I don’t use AI in my writing. Not here. Not at all. These are my human words (spelling errors, excessive use of ellipses and all). I write what I write, from the contents of my own actual thoughts. Sometimes I am inspired by my environment, or my experience, or my past, or something I saw or heard, or a video I watched, which is the case right now.
Is ChatGPT turning everyone into bots? This video answers that question “yes”. You may want to watch this and think about your own position on using LLMs like ChatGPT. Are you undermining your ability to write, think, reason, make decisions, or simple be? I watched this video – then I watched it again. I’m grateful for the discernment to be exceedingly skeptical of the value in these tools that have become so readily available. There’s a longer video on this theme that is worth watching, if you are seeking clarity regarding what these LLMs are actually capable of.
The tl;dr from my perspective? I use GPTs and LLMs in the context of my professional work, and only do so reluctantly (and in a very limited way) due to obvious issues with inaccuracy and bogus citations (but it is a requirement for some elements of the work I currently do). I keep it to a minimum and approach every reluctant use with a stern critical eye, vigilant and wary, doing my best to detect every error, every lie, every misleading bit of bullshit. Trusting an “AI” (it isn’t intelligent) or LLM is like trusting MadLibs. lol Don’t do that. Definitely don’t worship the fucking things, or seek love from them. They’re bots. They don’t (and can’t) think, feel, reason, or demonstrate actual judgement. It’s just software, not an independent consciousness.
… It’s not even clear that the designers and developers are reliably decent human beings who are committed to bettering the world for everyone…
Don’t let ChatGPT (or any other LLM) steal your humanity from you! You’re better than that – even if your spelling is poor, and you’re not sure what to say in that email (or conversation). Do your best – it’ll be better than a bot! Be human with your whole self. Be present. Be aware. Feel and experience each moment of your life – it’s already ridiculously brief and quite finite. Don’t let a bot steal what little there is. You can choose differently. It’s probably for the best that you not take life advice from software that has never, and will never, live. (And maybe don’t be so trusting that billionaires seeking still more wealth and power are going to give you free stuff or look after your interests “out of the goodness of their hearts”, without something in it for them personally.)
I’m in the co-work space this morning, and already set up for a new work day (and week). Short week; it is Thanksgiving this week, and for me that kicks off the winter holiday season, generally. Over the years, my thinking has evolved with regard to many of the holidays on the US holiday calendar, even Thanksgiving. When I was a child, I had a child’s perspective on this holiday. Family, feasting, and… pilgrims. Somehow, the USA made this holiday some sort of foundation myth of our national identity, but without the nasty bits. We glossed over land grabs and genocide with a hearty portion of turkey with stuffing and mashed potatoes with gravy, a side of corn, and big slices of pumpkin pie for dessert. Tradition.
For me, this holiday is not in anyway to do with the mythology of US identity, nor pilgrims, nor even the indigenous peoples we surely could have treated more ethically than we did. It is first and foremost, a harvest feast, a celebration of thanks for making it through another year of struggle, an opportunity to sit down together and share whatever abundance we have with each other, and exchange our gratitude and anecdotes along with our treasured recipes. It doesn’t need to be more than that. It never did.
My fondest Thanksgiving memories from childhood are of distant cousins coming to town to sit down for the most lavish meal of the year at Grandfather’s house. Family from as far away as the Dakotas and Texas would journey to coastal Maryland. The meal would be served at “the big table”, after a day of women in the kitchen, and men out hunting. Kids underfoot at the house would be enlisted to complete various chores, setting the table, carrying things up or down stairs, tidying up some shared space. The conversation among the women in the kitchen was often lively, and sometimes “scandalous” (if I understood what I was hearing). The men would return from hunting, in jovial moods, whether they were “successful” or not – it was the outing that was the thing, strolling the forest and hillsides in the crisp autumn air. I have dim recollections of occasional snow, and occasional football. I have clear recollections of stealing cookies from the big tins of holiday cookies baked by my Grandmother. (Her cooking wasn’t great, but she made fantastic cookies!)
My adult Thanksgiving memories span multiple partnerships and locations. They vary. The food was always good, generally the company was as well. Most of the time, people managed to set aside petty gripes and bullshit and drama, in favor of a merry holiday meal. Sometimes that wasn’t so easily done. Some years, the meal was a quiet one, just my partner and I. Other years, it was a busier affair with friends or family. I even enjoyed Thanksgiving quite alone once or twice, without sorrow or disappointment; they were lovely holidays, and I enjoy my own cooking. A couple times, we’ve gone out for Thanksgiving dinner, putting the time into other things, and the money into someone else’s work in the kitchen. Those were delightful celebrations, too.
I guess what makes it Thanksgiving for me is more about the intentional observance of giving thanks, together. The practice of making a moment to truly express and experience my gratitude for here, now, and the sufficiency of the moment is what makes it Thanksgiving, and not just a party or an elaborate dinner.
I begin the week thankful. The pantry is stocked with everything I’ll need to make Thanksgiving dinner. I’ve got a secure home, pleasantly warm, with indoor plumbing and highspeed internet access. I’ll enjoy the meal with people dear to me. I’m in love, and have the good fortunate to share my life with this person I love so dearly. I have what I need in life. I’ve got this job to pay for it all. It’s a lot to be thankful for, so I guess I should not be surprised that I can find opportunities for gratitude almost every day, and probably all week long. I smile to myself and sigh contentedly. Nothing lasts forever, I know, but wow this is one lovely moment, right here, now. I take time to enjoy it, before I begin again.
Well…a secret to better sleep, anyway, there are others. Sleep hygiene is tricky. The modern world has a lot of distractions, and a single day sometimes seems too short to fit everything in it. Sleep difficulties can become sleep disorders over time, and there are many of those, each with their own characteristics and common causes.
Over a lifetime, I’ve experienced many sleep disturbances: nightmares, insomnia, sleep paralysis, night terrors, “exploding head” dreams, somnambulance, talking in my sleep, paradoxical insomnia, hypnagogia, apnea… That’s not an exhaustive list. I have a difficult relationship with sleep, and always have. These experiences aren’t limited to my adult lifetime, some have been characteristics of my sleep since early childhood. Some don’t trouble me anymore at all. Some linger as occasional occurrences. Here’s the thing, though, I mostly sleep pretty well, generally, these days. Yes, there’s actually “a trick to it”, one single small change that made a really big difference.
I’m not going to drown you in words making you wait for me to share this incredibly useful practical change that did so much to help me get better, healthier sleep. No subscription. No course to purchase. Also no promise offered nor guarantee being made, I just know this one detail has made all the difference (for me). I reset my expectations about sleep, and I stopped being stressed out and frustrated over not sleeping.
… That’s it.
Like a small town on along the highway, if you blinked you may have missed it. What was the change I made? No kidding, I changed my relationship with, and expectations of, sleep. That has been the thing that has done the most to improve my sleep. I still have occasional (sometimes frequent) sleep disturbances, but they rarely amount to a “disorder” these days, and they rarely last long or recur endlessly. See, it was the frustration, stress, and anxiety over not sleeping that resulted in the worst adverse effects of impaired sleep over time, not the impaired sleep itself. The emotional reaction to not sleeping restfully caused more problems than occasional failures to sleep ever could.
Seriously. It isn’t that noise keeping you awake, or the light, or the ticking of the clock, or that other person’s breathing. More often than not, it’s the stressed, frustrated, angry emotional response to not sleeping. The more vexed by our wakefulness we become, the worse our difficulty getting back to sleep. That’s been my experience, anyway. Take it for what it is; subjective experience, and a sample size of one.
I’m not saying changing one’s perspective on something as vexing as poor sleep is easy, or that it takes less practice than any other willful change. It takes practice, and commitment, and repetition, and I failed a lot and endured many annoying, sleepless, restless nights getting from “there, then” to here, now. It’s a huge improvement, though. The stress and frustration, anger, and despair over not sleeping was doing a lot more damage to my overall wellness and quality of life than my impaired sleep was, though. So…
Now, when I am wakeful, I turn on soft lighting unlikely to rouse me, and read awhile (taking care to choose reading material unlikely to cause excitement, itself), or get up briefly for a drink of water, and some meditation. Nightmares? I let myself wake in my familiar safe environment and soothe myself with a bit of meditation and return to sleep after my nightmares fade. I accept that I have some sleep challenges, and refrain from worsening those with aggressively anxious or frustrated rumination, obsessive blame-laying, or defeated self-talk. The acceptance itself is a useful tool. I’ve stopped trying to force my sleep pattern to comply with some notion of what sleep should look like, and I allow myself to sleep as suits me best. Does that “fix” my insomnia? No, but it doesn’t bother me when I wake during the night, or struggle to fall asleep. I just go with it. The result being that I am more likely to fall back to sleep fairly quickly – and on those occasions when I don’t, I’m not beginning my day in a negative emotional state on top of being tired.
I sit quietly at the trailhead, thinking my thoughts and grateful for the pretty good sleep I enjoyed last night. Did I sleep through the night? No. I rarely do, but I wasn’t awake long, and sleep returned relatively quickly. It took a long time for me to learn that the stress over poor sleep was doing more damage to my sleep than the poor sleep itself would do. It took even longer to really accept how true that was and do something useful with that information. Along the way, my sleep improved, quite a lot, because I also made a point to learn and practice good sleep hygiene, generally. All the many practices I practice intended to improve my emotional wellness and physical health have also helped improve my sleep.
I guess what I’m saying is that changing my response to poor sleep in the moment has done more to improve the quality of my sleep than any one other change.
I sit with that thought awhile. I’m happy to share it without monetary gain, and I hope you find it useful if you struggle with poor sleep. There are still verbs involved, and you’ll have to do the work of making a change on your own. I can’t really help with that. I hope you do though, and I hope you get the rest you need to be and become the person you most want to be. We’re all more pleasant and capable when we get the rest we need.
Another day, another chance to begin again.
Daybreak comes. It is a gray and wintry looking autumn morning. The oaks have lost most of their leaves. The surface of the marsh ponds is still and dark. The sky is a featureless wash of gray-blue. The path stretches ahead, disappearing around a bend. I breathe in the chilly autumn air; no scents of flowers now, only the autumn damp, and a hint of rain to come. I exhale, letting lingering background worries go with my exhalation, dissipating with the cloud of my breath. Lovely morning. A good morning to begin again.
I slept in a little, this morning, a rare and delightful experience for me. I woke rested and eager to begin the day.
My Traveling Partner is awake and greets me happily. There’s so much love in his eyes and his words. He playfully quotes song lyrics to me in lieu of conversation. He knows I won’t assume any ill intention (the lyrics are fron a song with a vaguely threatening tone). Neither of us is a jealous sort of person. We both find jealousy toxic and destructive. We enjoy word play, and have a lot of fun in using song lyrics in conversation; it’s amusing when we spot it, and often just as funny when we don’t. I feel wrapped in his love as I leave the house, and the chilly morning doesn’t dampen my good cheer – I know I’ll come home to the warmth of my Partner’s love.
One dark and foggy autumn morning.
It’s enough later in the morning that it’s almost daybreak when I get to the trailhead. I decide to write a bit and wait for the sun. It is Saturday, and it is my weekend.
I find myself noticing that I’m feeling somewhat nauseous. This early in the morning, nausea on an empty stomach (for me) is pretty rare. I take a deep breath and exhale slowly and thoroughly and begin doing a “body scan”, making a point to be present in my physical experience and aware of all the many feelings and sensations. I quickly determine my nausea is most likely a byproduct of pain, nothing more (or less) serious than that. I’ve already taken my morning medications, but they haven’t yet had time to reach peak effectiveness. I sigh to myself, and stretch, change my posture, continue breathing, and hoping the pain eases shortly. I’ve got an appointment later that may be helpful.
I sigh quietly, feeling mostly pretty contented and merry while I wait for the sun. Could be worse. This is just physical pain, and although it is pretty bad this morning, my anxiety of the past several days is greatly diminished, somehow making the pain both more obvious and less significant. Meaning to say, I guess, context matters and perspective is useful.
What does “enough” look like?
Dawn comes, gray and foggy. It’s a spooky sort of misty autumn morning, chilly but not freezing. I can see the trail quite easily, and I’ll have it to myself; I am alone here. Quite alone. I embrace the solitude and joyfully seek it out. I know it’s not the sort of thing that suits everyone. I even recognize that my enduring fondness for time alone is a reflection of past trauma; I feel safe and at peace alone, less anxious, unconcerned about the expectations, needs, and experiences of other people. It’s just me and this trail right here, now. Sure, I often (sometimes quite quickly) find myself missing the charm and companionship of my Traveling Partner, but he is understanding and encouraging of self-care, and knows how much this solitary time nurtures me. Self-reflection is a healthy practice, and I enjoy walking with my thoughts.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. After a few minutes of meditation, I grab my hat and my cane, and wrap my scarf around my neck. Already time to begin again… the trail leads into the marsh, disappearing into the fog. I get to my feet, ready to follow it where it leads.
A new day, a new perspective, and for the moment, less anxiety, which is a pleasant change from recent days.
I woke up pretty close to when the lights would have begun gradually brightening to wake me. My Traveling Partner was already awake. We exchange pleasantries and I kiss him on my way out. A lovely beginning to a Friday.
Artificial lighting shining through the fog before dawn.
It is a cold morning, just 35°F (1.6°C). I’m grateful to have my cozy cardigan on, over a warm fluffy sweater, and that my gear bin in the back of my SUV has a warm scarf, knitted cap, and gloves conveniently ready for me. ‘Tis the season, I guess. I could give up my outdoor walk in favor of the elliptical machine at home… I have that option. I prefer the real walking on an actual trail or path through some park or wild space. I’m fortunate to have the elliptical available, and grateful too; it really is handy any time I’m injured, or if the weather is too bad for safe walking, like icy mornings, or drenching downpours. Part of what I get from my morning walk, though, is the solitude. I am alone with my thoughts, uninterrupted by others. It is quite possibly my favorite luxury. (One of the benefits of walking at this admittedly ludicrous hour of the day is that I generally don’t see, hear, or even pass by anyone else, at all.)
… I start down the trail in the fog and darkness…
I get to my halfway point and sit awhile, on a favorite bench. I think about change. Last year a small conference center was built on the acreage here, where this trail happens to be. The construction didn’t change the trail at all. Now a small resort-style hotel is also being added, but on the other side of the parking lot. The construction looks like it may impair the trail at some point, making it an out-and-back walk instead of a loop, for at least awhile. I sit contemplating the many such changes I’ve seen over a lifetime. Empty lots that fueled daydreams of gardens became apartment buildings or condos. Friendly country lanes that I walked down became busy commuter byways. Empty houses I fantasized about owning were torn down for office buildings. Countryside became suburban communities adjacent to cities that have continued to sprawl. Change is.
Twenty years ago, I was a different woman, in a different relationship, with a different job, living a very different life than I do now. Funny how much things can change over time. I sit reflecting on change and gratitude; I am living a healthier life now, and I am no longer deeply unhappy. Progress. It wasn’t done with the flip of a switch, and there was no single eye-opening “a-ha! moment”. The changes I chose to make were choices made over time. Back then it seemed very likely impossible to ever be where I find myself now… but here I sit.
This is an incomplete journey. Ongoing. I sit quietly in the fog. I wonder where this path leads? In another twenty years, when I look back on this time in my life, what will I think of this woman I have become? Will I appreciate her efforts and celebrate her successes? Will I grieve something lost along the way, or feel a moment of relief to have let go of some bit of baggage? It’s a big menu and there are a lot of choices. I think about that for awhile. We don’t know what is on the path ahead, and we’re each having our own experience.
My mind wanders to friendships lost over time. Some were deliberately ended. Some seemed to fade away on their own. Some I mourn with some moment of sorrow now and then. Others only bring a feeling of relief that they are behind me now. Human primates are complicated, sometimes we travel together on this strange journey, for a little while at least, other times we just pass each other along the way, exchanging information or enjoying a brief shared experience. No wrong answers, the human experience has a lot of options. (Okay, a few wrong answers, probably, so choose your actions and your friendships with care, eh? Try to avoid creating regrets.)
Daybreak, fog, and unmade choices; a good opportunity to begin again.
The first hint of daybreak touches the sky. The foggy morning seems to change color, now a little bluer. The darkness begins to lift. I sigh as I get to my feet to begin again. I look down the path and wonder what might be around the next bend, and prepare to begin again.
Evening Light 