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It’s Not Personal

October 2, 2024 //
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My head is pounding. My ears are ringing. My back aches furiously and I didn’t get enough sleep. I stayed up later than I planned pushing myself harder than I should, getting shit done I had planned to do today, while working from home. I’m sitting at the trailhead now, waiting for the sun, and on the other side of a walk, it’ll be one more work day in the office. I made these changes to give my Traveling Partner a day of chill time without dealing with anyone’s stress but his own, assuming the Anxious Adventurer takes his father’s firm, clear, directive to find something to do elsewhere today as seriously as it was intended.

I’m a bit annoyed about the whole thing, honestly. I manage my planning (and how I get shit done), with a careful eye on my physical and emotional limitations, and my limited energy. All of that went out the fucking window yesterday because the Anxious Adventurer sat around being loud for hours (apparently), preventing my Traveling Partner from being able to relax. It’s not as if my partner can jump in his truck and go for a drive himself right now! Fucking hell the lack of basic awareness and consideration irritate the shit out of me. (Caregiving is hard. Being human is hard.) Yet again, I’m dealing with a hearty helping of unnecessary bullshit and OPD (Other People’s Drama), and it limits my ability to effectively juggle caring for my partner and caring for myself.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I knew going into this that it wasn’t going to be easy. I’m disappointed by how often I find myself doing more work, not less, in spite of an additional adult human being in the household. I reexamine my expectations yet again. I’m so fucking tired and I’m in a stupid amount of unmanaged pain this morning… but the laundry is done. The shopping got handled. I even got to (eventually) spend some chill time with my beloved before I take off for a few days to rest, care for myself, and hopefully recover more than a single day’s worth of emotional resilience.

…Life doesn’t always follow my fucking plan…

The Anxious Adventurer has a good heart, he just also has limited life experience, no experience managing a household or caring for another human being (as far as I know, and based on observation), and hasn’t figured out the basics of who he wants most to be or… basic manners and interpersonal communication. Fuck. You know what I didn’t sign up for? Parenting. Somehow, here we all are. :-/  I’m not any more skilled at basic parenting than I am at caregiving. This shit? Also hard.

… It isn’t personal, it’s just reality…

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I work on letting this shit go, at least enough for my own mental my health. My partner’s limited ability to manage his stress and his reaction to other people’s emotions is frustrating and difficult, however relatable, and is a predictable outcome of the combination of meds he’s been taking for months. I get it; becoming disabled is a difficult experience, and working to taper off some of the medications he’s on is also difficult, and dealing with other people’s bullshit is difficult, and he’s pretty much trapped at home dealing with all of it, all at once, all the time, at least for now. That seriously sucks and I want to help – and I will do a better job of that if I refrain from becoming fused with his experience. I’m having my own as it is. Fuck this shit is complicated and difficult.

Another breath. Another exhalation. I bring myself back to this moment. Daybreak peaks over the horizon, just barely. The morning traffic rushes by on the highway. I sit quietly with my pain, boots on, ready to take a short walk in the dim light of dawn before heading to work. The Anxious Adventurer confirms he is working today; my partner will get some quiet time. It makes the upheaval and aggravation worth enduring. I take my morning medication, grab my cane and my headlamp, and stare into the morning darkness. It’s time to begin again. Already.

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Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, autumn, breathe, Free Will, Frustration, health, Love, meditation, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Sleepless Nights, solo hiking, The Art of Being, Uncategorized

The Journey is the Destination

September 28, 2024 //
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I time traveled in my dreams last night. I revisited a time and place and lifestyle so different than my life now it is hard to reconcile the experiences as being those of one singular individual human lifetime. Peculiarly, although I had not yet met my Traveling Partner at that time, my dreams rewrote the recollections to include him, sometimes as my partner, sometimes as a stranger met through circumstances. I woke feeling vaguely disoriented, wondering how I hadn’t recognized him then, before fully realizing I was dreaming.

I drove to the trailhead this morning, listening to music. Instead of the bluegrass and country-ish music on the thumb-drive my Traveling Partner made for me, I paired my cell phone with the car, loaded my “favorites” playlist, and rolled up the road bumping bass-heavy EDM tracks, and house music. How unlike me. lol I generally prefer to drive without any distractions at all, including music.

I found myself in a strange here-and-now moment sort of juxtaposed with a younger me, dark shades, fast car, soft black leather driving gloves – a “cool”, determined, emotionally disciplined me who only felt free when she was alone on the highway between distant destinations. She was broken, but hiding it pretty skillfully (a very lonely way to exist).  Funny to remember her in such a visceral way, connected by the music we both love. Her “real life” was pure misery and terror, work, and those moments of blissful freedom out on the Texas highways, alone. I remember her. I’m thankful we don’t have much in common beyond the continuity of a lifetime. That thread broke, in 1995. I’m grateful to have moved on from there, then, and her.

My life now is so different. Mostly pretty pleasant. I might even say quite wonderful, many days (or moments). I still have my challenges. I’m still dragging around some baggage. The chaos in my head persists. I’m still damaged. Nonetheless, most of the time, most days, life is mostly better than okay. I’m good. Life is… good. Not “perfect”, and I don’t think “perfect” is a reasonable goal. Good is enough.

…”The journey is the destination”…

Driving with music on is a different experience. More relaxed? I think so, generally, and I silently agree with my Traveling Partner, still sleeping at home, who recommends it to me regularly for staying relaxed while I’m driving. It does tend to let “the driving part” of my brain handle the driving while giving the busy, excitable, chatty part of my brain something else to do. It also stops me from being too much in my own head. I get to the trailhead before dawn, thinking about dreams, and driving as a metaphor. I sit quietly thinking about a woman I once was, and the woman I have become over time. I think about the woman I hope to be… with more practice.

…Nice morning for thinking…

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I reconnect with here, now. I listen to the sound of occasional cars passing by on the quiet Saturday highway, and my tinnitus. I’m not in much pain yet, but it’s been a difficult few days of it. Walking doesn’t really help with my pain lately, not in any obvious way, but I still enjoy walking. I do it in spite of pain, and these days I reliably walk with my cane. The inevitable slow loss of progress vexes me sometimes. I know I have to keep at it though, walk on, keep practicing… the journey is the destination. We become what we practice and a lot of our skills and abilities are very much “use it or lose it” sorts of things.

I sit thinking about my Traveling Partner on his own journey to come back from what turned out to be a pretty profound injury. The time, dedication, and practice that requires is much. I’m proud of him for the progress he’s made so far, and impressed by his commitment to push on, in spite of the weight of his emotions. It’s a difficult, complicated experience. The verbs are many. The effort required is intimidating. It’s fucking hard. Hard to contemplate, hard to undertake. His persistence and pure will are certainly some of the things I love about him. I remember my own long-ago journey to recover from injury and physical trauma. I quietly consider ways I could be a more effective, more supportive partner, and a better friend, while he goes through all this.

… I’m tired, though, not gonna lie; caregiving is a lot of work and giving. Time. Effort. Attention. Care. So many verbs, and an endless 24/7 to-do list. I’m looking forward to my upcoming break on the coast to rest, care for this fragile vessel, and paint for a couple days. I definitely need it. I’m grateful for a partner who supports me taking care of myself. I am beyond grateful (and delighted) that he’s made sufficient progress that I can consider taking a real break at all. I need it more than I want to, and I have pushed myself harder than is ideal. I need some rest.

Daybreak and a chance to begin again.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. Nice morning to walk the trail along the marsh and watch another sunrise. Nice morning for self-reflection and gratitude, for perspective and love. I wonder where the day will take me? I’m grateful for my Traveling Partner on this complicated journey that is a mortal lifetime. I’m grateful for quiet mornings alone, too. My heart fills with wonder and love songs as a deep orange smudge develops on the western horizon. I’ve got my boots on, and my cane in my hand… It’s time to begin again.

The journey is the destination.
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Categories Allegories, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, gratitude, health, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, The Art of Being

Nightmares, Still

September 26, 2024 //
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Noisy restless night. I’m awake, for the moment. I listen. I hear the reassuring sound of my Traveling Partner, sleeping. I had been struggling to find deep sleep in a restless household. Now? I’m awake with a ferocious headache, a pinpoint of pain on the side of my head above my left ear. In between… sleep… and nightmares.

… I woke in a panic, responding to the soft frightened sounding voice of my partner calling out to me, “Honey…?”. I sat upright suddenly, shaking. The house was quiet and dark. Just an “exploding head” dream. Fuck, I hate those. The fear persists awhile. Before that, I was dreaming that I was in a large granite sarcophagus, polished smooth, very dark. The lid was askew enough for air to easily reach me, and I could get a comfortable strong grip on the smooth cold stone, but I couldn’t move it. No light, just a sense of the narrowness of the stone box. Huge. I was standing upright easily. I tried to gauge other dimensions and walked the length of it,  which somehow extended onward…onward… onward… into the darkness…or was I walking in place? I felt trapped and breathless. Heart pounding. I hear footsteps, not my own, and freeze. “Don’t move,” I think. “Control your breathing and for god’s sake don’t move.” I hold myself so, so still in the darkness. That was when I heard my partner call to me, “Honey..?”, and woke, shaking, frightened, heart pounding. Is he okay?!

He’s okay. Sleeping. The house is quiet around me. Just fucking nightmares, and a headache, and pain. I sigh quietly and breathe. My pounding heart begins to slow to something normal and comfortable. I get up to pee. Take an antacid. Lay back down. But I’m not sleeping. Not now. It’ll be awhile before sleep “feels safe” again. The night is half gone. Split by nightmares. I try meditation. Reading. Finally just write a few words; I know the recollection will dim as dawn approaches.

… This will pass with the night…

Tomorrow, I can begin again.

Foggy morning, waiting for the sun.

I eventually slept, some. I woke abruptly, frightened and triggered, by furious yelling in the hallway. My Traveling Partner had a bad night himself, going off one problematic prescription and beginning another, the experiences overlap. He is angry, tired, and unhappy about the hall bathroom light being on, keeping him from sleeping. 04:18. I get up, dress, make coffee for my beloved partner, and leave quickly, before I can (too easily) also be provoked to becoming angry. My heart is still pounding as I leave the house. I’m shaking. I remind myself to slow down, to breathe, to do my best. Getting killed on the highway in the fog driving stressfully wouldn’t be a helpful turn of events at all. 

Now, I wait for the sun. I sit quietly with my thoughts and my tinnitus, heart heavy with questions. Breathing. Letting shit go that’s not really anything personal to do with me. Reminding myself that my own fragile state is as much to do with my difficult night as it is to do with my unpleasant “wake up call”. Reminding myself to stay on the path, and to be my best self even under these circumstances (maybe especially under such circumstances). I’m not a perfect person. It’s not a perfect effort. My results vary.

… But doing my best to be the woman (person) I most want to be isn’t about anyone else, at all; I do this for me. My failures, however humbling, are part of the journey. I know to reflect on the experience, learn from it, and begin again. Life is brief – too brief.

I sit quietly, thinking about my Traveling Partner, this complicated man who I love so deeply and enduringly. He’s very human, too. Tough time for him. I remember having to come to terms with having become disabled, myself. G’damn that was…hard. I think about recent pleasant moments together and loving words shared; it makes it tough to get mired in stress, hurt feelings, or anger. It’s a practice I value greatly. It’s pretty hard to be angry when I am practicing gratitude.

Gratitude, even in this moment, after a difficult night, is pretty easy. My Traveling Partner is “a bit of a handful” lately, and caregiving is fucking hard (and relentless) – but I love this man for reasons (and through shared experiences) that go so much deeper than shitty bad tempered moments under trying (and temporary) circumstances. Hard is hard. Okay. Love still matters. So I turn to thoughts of our enduring love to comfort me right now. Heavy questions can wait for lighter moments when I am more likely to face them clear-headed. That just seems wise – although, wisdom isn’t really my area of expertise. I’m am simply a human primate doing my best to learn from my mistakes, practice useful (helpful) practices, and begin again when I struggle.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I focus on self-care for now, and sit here in the fog (actual, not metaphorical), waiting for the sun. This too will pass. There’s a new day ahead. I watch the morning commuter traffic rolling by on the highway and silently wish my partner well. I hope he gets some rest and I’m glad he’s not having to drag himself to work feeling wrung out from sleeplessness and changes to his meds. That’d be rough. I sit wondering for a moment if he felt the love that went into making his coffee with such care before I left the house?

…Fuck, I love this man so deeply, and very much in spite of the shit we’re going through right now, (which likely won’t seem significant a few years from now)…

Daybreak is slow to arrive on this foggy morning, but it will, and I’m grateful to see another sunrise. It’s time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Despair, forgiveness, gratitude, health, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Sleepless Nights, The Art of Being, Uncategorized, Words

Like a Countdown

September 23, 2024 //
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I’m sitting quietly, waiting for the sun. It’s a Monday. It is also 10 days until my upcoming coastal getaway. I’m not really counting down the days, although I am eager to enjoy the time painting and savoring my own company. I’m here, now. This isn’t a bad place or time to be. I even got some painting done yesterday. Amusingly, one of the two pieces is a recollection of a foggy sort of misty morning at the very location I plan to stay.

I had originally planned to camp and even try a new spot, but I needed to change the dates to fit my Traveling Partner’s care needs and PT schedule, and the new timeframe has less pleasant weather in the forecast, and I’m not even actually up to the amount of manual labor solo tent camping would require – and it would be a huge struggle to paint outdoors on rainy days. With all that in mind I finally yielded to the obvious and booked a room with an ocean view. Good enough. Better than that, actually, and I am excited.

..I’m also here, now…

My getaway is coming up. I’m pretty much always ready. I’m not emotionally attached to the outcome, because it could be that my partner won’t be enough recovered to really get by adequately without my care. If that’s the case, I’ll cancel with regret, get over my moment of disappointment, and move on. Priorities.

This morning I briefly went over all that in my head, again, and moved on. Again.

My dreams the last several days have been full of war and images of the planet burning. Grim. I avoid taking them personally, or blowing them up into more than what they are – only dreams. Almost unavoidably, the images turn up in my art anyway. My dreams sometimes fuel my inspiration. Modern warfare (any warfare, really) is pretty fucking terrifying. The cost is high. The price of victory excessive in a reality where there are no real “winners”. War makes everyone a loser. Death and destruction and chaos and trauma…no good outcomes in war. The other painting I painted over the weekend comes directly from my nightmares.

Drone warfare and it’s far reaching consequences, reaching even into my art, and my dreams.

Still, painting feels good, and it helps to paint. There was nothing on fire in my dreams last night, although my sleep was restless and interrupted. It’s been pretty bad lately, actually, and I’m not certain why. Maybe physical pain? Background anxiety over distant world events I can’t control? Concern over the upcoming election? (Did you also feel it as a direct threat to your personhood when you read or heard that Trump said “women won’t have to think about abortion anymore” if he is reelected?) It’s a scary world sometimes. I’m glad painting gives me a voice for things I don’t know how to say with words.

Huh. This morning started out fairly cheerful. I find myself wondering if that was a bit forced, or whether I’ve simply managed to make a “wrong turn” somewhere along the way. I give myself time with my thoughts. I’ve got shit on my mind, clearly, and the way out is, reliably, through. I feel that aching need to be heard. To be “visible”. To be understood and validated. Tears well up and spill over. I miss my Dear Friend who died shortly before Spring. There are very few people I feel emotionally safe unburdening myself to, specifically regarding war and trauma and misogyny, and the lingering wounds of ancient personal horrors that follow me still. She was one. Gone now. My Traveling Partner has long been another (but for now I’m in the role of caregiver and must be sparing and deeply considerate about burdening him while he heals). I guess practical wisdom suggests I make an appointment with my damned therapist. That’d be pretty grown up of me.

For now, I breathe, exhale, and relax – and let the tears fall. It’ll pass. That’s predictable and reliable, and there is no shame in honest tears, and there’s rather a lot going on in the world worth crying over.

I look to the sky for any hint of daybreak. Soon. I’ll get a lovely walk in, along a favorite trail, then head home to begin an ordinary enough Monday. My tears will dry, and I’ll begin again.

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, Art, art and the artist, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, grief, inspiration, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Sleepless Nights, solo hiking, The Art of Being, War and News of War

Thoughts and Daydreams

September 22, 2024 //
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I’m waiting for another sunrise. It’s quite early, and I am at the trailhead ahead of daybreak. Again. It’s the first day of autumn – the equinox. There’s a thin mist clinging to the ground, rising up from the river. I sit quietly with my thoughts awhile before turning to writing.

Street light dispursed through the mist.

I’ve got a handful of drafts, work in progress. None of them hold my attention this morning. My thoughts are not there. I often “work on” a new bit of writing as I drive to the trail, but this morning I was lost in pleasant daydreams instead. So, this morning my writing is impromptu, raw, unfiltered thoughts-in-the-moment lacking any sort of plan or editing. This is, perhaps, my preferred approach, generally. Certainly, it is the most authentic, spelling mistakes and all.

The first hint of daybreak in the darkness.

This morning I am mostly thinking about love, and hoping my Traveling Partner is getting the rest he needs. He continues to make slow progress towards recovery (from his injury and subsequent surgery). He continues to worry (and so do I) that something got overlooked or misdiagnosed. It’s a reasonable concern. We are concerned, together. As with many things (most things?), we’re in this together… while each having our own experience. Individual perspective. Shared experience. This very human journey is a strange one. I feel fortunate and grateful to share it with him.

My thoughts drift from love (and gratitude) to art. I am looking forward to my October coastal getaway. I’m eager to devote a handful of beautiful autumn days to my pastels. I have so much inspiration welling up from within. I need to take the time for myself. Funny – as soon as the thought forms, it is followed by a question; “can my Traveling Partner make coffee for himself, now?” This seems an important (if very specific and practical) detail, even though the Anxious Adventurer is on hand to help out. Would I even feel comfortable going, if my partner were unable to make a cup of coffee for himself? I think about that for awhile. We are so intertwined, so interdependent. We rely on each other. We’ve “been there” for each other for so long now… In May, it’ll be more than 15 years. My longest romantic relationship. What a beautiful complicated journey. I am fortunate to be so loved.

The gate to the park opens with a slow screech and a dull clang. It’s still too dark to safely walk the trail along the edge of the marsh. It’s the equinox and the sun is sleeping in this morning. lol

Faint hints of the sunrise to come, and the end of a starry night.

I sit quietly with my thoughts of love and a heart full of joy and contentment. This is a truly pleasant and satisfying moment, though in most regards the facts upon which it is built are very like many other quiet moments on other mornings before sun rise. Funny how that is. I sit with my smile and my thoughts, content to be happy, now, without any promises or expectations of future moments feeling similarly. Feelings are feelings. It’s enough to savor the moment and preserve it for future recollections.

A smudge of orange along the eastern horizon hints at the imminent sunrise. I’m glad to see another one. Grateful. How many more? No way to know. I’m okay with the uncertainty. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I swap my shoes for my sturdy boots. I can see the ground, now. Looks like a good time to begin again.

Here comes the sun.
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Categories autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, inspiration, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, solo hiking, The Art of Being
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