and for just a moment I worried a bit that we might not ever get to that “replace the hot tub” place… it’s a costly sort of luxury, and resources are finite. That’s just real. I let myself think it over with greater care over the weekend days, and found myself comfortably acknowledging that I’m in a different place in life, in a more results-focused (and successful) partnership, with a human being who shares most of my values and goals. We both want this, and we planned the project together. Doesn’t seem likely to “just fail”, unless we change what we want to do, or what our priorities are. So. I drained the hot tub. It wasn’t a particularly poignant moment, just a bit of a chore that needed to be done to move on to the next step (which is to get it gone, ideally without destroying the lawn on the way out).

Change is.

“Benchmark-wise”, on my Ozempic journey, things seem… fine. It’s time to get a refill on the Rx. I’m still seeing steady (slow) progress, with no obvious side effects aside from mild acid reflux now and then (most often when I take other prescriptions on an empty stomach). I feel fortunate that this is turning out to be a “good fit” for me, as a treatment choice. I don’t yet see anything much in the mirror that looks any different, but my jeans are fitting a bit more comfortably, which is a win, and I’m not expecting to wake up a size 6 tomorrow with the blood pressure of a 21-year-old athlete, and the A1C of someone who’s never been at risk of diabetes at all. Incremental change over time is something I understand. 😀

…Another day, another sun rise. Another opportunity to become the woman I most want to be (with some practice). Another chance to begin again…

I had a peculiar thought about mortality the other day. Something along the lines of “you can’t take it with you”… but reconsidered. We also “can’t leave it behind” in a very particular sense; our memories and our experiences are ours alone. No one else has an identical experience of life to the one we each live, ourselves. Our memories – the record of those experiences, our perspectives, our thoughts and understandings – live in our own heads. There’s no real way to leave that behind for anyone else to enjoy once we’re gone. Sure, they have their memories of us, of shared experiences, of who they understood us to be, and what they recall of what we’ve said or done…but… this singular human experience that is mine? That is our own individual journey? That’s ours. Ours to keep. Ours to enjoy. Ours to attempt to share or communicate… but, ultimately, ours alone. Even for those prone to autobiographical endeavors, what’s left behind in those words on a page is filtered through edits, consideration of other points of view, and simply the limitations of seeking to share that are so difficult to overcome. Artists create art; the viewer sees it through the lens of their own experience. At some point, the artist’s own perspective is entirely lost. There’s so much of who we are that we can’t actually leave behind. What I’m saying is… enjoy your life. Do you. Be the person you most want to be. Keep practicing; the journey is the destination. You are here, now. It’s what you’ve got to work with – don’t let the moment pass, expecting your legacy to be something worth leaving behind. Maybe it will be. Maybe it won’t be. You won’t be here to know – or to share. Share while you can. Use your words. Connect. Love. Care. Choose your words and actions as though they will be what you are remembered by (because, mostly that’s what will remain; the thought of you, in the memories of someone else).

I sigh out loud and sip my coffee. I think of my Dear Friend, and other dear friends distant or who have passed. Time is short. The clock is ticking. Do your best to be the person you most want to be. Let go of petty resentments and bullshit and anger and hate – do you really have time for that crap? Love. Love because you can, and because it feels good. Care because it really matters. Make choices that improve your life, the lives of those you care about, and your community, your society, and the world. We’re all in this together, and this ball of rock hurtling through space is surprisingly tiny to support so many. Play nicely. Be a good neighbor. Apologize freely. Accept (and offer) help graciously. Do your best. Be kind.

…Keep practicing…

I think of far away friends and ticking clocks and how best to be the woman I most want to be. I watch the sun rise. I’ve no way of knowing how many sunrises I may have ahead of me. It’s time to begin again.

I woke too early. My sleep was restless and interrupted. I finally stopped bothering to go back to sleep at 04:00 a.m. – it was just too close to when I’d typically get up anyway, so I got up, dressed, and headed into the office. Based on my mood alone, it’s a good day to go farther… just drive and drive, into the sunrise, and see where the road might take me… It’s a Monday, so that’s not really an option. Work. I remind myself that I’ve got a couple days solo coming up, camping, soon. I hold on to that idea as if with a clenched fist.

Making plans for solo time.

G’damn relationships are fucking hard sometimes. People are complicated and they need so much, and it changes so often! What matters in one moment seems unimportant in another, or in a different frame of mind, or from some other point of view at a different time. Complicate that further with individual trauma and baggage and bullshit, and… yeah… so hard sometimes. People are complicated. Me, too. It’s not reliably easy, this whole “getting along” thing… sometimes not even for lovers or devoted partners. There are verbs involved. Active listening skills to cultivate. Boundaries to set, manage, respect, be aware of. Little courtesies to offer no matter how tired we feel in the moment, or how bad we hurt inside. It gets messy, sometimes – we’re really just fancy fucking primates, with all the same poo-flinging tendencies of our ape and monkey cousins. I guess I should at least appreciate that human primates mostly fling metaphorical poo, verbal poo, and not actual turds, generally speaking.

“Lovers” 10″ x 14″ watercolor on paper 1992

I’m sipping my coffee feeling discontented and moody. I teeter between lingering anger and lingering hurt feelings. I nibble at my breakfast salad with moody disinterest in my health or fitness or frankly any other “hopeful encouraging bullshit” – that’s the kind of mood I’m in. Discouraged. Disappointed. Sad. It’s not a lack of progress; I could be celebrating progress right now, but I just don’t feel like it. I’m mired in my fucking emotional bullshit right now, thanks. I’m still eating this healthy breakfast salad, though. It’s “the right thing to do” in this moment, and I’m not going to give that up just because I’m in a snit over my relationship “difficulties” (relatively speaking, I’ve got it pretty good, and I’m probably being an ass to beef about it in the first place, I’m just in a terrible mood, dealing with lack of sleep and pain, and fucking cranky as hell).

Maybe it looks easy…but…

We more or less got the evening back on track yesterday. Shared dinner together. Watched a couple videos. There are still things we need to talk about, and omg I fucking hate that shit. I dread meaningful serious relationship-building conversations about boundaries and expectations and all-manner of fairly important “taking care of each other” details that so easily turn contentious because humans are human, and feelings are easily hurt. We too easily take too much shit too personally. We make small things over into big things, and do our best to “win” or “be right”, when what might be most productive is simply to listen and care and love each other. I’m not pointing a finger – these are generalities that most assuredly apply to me, too. (I prefer to discuss my own bullshit over anyone else’s bullshit; I know its measure very well, and it’s a helpful bit of introspection, whereas finger-pointing and blame-laying only lay the foundation for some future argument. That’s tedious and a huge waste of limited precious mortal lifetime.)

The smallest tokens of lasting affection can feel huge.

I sip my coffee. Breathe. Munch my salad. Watch gray storm clouds roiling against the background of pale morning sky. Think my thoughts and feel my pain. I think about my Traveling Partner sleeping at home and hope that he finally gets the rest he’s been needing, and struggling to get. Everything feels worse and seems harder when we aren’t getting the sleep we need. I sigh quietly to myself. I’m grateful to have the office alone this morning – I’m not fit company for other people, presently. I haven’t been sleeping well, either.

A token of affection. Love on a chain. The only heart-shaped locket I have ever owned.

I give the day’s work an irritated look. It’s all quite routine, and I am struggling to care and to commit. Lingering malaise and ennui and irritation are vexing me, and I’m struggling to let it go. There’s a reason non-attachment is a practice; it takes quite a bit of practicing. I pick the last leaf of arugula off my plate and drag it around in the last drops of vinaigrette with a total lack of regard for forks or good manners before I eat it and set my plate aside. It can be so hard to “make space” for my feelings, to feel them, process them, and proceed to “do what’s right” nonetheless – assuming I have a good idea of what I think “right” may be in this moment in the first place. I breathe, exhale, relax, and try again to just let this shit go, properly, and move on – to allow myself to separate yesterday’s painful moment from necessary future (loving, nurturing, productive) conversations about needs, boundaries, and expectations. I sigh, and remind myself that relationship building is effort and work and commitment and also love. It’s so easy to tear down relationships (and people), and so much more worthwhile to do something to build instead – in spite of how much harder that often feels (is?).

What could be more worthy of study than communication? Even though we are each having our own experience, we are all in this together.

I give myself a minute with my thoughts and my coffee, before I begin again. I know my results will vary – but I also know that love matters most, and that we become what we practice. I definitely need more practice at deep listening, and communicating, and boundary-setting, and setting clear expectations, and being fearlessly open… and I know I can begin again, and keep practicing.

Sharing the love, and sharing the building. Destruction is far less joyful.

It’s hard to care about progress toward goals with tears pouring down. It’s hard to celebrate a joyful moment in the midst of angry criticism (however legitimate or well-intentioned). It’s hard to care about anything, and for the moment, I’m mired in this experience of deep sorrow and dread. I’m “shook”. I’m triggered. I’m grievously stressed out – by the person in my life who cares for me most, and who I hold most dear, myself.

…It’s just a moment…

…Breathe, exhale… begin again…

I tell myself the things I know I need to hear. I work towards perspective – and forgiveness – and I just… still hurt. I’m still crying. It’s still fresh.

I 100% absolutely unequivocally without exception completely and entirely loathe being yelled at. I don’t respond to it well at all. Maybe it doesn’t rise to the level of someone else’s idea of yelling? Perhaps it doesn’t, but I don’t do well with the escalated hostile angry confrontational tone to something that could have been handled with kindness, humor, and love, and treated as a human moment. Was it a big deal? Not for me to decide. Clearly it was a big enough deal for my Traveling Partner to lash out at me in the way that he did.

…It’s just a moment…

He’ll probably move past it far sooner than I will be able to. I hope he does, I don’t honestly want him also hurting over it, and I’d rather see him happy and okay with himself and with life, generally. I want that for both of us. Right now… I’m alone with my tears. At some point, I’ll probably be okay, and more easily able to nurture myself, and offer him kind words and put things right somehow.

(This wasn’t “a big deal”, and there’s nothing to see here, no violence, no trauma, just expressions of temper and frustration and angry words, and emotions, and it’s unpleasant and I’m unhappy, but these experiences are also part of the human experience – we’re not perfect creatures capable of full-time rationalism uncomplicated by our feelings, ever. We are creatures of emotion and reason – and emotion always arrives to the party first.)

detail of “Emotion and Reason”, acrylic on canvas with glow and ceramic details. 2011.

I breathe, exhale, and feel the throbbing of my headache, reliably worsened by the stressful moment. I didn’t sleep well last night, and although we were making light of that earlier in the day, it’s no laughing matter right now. The lack of rest has consequences for my emotional regulation. So… I’m alone with myself; the only person I know fully capable of accepting me as I am right now, and dealing with it without making it worse. (Which is a sign of real growth, and I take a moment to appreciate it that I can “be here for myself” in a way I simply couldn’t have 10 years ago.)

Fucking hell. What a shit show. People fucking suck… every one of us. So fucking human. Sometimes that really just sucks all the balls. My nerves are raw, and my emotions are in chaos. It’s a shitty place to be.

…I sit awhile “listening” to my tinnitus. It’s louder, too. It hisses and chimes and rings and buzzes in my ears while my head throbs and my heart pounds. Tears well up. My nose runs. I try not to make shit just that little bit worse by anticipating a shitty day tomorrow as a result of this shitty moment right here… tomorrow will be a new day. A new beginning. A reliable chance to reset and make choices in favor of a different experience. I’ll go to work. The routine will feel comfortable – and comforting. I remind myself this too will pass…

I take a moment for gratitude. It’s been such a lovely weekend. Rainy, mostly, but blue skies now; the sun came out at midday, and there’s a pleasant Spring breeze blowing. I got the things done I most needed to, and that I’d committed to doing. There’s still some laundry to fold, but I haven’t had to push a bunch of stuff off to another day. All of that matters, even if this moment seems to diminish it.

…I feel sad, though. As is so often the case, I was in such a lovely mood when shit went sideways. I suppose that’s likely to be the perspective any time shit does go sideways, eh? It’s probably going to feel as if “everything” has suddenly turned from golden joy and delight to … shit. I wonder how accurate that ever actually is? Was it just an ordinary moment that now seems vastly better than it was, because the moment that followed was just that bad? I think about that for a moment, and consider the nature of “perspective” and how subjective that can actually be.

The tears well up all over again, and I find myself feeling profound self-doubt about whether there’s even any value in hitting “publish” on this – whenever I finally stop writing. A missive of pain… seems… somehow tedious, or selfish, or pointless, or… just somehow lacking. I feel anhedonia lurking in the shadows, waiting for a moment of unsuspecting vulnerability to let that shit creep over me like clingwrap, smothering me in ennui and sadness and that horrible sense of grim futility I know so well… Not at all what I want for myself. That shit is a terrible way to treat oneself. I sigh quietly, resigned to the struggle – and the headache – and wondering how the evening ahead will unfold. For the moment, I don’t feel welcome in my home, nor even in my life. Just… sad and out of place. Like… a familiar stranger.

…There’s still laundry to fold. A partner to forgive. A moment to move on from. Water to get started drinking (you know, because of all the fucking crying). Like it or not, the way out is through, and I’d better get started… I’ve got to begin again somehow. This time, it’ll need some real work – and I know my results may vary. I’ll just start with stepping through it as a process, and trust that the process will… work.

…I miss the wise women of my lifetime… my Granny. My mother. Most particularly my recently departed dear friend. I feel so… lonely, right now. Thanks for listening, if you bothered to get this far. I appreciate it. I’m sure I’ll be fine, I’m just hurting at this moment, right here… and it’ll pass. Moments are quite fleeting. You’re welcome to share your thoughts – perhaps your perspective will help. No expectations, just saying; I do read the comments.

G’damn this headache, though…

…Something, something… “begin again”… it sounds empty just at the moment, but I know the truth of it… so I’ll just get started on that… What else would I do?

Chilly morning. It’s near freezing this morning. The local trail I chose for my walk is slick with frost in places, and the air is crisp and quiet. The sunrise is gold and orange, with hints of deeper shades of red.  I’ve taken today off and for now my time is my own.

The colors of a new day.

I walk and think, until my steps bring me back to the car. I’m in quite a lot of pain this morning, which is annoying, but I’m managing in spite of it, so far. The sudden cold snap causes my arthritis to flare up. Nothing much to do about that besides complain and take something for it. It could be worse, and I am grateful that it isn’t.

…Funny how the many pretty little flowers that adorn the meadows and the ground beneath the oaks along this trail would be weeds in my garden…

I sigh quietly to myself. This headache is vexing me. I’m hoping it will diminish once the pain medication I took for my arthritis kicks in. I’d mutter something to myself about how much aging sucks, but I’ve had the osteoarthritis since I was about 25, and this particular headache for going on a decade. I remind myself, again, that it could for sure be so much worse. I take a breath and let my vexatious notions go as I exhale and relax. New day, new moment, new chance to begin again, eh?

I sit with my thoughts awhile longer, reflecting on my good fortune to have a partner who cares about my wellness and is supportive and kind, and careful with my feelings. He’s been very open to supporting my decision-making and goal-setting as I start new medication and reflect on changes I need to make to my diet and fitness plan. He knows it isn’t easy and doesn’t cast me as a villain, blame me, or nag or criticize me. He listens and offers suggestions when I ask for help or for his insights. So different than what either of us saw modeled by our parents. It’s a relief and I am appreciative and grateful.

…Changes do need to be made, though. There are no shortcuts or magic pills. I have to do my part. “Eat less and exercise ” is trite and basic, and probably a bit oversimplified, but… it’s trite and basic because it’s pretty foundational and reliably true, generally. It’s just how the biochemistry of our metabolism works. So, I am back to logging meals for a while, while I recalibrate my awareness of my calorie consumption and improve on the nutritional quality of what I eat. I’m back to weekly weigh-ins, holding myself accountable and staying aware of progress and setbacks. I’m back to pushing myself a little harder every week on the trail and at home to do a little more, go a little further and sit still a little less. It’s a journey. Like so many of life’s journeys, I have to walk my own mile, and I am my own cartographer. No shortcuts.

…If you’re thinking that Ozempic and other medications that may aid weight-loss for some people are somehow “shortcuts”, at all,  I gently suggest reconsidering that as a thinking error. How is medication for a medical condition any sort of “shortcut”? (And if you’re only taking or considering one of these new drugs so you can drop a couple pounds to soothe your vanity, maybe think about how that may reduce the availability of these drugs for people who actually need them.?)

Meh. Do you. I’m not your mom nor your babysitter. Maybe just don’t be an asshole to people who have challenges you don’t personally share?

The sun is up. It’s shining in my eyes, golden and bright. It’s a new day, a new moment, and there’s so much further to go. I guess it’s time to begin again.