I survived yesterday’s chaos with reasonable grace, I think. I’m okay with the recollection of the day, and the outcomes of various moments. The steady process of handling tasks to do with my Traveling Partner’s son moving in is well-underway, everyone doing their part to get everything done reasonably quickly. It’s a lot to do, and there’s still more. It’ll all get done in due time.
I am finding it quite interesting to see so many things learned over time reflected back at me through the lens of seeing these experiences and practices through observation of someone who has had quite different experiences in life, having not yet learned these things at all. My stepson seems to me a bit of an “anxious adventurer”, willfully and deliberately seeking new experiences and growth, by choice, while also finding the novel situations this puts him in quite uncomfortable and anxiety-provoking. (His results vary.) I’m impressed by his adventurous nature. I’m impressed by his will to fight through his anxiety. I’m concerned by his lack of specific life skills and his lack of exposure to some fundamentals of resilience and emotional wellness. Those concerns are in no way his “fault” and it’s not about blame anyway. He’s a fellow traveler and for the time being, also a family member residing with my partner and me. There’s a lot to learn, to share, to consider…and there’s time for all that. It’s the sort of thing that does take time – and practice.
For my part, the work involved in compressing my personal space to make room for The Anxious Adventurer is sometimes quite poignant. I worked so hard for so long to have some of the luxuries I’ve been able to enjoy these last four years… but my small library uses an entire bedroom (it’s also my meditation space). My art studio, doing double duty as my office, takes another. Somehow, just due to practical logistical considerations, I’ve ended up compressing most of these things into the smallest fucking room in the house. Since it’s not actually possible to do that in a literal sense, the books and shelves of my wee library will be relocated to the main bedroom. It’s fine. It’s all fine. None of this is intended to be permanent (as my Traveling Partner regularly reminds me).
… I do know how reality works, however, and I am familiar with the vagaries of “temporary” arrangements…
Mostly, I’m just looking forward to whatever the new normal may be, and figuring that out won’t happen until the moving and shuffling around of various things is really finished (likely some weeks after my Traveling Partner has his surgery and has subsequently also recovered).
I woke quite early this morning, ahead of the sunrise entirely. I have a Saturday appointment in the city which I already wish I had cancelled due to the inconvenience of its timing, but it’s an appointment for care with a provider who reliably actually helps. Seems foolish to cancel that, when my day-to-day pain would benefit from it so much. It’s the sort of foolishly short-sighted choice I am prone to make. I’m mostly glad I didn’t cancel, but my anxiety nags at me for “being so selfish” or “letting everyone else down”. (Which is one of the many lies my anxiety tells me.)
… I still find it quite difficult to make my own self-care a high priority, in spite of knowing how important it is…
I slipped quietly out of the house far earlier than necessary, this morning, but I think I managed to do it without waking either my Traveling Partner or the Anxious Adventurer. Win! I arrived at the trailhead just at daybreak. I walked the trail between river and marsh, listening to the birds and the sound of distant traffic (and my tinnitus). It’s been lovely. I had the trail to myself. I took my time. Stopped here and there for a picture or a moment. It’s been quite satisfying and joyful, and a delightful use of my time.
… I needed the break and the solitude…
I got back to the car too early to head to the city. I write a while. I meditate. I think about coffee. Maybe breakfast? In any case, it’s time to begin again.
