Choosing change can bring such tremendous calm. Choices made become contemplation of next steps, a plan develops, new choices, other actions, and with care and consideration, momentum toward a chosen change begins to build. Plans begin to become outcomes. Through all of it, chaos is managed through practices chosen for their proven success at managing chaos. Meditation. Good self-care. Self-compassion. Non-attachment.
I’m walking my own path. I am my own cartographer.
Sure, I already know my results will vary. I understand that the map is not the world. I embrace the new beginnings life offers. I continue to practice, and work toward becoming the woman I most want to be. So far, it’s enough; incremental change over time seems to be something I can count on.
For now, I’m sipping my coffee contentedly. I’ve chosen change, and made a plan, and each step forward takes me a step further down my path. Where does it lead? I don’t really know that; the future, at least how I am able to experience it, is not yet written. There are changes that occur around me, some chosen by others, some simply turns of circumstance, and perhaps those will become the sorts of things that change something in my own experience, too. Change is.
I stare out at a gray wintry sky. It hints at rain. There is snow in the forecast. It’s a gray rather uneventful day. I think about baking coffee cake to snack on later. I smile recalling my Traveling Partner’s request for specific flavors, winter spices. Vanilla glaze on that, I think, sipping my coffee. It’s a lovely partnership to share, and I take a moment for gratitude as he walks away after standing close, rubbing my shoulders as I write. Hot coffee, cold day, and the warmth of being loved… nice moment.
“This too shall pass”, my brain rather grimly reminds me. I laugh back, because, sure, yeah, that’s true… but I have memories of love and partnership for a lifetime, and an enduring relationship to enjoy now, whatever the future may hold. That’s enough. More than enough. It’s honestly pretty splendid compared to a lot of the options in the vastness of human experience, right? 🙂
I look at the time. My break is over, and it’s time to begin again. 🙂
This morning is a quiet one. My first coffee came and went, while my Traveling Partner slept. I got some exercise in VR, he slept on. I managed to be a quiet human, on a quiet morning, and he manages to sleep. It’s a comfortable experience. I enjoy quiet mornings. I considered making a second coffee, but I also enjoy sharing some coffee time with my partner, so… I wait on that, and refill my water bottle.
…So quiet…
The hum and woosh of the heat on in the background mixes with the “sound” of my tinnitus. The steady clicking of fingers on keys seems unnecessarily audible (“clicky” keys on this keyboard). The morning continues steadily, quietly. My calendar tells me the quiet will last some time longer; my first call is later on this morning, and my work day starts quite early. I feel relaxed. Contentment characterizes the morning, so far. It’s quite pleasant.
Why am I making such a fuss over such a mundane thing as one quiet morning? Pretty simple; my brain and nervous system are very much wired to “make a fuss” over uncomfortable, painful, scary, awkward, and stressful situations – regardless whether those emotions are really warranted, or necessary – and that “fuss”, over time, becomes implicit expectations of life, generally, setting a tone for how I experience it. To provide some balance, to counter the “negative bias”, I make a point of being present for, and savoring, these simple unremarkable pleasures – making them, in fact, “remarkable” by doing so tends to make them feel more important, and increases the potential that my implicit experience of life will tend more toward being aware of what feels good, what is working, and what is just fine, and less toward chaos, baggage, and bullshit. 🙂 Do I know “for sure” that this “works”? Nope. I’m practicing. We become what we practice, though, and that I am very sure of. 😀
…I’m looking forward to that second coffee, though… 🙂
It’s funny how a long-held dream or goal sometimes unfolds very differently than I imagined it might. House in the country? Check. Well… I mean… it’s well away from the city, and there is a large-ish farm across the road… The house itself? It’s in a small suburban neighborhood at the edge of a small town. lol It’s not exactly “rural” in m most respects, and quite convenient – even rather “walkable” (although the country lane that runs between our neighborhood and the farm on the other side is perhaps less than ideal for walking; it’s a busy road, and narrow in spots).
I’m not complaining. I love this little house. I love the view from the deck. The house manages to be both larger than I thought I could afford, and much smaller than I thought I might want. lol There’s a lot of that sort of thing cropping up as dreams become realities. It’s a bit like a chapter in Alice in Wonderland. How lovely, though, that generally the translations of my dreams into reality have been so much more likely to be a pleasant surprise instead of a disappointment, these days. (I’ll note that I don’t think this reflects a change in “the way things turn out” as much as it reflects a change in my perspective on things and ways, generally.)
That gets me thinking about books I got over the Giftmas holiday that I haven’t yet finished, and other books I’d also like to read. I think about a favorite bookstore, and wonder when the pandemic will really end? I do miss a bit of proper shopping. 🙂 Today will be a good day to read, too.
Similarly, my anticipated “regular local mile” – which I figured would likely be right here in my own neighborhood (and that has been a frequent walk) – turns out to be nearby, but still about a 10-minute drive or so… and about 5 miles away. It’s a lovely forested walk. There is a 1-mile loop, and a 1/2-mile loop. It’s the sort of lush bit of forest that I love, and the trail carries me up and down the hills, and over a creek a couple times, and around and through the forest until it returns to the trailhead. It’s quite lovely. I’ll probably go there often. I went yesterday. I’m planning to go today – I may do both loops (I like it that much).
Yesterday the approach to the trailhead was quite foggy when I got started.
It’s a good season for walking and reflecting, at least here in the Pacific Northwest, in this area where winter’s are generally relatively mild. (Maybe snow or ice later in January, or in February?) I enjoy the walking for more than fitness; I find that it “clears my head” and gives me literal “breathing room” for sorting things out and “gazing inward” while I enjoy the scenery along the trail. Taking pictures helps keep me grounded and anchored to “now”, as I walk. (I don’t do well stuck in my head.)
It was a beautiful misty morning for a walk.
I remind myself to run an errand on the way back from my walk this morning. I mean… for sure, that’s convenient, why not? I hope I still remember when the time comes… lol
The Vine Maples and Big Leaf Maples extend their bare branches, but without their leaves, I can see almost all the way across the park from a high vantage point on one side.
The muddy trails don’t fret me. They are still passable and fairly safe, and I always bring my cane for trail walking or hiking. I love the tangles of branches, the morning mist, and the puddles reflecting the sky.
Lovely little city park. It’s enough. 🙂 More than enough.
I sip my coffee and look over yesterday’s pictures. They distract me from the pain in my neck, which is quite a feat. I smile and sip my coffee, feeling wholly content and satisfied with this moment, right here. I think of my Traveling Partner, hearing him move about in the other room. I’ll invite him to go walking with me. He’ll look out at the chilly gray rather rainy looking day, and smile and say “No, thank you.”
My partner appears in the doorway as if I’d called to him, just as I begin to turn my chair to go ask if he’d like to go walking with me. He looks apologetic, kind, and very serious. “You may want to just avoid me today,” he says in that loving apologetic tone I know so well, “I just hurt that much, and I don’t want to treat you badly or take it out on you at all.” I nod. I let him know I understand and that I’m okay with that; I hurt too. It’s not an ideal combination of humans-in-pain, sometimes. We take our best care of each other, some days, by alerting the other we’re not fit companionship, at all, and making room to love each other with a little space between us. It’s a much better practice than some I’ve seen, and it works for us. No hurt feelings. Clear expectations.
So…a quiet Sunday, a walk, some housekeeping, laundry, and I’ll probably bake cookies and bars for the week, too. Before any of that? I’ll have to begin again. 😀
Sometimes I have to remind myself (yeah, and this at 57) that most uncomfortable or unpleasant situations I may find myself in, and very nearly all difficult interactions with other people, have within them an opportunity to learn and grow… if I can sort out what exactly the lesson is. Sometimes I find it less than ideally obvious what could be learned from some challenging moment.
I take a break from working to reflect on how conversations flow. I have a long-standing personal challenge with interrupting people. I’m sure it is a byproduct of impaired executive function, one of many pieces of my TBI puzzle. I’m not saying that to excuse it, I’m just pointing out that it persists for reasons that seem likely to be associated with the underlying nature of the issue. I continue to work on it. I continue to interrupt people. It continues to be unpleasant for those who are being interrupted – I know that with certainty, because I myself also dislike being interrupted (and as a woman in America often speaking with, among, or to, men, I experience it regularly, I promise you, but it’s not the topic today).
…I continue to work on it.
…I continue to interrupt people.
Fucking hell. I know that it’s necessary to begin again. Practice deep listening. Slow down. Find the balance point between considering what I’ve heard for so long that I’ve forgotten to reply at all… and jumping in to respond before someone has actually finished their thought. Make a point of really noticing, observing, when I “get it right”, and a conversation flows naturally, everyone feels heard, talking is in turns… savor the successes, to build an implicit comfort with that timing and cadence, generally. Breathe more. Speak in a measured, comfortable pace that allows me to continue to breathe.
…So much to practice…
I rather expect I’ll be working on this one until my actual last breath… but my results have been known to vary. I do begin again, pretty reliably, and we do become what we practice… eventually. 🙂 Consider this one a bit of self-nagging on the way to beginning again. 😉
We become what we practice. Now to practice not interrupting… 😀
I heard from an old old friend this morning (he’s not that old, really, we’ve just been friends a long while). It’s been too long. It’s good to “hear his voice” again, even via email. Heart-warming.
I sit sipping my coffee thinking about threads and connections, and making a mental note to reach out to other old friends I haven’t heard from – or communicated with – in a while. We are social creatures. In a pandemic, there are perhaps additional verbs involved. Email. Actual letter writing (of the sort that requires pen, paper, an envelope, an address, and a stamp, and involves the postal system and many days waiting). Catching up on other blogs. Exchanging recipes, and anecdotes. Catching up on old times. New times. Other times. Changes…
…There are always changes…
Good coffee. Nice morning for it. Yesterday kicked off the new year very well, at least in this household. I smile feeling simultaneous gratitude and hopefulness. There’s another day ahead. One more after that in the long holiday weekend…then… back to it. All the things. It’s a season of change; I find myself wondering what to expect, although I know very well that expectations are very premature so soon in the new year. lol
This morning the rain falls from a gray wintry sky. I ache. I shrug off the awareness of physical pain, and nudge my thoughts in the direction of taking down the holiday décor. Good day for it. It’s time.
Evening Light 