Archives for posts with tag: intimacy

What a delightful day yesterday was. I was in a ridiculous amount of pain, but it didn’t halt the shared good time of visiting with an old friend. My Traveling Partner wasn’t in a great place, lacking the rest he needed, and apparently having developed a nasty sinus infection, but neither of those things threw off the great vibe. The Anxious Adventurer was welcomed and accepted and it seemed we all had a great time together, talking, laughing, listening to music, and sharing the moment. I made a delicious pasta dinner, and the Bolognese sauce was perhaps my best ever. Good times.

It’s a new day. New opportunities for connection, for adventure, for sharing the journey. My beloved Traveling Partner is getting some rest. The Author and I will head to the city to explore and talk and catch up. Making memories and looking for interesting books and having breakfast and the sorts of things we enjoy and simply can’t do, generally, due to geographical distance. Fun. I’m eager to begin. I love going out to breakfast, too, and rarely do it. It’s one of my favorite things.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. A whole day with a good friend? Sign me up! There will be time for stillness and solitude later.

I smile to myself. Short walk this morning. An icy cold and wintry walk down a frosted path sparkling under artificial light. Almost magical, but g’damned cold. Definitely time to begin again – with a bite of breakfast, a hot coffee, and conversation with a friend.

My timing is off this morning. I reached the trailhead too late to get a walk in before work. Disappointing. It’s a cold morning. I can walk later, over my lunch break, I guess. Where did the time even go, I wonder? I feel as if perhaps I’ve simply been moving slower, or didn’t account for needing to stop to put gas in the car. Something. Or maybe something else.

I’m mildly amused with myself and also a bit aggravated. I feel as though I am “distracted”, but as a state of being rather than a momentary condition. I don’t know what to do about it. My thoughts bounce and jitter, scraps and fragments, incomplete and inconsequential. It doesn’t bode well for the work day ahead.

I think about the weekend, instead. I’d like to paint. No studio. No room for it right now; my Traveling Partner has his new watchmaker’s lathe and it’s assorted parts and tools spread out on the dining table, being patiently cleaned up, assembled, and put to various uses for the first time. It’s a fascinating and delightful vintage tool, and I’m tickled to see it. No resentment over it, at all, but there is no room on that table for spreading out pastels and art supplies for work of a very different sort, and I seriously doubt any good would come of getting the delicate machine works of the lathe dusted with various pigments. lol I sit quietly thinking about where else I could go, and regretting that I don’t yet have a proper plein air setup ready. Last time I thought about it, I thought to myself “soon enough”… And clearly I was incorrect. lol

I sigh quietly and feel a pang of sorrow. I’d laugh about this with my Dear Friend and commiserate over the many untimely inconveniences of life, but she’s gone now. G’damn that sucks. Tears fill my eyes and I snarl at them dismissively.

At my last therapy visit, my therapist calmly noted that I “don’t really need therapy at this point”, and that I am “simply very sensitive and feel things very deeply”. He pointed out that I have the tools I need to handle most circumstances, and that although I have PTSD to deal with, it’s less a matter of acute mental illness and more an assortment of manageable concerns that are part of living my life. While it feels good to hear that, I guess, it’s also frustrating in the way any “disability” can be. It feels limiting and a bit “unfair”. He’s very correct about one thing that sticks with me; paying to see him and talk for an hour can’t replace the joy and connection of time spent with a dear friend.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I remind myself to reach out to old friends and stay caught up and connected.

…I remind myself to begin again, while there’s time.

Another quiet morning, aside from the ringing in my ears. I could do without that, but tinnitus is most vexing when I focus on it, so I turn my attention elsewhere. Inward. It’s a chilly morning. Definitely autumn and I am grateful for the sweater, and my fleece. I sit with my coffee and my thoughts.

… Just a couple more work shifts separated by an evening at home, and I’ll be heading to the coast for a much-needed break from… “everything”. Hilariously, to get this much-needed rest, this opportunity to recover from day-to-day exhaustion, I’ll have to exhaust myself further first, to ensure I’ve adequately prepared for my Traveling Partner’s comfort. Enough fresh towels available. Snacks and things within reach. Fresh tissues and such. Freshly made bed and clean linens. His laundry done and put away….

…Oh, and anything I need for myself…

… G’damn, I am so fucking tired. lol

Yesterday evening, as I happily prepared to gently lay newly arrived pastels in various hues of green into their places in my pastel case, I opened the case and… a tray stuck, then unexpectedly released and fell askew, dumping the fragile sticks. Several fell against the hard edge of the case, others to the firm surface of the wood tabletop. They don’t take well to such rough treatment and several of the delicate beautiful sticks broke into pieces. I suppose it’s no great tragedy, but my eyes filled with tears and my heart with disappointment and hurt. My fault. Broken things. I fought crying. It’s not as if the damage rendered them less useful at all…it just pained me to see them less than perfect, and by my own hand. My Traveling Partner was tender and supportive. He knows I’ve got strange baggage to do with such things. The evening finished quietly, without madness or hysterics. Win.

…Hell, I’d even forgotten about it, until just now, and I’m okay – that’s real progress!

I sit awhile with my thoughts. I watch the traffic on the highway beyond the trailhead parking lot. There won’t be daylight for walking before work this morning, but I came to this place anyway. It’s on the way to the office and lacks the glare of office lighting. lol I find a few quiet moments in a parking lot preferable to those same quiet moments in the office. (I could walk… I’ve got my headlamp. Taking “time for me” takes a variety of forms. This is one; just these few quiet solitary moments writing and reflecting.)

I catch myself missing my partner as though I had already gone. I think of him sleeping (I hope that he is) and tenderly wish him well. My heart is full of love and yearning. I love him and that experience is a huge part of my life. Has been for… going on 15 years now. Wow. The time seems subjectively so much shorter. My longest intimate relationship over a lifetime. He’s stuck with me through an impressive assortment of circumstances and challenges. I’m grateful and… something else profound and heartfelt and joyful that I haven’t got a word for. Interesting. Maybe I can find the colors to describe it somewhere in my pastel case? lol

… I think it would be nice to get a short walk in, in spite of beating the sun to the trail this morning. I reach for my cane and my headlamp. It’s a good time to begin again.

Let me share an interesting story of coincidence, love, and – just maybe – one of life’s mysterious details. It begins (and, mostly, ends) with an ear worm on a long drive. I was driving home from my camping trip, with a snippet of music stuck in my head. It was familiar and unfamiliar at the same time… like a piece of music I’d surely heard at some point, but can’t say I’m particularly familiar with, don’t listen to really at all, hadn’t heard recently anywhere… nonetheless, I kept humming it, kept trying to “figure it out” with da-da-dah’s, and dum-dee-dums… could not place it, at all. Kept humming it, kept trying to sing it, kept driving…

I finally arrived home, and soon after I made a point of mentioning the song stuck in my head to my Traveling Partner, and how mysterious it was to have this unfamiliar (and, I suspected, possibly “classical”) music stuck in my head (still). He rather matter-of-factly asked me to sing it for him – a request that in many years past I would have been purely unable to accommodate for anyone, and would have frozen me completely with dread and anxiety (I promise you, I’m no singer). Still, with love and trust in my heart, I went for it… carefully trying to capture the phrasing of the tune, and hopefully not be too terribly off key… it began quite slowly with a soft prolonged note… then a cascade of notes with a very distinctive cadence. It was what I could recall, and as I’d been singing it to myself for literal hours, that bit was pretty firmly fixed in my recollection. I was inclined to simply repeat it many times, though I felt certain there was “more to it than that…”, and said so. My partner had a most peculiar look on his face, and muttered something about how unlikely…

…He turned to his keyboard, and pulled up a piece of music… “That’s it!” I exclaimed. “Is this it?” he asked almost at the same time. He told me he’d been listening to it that very day… and we compared the time and timing… I was “listening to it” at the same time he’d been listening to it… though he’d never shared it with me, or said anything about it. Classical music isn’t really “my thing” generally… Bolero. Huh. Now when I hear it (and I’ve listened to several versions since that day), I entirely associate it with him, with us, and with this love we share. How strange is love? How strange is this odd coincidence?

I’ll say now that I tend to be a rather practically minded woman, day-to-day, largely because without the secure “guardrails” of rational thought, I could easily stray into the surreal, the unfounded, the ridiculous, and even the conspiratorial…but… I don’t know everything. None of us know “everything”. There’s a lot out there yet to be known, by anyone at all. There are mysteries still unsolved, unexplained. I put pretty much everything “ESP” or “psychically” connected into that category. No proof, really, so… I just don’t know. I refuse to stake a claim to knowledge or adopt an attitude of certainty. I recognize a coincidence when I experience one. I’m familiar with the bizarre and unusual. Like I said, there’s much I don’t know. I’m okay with uncertainty and with not knowing.

…I do know that I now love the music of Bolero, and this human being who listened to it on the day it was stuck in my head, when we were separated by distance and connected by love…

Does it need to be anything more than what it is? Does it need an explanation at all? I don’t think so. It’s enough just as it is. Mysterious and fond. Like love. 🙂

Weird weekend. (I could stop right there, honestly…)

“Baggage” is a tough challenge for people who have been traumatized. It can be super hard to put that shit down, and properly “begin again”. Our baggage tends to linger in our hidden corners, tucked away carefully where it’s difficult to see how problematic our thinking has become. We struggle with decision-making and outcomes that create an unpleasant experience or prevent us from thriving in our lives. It’s hard sometimes.

I’m hopeful that a particularly painful and difficult conversation with my Traveling Partner really does have the promising positive outcome it appears that it may… I’ve just got to set down some baggage and back away from it, then do some things differently going forward. Him too, I suppose, although in this instance the focus was for sure on me and the chaos and damage I sometimes struggle with.

Love and words. So many words. So much love.

Once we were “on the other side” of that difficult conversation, we enjoyed our evening together. I woke this morning feeling loved (and hopefully he did too). I’ve got a massive headache, still managed to enjoy a cup of coffee with my partner before I left for the local co-work space I sometimes work from. So far a promising start to the day and week. Nice.

Moving back into my studio was a sort of mix of manual labor and thoughtful work and careful selection. Now that it’s finished, I can’t fathom why I stalled for so long. I find myself returning to my studio again and again, thinking about creative projects. I’ve rekindled my eagerness to finish a particular manuscript that has been languishing in a file on my hard-drive for awhile – almost a decade. Long overdue, and I did not understand that two things were holding me back: 1 poem I had included that I had serious second thoughts about, and those journals tucked away in a bin. Funny; I took care of the journals, and now project after project that had been stalled seem to percolate to the surface for their moment.

What’s holding you back? When will you tackle that?

How much baggage are you dragging along every day? How much can you “just set down” and walk away from? Are there things you could let go of, that you… just don’t? What is that doing for you? (Seriously, you probably wouldn’t cling to some of that sticky bullshit if you weren’t getting something out of doing so, if only the strange comfort of familiarity – which is totally over-rated.)

I’m no therapist, just saying – lightening the load makes for an easier journey. 😉

I sip my coffee and think my thoughts. There’s a garden to plan. A life to live. Love to embrace and nurture. Already time to begin again.