Archives for posts with tag: breathe exhale relax

I drove to the office with a love song in my head. Sweet, endearing, lingering in my memory as a recollection of a time when I yearned for the sort of love I enjoy right now – although back then I didn’t actually believe such love existed at all (it was just that far outside of my own experience of life and the world). I get to the office, pour some coffee, and put on my playlist of “silly love songs” to coast into the new day. (Every song on this list is deeply meaningful to me in some way, with regard to love and loving, but admittedly, some of my choices may not make sense to anyone else – it’s not about that, though, is it?) My reflection smiles back at me in the window. The morning sky is gray and threatening rain. I breathe, exhale, and relax. It’s a lovely morning anyway.

I woke from a deep sound sleep this morning, with serious thoughts still occupying my consciousness, left behind by my dreams. Something about choosing to be less negative, as a means of improving my quality of life, and sharing that thought somehow with those dear ones in my life who are reflexively deeply negative without really giving any thought to how that colors their experience over time. You know the sort, I’m sure (hell, maybe you are that sort – I once was, myself)? I’m talking about the folks whose humor is mostly pretty dark, often very sarcastic, sometimes self-deprecatory in a somewhat disturbing way to listen to? The folks who seem to complain at least a little bit about almost every experience they have? The ones who say “no” or reject ideas before an idea can be fully presented or a sentence completed? Yeah. “Those” people – the chronically negative buzzkills in our lives, who likely mean well, and may even think they are being “realistic” or humorous… How best to communicate to these people that the negativity they embrace with such firm commitment is not only a noteworthy “bring down” in any group (and potentially not as amusing as they may think), but potentially also the actual key to why they feel the way they do in the first place?

…I definitely get tired of chronic bitching almost immediately, and sarcastic “humor” and bitterness unleavened by real joy in life is exhausting to deal with…

What you plant in your garden determines what you harvest, but you’ve still got to pull the weeds.

I smile, listening to the love songs on my playlist – it’s hard to be annoyed while also wrapped in love. I sip my coffee and make room for gratitude; I’m fortunate to be so well loved, and to enjoy the opportunity to love so deeply in return. No doubt that colors my thinking. Certainly, becoming a more positive person generally (at least for me) followed falling in love with this singular human being who is now my beloved Traveling Partner. Sometimes it almost feels like that was some kind of shortcut or cheat code, but when I’m honest with myself, there was a fucking ton of work, and verbs, and practice of practices that also followed the beginning of this relationship – and those things could have been done, and occurred, and created the profound benefits that they did, without regard to being in love. They were choices. That the inspiration to make those choices was this profoundly deep emotion is mostly coincidental (although I wouldn’t change it for all the billions in the world). It’s doable without falling in love.

Bitter is not one of the flavors of Love.

How does one make a change from chronic bitterness and negativity to becoming a pretty positive and upbeat person day-to-day? Are there some “simple steps to being happy” that are being withheld from common knowledge? I don’t even know the answer to that question – I just know what steps I took, myself. Happy to share, I hope this is useful for you in some small way.

  1. If you need therapy, get therapy. How will you know? If you’re chronically miserable, you probably need therapy. If people around you are regularly suggesting therapy, or asking if you’re in therapy, or inquiring about your mental health and whether you’re okay, you may benefit from therapy. Just saying; sometimes we can’t make our journey alone.
  2. Be selective about the practices you practice. We become what we practice. If you practice chronic negativity, bitterness, sarcasm, that’s what you become, and what you fill your life with.
  3. Put your own self-care high on your list of things to do, every day.
  4. Be choosy about your media consumption – what you fill your head with will determine (often) what the content of your thoughts will likely be.
  5. Consider some sort of contemplative practice (like meditation) – make time in your day to “hear yourself think”.
  6. Embrace small joys and celebrate small wins. It just feels good – a lot better than feeling annoyed, disappointed, or bitter.
  7. Practice non-attachment. Clinging to expectations and assumptions is a fast track to being discontent and disappointed.
  8. Do good. Another way to feel good about life, is to contribute to the good in life.
  9. Live! Embrace change. Explore uncertainty. Try new experiences. Learn new things. Walk unfamiliar paths. The menu of The Strange Diner is vast – look it over.

Life is too brief. Don’t waste precious limited mortal moments on pointless performative negativity. Live authentically – and enjoy the joy you find (and create)! Just saying – you do have choices.

I smile and have another sip of my coffee. Good coffee. Good playlist. Good time to begin again. (Good luck on your journey!)

Change is. Like the weather, moments are ever-changing, evolving, not static things the way our recollections sometimes make them seem. They are not that snapshot in our memory, somehow more lasting than the moment itself could ever be. This morning the weather reminds me that change is, and that moments are brief, and impermanent. After yesterday’s warm sunny day, this morning’s chill feels unexpected. The mist clinging to the meadow and the edges of the marsh is a surprise. The morning begins with sunshine, but already it looks like it may rain – quite soon.

Sunshine as my walk begins. It doesn’t last.

I have no particular concerns over the weather, although I didn’t think I’d need my rain gear and didn’t grab it for the walk. I may come to regret that decision. For now, sitting at a favorite spot along the trail watching the sky turning dark and stormy, I’m content to watch and wonder and just be. Moments are what they are, and like rain showers, they will pass on by. I can wait them out, walk on, or find joy in them. Choices. One choice I just don’t have is a choice to halt change or stop the flow of time. Moments will come and go, without regard to the sort of moments they happen to be.

I sigh to myself. I am fine with this moment just as it is. I am rested and my pain is well-managed. The trail is not crowded, and it feels like I have it to myself although the parking lot had several cars in it when I arrived. I sit with my thoughts.

The day ahead is housework and laundry, and a bit of gardening, a pretty typical Sunday. I have a short grocery list – ingredients for dinner. My Traveling Partner is making dinner tonight, and I am eager to be helpful not only because I’m happy to see this positive milestone in his continuing recovery from injury,  but also because he’s an excellent cook and I enjoy what he brings to the table any time he’s in the kitchen.

I think about the housekeeping that really needs doing and remind myself that working from home reliably a couple days a week now also means some tasks can be put off to those days quite easily without adverse outcomes. Maybe do the laundry Tuesday? It’s a relief to be as focused on not exhausting myself as I am on getting things done. That six months of intense, sometimes round the clock, caregiving following my beloved’s surgery wasn’t just exhausting, it was emotionally trying and I often felt completely inadequate. I still find myself coping with that experience, even though it’s behind me, and hasn’t been a thing for months. I still feel the treadmill of endless tasks and too little capability under my feet, emotionally, and it’s taking practice and will and mindful presence to let that go. That moment has passed. I sigh again, feeling the intensity of my relief wash over me.

I hear footsteps coming up the trail slowly. I look up and see deer stepping along gently. They pause, watching me. A trio. A young buck and two does. I wonder if they have new fawns? I don’t see any. I consider taking their picture as they slowly approach me on the path, but when I move ever so slightly, they stop, stiff, alert, and wary. I relax and just watch them. When they get closer, I turn my head away, hoping to communicate that they’re no concern of mine, and that I am not a threat. The larger doe approaches very near me. There’s something tasty growing near my feet apparently, and she’s willing to take a chance on approaching quite closely. I could reach out and touch her, but don’t want to risk starting her. I let her breakfast in peace, and just sit quite still.

Voices coming up the trail get my attention. I look up, as the deer do. The deer bolt, and trot off into the trees. I sit where I am, and when people emerge around the bend in the trail I wave and nod. They are no concern of mine, and they walk on past.

Moments don’t last. Sunny afternoons may be followed by rainy mornings. Threats may emerge in one moment, and disappear in the next. Tears dry. Trauma heals. The clock ticks on.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I get to my feet and look up the trail. The future is ahead of me, and this path won’t walk itself. It’s a good moment to begin again.

My walk this morning was short, local, and drizzly. It is a drizzly morning. I walked with my thoughts, and headed home to begin the day. The drive back to the house felt peculiarly nostalgic – something about the drizzle, and the way the sheen of water on the road reflected the light of the gray skies over head – and I found myself thinking about sick days on rainy Spring mornings as a kid. How is it that all my recollections of missing school due to being sick seem to be rainy days? I guess with the average number of rainy days where I grew up being about 111 days per year, falling primarily in the months between March and November, it would be better than a 1 in 3 chance of any given sick day being a rainy one. Maybe they really all were? lol

When I started down the trail, it wasn’t raining. Change is.

I arrived home to find my Traveling Partner awake, and it was lovely to see him. I made coffee for us both, and headed to my office to begin the day. All so very ordinary, so routine that the days sometimes seem to blur together except that the precious loving moments we share stand out, each unique and worth appreciating. It’s strange that when I look back on my childhood, there are really only a small handful of recollections I can count on as “my own”, and many of those are rather archetypical – conflations of many similar events becoming just one “memory”. When I look back on the past 15 years with my Traveling Partner, it’s not that way. There are many many memories, each built on small details that linger in my recollection. I don’t know whether this is a sort of before/after contrasting what remains of my memory after my head injury with how my memory works now, but there it is; I have relatively few childhood memories, and some of those are rather suspiciously recalled “in the third person”, as though I am remembering something I was told, not really remembering something I experienced.

I think about memory awhile, and rainy sick days. I remember those almost fondly. The rainy gray drive to the doctor’s office. Bundled up at home with chicken soup, saltine crackers, and a book to read. Sitting at the dining room table playing with Play-Doh, or coloring in a favorite coloring book. Napping. Waking. Reading. Before my head injury, my sick-day recollections are mostly to do with headcolds or the flu. After my head injury they are more often about headaches. I missed quite a bit of school, even through high school, over headaches. I don’t miss much work over headaches as an adult; I’ve learned to live with them. It’s an uneasy truce, some days, and I’d for sure prefer not to have a headache at all, but since I generally do (of one sort or another), it’s probably best that I don’t just give in and quit, eh?

You’re not alone with your pain. Not really. We’ve all got some kind of pain – well, most of us, I feel fairly certain. There are no doubt those rare few individuals with charmed lives of such good fortune that pain hasn’t become a thing to endure day after day after day after day after… You know? I’m not even sure those people are to be envied; they may lack some useful perspective on endurance, and what they are truly capable of, perhaps. (I don’t know; I’ve never lived that life.) I sip my coffee and notice that my mind has wandered on to other things. The garden. The roses. Pain management. Nutrition, diet, and exercise. The shit I’ve got to get done today. The things I’m eager to do for myself once the needful tasks of the day are behind me. My garden. Work. Life. Love. I let my mind wander on for a few minutes of self-reflection before I get started on work in earnest. Sometimes self-reflection feels a little self-indulgent, but it is actually an important bit of self-care (at least for me); it tends to keep me “on my path”.

…What are you doing to care for yourself? What are you practicing?

I breathe, exhale, and relax. The clock ticks on. The rain continues to fall. I notice that it is time to begin again.

I’m sipping my morning coffee thinking about how ludicrous it is that we so often seek to make everything fit into an “either/or” sort of arrangement – two neat columns, pro and con, or two clear choices for or against. I don’t think our human experiences are so tidy and clearly on one side or another of some dividing line. Not at all. We are creatures capable of depth and nuance of both thought and emotion. Our choices are often not so easy, and the problems we face more subtle and complex than a clear “yes/no” decision can resolve. We cheat ourselves and each other when we default to false dichotomies and make believe dilemmas – we often have many more choices on the vast menu of life’s Strange Diner than we take the time to consider.

…I consider our weird two party political system in the United States to be symptomatic of this very human challenge (in addition to being the only likely mathematical outcome of our current election system, regardless how many parties we may attempt to put in the mix). Human beings don’t seem to like complicated decision making at all. What a shame – we have such beautifully well-suited brains for such things. Seems like a waste of our potential as beings.

How are you wasting your potential today? Maybe that’s worth giving a moment of thought to? It’s your life, of course, and I’m not telling you what to do, just saying – you’ve got so much potential as a creature! What are you doing with that? What are you practicing? Where does your path lead?

What love looks like.

I spent time this weekend lingering over love and games with my Traveling Partner, who has been patiently re-teaching me to play cribbage. I enjoy cribbage. I played it with my grandfather. I played it when I was in a warzone (preferring it over pinochle or dominoes). My TBI gives me an irritating cognitive quirk; I don’t easily remember certain sorts of things, and the rules of card games are one of these. If I am not playing a particular game every day, the recollection of the game play and the rules quickly extinguishes, and I’ve got to start all over again the next time I go to play. It had been years since I’ve played cribbage. My Traveling Partner made us a lovely cribbage board. We’ve been playing relatively regularly for the past few days, and I’m enjoying it greatly. Oh, sure, at least for now I still need help figuring the points in a hand – cribbage is a relatively complicated card game – but I’m enjoying the time with my partner, and he with me, and it’s time well-spent. I am grateful he is so patient with me as I relearn a game I once knew so well.

A rose blooming in my garden. A beautiful metaphor.

I spent time this weekend lingering in the garden, enjoying the roses that are blooming, and fussing over the plants the deer have nibbled on. I weeded, and I watered, and I sat in the sunshine. Also time well-spent.

62 soon. Life is significantly less complicated – and less “exciting” – than I once expected it would be (though it often still feels like a lot to manage), and I’m not at all disappointed by that. lol Like a lot of other things, “excitement” is somewhat over-rated (and things are generally complicated enough to feel bothersome), and I greatly prefer joyful contentment, sufficiency, and the kind of broad perspective that allows me room to understand and appreciate others. We’re each having our own experience, and I really don’t have the time to bother with being annoyed by everyone about everything or wallowing in made up drama. lol I do like things “easy”. These mortal moments are so finite and precious.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I’ve got a couple appointments today, and it’s a busy workday, and there are errands to run on the way home, and… when the hell would I also find time to enjoy “excitement”? Good grief, a pleasant generally routine life is plenty busy already, isn’t it? I sip my coffee and smile to myself. This is a nice moment right here. Good for self-reflection and new beginnings. Good for gratitude and love. Good for putting some thought into decisions to be made and things to be done. There’s no need to rush, or force everything through a filter that reduces it all to either/or, this-or-that, yes/no, pro or con… I have time to think things through thoroughly, to understand more of my life more deeply, in spite of that ticking clock. I have time for myself before I begin again.

There’s time to pause for flowers, to water our gardens, to chase our dreams.

I’m at the trailhead. I didn’t get much of a walk in, this morning. Feels like a bit of tendinopathy in my left knee. Ouch. I still managed a slow careful walk on the well-maintained trail nearest to home before I realized I am dealing with an injury. Maybe a bit too much enthusiasm with the elliptical machine. It’s a work day, and a fairly routine beginning, aside from this new pain. I breathe, exhale, and relax. Could be worse; at least everything isn’t hurting!

Taking a moment for a sunrise is a good use of time.

So, I’ll be on my cane full-time for awhile, I guess, and patiently giving my leg a break and time to heal. Doing so can’t alleviate the necessity of other sorts of self-care and I remind myself how important strength training is, not only to improve my fitness as I age, but also because glp-1’s have the potential to rob me of muscle. So. Yeah. There’s that. I shrug it off as a concern; there’s worse crap going on in the world and I’m fortunate that I’m only dealing with this, right here, right now.

… Sure, there’s horrible stuff going on in the world, but much of it is entirely outside my control or influence; I can make my voice heard to the few listening, but sometimes the best thing I can do for the world is make my own small corner better and do no damage elsewhere…

In spite of the deer, I may harvest some tomatoes.

Sometimes it seems the most significant difference between surviving and thriving is more to do with my focus and the practices I choose to practice than anything to do with specific circumstances. This is, of course, quite relative and simplistic. It’s damned difficult to thrive in the midst of ongoing trauma – been there, tried to do that, with varying degrees of success (and mostly failing – sometimes the best choices we can make are to change our situation). Generally, though, short of truly dire circumstances, the most notable difference between surviving and thriving, often seems to be largely a matter of perspective. Shit is crazy and often quite horrible “out in the world” these days, but when I pull my focus back to self, hearth, and home, it’s not bad. Life feels less manageable when I allow the world to drag my attention into chaos and Other People’s Drama. There’s something useful to understand there. I sit with that thought awhile.

It’s often what we plant and how we tend our garden that determines what we find there, more than the weather.

Making healthy choices isn’t always a tedious buzzkill, and it isn’t always about this fragile vessel. Many opportunities to live well and to thrive are about what I put my attention on, what I read, what the contents of my mental, emotional, and intellectual “landscape” are filled with. I have choices there, too. Doom scroll through the news feed, or walk a trail on a lovely Spring morning with only my thoughts to occupy me is as important as choosing to drink my coffee black, instead of loading it with sugar. We’re complicated creatures. Our best choices are not reliably the easiest, nor what we seem to prefer.

What are you planting in the garden of your heart?

I sigh and smile. Incremental change over time is reliable and steady; we become what we practice. Don’t like where your life seems headed? Choose another path, change your practices, and begin again. Thriving is within reach, and quite often it’s as much a matter of perspective as it is to do with the practical details. I stand and stretch and consider the day ahead of me.

… It’s a good time to begin again.