Archives for posts with tag: choose wisely
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Just a Drizzle of Fail Sauce with Mine, Please

February 8, 2017 //
2

I’m groggy this morning. Yesterday I was, too, I think, but the days are blurring together, already. I’m tired. Two short evenings in a row, and less sleep than I really need… for days. This can’t last – I need to get some rest, and the week isn’t half over. So far, no noteworthy negative consequences, I’m just tired.

So tired.

Still, the search results from my realtor get my attention when they hit my inbox this morning. My coffee is good. My shower felt wonderful, even if I did almost fall asleep standing up before it quite woke me. I’ll get through this day to another evening, and an opportunity to get an earlier night.

The secret to this puzzle, the trick to this as-yet-not-unlocked level in the game of Adult; I do not know how to get 8 hours of restful sleep between the hours of 10 pm and 4 am, and I find it difficult to fall asleep earlier in any reliable way, or to sleep in much later (with or without an alarm clock, generally). Work weeks get me up by 4:30 am, to the sound of the alarm if I am fortunate to be sleeping deeply. I need that time to really wake up so that when I leave for work I’m actually quite awake and fully able to function. I know going to bed earlier is needed – it’s hard to fall asleep earlier, many nights. Even doing all of the “good sleep hygiene” things is not a guarantee. I have sleep challenges, it is a thing I am aware of about me, having lived it for so many years. So many nights that I manage the bedtime and waking time details with skill, my sleep is still shortened and degraded by restlessness and wakeful interruptions during the night. My sleep tracker says I slept 6 hours last night, and shows the many interruptions in my sleep, and how little of it was deep sleep. I find myself frustrated that this doesn’t seem at all unusual. No wonder I am tired. When a busy week and my poor sleep quality and assorted sleep disturbances collide, it doesn’t take long for fatigue to build, and quickly become exhaustion.

My head aches, and I realize that I’m overly invested in bitching and moaning about the sleep I’m not getting, while rather groggily sitting here ignoring my coffee while I write. I sigh aloud in the chilly quiet room and sip my now cold coffee. I listen to the rain fall, tapping the windows, and rumbling through the downspout on the corner of the building. I hear the distant horn of the train approaching the commuter platform nearby. I pull myself upright, correcting my posture; it’s too early to create more pain later. I think about a second coffee and wonder whether what I put on this morning will be what I actually wear to work… an autographed MC Lars concert t-shirt is suitable casual attire for the office, right? I smile contentedly; I’m fortunate to work in a casual dress environment. What I wear to work is of very little consequence. (Which is good – I’m barely awake enough to do more than pull on jeans and throw on a t-shirt, honestly.)

The morning moves on, and the forward momentum of my life doesn’t halt for groggy mornings. There is still adulting to do, and the woman in the mirror needs me most on mornings like these. There are dishes to do. Counters to wipe down. Trash to go out. Small things handled before work that I won’t have to deal with after I return home, more tired. I frown at my bed with irritation, in passing. I would appreciate coming home to seeing it made, but that would require making it now… I silently tell myself, and that bed, to fuck right off, I don’t have to if I don’t want to! I let the moment pass on my way to making a second cup of coffee…

…While I wait for my coffee… I make the bed. lol

One by one, I tackle the small things I like to see finished before I leave in the morning – because coming home to order and tidiness is very pleasant (to me). I’m tired, and being tired finds me enduring continuous rather disrespectful commentary from my “inner adolescent”, which is quite probably just as annoying as it would be to deal with if there were a real life sass-monster following me around the apartment. So human. Today the practicing pays off; I have many more good self-care habits than I once did, and when I’m this tired I lean hard on habit to get me through. I look at the time and see there is still time for meditation before work.

Today is a good day to take the very best care of the woman in the mirror. There are verbs involved, and practices. There are challenges to overcome, and small frustrations to manage. There is perspective to be maintained and relied upon. There’s me. There’s you. There’s all of this that we have to work through, and even though we’re all in this together – we’re each having our own experience. I’ll do the best I can today. It’ll have to be enough. 🙂

 

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Categories Brain Injury, Free Will, Healthy Living, Mindfulness, more than a little bit of bitching, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, The Art of Being

Rainy Monday

February 6, 2017 //
1

Mondays have a bad reputation. I’m no longer sure why. Is it merely that so many people work unsatisfying jobs to which they must return each Monday? I’ve definitely been there. It wasn’t the easiest thing to choose differently. I had to learn that I could. So far, the current job has not yet lost its appeal, and going on 6 months, now. 🙂

I woke during the night, no idea why, and quietly walked through the apartment, restlessly, for… what? For about 10 minutes, that’s what. lol I’ve no idea what woke me, and I was on autopilot as I walked through the apartment, from bathroom to kitchen to patio door to studio window, finally standing at the front door, looking out into the wee hours of night, feeling the cold wet breeze circle me and filling the doorway. It was the refreshing cool of the breeze that helped me realize I was indeed awake and walking around, and also that I was still quite sleepy and inclined to finish the night. I returned to bed, and to sleep.

…And here it is, Monday. My coffee this morning is quite terrible, which seems rather odd. In all other respects the morning begins quite well, and I’m not inclined to fuss over the coffee. I rather thoughtlessly rubbed something irritating into my eyes, which as irritants go is unpleasant, but could be so much worse. I notice, as I dispose of the tissue I had dabbed at my eyes with, that I overlooked the little trash can in my studio when I took out the trash this weekend. I’m a tad irked by that, but it is also a very small thing. I shrug that off, too. How much Monday misery is entirely self-selected based on the apprehension that Mondays will suck? It’s been a long while since I’ve actually had a shitty Monday… Today still doesn’t qualify. I keep choosing to enjoy the morning. There’s no particular need to force it, I am okay right now, and that’s enough.

Monday? Yeah, it is. That doesn’t have to be any more significant than any other day of the week, though. There are verbs involved. Choices. Perspective. Practices. You can always begin again. 🙂

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Categories Brain Injury, Free Will, Healthy Living, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Sleepless Nights, The Art of Being, winter, Words

Finding My Way Home

February 4, 2017 //
1

I woke from a long night of sound slumber. Rare, restful, delicious. I slept in. After yoga and meditation, and putting out peanuts and birdseed for my weekend brunch visitors, I sat down with my coffee and the latest real estate search list from my realtor. It’s exciting to be house-hunting for a wee place of my own.

I look over each listing in the search list very carefully. I imagine waking up there. I imagine walking through those rooms in the dark of night after a nightmare. I consider what the floors will feel like on bare feet, and whether the layout of the kitchen is going to fuck with my head for weeks or months, remembering how confusing it was to move from #27 to #59 – with all the light switches and appointments mirror imaged, and how long it took to stop clawing at blank wall for a light switch that wasn’t there. Those details matter for quality of life. Will the windows let in the dawn? The evening light? Will the house bake in the sun unrelentingly, or offer comfort and shade? Will the winter winds chill the floor with peculiar drafts? Which details are easily changed? Which less so? What matters most? It’s an interesting meditation, to consider with such care what living in a particular space might feel like. I easily rule out some of the listings I see by doing so; if I can’t feel living there with any comfort, I am not interested. (I trust that feeling – some of my PTSD triggers are fairly mundane things or circumstances. If my senses begin to squeal in my head that a space doesn’t feel safe, and I’m only looking at a photograph, I know to move on.)

I chat a while with my Traveling Partner, sharing pictures of places, getting his thoughts. Our individual aesthetic overlaps quite a lot, and his engineering background results in a first-rate reality check on things I am less likely to notice. Helpful, and another way to share love. I am eager to find a place to call home that he will feel equally welcome in, when he is spending time with me. As a woman of 53, comfortably and contentedly living alone, I have learned that “home” is something I bring with me, something I create for myself – houses are what I’m shopping for – the container in which to put my home. 😀 Honestly, that makes the shopping much easier. At 18, and even at 35, I shopped for homes, and felt endlessly disappointed not to find one.

I finish my coffee smiling. Enjoying a few moments of conversation with my Traveling Partner before moving on with the day. I’ve some adulting to do this morning: laundry, vacuuming, cleaning the kitchen and bathroom. Home-making. Good skills to have, worthy practices for taking care of me. First, a hike in the mild Pacific Northwest winter. Today that’s enough.

 

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Categories Brain Injury, Free Will, Healthy Living, Love, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, The Art of Being, The Big 5

Don’t Read the Comments!

January 31, 2017 //
3

I had to remind myself last night, and again this morning. Last night, I hit that point in response to a “pics or it didn’t happen” reply to a comment I made, supporting inclusion and diversity, and being a welcoming human being. I laughed out loud when I read the troll’s demand – I mean, honestly, in all frankness, that isn’t actually how reality works. The lack of a photograph isn’t really a determining factor in whether something is or is not “real”, or whether it happened, or whether you experienced it, or whether that is your perspective. I took a step back. Happy to enjoy the moment of laughter, instead of taking the bait. I moved on with my evening.

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This morning, again, I got sucked into Facebook, reacting to expressions of hate and frustrated by the weird skewed perspective some people have taken on. I endure only so many “what the fuck??” moments before I remind myself that one of the fundamentals of our very human consciousness is that we are easily able – and prone – to just making shit up that fits our world view and calling that “true”, without any particular attention to whether it really is true, or factually accurate, or even loosely based on something someone actually may have once experienced, ever, at all. It must be equally frustrating to be a person whose world view is constantly challenged, fought, disputed, denied, contradicted, or laughed at… Oh. Wait. That’s like, literally, all of us. Human primates. Damn we’re fancy. It’s not always useful and in our favor, but holy cow we can make some shit up, and then insist it is important.

The hate is hard, though. I’m saddened by the quantity of fear and hate in the world. It would be lovely to halt the tide of hate. I guess… one thing I can do, myself, is to choose not to hate. I’ll work on that. I’ll start by asking clarifying questions, instead of reacting based on my own assumptions. I’ll work on staying mindful that each of us likely thinks of ourselves as the good guy in our own internal narrative. I’ll treat myself, and others – even those with very different thinking – with consideration, empathy, compassion, and start interactions from the assumption that we are all trying to improve things, from our own perspective. Maybe I will learn something useful along the way. Hate is hard work to sustain, and not very productive. 🙂

Still, and again. The very best practices work that way.

Still, and again. The very best practices work that way.

To be clear… I’m no less angry by what I see going on in the news. I’m no less concerned about fascism taking over America – that’s some scary shit, and it’s not okay – but blinding myself with reactivity and stress renders me one more agitated voice in a crowd, and could result in the sort of emotional fatigue that could quickly become learned helplessness. So. I breathe. I back up out of the comments. I think about what matters most, and how to be the woman I most want to be; this is my life. I take care of me, and do my best to take action in the world, in the ways I can – and I do it without disadvantaging anyone else. It’s a good place to start. It’s enough.

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Categories Anxiety, Brain Injury, Fiction, Free Will, Healthy Living, Logic & Reason, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, The Art of Being, The Big 5, War and News of War, Words

Today First

January 30, 2017 //
0

America is fucking scary these days. I’m pretty sure I never imagined, once the Cold War ended, that we’d be standing on the brink of war, again, ever. Which… was silly of me. We’re primates. No “better” or worse than other primates. Fancy, but yeah. Primates. We fight over shit. We crave power, but having power corrupts our thinking and behavior. We draw imaginary territorial boundaries, and then fight over those. I wake to it in the morning, first thing. I go to bed at night fighting the anxiety it causes.

I remind myself to breathe. To relax. I put digital media aside, and remind myself also that this moment, right here, alone in this room, is not a scary moment, nor a scary place to be. I find comfort in now. I re-center myself right here, in this moment, in the quiet. It’s a practice because once I turn away from this moment, reach for a device, a connection, or respond to an email, I start wrapping myself in distress and despair once again. It’s necessary to continuously check myself; I am okay right now. That’s important, because in my okay state, I have the emotional resources to help another. So. Taking care of me, and maintaining a gentle readiness for action.

Life continues for all of us, even in the face of unexpected disruptions in routine, in order, and in the day-to-day sense of security and safety. It’s dismaying to see the clock rolled back on corruption and civil rights so suddenly – but I do see it. I’m not blind. I’m not turning away. I’m not excusing it or pretending it isn’t happening. I protest. I resist. I object. I call it out. I begin again. Like the signs on the bus say “See something? Say something.” America, I’m here for you. I don’t care what race you are, or what religion, or what lifestyle you embrace, or whether you have finally attained citizenship – we are all American.

Yesterday, I invited some of the neighbors over for coffee. Women I see and talk to regularly. Immigrants and refugees, lovely women rebuilding their lives in America. I see them as American. We sip coffee and talk about our fears. We lean on each other. We share laughter. They are from Syria, Algeria, and Libya – my own ancestry is primarily English and German – also immigrants and refugees. Every American who is not an indigenous American is an immigrant, a refugee, or descended from one. How the hell are so many of us also racists? It’s so vile. (This is why we can’t have nice things.) My neighbors and I talk together over our coffee about racism – here in America, and in the places they have come from. We talk about our fears, and the future. We talk about the way laughter in the face of our fears heals our hearts. We talk about community. I introduce them to South Park. We laugh some more. We make plans to watch South Park together again next week. 🙂

Later, in the evening, I share time well-spent with my Traveling Partner. We talk about many of the same things as with my neighbors, earlier. No surprise; good-hearted people everywhere are shocked, appalled, ashamed, angry, bewildered, and outraged. We hold each other. Share our fears. Find solace in intimacy. We talk together about the future, hopeful that there is one – neither prepared to wonder whether that’s realistic. The “Cold War vibe” is very real. He admits to his concerns. I make observations that we’ve been here before, and that there have been other presidents sick with evil, racism, xenophobia, misogyny, and hate before. The calm in my voice doesn’t do enough to camouflage my own feelings of doubt and insecurity. We support each other. It was a lovely evening, generally, and I feel grateful for his support in trying times.

Everything I do to enjoy life, and to share that joy, makes life more enjoyable all around, generally, and improves the world. Every time I drag myself from my self-crafted pit of anxiety and despair about the world, to experience this moment right here, now, for what it is, savoring my experience, cherishing it, and favoring myself with my own affection, respect and consideration, I improve not only my own experience right now, but also ensure that I have the emotional resources to carry on when times are genuinely tough. Taking care of the woman in the mirror matters, too.

Today is a good day to be and to become. It is a good day to reflect my values in my choices and my actions, and the way that I interact with the world. It is a good day to be kind, and set clear boundaries. It is a good day to be there for someone else. Today is a good day to change the world. ❤

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Categories Anxiety, Brain Injury, Fiction, Free Will, Healthy Living, Logic & Reason, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, The Art of Being, The Big 5, War and News of War, winter, women, Words
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