Archives for posts with tag: being heard
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Screaming Into the Void

November 9, 2024 //
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Sharing that important opinion? Don’t bother. I mean, okay, your opinion matters to you. It feels good, maybe even important, to “be heard”, and social media gives that sensation a tremendous immediacy, as though you can actually share your relevant (seeming) opinion with the important (seeming) people you perceive as capable of making changes, or needing to be informed of your (“obviously”) critical thoughts and perspective. Only… mostly? No one is actually listening, and generally no one gives a damn about the random commonplace utterly ordinary (often ill-informed) opinions of the average Everyperson on social media. Maybe you go viral because what you said is sufficiently amusing or poignant or well-stated – but mostly you won’t, and mostly no one is listening, and generally no one gives a shit. Hilariously, we’ve mostly (as a society) given up on snail mail, though it sometimes carries real weight. Even that, though, often just amounts to more “screaming into the void”, and trust me, most of what you feel most inclined to say with such urgency isn’t even novel or noteworthy or of any great import. It’s been said by someone somewhere already. Most likely. Human primates tend to be fairly conformist thinkers with limited imagination (in my opinion).

Posts on social media often just sound like someone shouting at their television. It’s pretty pointless and not even very gratifying. lol This? Right here? It’s an example of that; it’s my opinion. I didn’t do any actual research. I don’t actually “know more” than someone else does. It’s just my own impression, based on my own experience. Is it worth sharing? I’m willing to be sufficiently honest with myself to admit that I don’t know that it really is worth sharing; it’s just my opinion, and I’m choosing to share it without any certainty that it matters at all. Hell, it probably doesn’t, and it’s likely that very few people will read this, and fewer still will care.

I write because I write, it’s really that simple (for me). I’d be writing anyway, and this I do know for a fact based on my lived experience over many years. It’s too easy to get caught up in the bullshit drama and artificially inflated sense of importance on social media – so I left social media. I still talk back to thumbnail titles and news headlines, because so often the content isn’t worth actually watching or reading; everything I need to know is in the bullshit click-bait title, right there up front trying to get my attention, and seeking my engagement. I “engage”, more often than not, by commenting aloud whatever my personal bullshit opinion is, and I move on to the next item. This amuses me without inflaming anyone else, and it’s every bit as likely to “move the needle” on some issue (which is to say, not at all). Less time wasted of these precious limited mortal hours.

I’m feeling a tad cynical, I guess. I need to paint, and walk trails with my solitary thoughts, and distance myself from the many disappointments of humanity – and oh good g’damn there are so so many. Humanity kind of sucks, and our best efforts to do better are not nearly enough. Please keep trying though; the effort does matter. I silently remind myself to do my best, and that the journey is the destination. It’s not about what anyone else wants or needs from me. It’s about what I want and need from myself; to be the person I most want to be, the “best version” of myself that I can become over time.

I sigh quietly, looking out into the morning fog. It’s a chilly autumn morning, and this morning I am waiting for the sun. It’s Saturday, and there is no hurry. The morning is mine.

I sit with my thoughts and my coffee. Later, I’ll begin again. It’s my path, and I’ll walk it my way.

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Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, Frustration, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, The Art of Being, War and News of War, women

Never Enough

January 3, 2024 //
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This journey that is “being human” is pretty strange. The path veers and is not always easy to see, regularly obscured by doubt, frustration, or buried ancient fear. Still, this is the life we’re given and the time in which to become. I sip my coffee thinking my thoughts. If I wander as I wonder, please forgive me; I’m very tired, and I’ve got a headache. I’ll do my best to get to my point… if I can. If I have one.

I think the point I’d hoped to make is that my (our?) sometimes frustrated sensation of “never enough” has at least an element of truth to it; we are ceaselessly becoming. We have opportunities to grow, to advance, to change, to do more/better over time than we were once able to do. It’s pretty easy to acknowledge our (my?) plentiful imperfections, and to recognize that we grow and change, but… there’s that irksome sensation of inadequacy, of “never enough” that vexes the soul now and then. Frustration. Disappointment. Sometimes it feels like a win to remind myself that I am worthy, that I am enough… but… from another vantage point, if that were truly the case, why would I constantly be seeking to grow and to become the person I most want to be? I sip my coffee and think that over for awhile.

…I’m so tired…

My hair is soft, resting in loose waves along my neck. I push my glasses back up the bridge of my nose, and run my fingers through the softness of my hair. It feels nice. I sigh out loud in this quiet space and feel the seeming vastness of the solitude, broken by the glow of the monitors in front of me, hinting at life beyond this moment. The big office windows display the park below me, still dressed up in holiday lights. They contrast merrily with the pre-dawn darkness. It’ll be awhile before daybreak arrives. It’s early. I sip my coffee and watch the occasional car make the turns around the park. It takes up one city block, with parking on all sides. At this early hour, there’s not much going on down there, and not much to see. the condo tower on the opposite side of the park has more lights on than usual, and many of those have holiday lights. Pretty. I sit and think, and sip coffee, and breathe. This moment, here? It’s enough. I enjoy it for awhile.

I woke “too early” this morning, and I’ve not had enough sleep, and the sleep I did get was restless and interrupted. My tracker seems to think I managed to get almost 5 hours of sleep, but it was broken up into unsatisfyingly short fragments of the night, the longest of those being just about 3 hours. I’m not in a bad mood, though, and today is off to a better start than yesterday. I keep drinking this coffee. I grab a bottle of water from the beverage cooler and start drinking that, too. I smile to myself, remembering that this new day is filled with all the promise of every new day; it is new. A chance to do more/better, to do differently, to make what matters most the real priority – and to sort out what that is, to me, today.

…A chance to be the person I most want to be…

Yesterday evening my Traveling Partner got super annoyed with me over me being a bad listener. (I’m not going to argue that point, frankly I struggle with interrupting people on this whole other level that goes well beyond “poor listening”, and I continue to work on it – it’s a brain injury thing, nonetheless there is value in doing better.) He was feeling mad and hurt and not heard. I think we mostly worked through that. Along the way he shared two videos with me about listening, both are quite good so I’ll share them here, too (and a couple others I have bookmarked). I think we could all stand to improve on how well we listen, you know?

I keep working on being a good listener. Having a brain injury is a pretty notable stumbling block on this path, but no one said the path would be well-paved, and brightly illuminated, eh? Generally speaking, working on something is easier if you at least know it’s a problem… but… in this instance, I’ve known for ages, and I still struggle. I keep at it. Small incremental changes over time are worth the effort.

I guess that’s the point; there are verbs involved. Results will vary. The value in any given practice is in those small incremental changes, which do add up. There is no “perfection”. Achieve one goal, and there’s another just on the horizon. Another step on the path. More to practice. That “never enough” feeling is annoying, to be sure, and it’s a sign of frustration, and perhaps fatigue. There’s more to self-care than diet and fitness and a good night’s sleep (Although, right about now, a really good night’s sleep would be a win). Learning to be a good listener is an important social skill, worthy of practice. Balancing “all the things” is what eases that “never enough” feeling… because the hours of the day are finite. Life is finite. It’s important to make room for self-care alongside the being and the becoming.

I sip my coffee and yawn. I’ve lost the thread of my thoughts… and it’s already time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, anger, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, Healthy Living, Love, meditation, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, The Art of Being, The Big 5, winter

Where Do I Go From Here?

May 17, 2021 //
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I’m sipping coffee before work. Taking a few minutes to write. My fingers feel light on the keyboard, this morning. I feel comfortable in my skin. I feel safe here at home. I am reflecting on the weekend, and on life, and love – and taxes. I flip through the pictures I took over the weekend. The camera seems to have captured details that I missed with my eyes, in the moment. The pictures delight me.

Gray skies greeted me when I arrived.

The slow calm minutes alone with my thoughts for a couple days was a nice break. I needed the rest and the quiet time. I say “quiet time”, but this too is relative. It wasn’t that quiet at some points; Friday night there was a “hotel party” in the room next to mine that lasted until 1 am. It woke me a couple times before folks finally called it a night and settled down. Saturday night, on the other side of my room, a very intoxicated couple checked in, early in the evening. By 9 pm, they’d been removed by the local police for creating a disturbance, after several people complained about yelling, threats of violence, intimidation, and noise. Home is much quieter. lol The disturbances were an interesting opportunity to reflect on exactly what I need out of my solo time, and how best to get it. It’s not a need that is always easily met simply by being somewhere else. 🙂

I considered going home early, at one point. I know I’d have been welcomed home eagerly; my Traveling Partner was missing me quite a lot. Another quiet night, though, and another slow solitary morning, was a nice investment in my wellness and contentment, and I’m glad I stayed and enjoyed the time (the money was already spent).

One last shot of the ocean before I left… blue sky breaking through the clouds, reflected in the water.

It’s nice to be home again. We shared a quiet afternoon gardening, and a quiet evening watching short videos and nature shows. It was supremely pleasant. Now…? Now it is a Monday. Time to get back to work and life and life and work, and all the details that connect and surround those experiences. I’ve got 158 pictures to remind me of my weekend away, even a couple videos of waves and the sound of the sea. 🙂

I’d end with an observation that it’s time to begin again, perhaps, but… where does this journey lead? What’s next? Roses and gardening? Meditating and writing? Life and work? Love? What matters most? Who do I most want to be, when I see myself in the mirror? Is my path taking me there? Can I even know that? So many questions – and really, not one of them answered by a weekend walking on the shore. lol Just more questions. More moments upon which to reflect, later.

…It’s still a journey. My morning walk took me past each house in the neighborhood. At first, I counted off the roses I passed by, sometimes by name (when I recognized them). I lost track; there are so many roses, they quickly become uncountable. There are so many gardens, tended by so many hands, with so many different visions of “beautiful” in mind. I take note of the details I like the most, as I pass by. I smile and wave to other early risers when we spot each other. I keep walking.

What now? Where does this journey lead? What does the day hold? What of the future? My heartbeat feels like the tick of a clock. I glance at the time – it’s definitely time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gardening, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being

“Down for Maintenance”

May 16, 2021 //
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My Traveling Partner is quite human, but he’s also right about a great many things. 🙂 I definitely needed this break! He was right about that. My boss must have agreed, because he encouraged me to head out even a bit earlier than I’d planned to do, on Friday. It was a lovely extra, too; I spent the morning with my Traveling Partner, instead of working, before I headed for the coast for the weekend. We enjoyed our morning coffee together. Talked about garden plans, home improvement plans, and how much we would miss each other. 🙂

…I have greatly enjoyed missing my partner for a couple days. I do miss him, though, with my whole heart – he’s rarely more than a heartbeat from my thoughts – and I am ready to return home, to his welcoming embrace… to my own bed… my own shower… our pleasantly comfortable little home… the merry wave of a neighbor… and, omg, the mild lovely Spring weather. LOL (It’s been rather uniformly gray at the beach, this weekend, amusingly enough.)

The Alchymist finally in the ground (it’s been almost 10 years in a container).

…I wonder if The Alchymist finished opening up the blooms on the long graceful bud covered cane I’ve been watching with such delight? I wonder how my tomatoes (planted just last week) are doing? I sip my coffee and think about love… and lunch. For all the ordinary things I miss, right now, there’s also this awareness that I was missing out on a lot of the joy in them, because my brain was just so fucking fatigued, and my “buffers” so overloaded I could not process new information easily, or even just “find my joy” in simple pleasures. Too tired. It wasn’t a physical thing at all. My partner’s well-wishes as I prepared for the weekend away had included something very telling – he said “have fun being bored!” He gets it; I just needed to put shit on pause. Like, for real, just “stop everything” and chill. Walk. Nap. Write – maybe. Paint? Maybe. I came prepared with watercolor gear and sketchbooks… I never touched any of it, nor opened my Kindle to read. LOL

…As it turned out, I mostly just walked, and napped. LOL I meditated, sitting on the shore, listening to the waves approach and recede. Listening to the wind in my ears. I sat on the balcony of my hotel room, watching the ocean be an ocean, and listening to the passing seagulls ask about my day. I gazed into the milky gray cloudy sky for hours. Now and then I ventured out to walk along the beach again. Mostly, I spent time with my own thoughts, my own feelings, my own experience, without judgement or attachment or assumptions or expectations or inflicting any sort of demands upon myself. It was time I needed.

Chilly, windy, and gray

You know what I didn’t do? I didn’t write. I didn’t read. I didn’t paint. I didn’t sketch. I didn’t go out for fancy meals or explorations of the retail scene. I didn’t interact with many people. I didn’t have much cause to use words aloud or hear the sound of my own voice, aside from a couple welcome phone calls with my partner. I simply did the thing I needed most; I embraced the solitude and quiet, and let myself “catch up” mentally, and get some cognitive rest. Funny thing, although I was initially a bit disappointed about the gray coastal weather, I realize looking at it now that it was quite perfect for the need; almost featureless unexciting skies, and the ceaseless somewhat uniform sound of wind and waves didn’t add any “excitement” or eye-catching wonder to the vista beyond the balcony. 🙂 It was as a neutral canvas, blank, and ready to be painted upon with my choices.

…I say that, though, about the skies and the weather, as if it is “true”, solidly real, and “final”. It isn’t a complete picture at all; it’s subjective, and quite selective, as far as recollections go. It’s equally true that yesterday the afternoon was quite sunny (although the massive cloud bank that had wrapped the shoreline Friday – and again this morning – appeared only to “pull back a bit”, and never wholly dissipated). 🙂 Funny how that works. I am reminded how much of my individual experience is created within my own head – and how real that still feels. It’s worth being aware of that; it gives me so much power to change my experience of my life. That’s a lot of power.

What is also true.

I’ve finished my coffee. It’s still quite early. There is ample time for another walk along the beach before I return home. Time, even for another coffee. 🙂 There is, too, time to begin again. 🙂 I feel much more ready for that than I have in awhile. 🙂

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, art and the artist, Brain Injury, breathe, gardening, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, inspiration, Love, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Roses, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being

Awake, Not “Woke”

July 19, 2019 //
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I woke up abruptly, some minutes ago. I woke feeling frustrated, irritated, vaguely angry, impatient – a host of less than pleasant feelings crowding my consciousness. I felt as though I were in the middle of an argument. I felt as though I were not being heard. Definitely awake. Definitely “in the wee hours”. I laid awake awhile feeling my heart thump, hard, fast, as though I had been exerting myself. Breathless.

I got up, finally, to pee, to get something cold to drink, to “walk it off”, to “get some air”… I got up to breathe. To exhale. To let this shit go.

Initially, the house remained dark – suitable for the “middle of the night”, and avoiding waking anyone else. At some point, I remember I am alone right now, and turn on soft lighting, once it is clear sleep is not immediately at hand. I sit down to write, when it is also clear that “letting it go” wasn’t effortless in this moment – and was reminded of a conversation with a friend, earlier in the day. Human beings struggle. It’s not always an easy experience. We are beings of both emotion and reason; either one can be “a tad off”. Emotional wellness is important – as is our ability to reason in a rational, healthy way. They balance one another. They feed on each other. They inform each other. I experience feelings that source with my thoughts. Some of my thinking has its foundation in how I feel about an experience. Connections. We exist in context.

I breathe deeply. Exhale evenly, slowly. I relax, deliberately, willing my shoulders to drop back down where they belong (and wonder, again, what pulls them up so tightly, so uncomfortably). The experience of “hearing my heart thump” slowly diminishes, until what I am hearing is my typing. Some of this is about focus – what I pay attention to, becomes a larger part of my experience. We become what we practice. Doesn’t make it effortless. In fact, quite the contrary; it is the effort, the practice, itself, that creates the change being sought. Do the thing. Do it again. Keep repeating it. Eventually, it becomes part of who we are. “Easy” is not part of the process.

Another deep cleansing breath. Something icy cold to drink, seeking to cool off from the very subjective sense of being “too hot”.

…What the hell was up with my dreams?? I woke when I did, straight to being fully awake, no lingering in a dream, no recollection of the contents of my consciousness, before that moment when I woke, frustrated, irritable, and frankly a bit angry. What was that about? I breathe. Exhale. Relax. Let it go – again. It’s literally not relevant to this moment, here, now, in the quiet and the darkness.

I look at the clock and wonder if I will return to sleep… it’s not quite 2:00 am, on a “work night”. I’d rather not be awake right now… but I clearly am. What to do about it matters less, for me, than not getting stressed out by whatever that outcome ends up being. The thought of returning to sleep causes some anxiety. Nightmares? Possibly. I take a moment of consideration and gratitude that I don’t remember them, if that’s what woke me. Could have been a noise… but the world seems quiet, now. Lingering on the “why” isn’t helpful, and obsessing over that holds potential to drive additional anxiety. Another breath. I exhale. Relax – again. Let it go – again. Have another drink of cold weird liquid – what the hell did I grab out of the fridge? I look more closely. Oh. A sugar free sports drink in a flavor I don’t care for. Hilarious. I continue to drink it eagerly; the cold of it is more soothing than the flavor matters at all.

…I could just stay up. Have a shower. Meditate. Do some yoga. Make coffee… The time would pass quickly, and it would soon be time to head to the office…

My mind sifts through various recent conversations with assorted colleagues, friends, family members, doctors… aimless fussing and wound-picking, unproductive, and not especially healthy. I let that all go, too. I have a thought, properly relevant to experiences of anxiety and wakeful nights, and grab my vape – works for my daytime anxiety, will it work now? I watch the cloud billow around my face, and dissipate. There’s a loveliness to it, illuminated by the glow of my monitor.

I frown, irritated by the recollection of a recent visit to the VA. New doctor. Young doctor. “Have you tried Tylenol?”, she asked (about my literal decades of chronic osteo-arthritis pain in my spine). I’m still annoyed. Seriously?? Was she fucking kidding me? Potentially one of the stupidest questions I’ve ever been asked about pain management, by a doctor. Have I ever tried _____? Lady, Doctor, if it’s over the counter, I’ve fucking tried it – or read the contraindications and recognized it isn’t for me. For fuck’s sake, really? Damn.

Oh. Is that what woke me? I’m still processing my anger and frustration with that appointment? Admittedly, I’ve avoided dealing with it. I keep trying to “let it go” without having to deal with it. That, folks, is called “skipping a step” and it tends not to be very effective – but grinding my gears over it, ruminating endlessly frustrated by it, is also not effective. Running from the emotions does not put them to rest – it just results in feeling as though I’m not being heard. (Because I’m not.)

There’s a solution here. I hit my vape again. I shift gears and head to my meditation cushion. Whether or not I sleep is no longer my concern. It’s about a bigger picture of self-care, and “feeling heard” is something that needs to begin with me.

Here’s a brief musical interlude to pass the time… 😉

Some time has passed. There’s still time for more sleep, if it comes to that. I’m not worried about it. I’m not worried. I feel relaxed. Content. Centered. I’m okay. This is one moment, of many. Just that. It’s not a bad moment, if I pulled it from life’s deck like a playing card; relaxed, content, safe, hydrated, secure in my home, secure in my relationships. There are no longer alarm bells going off in my head, and I am at ease, and comfortable in my own skin. The moment is altered and I change the music. I think of my far away Traveling Partner, still sleeping. I laugh, reminded that I am at home alone, and stream the music to the stereo in the living room, I turn it up, still mindful that the world (and my neighbor) sleeps. My thoughts travel briefly to a younger time in my life; I’d have run from this moment, pursuing any available distraction. Tonight? I pull myself back into my body, back into this “now”, and let the bass wash over me. “…Free the history…” I pick up my buugeng, and begin to dance, feeling my contentment mingling with the music, and the movement. (Your results may vary.)

Unexpectedly, in the middle of a moment, grief washed over me, unsolicited, unwelcome – and too real. It has been just 25 days since my mother died. So much has happened since then to distract me from that experience. I dropped to the floor weeping like a… like… well, like a grown ass woman, grieving the loss of her mother, honestly. It’s okay. There is no shame in these honest tears, and I am okay right now. This is real, and it is what it is. I needed this time alone, I suppose; real life has some things to tell me, things I need to hear. My heart needs to be heard – and I need to take the time to listen.

I cried for some little while. I’m okay with that; tears dry. As they do, I think about a shower, and coffee. It’s almost 3:30 am. The alarm will go off in an hour, and there’s little point in going back to sleep, now. 🙂 It’s already time to begin again. 🙂

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Categories anger, Anxiety, Brain Injury, Frustration, grief, loneliness, Love, Mindfulness, Moments, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Sleepless Nights, Summer, The Art of Being
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