Archives for posts with tag: can you hear me now?

I woke ‘too early’ this morning – meaning, I really wanted to sleep later, and felt unready to be awake. It’s a weekend day, so I went back to bed. I didn’t really sleep any later, but I indulged myself in the sensuous luxury of waking up quite slowly. Worth it. When I finally got up, I felt rested, and mostly comfortable. My back aches ferociously, but for now it remains quite manageable.

My thoughts are a jumble of future considerations, past concerns, and ‘what to do with today?’ thoughts. I smile at the question; it is a Sunday, and Sunday’s mostly take care of themselves, being [for me] a day for housekeeping (both in my home, and in my thinking), and for self-care. I already have a list of things I’d like to get done today, with laundry at the top. It is a day for practical things.

The titular pain is an obvious thing and, as much as I can, I refuse to allow it to call my shots on this lovely morning; there is a life to be lived, and I’d very much prefer to live it without regard to pain. It isn’t always easy, and the good self-care practices that build and maintain emotional resilience day-to-day are surprisingly effective also at minimizing the emotional consequences of living with pain. I keep practicing. Today will be a good day for meditation, and for those yoga poses that I am still permitted by my doctor (while we sort out what is going on with my health).

The titular mixed emotions are… life. I sometimes have a more than necessarily complicated time of things with my emotional life, partly a byproduct of my TBI, partly a byproduct of my PTSD, and partly…well… I’m human. 🙂 We are creatures of both emotion and reason – and emotion generally leads. Having made a firm decision regarding my professional life, and thrown some verbs into the mix, I am investing time in considering my future choices, needs, and opportunities quite deeply. It’s not always comfortable. I am flawed… human… and hopeful. I don’t know where the journey is taking me, but I am very much on the way… somewhere. 🙂

However straight and obvious life's path seems at a glance... I can't quite see where it leads.

However straight and obvious life’s path seems at a glance… I can’t quite see where it leads.

Today is a good day for practices, and patience. Today is a good day for self-care, and consideration for others. Today is a good day to change this small bit of the world right here, and look to the horizon to see the world changing in the distance.

Questions are powerful. Asking them often seems more valuable [to me] than insisting on answers. It’s the questions that redirect my attention from one thing to another. Questions fired off one after the other without time to answer quickly find me feeling backed into a corner, or attacked and frustrated. Questions themselves are not to blame for any of that; it’s how they are used, and with what intent. If I am listening, they can also quickly alert me that I am being misunderstood. I am learning to practice deep listening even when I feel emotionally attacked, or unexpectedly cornered by someone else’s aggressively expressed agenda. (I’m not saying I find it easy, but I often find it successful for putting challenging discourse back on a civil, comfortable foundation.) The most interesting thing about practicing listening deeply is that I end up… listening. Hearing more. Understanding more. Feeling more compassionate and level-headed. Feeling empowered and safe. Once I’m in that place, it becomes a simple thing to ask a question. No animus, no aggression, no passive-aggressive tit-for-tat punishment or emotional bullshit; I am able to ask a reasonable, compassionate, interested question that may actually result in needs being met, and a greater shared understanding being reached. It’s the whole point of a question, actually.

Who's 'right'? The ducks or the waiting cat crouched in the grass?

Who’s ‘right’? The ducks or the waiting cat crouched in the grass?

Questions are powerful. My results vary, of course, because sometimes it is the very feeling of power, itself, that has fueled whatever drama of the moment exists between human beings – and some people don’t want to ‘give up their power’, and perceive any power in anyone else’s hands as a direct threat to their own. It’s a weird sort of emotional greed. I don’t know quite what else to think of it. Fearfulness at its core, probably – I’ve been so terrified of being powerless, myself, that a single question directed with insightful compassion directly at the heart of whatever was truly bothering me could cause real rage; being visible and understood wasn’t what I was after, I only wanted to feel powerful (and I was, in that moment, willing to get there at the expense of someone else’s feeling of emotional safety). I find it, now, a very unhealthy approach. Giving up needing to ‘be right’, giving up needing to feel powerful (not the same thing as feeling empowered!) and practicing authenticity, self-acceptance, and awareness are important stepping-stones to being able to listen deeply (practicing, practicing!), and ask questions with more compassion, and without attacking (also requiring practice).

If I feel flooded, how do I find firm footing to maintain a feeling of safety?

If I feel flooded, how do I find firm footing to maintain a feeling of safety?

Based on careful observation, the vast majority of disagreements are not at all what they appear to be, and it seems rare that participants in dialogue have actually taken time to ensure they have shared definitions of terms, respected fact-based ground rules for the discussion – and a shared purpose in asking and answering their questions. Conversation is so much more pleasant and fulfilling when it is built on sincere connection and genuine receptivity to another person’s thinking. I’m not much interested in arguments, they take time away from intimacy, affection, and connecting deeply with ones fellow humans. This journey is too rich for strategic bullshit, cautious diplomacy, and game-playing! There are stories to tell, adventures to share, parables to teach with, and love notes to slip past the rigidity of our work lives – all so much more important than arguments built on strategy, mud-slinging, and bogus assumptions, all seeking to persuade rather than to learn, grow, or inform. Opening the door to something more sometimes takes little more than a question.

Are you okay?

Are you okay? How are you feeling? What do you need that I can provide?

Unfortunately, questions are also handy emotional weapons. What a shame. What a waste of precious mortal time. I am learning to face such attacks with a new tool; I listen. I’ve stopped focusing on delivering an immediate answer ‘to defend myself’; if I feel attacked, defending myself is probably pretty pointless, because there is something more going on. Instead, I remind myself that this other human being made not have been fully frank with their intent, their needs, or the purpose of their question. They may not have a similar understanding of the topic being discussed as I do, myself. I listen. I take a deep breath – or several – and listen. I am learning – and practicing – letting go of that attachment to ‘being right’ that is so often part of this very human experience, and reminding myself not to take this other human being’s experience at all personally. I listen more. I am learning – and practicing – talking less. It turns out that it is not at all painful to listen. It sucks to ‘wait to talk’, however, so learning to listen (practicing!) requires a commitment to some verbs, and considerable beginning again. (I interrupt rather chronically, partially because I have a brain injury that makes it harder not to, and partially because I need more practice not interrupting.) I find it helpful, when listening deeply, to ask a question when it is clear that a response is expected; this can help me avoid hijacking a conversation in progress with my own agenda, when the person speaking actually has more to say. 🙂

Am I understanding your words correctly? Do you mean what I think I heard?

Am I understanding your words correctly? Do you mean what I think I heard?

I’m definitely not saying that my words lack value, or that I don’t also want and need to be heard, just that it seems pretty reasonable that we all feel that way, and there does seem to be a woeful shortage of real listening going on… if no one is really listening, how will anyone at all feel truly heard, truly visible, or truly connected?

Will I find balance between listening, and questions?

Will I find balance between listening, and questions?

I have the evening to myself tonight, according to the calendar. No idea what I’ll do with it. Paint? Read? Play? Maybe take a few quiet moments and really listen to my own questions? Questions are powerful – and I value feeling heard.

…Is what I want to say. I hear the echo of the intent in my thoughts any time life or love go sideways, even for a moment. I’m not so good at getting the words out there… soon enough? Calmly enough? Sufficiently lacking in any expression of emotional intensity that might tend to cause skepticism about my intentions? Yeah. Probably all of that. More. Other stuff I don’t think to manage, to deal with, to minimize, limit, regulate, scale down… I’m right here, every bit of me. Ferociously human. You too?

It’s a very quiet solo evening. I do need this time, he’s right about that. I miss him anyway. I manage to miss his scent, his voice, his hugs, his laughter – everything about his presence that is easy I miss with a fierceness akin to physical pain, as though something I need has been taken from me. I sometimes miss the harder stuff too, the qualities that challenge me to be the very best human I can, the very best lover, the most well-intentioned, authentic, supportive, affectionate and gracious being I could ever craft from the raw materials I’ve got… He’s every bit as human as I am myself, so there’s plenty to challenge me to grow. We fail each other regularly in small ways, rarely in any big ones.

Love matters most.

Love matters most.

The week together has been an interesting mix of easy and challenging. I find myself thinking over the things that worked so well, the things that didn’t work as easily, even taking time to tenderly consider the moment or two that went poorly; it’s nice to notice how few of those there really were. I know that in our human hearts those can sometimes weigh most heavily in our thoughts. I’m no expert, but I’m definitely done with treating myself badly when I fall short of my own expectations – and those are hard enough to keep up with – I am done, too, with beating myself up when I fall short of someone else’s expectations. I’ve a long journey ahead as a human being. One step at a time is fast enough, and slow progress is still progress. For him, too; love can afford to be patient, to be kind.

I still struggle with interrupting people, especially if I am especially passionate, engaged, or excited about the topic being discussed. Listening deeply doesn’t come naturally to me. I practice. I do my best. I let it go when I don’t get it right, and I begin again. It matters enough that practice is worth it, and incremental change over time is enough. ‘The interrupting thing’ is especially difficult for people to take. I get it. I get interrupted a lot, and even by people who ‘don’t do that’ – because I don’t limit my speech to short phrases, very simple language,  and don’t do brevity with any ease… or even staying entirely on topic, I suppose. I speak very much the way I write. Whatever this is. Wordy. Verbose? Too much sometimes. I know – I accept it because it’s who I am, and I don’t mind it. I like the poetry of language, and the connection of good communication. I have time to listen, the interest, the intent, the desire to be sufficiently considerate and dialed in to the person I am talking with to really make a great conversation… only… I also interrupt. I’ll keep working on that, World, if you’ll just keep showing up so I can practice.

Tonight is easy. At long last, at least being alone with the woman in the mirror is easy. It wasn’t always. Tonight, this is enough.

 

I arrived home last night quite exhausted. I made it a gentle evening, and crashed out quite early. I slept well and deeply, and woke comfortably to the alarm. In all regards, quite a nice way to finish off a challenging work day and move on. I woke this morning having forgotten about the closet doors. When I moved in, there were no closet doors at all. They were still on order and not yet installed. They arrived, and were installed yesterday (with the exception of the closet door in my bedroom, at my request). I had inspected the work when I arrived home, and not given it another thought. This morning I awoke without having closet doors in mind, and was a bit startled when I stepped into the studio to write… closet door. Big broad, vast, visually impressive, white sliding closet door… across the entire end of the room, where previously the shelves with my art gear, and the top shelf with not-yet-unpacked breakables sit safely, had been ‘part of the view’ since I moved in. It was a bit odd. Different. More… ‘finished’.

I find myself thinking about ‘finishing touches’ generally, you know – those items, tasks, elements, and moments that really round out an event or experience in a way that feels ‘complete’ and satisfying, or fulfills some specific aesthetic. Love, too, has some opportunities for ‘finishing touches’ – and that could be quite a literal thing, as with tender contact, touches, and afterplay following sex, or something deeper – like the unexpected love note days later, found tucked away somewhere undiscovered, found in passing during a difficult moment, filling a tense emotional space with love and recognition. Finishing touches seem to be more about an awareness, a perception, than about the thing themselves… and I continue to contemplate finishing touches as I sip my coffee.

Reflecting on a turn of phrase or a metaphor provides new perspective.

Reflecting on a turn of phrase or a metaphor provides new perspective.

There are ‘finishing touches’ along the far reaches of the negative spectrum of my emotional experience, although I generally don’t call them ‘finishing touches’ so much as ‘the straw that broke the camel’s back’ or ‘the deal breakers’. The ‘finishing touch’ on my first marriage was how my spouse treated his son, and his mother (in both cases, badly). The finishing touch on the long-term relationship that followed was a complex singularity – an evening of trampled boundaries, disregard, unexpected violence, inconsiderate nastiness, and intimidation; it was a hell of a finish, no doubt, and quite a sudden cascade of deal breakers in one seemingly endless evening. The finishing touch on a relationship that followed – a ‘long term’ relationship characterized after-the-fact by its brevity (less than 3 years), was the development of a peculiarly chronic neglect, disregard, and emotional weaponry launched by a mentally ill partner; I was in no shape to provide the support she needed, and I needed day-to-day simple decency from a disordered partner unable to provide that to anyone, in any relationship (at that time). When I think of those events in the positive terms of ‘finishing touches’ rather than the negative terms of ‘deal breakers’ and ‘last straws’, I find myself feeling more settled and content with the way things turned out; it makes sense that those relationships ended, and the events that finished them off do settle things, in a fairly ‘completed’ and ‘finished’ way, providing a ‘why it makes sense’ that they ended. I find myself aware that a ‘finishing touch’ is a form of closure – and it is found within, requiring no assistance from another party, no ‘last words’, no ‘parting gift’, no give and take; it belongs to me, and exists as part of my own understanding of myself, and the context of my life in which I exist. The ‘finish’ of a finishing touch is a perception, and as such, also beyond the realm of argument, requiring no validation. 🙂

The closet doors do result in a more finished look here, generally. The paintings hanging in the hallway provide a similar sense of things being ‘complete’ and ‘finished’. It feels comfortably grown up, and properly a residence, in a way that differs slightly from #27, which I so recently adored, and moved from. It is a similar feeling to moving from the barracks as a young soldier, into housing ‘on the economy’, or moving from a college dorm, into a ‘real apartment’. My previous apartment was set up for artistic live/work…but so small and compact that it was very nearly a studio apartment, and felt rather like a spacious bedroom sometimes. This new space feels very like a house, from the inside, and having separated my studio and creative work space from the rest of the residential spaces, also very comfortable… and sometimes strange. It seems more… finished. I’m still getting used to it, and sometimes find myself simultaneously delighted and vaguely uncomfortable with the spaciousness, or feeling both relieved and uneasy to have it generally all to myself. I remember as I write those words that growth itself often feels very uncomfortable indeed. I smile. I am okay with where I am in life; that feels really good.

Begin again; the finishing touch in one moment becomes a cherished reminder of the beginning for another.

Begin again; the finishing touch in one moment becomes a cherished reminder of the beginning for another.

The leisure morning at home nears its end. I notice when I check the clock. Finishing touches are possible here, too; there is time for some housekeeping, and those are the finishing touches on my morning that become my beautiful welcome home at the end of a long work day. 🙂 It’s a very good day to treat the woman in the mirror well, and to live my values authentically. It’s a very nice day for finishing touches.

I spent last night sick, and disinclined to write. Tonight, although I was in quite a lot of pain and my traveling partner was feeling somewhat unwell, we spent a handful of hours hanging out. I am still smiling. I’m inclined to say more – certainly the evening is on my mind. I don’t know that I have the words.

Sometimes when I hang out with someone, I walk away from the interaction still feeling very much that we are strangers. Other times – other people – it is easy to connect deeply, to be open and comfortable, to be easy with each other, and walk away afterward feeling closer, and feeling connected. This evening was more than just a pleasant good time together. We spoke intimately on difficult topics, shared our emotions comfortably, and gently, and when we said good-bye at the end of the evening I felt heard, and I felt I knew a little more about my partner’s heart than I did before. I even felt a little more well-understood, myself.

It was an ordinary enough evening when it started. Then, somewhere midway through some possibly completely unrelated bit of conversation, he said…something.  My eyes filled with tears, and his filled with puzzlement. “You said the ‘L word’, I replied, trying to smile. “Loneliness,” I continued, “I’m not very good at talking about it.” I struggled to regain my composure (there really wasn’t anything wrong at all) and explained that for some reason, just hearing the word “loneliness” has the potential to cause my eyes to tear up. He looked at me with such love and empathy. There was no hint of awkwardness, or strain. We talked awhile about loneliness in general, and in our own experiences in life. We talked about solitude, and the things that differentiate those experiences one from the other. It was beautiful. I feel comforted, and supported. I feel loved.

The listening thing is huge. It wasn’t obvious whether or not my traveling partner felt it too. I’ve been practicing ‘listening deeply’; I find the most elegant and lovely explanation in a favorite book on mindful love (How to Love by Thich Nhat Hanh).  The extraordinary intimacy of the conversation, and the evening, was quite wonderful. Comfortable. Easy. The result? A very secure feeling of loving and being loved.

Love.

Love.

I don’t have much of real value to share about tonight; I am wrapped in love, and inclined to relax, feet up, just smiling. Maybe for a while. Some evenings, I sit in the twilight and I wonder. Tonight, I sit in the twilight and marvel.