Archives for posts with tag: incremental change over time

It’s the last day of a long holiday weekend. I generally wrap up long weekends or vacations with chores, the sort of day-to-day housekeeping sorts of things that return life the a more practical experience consistent with ordinary days, and weeks, eventually putting a bit of distance between the experience of celebration, and the experience of ‘everyday life’. This morning I find myself engaged in many of those same practical endeavors, but somehow still celebrating, still wrapped in joy, still feeling grateful… I’m not bitching. I’m finding it quite wonderful, and making a point to invest generously in this morning of practical joy, and everyday gratitude.

This morning it feels very ‘natural’ to feel grateful while I sort laundry, to feel joy while I empty the dishwasher, to feel a sense of worthiness while I vacuum. I won’t dissect the feelings right now – it is worthwhile to embrace and enjoy them, to savor this moment and let it become more of who I am. Sure, there are verbs involved, and it’s taken a lot of practicing of a variety of practices – many of them incredible difficult to pursue at a time when I didn’t value or appreciate the woman in the mirror. Getting to this place where it feels natural to feel good, and feels natural to celebrate, and to enjoy my experience, has taken almost 3 years now (more, I could count way further back, but my path took a significant turn about 3 years ago) of practicing, of meditation, of study, of learning to treat myself well, of learning to love – and to allow myself to be loved in return – there have been (and are, and will be) verbs involved – and a personal commitment to action, to change, and to beginning again when things don’t work out well, and letting go of attachment to expectations, and outcomes.

The most delightful thing about being here, this morning, on this day, feeling the way I do right now is that there will be other days when I am having a different experience altogether – and I will know to treat myself well, I will know that challenging moments and experiences will pass, and I will know that however bad it is, I will be able to begin again. I’ll have this moment, right here, to remind me of the vast potential for joy and gratitude – and delight, and love – that is near at hand when I am ready and able to reach for it. It’s a pretty big deal to find an emotional anchor to a moment of profound contentment and delight within reach in other less pleasant moments, it’s an even bigger deal to build one with my own choices.

There is value in learning to allow joy to cast a bigger shadow than my sorrows do.

There is value in learning to allow joy to cast a bigger shadow than my sorrows do.

Today is a good day for practical celebrations and taking care of home and hearth with the eager commitment of preparing for an honored guest, to really welcome the woman in the mirror home. She is worthy of the best I have to offer the world.

It’s seems true that when I become complacent I put myself at risk of failure, mostly by decreasing my moment-to-moment awareness of all the other sorts of risk. If I stop paying attention, I am more likely to misjudge distance, make a mistake, or make a choice that seems useful in that moment, unaware what a poor fit it will be for the next. Things get broken.

I don’t break very much stuff, generally, but I also live the self-perception that I ‘am clumsy’ and am (or if not now, once was) inclined to break things ‘by accident’ through careless handling. I got yelled at a lot for it (and worse). Over time, I developed careful habits and as an adult in her 50s (and as far back as my late 20s), I rarely break things. I do now and then; I am human. For so many years, breaking or losing something would just devastate me – it felt like a portion of my memory and experience were being ripped from my grasp, each possession being a sort of totem or artifact of some particular experience or memory. I learned, over time, to cling to possessions – not because having  material goods is a big deal, but each precious thing holds the power to bring my memory to life, and I don’t want to forget.

Someone else breaking something of mine has been easily able to wound me on a deeply emotional level – particularly if the damage is willfully wrought by angry hands. It has been traumatizing. Damaging. Part of that pain likely comes from the incorrect assumption that someone else has any real capacity to understand how much pain such things can cause me, and that they know how they are hurting me – it’s doubtful they do; it’s not rational-reasonable-appropriate. That thinking is part of the chaos and damage. To be so easily hurt by something being broken has long been part of who I am. The willful breaking of a lovely stemless wine glass by someone in a fit of rage permanently changed a promising long-term relationship, for example; that person never looked the same in my eyes, and I lost all ability to feel comfortable or secure around that individual, compounded by their lack of concern, lack of caring or awareness, and the lack of even a pro forma apology, the experience said things to me I could not ignore. But…

We've all got baggage.

We’ve all got baggage.

The baggage is my own, and it’s been heavy to lug around so much attachment to so many things. Like Jacob Marley’s chains. Oh, shit – is that the point of that? I just got that.

Details

Hand-crafted luggage.

Last night as I moved through the small hallway of my apartment, I noticed… my foot. I have two of them, they are right there at the bottom of my legs, and I’m often standing on them. I generally have no real awareness of the compression of feet to floor and body above, but for a moment my left foot felt strange – like I had trod across scotch tape, or gum, or… like something was sticking to the bottom of my foot. I stopped where I was and reached out for balance, standing on one foot. I grabbed the top of my desk (meaning, I think, to put my hand on the wall), forgetting that the hutch has remained free-standing all this time – because when I moved in, I was not sure this would be the permanent placement for the desk. (You know where this is going, right?) I jostled that hutch, and it wobbled a bit – and everything on top came crashing down, bouncing off the desk, off the keyboard, off the chair, spilling memories and small bits of things all over the floor. As I exclaimed, I grabbed the edge of the hutch firmly and steadied it; it didn’t fall.

Memories everywhere. Broken small breakables…everywhere. Well, not everywhere – just all over the carpet in a blast pattern from the desk to the kitchen. Something important didn’t break – and this is the point of this entire bit of writing this morning; the one thing that didn’t break, the most important thing, is my heart. No tears. No freak out. No despair or devastation. No feeling that these memories were now ‘gone forever’. No sense that I had ‘lost everything’. No fear that I would not be able to ‘fix it before anyone notices’. No terror. I wasn’t even mad. It was an ‘oh, damn, well let’s get that cleaned up’ sort of moment, and nothing more. This stopped me in my tracks, briefly . I sat down, took stock of the chaos, and then got to work picking it up, filled with a feeling of love and compassion for the years that I carried so much pain over such tiny things, and finally understanding how connected the experience was to the domestic violence in my first marriage, as much as to my injury; although I noticed the lack of sorrow and tears, what stood out most last night was the lack of fear.

There were some casualties, but it is the memories that are precious, more than the things.

There were some casualties, but it is the memories that are precious, more than the things.

I spent the remainder of the evening in a celebratory mood. It’s worth celebrating incremental change, and growth and healing over time. I savored the experience of feeling calm in the face of the sudden disarray of precious things, and I enjoyed handling each broken item with joy and contemplation of its significance and appeal. I sorted things as I went… this one can be fixed… this one turns out not to matter much… this one isn’t damaged… this one is beyond repair… this one might become something new… No tears. I wondered, at the time, if I would at some point suddenly find myself weeping with some small object clutched in my hands, hysterical with sorrow, as has happened so many times. It hasn’t happened yet. I am not that woman, now.

I think it is worth observing that while I find this a profoundly positive bit of growth, I didn’t chase it down aggressively and practice practices targeting the experience of despair and grief over the loss of small things. The improvement was a ‘freebie’ – a byproduct of practicing practices, general good self-care, improving my relationship with myself, learning to treat myself as well as I also want to treat others, and improving on my sense of perspective in life. Incremental change over time being what it is, once I had changed enough, I noticed it. Last night was like an unexpected gift from a loved one – only this one is from me, to myself (and still manages to be a surprise).

Learning to treat myself well, and take care of me with skill feels like a homecoming.

Learning to treat myself well, and take care of me with skill feels like a homecoming.

Today is a good day to take care of me. As it turns out, practicing good self-care can change the way the world feels. 🙂

This is an easy restful weekend so far. I slept in again this morning, and although I woke stiff and in a lot of pain, aside from that – which is annoyingly commonplace at this point in life – it’s a lovely weekend, relaxed, and still somewhat productive. I’m not ‘trying’ to get here. I didn’t head into the weekend with a firm plan to relax, or to rest, or to tackle a big list of stuff to do. The weekend began. I’ve continued to practice the practices that work best for me – I’ve meditated more than I often to (which already tends to be often), and probably done less yoga than I could have (and might be in less pain if I had chosen differently).

Yes, of course, coffee. :-)

Yes, of course, coffee. 🙂

I tend to associate the verb ‘trying’ with focused effort and a very specific outcome in mind. I also associate ‘trying’ with frustration; trying puts me on a more direct path to failing, by setting specific expectations of which actions must lead to what outcome. I’ve got challenges with frustration – it is my worst emotion, inasmuch as I just don’t deal with the experience of feeling frustrated well; it quickly becomes unreasoning anger, with risk of tantrums, tears, and actual quite dreadful headaches. As emotions go, I am least skilled with frustration. I find that when I let go of ‘trying’ to do something, or get somewhere, and simply get started on the task, or headed for the destination, building on good basic practices without becoming attached to a specific outcome, I not only enjoy my experience more, I definitely achieve my goals more easily – and more often – with less frustration.  It’s an experience to explore further.

Fancy

Sometimes the luxury self-care package includes a moment of self-indulgence – my salted caramel cafe au lait, Friday evening.

Friday night’s prolonged periods of reflection and meditation are still ‘seeping into my consciousness’. Yesterday was filled with “Oh!” moments of awakening, generally followed by abruptly stopping what I was doing at the time to pause, sit for a moment with the realization or new thinking, before moving on with the day. I ‘didn’t get anything done’ in the sense of practical matters being checked off a list of tasks, but I spent the day treating myself well, relaxing without guilt, and practicing practices that build emotional resilience for the work week to come, and ones that build the emotional self-sufficiency I will rely on for a lifetime ahead of me. With modern medicine in mind, there is every possibility that I will live beyond 100 years… making me more or less at the literal half way point in life, with a great deal more awareness than a newborn child has. These can be fantastic years ahead of me – handled appropriately. Certainly, there are more paintings to paint, more words to write, and more moments ahead of me.

...and more books to read. It's a good day for that, too.

…and more books to read, more poetry to write. It’s a good day for it.

I find myself asking a strange new question as I move through the hours of my days this weekend. “Is this the life you are choosing for yourself, for the next 50 years?” It’s not actually a yes/no limited question. The question is more intended to provoke reflection on who I am, how I live, and what my choices are – not only how I treat the world, and what I do with my time, generally – but also how I feel in the context of my own experience. Each time I ask myself the question, I take the opportunity to make some small change to improve on how I care for myself, how I treat others, and even how I think about my experience, and the world I live in. I am learning to value and appreciate my emotions without letting them take the driver’s seat; they communicate things about the nature of my experience that reason doesn’t notice right away [or at all, let’s face it; reason has a different mission].

…Now, if I can just figure out how to wring every last drop of delight, education, and value out of experiences that frustrate me, that would be quite spectacularly lovely! 🙂

It’s a good day for being, and for becoming. It’s a good day to try new things. It’s a good day to become more skilled at the things that work well. It’s a good day to honor progress, and appreciate all the small moments and interactions that delight me, educate me, and nourish my heart. Changing the world is a long process, relying on the incremental changes over time of a great many individuals – there are verbs involved. Changing the world within can happen over night; it’s a choice. [There are still verbs involved, and your results may vary. Practice. Begin again.]

I am sipping my coffee after a very good night’s sleep, and waking with relative ease to the sound of the alarm. I am in pain this morning, and so stiff that I’m more than a little grateful that my bed doesn’t rest on the floor – how would I get up? Sometime after the shower that eases some of the stiffness, and the yoga that moves that process along, and the meditation that insulates my nervous system and emotions from the battering the world may (or may not) deliver later, I am sipping my coffee and letting my mind coast…

Humble beginnings; the herbs in my garden have the power to change an entire meal.

Humble beginnings; the herbs in my garden have the power to change an entire meal.

I find myself considering how often the movies deliver to us a Hero (or more rarely a Heroine) who is somehow ‘The One’ – the only being in the right place, at the right time, with the right skills and a dash of good fortune and great sidekicks. They rarely seem aware they are The One. It takes persuasion, convincing, sometimes even force to get them to understand that ‘everything’ depends on them. Heroes are humble like that. At some point in any good tale, the Hero has some sort of awakening moment, at which point he (or she) recognizes ‘the truth of it’ and goes forth to save the day – with some luck, and the help of their trusty sidekicks. Most of us have a sidekick or two in life, someone – a friend, a family member, a work buddy, a lover – who is reliably ‘there for us’ when we need emotional support. Most often, we (and by we I mean ‘me’) don’t seem aware that we’re the hero of the story…that we are, in our own narrative, The One. So far so good in hero territory, I suppose…only…where’s that moment of awakening, when we each take on the world – or at least our own circumstances – and solve the puzzle, master the challenge, clear the hurdle, or conquer our foe? There’s a metaphor here, but there is also something very directly real and true in it. We do well to be our own heroes, and to embrace our opportunity to be The One in our own experience.

Remember Keanu Reeves, in The Matrix, that moment where he begins to do his virtual training in the matrix, learning to fight, to fly, all that? When did you last take your own education so seriously that you plugged into a machine and just went for it – for hours, or days, or years if it takes that? (It’s those damned verbs, again!) How much time do you put into becoming the person you most want to be, investing  your will in that endeavor with mindful deliberately chosen actions? I know I could do more, myself, and within the thoughts I find the questions that light the way along the path ahead.

Be ‘The One’. Be ‘The One’? What does that even mean, really? I hear it, and I feel a certain implicit understanding of the thing…but that’s hardly enough to manifest a change, is it? Being ‘The One’ in my own narrative, the hero of my own experience, implies that I value myself as worthy – even in my humblest bumbling and fumbling and inept moments, even as I learn things I didn’t know previously, even as I swing and miss, even as I try – when I meant to do. Being ‘The One’ in my own story means trusting the hero to save the day – all the while aware that I am my own hero, and saving the day clearly means there will be verbs involved, and as in any exciting hero’s tale, I will likely get it wrong once or twice, bring my world to the brink of disaster perhaps, but always finding my way at the last minute. Or something very like that.

Isn’t it okay to grow and learn and change? Isn’t incremental change over time part of the process of healing and growth? How much more easily will I make progress if I am seeing myself as the hero of the story – and actively investing in my further growth, trusting that the journey will take me where I most need to go, and accepting my missteps along with my great triumphs as being part of the experience all along? Yes, it is okay – totally okay. I know the truth of it, even as I struggle sometimes with the reality of how many damned verbs really are involved, and how relentlessly continuous the journey can sometimes feel. Being ‘The One’ has immense power to heal and transform and bring change…but there’s rarely a great prophet around to tell us who we are when we most need to hear it – making us, once again, ‘The One’ – the one with the message to the woman in the mirror.

A beautiful sunset, a cherished experience.

A beautiful sunset, a cherished experience.

I enjoyed last evening in the company of a friend. The conversation went a lot of places, and as with some friends more than others, the conversation was fairly ‘deep’. I woke this morning from dreams filled with reminders of things said, feeling inspired, and experiencing a deeper understanding of what being ‘The One’ in my own experience may require of me in will, and in action. I’m not likely to save New York City from disaster…or to save the world from alien invaders…but I very easily could be ‘The One’ who saves the day – my day – probably from me. 🙂

I take a moment, sipping my coffee, to appreciate how many times friends become sidekicks when I most need one, and how often sidekicks turn out to be great prophets revealing that particular truth I most need to hear. Today is a good day to be grateful for the connections I share with people – we are each so very human, each having our own experience – each the hero of our own adventure story – it’s quite wonderful when we connect, overlap, share the moment – and save the world.

Here it is another Friday, another weekend approaching, and I am eagerly looking forward to evening plans both tonight and tomorrow. The merriment of evenings spent in good company is delightful, and a worthy way to spend time. It’s also important that I don’t neglect the woman in the mirror; she and I will be hanging out, pretty much 24/7, and she has needs that must be met, regardless what fun is on the agenda for the weekend.

I sometimes get wrapped up in life’s fun, and find myself inclined to stray from the work of keeping the ‘fun machinery’ in good working order. I enjoy reading, writing, painting, gardening…on hot days long hikes are less appealing…as is breaking a sweat, generally, at all. lol. Here’s the thing, though, and no excuses – if I don’t get the exercise I need, my health is not as well-cared for as it might be – and I just get less done. Then I start gaining weight, too. There’s a balance to be struck, and that balance requires some verbs. [Okay, a lot of verbs!] It is so tempting, after a long work day, to put my feet up with a book, or my sketchbook, or take a seat here at my desk…and…relax…every day. Lacking exercise, that’s going to be hard on my chair pretty quickly, followed by hard on my poor feet, my wardrobe, and my bank account.

Bees are a common metaphor for busy-ness, commitment to purpose, or work ethic... I sometimes find  one of the challenging verbs is the one involved in grabbing a verb in the first place. :-)

Bees are a common metaphor for busy-ness, commitment to purpose, or work ethic… I sometimes find one of the challenging verbs is the one involved in grabbing a verb in the first place. 🙂

Why am I on about this, this morning? I gained a handful of pounds over the past few weeks of very hot summer weather, is all, and I’m irked with myself. 🙂 The past couple days I’ve been making a point of walking farther in the mornings, and doing yoga after work before I do anything else. There’s a system of thinking involved; and I took a moment to observe that allowing myself a bit too much slack regarding getting the exercise I need seems to coincide with a slightly less firm commitment to housework tasks I don’t personally favor (although I like the outcome), and a willingness to let things slide more than I am really comfortable with – even for a day or two. I am learning to ‘manage my injury’ differently over time, and I am learning to… ‘parent myself’? I guess that’s a good way to consider it. I am finding it easier to be less self-indulgent without treating myself poorly, or hurting my own feelings…and I am learning how urgently important it is, living alone, to be just a bit strict with certain practices that relate specifically to the things that must be done, and gently preserve some of the things I love doing, as more appropriately waiting until self-care tasks are handled. Setting priorities with myself, and limits, and taking myself to task without self-deprecation, or emotional abuse, is challenging – but it is the life lesson before me now.

A 'coffee flower' - each as unique as any other flower. I enjoy their brief existence, blossoming as I make my coffee, gone in an instant.

A ‘coffee flower’ – each as unique as any other flower. I enjoy their brief existence, blossoming as I make my coffee, gone in an instant.

 

I smile at the woman in the mirror between scrubbing the bath tub and making my coffee. “Welcome to adulthood.” I say it aloud, and with a smile – yes, yes, there are dishes to do every day, vacuuming, and a bed to make (because it is my preference), trash to take out, laundry to do…letting any of that pile up is quite precisely not my idea of ‘living beautifully’.

"Natural area" - unkempt beauty has a place...that place is not the kitchen, bath or living room. :-)

“Natural area” – unkempt beauty has a place…that place is not the kitchen, bath or living room. 🙂

 

Nagging myself with my ‘To Do List’ lost its effectiveness at some point recently. Why isn’t important; sometimes I learn to tune out something that matters. I move my daily task list any time it begins to fail me. It was once on paper. Later, it was a Word document, in outline form – that worked for a long time, because when I sat down to write, or catch up with the world, it was staring me in the face. Some time later, that also stopped working – so I moved it to an Excel file until that also stopped working. At one point in life I used sticky notes, but eventually stopped reading them. More recently I began using the Tasks feature on my Google calendar, that’s been quite exceptionally useful for a good long time…but… guess what? It’s time to move on, because my wily brain has become skilled at comfortably removing it from view to ‘get back to it later’, without ever actually following up. Mostly, everything that needs doing still gets done in a timely fashion – because I am committed to living beautifully and treating myself well. Still, the Tasks feature is no longer keeping me focused and engaged…so…now what?

Persistence pays off. Incremental change over time requires...time (and practice). We can begin again. And again.

Persistence pays off. Incremental change over time requires…time (and practice). We can begin again. And again.

I’ve begun putting an event on my calendar scheduling myself to “Live Beautifully”, on days when I have a need for reminders. It’s specific and time limited. In the event details I simply list some handful of specific tasks that do need to be done, that very day, to hold up my end of my commitment to living a beautiful life. Living alone, it’s all on me – the person I let down if I don’t follow through is me, too. I have reached a place in my life where taking care of my own needs is far more than a personal commitment, a necessity, or a responsibility… There’s more to it than that. I often feel as if I am ‘crafting my experience’ in a willful and deliberate way, with real consideration, and aware that how I treat myself actually matters to me. I am responsible for a lot the details of how my experience feels to me. Simple things from understanding that if I like the way carpet feels on bare feet that I must embrace the requirement to maintain that experience by vacuuming, and keeping the place ‘picked up’, to reminding myself to take care of that last dish, from that last beverage, before I go to bed – if I want to enjoy the experience of waking up to a completely tidy kitchen in the morning. Details. Exploring what I enjoy most about the experience of living my life puts more of the responsibility of doing the things to make the most of my experience in my own hands; knowing what I need and how to provide it for myself makes me utterly responsible for doing so. The verbs are inescapable.

Each mighty oak begins small and grows.

Even a mighty oak once needed room to grow.

So, this morning, I sip my coffee and think of the evenings to come – and how I will plan my time for the weekend, so that my goals and needs are also attended to. My calendar is open, my time commitment to living beautifully being planned around my social evenings…welcome to adulthood, indeed. Don’t forget to start the dishwasher. 🙂