Archives for posts with tag: it’s not a cure

Home. It feels incredibly good to come home after being away. My beloved welcomed me with a warm embrace and we spent a happy evening together. It was lovely – and wow did he ever get a lot done while I was gone! It’s as good to “have him back” as it is to return home.

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

A hint of a sunrise. A new day.

I got to the trailhead at sunrise. I walked briskly to my halfway point feeling purposeful and capable. It’s a good start to the day and week.

…Sounds great so far…

…What woke me was anxiety blasting me through my dreams. That was less than ideal. Still, that moment is not now and the feeling passed before I had even finished dressing. The morning is peaceful and lovely, if a bit chilly. I chuckle to myself; a 7°C (about 45°F) would have felt pleasantly warm in January. I’m comfortable in the fleece I grabbed from the hook in the hallway on my way out. It’s enough.

It feels odd to return to work today after timeless days on the coast, sleeping and waking as I pleased, drinking too much coffee, and putting my time and attention on the woman in the mirror. Deeply engaged self-reflection seems to “slow the clock” notably, and I feel as if I’ve been gone from work for many days. It wasn’t even a long weekend! 😆

Did I solve all my problems while I was away? Hardly. I am essentially the same woman I was when I departed for the coast. Did I solve any major puzzles? Answer life’s important questions? Settle all of my doubts? Clear up all my chaos and damage? It is an unequivocal “no” to all of those things – but the time was well spent. I took care of myself. I rested, read, meditated, wrote, and indulged myself in worthy hours of thought, quiet, and stillness. I returned home more relaxed and clearheaded than I’ve been in a long while, and largely freed of compulsive (and no longer necessary or helpful) caregiving tendencies. Feels good to be back.

So here it is, a Monday. Nothing particularly special about a Monday. I’ve got a doctor’s appointment later, and a list of stuff to cover. It’s important to make the appointment time count, and to be as efficient as possible. I sigh to myself; I’ve also got a busy-ish work Monday ahead. I refrain from checking work tools from the trail; this time is mine.

The clouds form a strange pattern like fish skin.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I think about the thinking I did over the weekend, as I watched the tides come and go, and listened to passing rainstorms drum on the window and roof. I may not have solved the mysteries of the universe, but I covered some ground within my personal wilderness, and tidied up some “thinking errors”, and identified some habits I’d like to change. It’s enough to make some progress.

I look down the path. It seems like there’s always another mile ahead, however far I travel. I’m not bitching, just making a point to gently accept that the journey itself is the destination. Some days it will be enough to make some steps along the path, at all. Other days the miles will pass easily. It’s s very human experience.

I smile to myself and get to my feet. Today feels like a good day, and it’s time to begin again.

I slept through the night, waking to the artificial sunrise of my silent alarm. I dressed and left the house in the usual way. I arrived at the trailhead before daybreak, put on my boots, grabbed my cane, and began the trek down the trail.

I walk and breathe, my mind a mostly barren place, nothing really amounting to actually thought going on. I just walked.

… Strange morning…

My Traveling Partner pings me. No “good morning” greeting or inquiry about my state of being. Instead I get a hurt reminder that I had said I would pick up a package waiting in the mailbox. I’d forgotten, distracted by a moment of discord shortly after I got home yesterday. Shit. For the time being (and it is a recent change) we’ve only got one key to the mailbox, and picking up the mail now requires a return home to grab the key, or the foresight to take it on the way out the door. A suprisingly complicated change, once brain damage is accounted for. I sigh to myself. I do my best to do everything that needs to be done… Seems always just out of reach.

I’m now at my halfway point feeling aggravated, disappointed with myself, and fairly disinterested in interacting with “the world”… And it’s a fucking work day. Great. I ignore the slow tears dripping down my face. For the moment I have no patience with this very human experience. My Traveling Partner is having a difficult morning, himself. I do what I can to be supportive, compassionate, and kind. Maybe one of us will turn our morning around and have a good day?

I breathe, exhale, and… Well, I try to relax. I persist with trying to meditate, trying to let go of my irritability, trying to simply breathe and be… Inhale. Exhale. Repeat. How fucking hard does this shit have to be?!

Daybreak comes. I look down the trail and get to my feet. It isn’t all lovely mornings, big smiles, and beautiful sunrises. This is a very human experience, and sometimes there’s real work involved, and however “successful” the outcomes seem to be, the moment may still be quite unsatisfying or unpleasant. It is what it is. Another reason to begin again… and it’s time. I’ll do my best.

The last of twilight is gone. The house is quiet. The aquarium lights are off. There is stillness within, and stillness surrounding me. For many minutes I sat, also still, soaking in the awareness of the quiet, the serenity, the gentleness of the moment itself – neither extraordinary, nor memorable – before turning to words. Those sorts of still moments are so easily missed; it seems wise to savor them when I can, so I sat wrapped in the stillness, breathing, calm, content…really, just enjoying it. Awake. Aware. Compassionate and not judging; observing attentively, present and engaged. Words. Frustratingly, the words don’t do the feeling justice, at all. I am tempted to hit ‘save draft’ and crash for the night… I am not ready for sleep.

Evening light

Evening light

There are more things to consider than things that truly need to be said…or… said by me. Perhaps, tonight, fewer words, and a few more minutes to consider the words already said? More stillness. Some handful of moments smiling in the darkness, this gentle pleasant now a small gift from me, to me – the tiniest down payment on a substantial debt I owe to myself.

Spring flowers and ice.

Spring flowers and ice, a mixed message.

Not even 300 words…but I’ve been writing for more than an hour, pretty continuously. I get so far, then…delete back to the last thing that said…something. Words are failing me this evening. I’m okay with that…and that’s mostly what I am saying; I’m okay. For now. Generally speaking. I feel a feeling of safety built on my own strength, lately. I practice a lot of practices to be here for myself. (I’m not bitching – I’m just saying it’s not a magical transformation born of some ‘aha!’ moment; I’ve been working at this.) It’s been worth it. Start somewhere. Start small. Don’t quit. Enjoy the small changes; eventually the changes don’t seem so small, after all.

It's hard to photograph birdsong...

It’s hard to photograph birdsong…

Oh, hey…Seriously? There’s no magic to any of this. I still have bad days. I still make mistakes. I still struggle with challenges that may not improve much more and require good-natured self-acceptance, a sense of humor, and the will to just keep at it (because change is). I still cry when I’m frustrated. I still feel angry when I am mistreated. It’s all very human; that part just doesn’t change. I think, right now, in this quiet still and very peaceful moment, it’s easy to look past all the hard stuff. It does take practice. There are verbs involved. (Your results may vary.)