I’m sipping my coffee and self-soothing an unexpected surge in anxiety through grounding myself in this moment, right here, now. I’m not sure why I woke feeling so anxious – most likely it was to do with waking up half an hour later than my planned wake-up, groggy, blurry-eyed, and feeling like every detail of the day was somehow thrown off over a small matter of timing. (It isn’t actually thrown off at all, in any practical sense.) I watered the lawn, headed to the office, and began the day in quite the usual way, without any stress, other than this unpleasant and unnecessary surge in my anxiety. I breathe, exhale, and relax, and working on letting that go. “Nothing to see here.”
Yesterday was a nice break from having a “crowded house” (for some values of “crowded” lol). My Traveling Partner and I enjoyed leisure moments talking about what we want to accomplish. It feels nice to connect more deeply, and to talk about what matters most to us, together. I admitted that I miss my wee library and my studio. We talked about the lack of opportunity for intimacy and individual solitude. It wasn’t a difficult or contentious conversation, just one that felt a bit overdue perhaps, and we welcomed the discussion (or so it appeared to me). We talked next steps and planning. We hung out together in comfortable intimacy, long-time friends, cherished lovers, partners.
I think ahead to my planned camping trip the first week of August. I’ll head out to the Clackamas River and camp solo, taking some “me time” to “get my head right”, hiking and meditating, writing, taking pictures, and maybe painting. I need this time for myself, most especially lacking any opportunity to be at home alone, like, ever. I feel a certain bit of irritation every time I realize, again, that the Anxious Adventurer has been alone in my home more hours (days) than I have myself – and I’ve been there five years to his one year. Circumstances have a lot to do with it, and I’m not begrudging anyone their alone time, just wishing I had a bit more, myself, without having to take off for the coast or the forest. I sigh to myself; resentment is an obstacle on the path. I exhale and let that go. I’m very much looking forward to my camping trip, and I’ll gear up for a bit of glamping, taking the solar generator, the camp fridge, and the cot (and extra padding for real comfort).
…It’s more about the solitude and opportunity for self-reflection than anything else…
I find myself thinking about the challenges the Anxious Adventurer found himself having with gear he wasn’t familiar with (the generator, solar panels, and fridge, which he took with him camping this week), and wonder if he understands the role his own resistance to learning plays in his experience day-to-day? I had listened as my Traveling Partner attempted, more than once, to explain how to connect the equipment, what to expect, how to use it skillfully, and some basic best practices for getting the most out of the gear – and I had watched as the Anxious Adventurer persistently got in his own way, reluctant to listen, distracted, and taking a foolhardy (and in other circumstances quite dangerous) “performative” approach to demonstrating mastery instead of being vulnerable and open to new information. I mean, I get it; that was once me. (Sometimes still is; changing myself takes practice.) Vulnerability didn’t feel “safe” for much of my early adult life.
It was my Traveling Partner who pointed out how my need to demonstrate “mastery” (even of things I didn’t actually have much knowledge of) amounted to self-sabotage, and helped me get past this thing that (for me) amounted to a critical character flaw. A book called “Succeed: How We Can Reach Our Goals” by Heidi Grant Halvorson was important for helping me really understand what he was communicating, more deeply. (I’m fortunate that I am able to learn quite a lot from reading, and that I am open to new knowledge and willing to practice things I want to become skilled at.) I’m grateful for the part my partner has played in being where I am these days. His willingness to be honest with me, to encourage me, to hear me out and offer guidance based on his own experiences has been incredibly useful – and profoundly loving. I dislike criticism (who doesn’t?), and it can be hard to hear things that sound critical, however well intended, but it is so important to be open to new perspectives, and willing to “see the world through other eyes”. I’m grateful for the shared journey. It is a reciprocal experience; he has learned from me along the way, too.
We each have to make our journey ourselves, as it happens. No friendly guidance can take the steps on the path for us. We’re walking our own path more or less alone, and our choices and actions are our own. Are you getting in your own way? You don’t have to. You’re making choices.
I’m not saying any of this from the perspective of some perfect higher truth or from the perspective of knowing or certainty. I’m a flawed human being, and I’m looking ahead to a future I can’t see. I make mistakes. I’m just one human being, willing to share what I’m learning – while I’m still practicing and still seeking to become the person I most want to be. I’m not telling you what to do, how to live, or being critical of your choices – those are your own, along with any consequences, and I wish you well. Sincerely. It’s already hard enough to succeed and thrive in this limited mortal lifetime without having to dig out from the piled on cruelty and criticism of the world strangers on the internet – I do want to share some few little things I learn as I travel my path. Maybe you find them helpful, maybe not.
We become what we practice. It’ll be much easier to practice being the person you most want to be, if you have some sense of who that is.
What do you value? What is your idea of “good character”? Where does your path lead? What are you practicing – and will it get you where you hope to go? These things are all connected, and they are important questions to ask, and to try to answer (even though the answers may change over time). I sip my coffee and think my thoughts, enjoying this moment of self-reflection before I begin this new day in earnest. This few minutes of contemplation has put my anxiety to rest, and my sense of timing is back on track. The sun is up. It’s time to begin again.
Evening Light 