Archives for posts with tag: meditation
« Older Entries
Newer Entries »

Morning, and Coffee

July 21, 2015 //
0

This is a simple good morning, right here. With some effort, I come up with a couple really first-rate topics on which I could be writing.  I sip my coffee, and make a note elsewhere. I add them to the running list of potential topics for other days. (While each new idea this morning is certainly worthy of my attention at some point, they do not hold my attention this morning.)

I contentedly sip my coffee without concern over waking up later than usual, or falling asleep earlier than usual last night. It’s not cause for panic, and unlike nights that are short on sleep, the deviation from my routine is likely healthy rather than potentially harmful – I probably needed the rest. Yesterday was a hot day, and I walked to and from work, and did so also over my lunch break. I enjoyed somewhat longer routes, too, beating my loose goal of exceeding 5 miles a day of walking. I did enough yoga, before and after work, to ease stiff joints – and enough to ‘get some exercise’, too. Tired at the end of the day seems reasonable. I didn’t even ‘over sleep’ my alarm; I woke and reset it for another half an hour of sleep. (There are some nice advantages to getting up so early each day.) There’s no stress over any of this… only coffee.

Enough.

Enough.

I sip the fragrant dark roast and wonder just a bit at how obviously it is ‘not my favorite’. Having moved into my own place, and finally feeling really ‘settled in’, I am finding moments of surprise that my taste has changed, or that I didn’t understand some detail about myself better. I did not expect that there truly would be a ‘getting to know me’ stage in all this – as with building any new relationship. Who is this woman in the mirror? When did she stop preferring the very darkest roasted coffee? When did she start being okay with sleeping in now and then – even on a work day?! I rub my eyes sleepily, and continue to sip my coffee – daydreaming about the Brazilian coffee I had just the other day. (It was a small sample, only, and it is gone – utterly enjoyed to the finish.) Is that the coffee I most enjoy? What else about me is not who I expected to find on the other side of the mirror?

Who am I “really“?  What does that question mean? In a world so driven to perform, to compete, to ‘measure up’, to achieve, to present an ideal image – I guess I am not surprised to find that in a safe, calm space, characterized by day-to-day contentment, I am able to explore details of who I am – and find surprises. Too much precious time is spent ‘selling ourselves’ to the world, or trying to be something someone else wants. Giving up on that is a start, but apparently like any journey… simply beginning down the path of authenticity is just a start to a much more involved process. I spend enough time with myself, in gentle solitude, that I can hear the softest voice within expressing those preferences that have been beat down, held down, and twisted for far too long.

I actually do like my coffee black, most of the time. It is my preference. Adding half and half and something sweet is nice for a treat now and then, but it isn’t my day-to-day preference at all. I didn’t know that until I moved into this space, alone with my coffee and my choices. Where espresso beverages are concerned, a simple vanilla latte is my favorite – and I like it best made by my traveling partner (his are without question the very best lattes for texture, temperature, mouth feel, and given the right beans, for flavor as well) – but lattes are a treat. Calorie laden and creamy, they are very much a dessert sort of thing, for me.

There is a lot to learn about myself. I’m living in an environment where the “I” in “who I am” really stands out – good qualities and those less good as well. I am learning how much of my day-to-day experience of the past has been compromised to better suit other people over the years. I lost my way here and there, and wandered off a path I didn’t know I was following. I allowed myself to cave to pressure to conform, to change, to be something other than the creature I am…and didn’t follow-up with me, to find out who this person is, resting within this fragile vessel, and to make sure her needs are met, too. There’s joy in getting to know me, in becoming comfortable with myself, even in finding out that I prefer my tuna casserole with broccoli instead of peas, and that I like the mushroom sauce to be made from scratch using crimini mushrooms…and that I like to top it with fried onions. Those things are not ‘important’ taken one by one… but if I spend my lifetime doing things in the fashion that most suits others, when do I take time for me? At what point must I acknowledge that I don’t know me, anymore, and question who the hell those others think they are involved with, in the first place? (Cuz… it may not be me.)

I will, thanks. :-)

I will, thanks. 🙂

It’s a quiet morning over my coffee, content to listen to morning become day through the open patio door, and content to feel the soft breezes cooling the apartment. Contentment is quite a lovely feeling. Today is a good day for contentment, and a good day to know myself.

Tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Categories Brain Injury, Free Will, Healthy Living, Mindfulness, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, Summer, The Art of Being

Who’s Your Bestie?

July 12, 2015 //
3

If someone had asked me 5 years ago who my bestie is, I would have offered a name, maybe two. I would have made my choice from the few of my dearest friends of long-standing historical association that I recognize as ‘always being there’ for me, and figure that I had answered that question accurately. 3 or 4 years ago I would have answered that my traveling partner is my best friend, and even to this day those words feel ‘true’. If you asked me today my answer would be “me”, and sitting here in the cool stillness of a weekend morning, that feels very true indeed, although I have used a lot of verbs to get here from a very different place with myself on a journey that began not so very long ago.

The woman in the mirror and I have been through a lot together, and haven’t always treated each other well. I’ve found her actions (and her motives) suspect, more than once, and she hasn’t always ‘been there for me’, historically. We’ve worked hard for the past couple years to come to a better understanding, a ‘meeting of the minds’ that sweeps the chaos and damage aside, and it’s been worth it – because all my other friendships and associations have improved, where improvement has been an option. There is still free will to consider, and not all the choices to be made are mine. I’ve lost a couple of friends along the way, who did not find me suitable friend material as they got to know me through my growth and changes; I am not the person I once was, perhaps, or not the person they wish to know. I could take that all very personally – rejection does suck. It’s quite painfully, actually… but the woman in the mirror has a lot to offer me, and compromising that relationship is a ‘deal breaker’ in any other.

I spent yesterday wrapped in love. In the morning, I hung out with my new bestie – the woman in the mirror – and took care of me by way of mindful service to home and hearth. I enjoyed the simple practices of household chores attentively, bringing additional order to corners of chaos, revisiting prior storage solutions along the way and improving on them, doing some aquatic gardening to keep the aquarium in its usual day-to-day state of loveliness. I have at long last learned that while it is wonderful when the outcome appears effortless, this is not to be confused with any actual lack of effort. There are verbs involved in living beautifully. It was a lovely morning that finished with yoga and a shower, and plenty of time for meditation and study before my other bestie joined me for the evening.

My traveling partner joined me for the evening. We had talked about setting up the big TV, even wall-mounting it; the age of the apartment building, and the construction quality caused a change of heart on wall-mounting anything seriously heavy on that wall. (Something so permanent will have to wait for a home that is truly my own, next year sometime.) We had also talked about doing some upgrades on my laptop; the SSD for that purpose arrived safely just the other day. My traveling partner arrived and… we enjoyed the evening. That was what we did – enjoyed each other for a few hours. No work. No chores. No agenda. No planned activities. We did what I love to do with my traveling partner so very very much; we hung out, talked, and enjoyed the simplest of joys – the pleasure of each others company. It was quite delightful. It was…more than enough. I am still smiling.

I could wax rhapsodic on the topic of love and loving, my traveling partner, and endless delightful minutes spent wrapped in love…but…you had to be there. I linger on the recollection long enough to stall my writing and distract me, and I am content with that and uncritical, but there’s nothing more to say about the evening that doesn’t stray into overshare, or to details more personal that I prefer to share in such a public forum, or… writing dialogue, which I’m not skilled at. It was a lovely evening, well-spent with my bestie, loved and loving. It would be misleading to say we got nothing done – we did the one thing that truly matters; we loved each other, sharing our experience for a time.

“Communion” 24″ x 36″ acrylic on canvas w/ceramic and glow 2011

Lovers come and go. In my own life, that’s been true of partners and spouses as well. Of my 4 significantly long-term relationships as an adult, 3 ended on such poor terms we do not speak (which makes sense since those relationships were characterized by chronic mistreatment of one sort or another, each contributing in some way to my chaos and damage). I am inclined to recognize all three has having been abusive, and damaging. Of those three relationships now behind me, none began as a friendship. My traveling partner, on the other hand, was a friend long before we became lovers. Many of my friendships are relationships that span decades – longer time periods than those ‘long-term’ relationships, by far. Some of my friends have been lovers along the way, without damaging the friendship we share. I have learned something about my romantic needs; I value the friendship, and having the foundation of future romances in a legitimate friendship with a firm foundation is a requirement these days. In principle, for me, meeting sexual and romantic needs has never required the ‘permanence’ of a long-term relationship, and I am not monogamous. In practice, over time it has become clear that monogamy is not the issue for me; I value, and need, a connection on a deeper level to enjoy everything I know sex can be, and those are the qualities I crave most from sex (and love). Lust doesn’t build the kind of connection I yearn for – friendships do; there are no short cuts to emotional intimacy, even for a woman with a disinhibiting brain injury. I no longer bounce from bed to bed, or fill my nights with hook ups, as I did in my twenties and early thirties; these are not practices that meet my needs over time. I am also not looking for ‘the one’ – I found her in the mirror. She likes to spend time with her friends.

It is an interesting journey, this ‘life’ thing. 🙂

Today I am enjoying my morning coffee with a smile, thinking of love, lovers, and good connections. Thinking of friends, old and new. This morning I will have brunch with one of my dearest friends of many years – a man of exceedingly gentle character who has known me since I was defending myself from the world by being permanently on the offense, emotional weapons of mass distraction set to kill, and existing as a land mine on the journey of other unwary travelers. He has seen more of my growth over time up close than most of my friends, and has been both encouraging and delighted to see me become kinder, compassionate, gentler with myself and others, and more aware as the years have passed. I am eager to hang out over a meal and share new growth – hell, I’m even learning to listen more than I talk, these days, and he may be able to get a word in edge-wise, himself. 😀

Today is a good day for brunch with a friend. Today is a good day for love. Today is a good day to hang out with the woman in the mirror – she’s a good sort, and she really cares about me. Today is a good day to treat the world as well as I am learning to treat the woman in the mirror.

Tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Categories art and the artist, Brain Injury, Free Will, Healthy Living, Love, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, Summer, The Art of Being, The Big 5, Words

A Woman of More Than a Few Words

July 6, 2015 //
0

I will not ever be described as ‘a woman of few words’. I use a lot of words. I don’t, myself, mind that I tend toward verbosity in both speech and text; I tend also to attract people who similarly enjoy words. My traveling partner once noted “you have a lot to say”. Maybe. I certainly say a lot. Sometimes it gets in the way of saying what I most mean to say, or need to say most urgently. I can take a while getting to the point. I seriously overuse metaphors. I sometimes don’t notice the glazed look in someone’s eyes when they are finished listening before I have finished talking. It makes asking ‘do I ever actually finish talking?’ a worthy question.

I spend a great deal of my time these days not talking. Living alone, and not being the sort to talk to myself, generally, there are often hours where there is no sound of human speech in my living space. I don’t talk to my fish (very often). I don’t talk to inanimate objects, or my Barbie dolls (yes, I said it, and it’s true; I still play with my Barbies). I am not in continuous communication with other human beings, or in regular daily communication with any but my traveling partner…and you, right here. Facebook gets a share of my attention, but it rarely feels like ‘conversation’ as much as it feels like passing notes in class. I am, oddly, not at all talkative – until you place another human being in front of me. Then… yeah. I don’t seem to even notice how continuous the flow of words are then. Eventually, I may become aware that I’ve gone on too long, but… I lack sensitivity to those cues. I am a beginner, still working around the edges of life’s curriculum, and hoping for a passing grade reflected in good quality of life, and good relationships over time. I am learning to be patient with myself – it’s slow going on some points.

I interrupt a lot. I’m working on it, however it can be slow going when I lack continuous awareness of my tendency to snag any breathing space between someone else’s use of language to continue my own. It’s rude – admittedly so, but without ill will, I assure you. My brain injury doesn’t excuse the resulting poor behavior, just puts the challenge in front of me (often) to be addressed over time. What’s so irksome for me is that I really enjoy listening to other people – they have stories to tell, a different perspective and history than my own, they are a living record of their slice of the human experience – and I love hearing about it. I want to know more…If I can only stop myself talking.

I was concerned that living alone would worsen the tendency to talk over people, to interrupt people, or to ‘talk too much’ (I define ‘talking too much’ as exceeding that point at which people no longer want to listen, or having crossed some boundary by continuing the discussion). Interestingly, that seems not to be the case in conversation at all; I’m finding it somewhat easier not to interrupt – perhaps simply losing the habit of continuous speech because I am not with people almost 24/7? On the other hand…my writing tends to be somewhat more verbose these days, exceeding 1k words in almost every post. Seems harmless…you can always set it aside and come back to it later. Or not.

I think my point this morning is that I had some expectations of myself and my behavior in the context of living alone that seemed well supported by what I understood about myself, and those expectations proved to be every bit as unreliable as any other untested expectations. I was incorrect. It seems instead that living alone is doing something positive to help me build the skills to bridge the communication gaps that have gotten in the way for so long. (I’ve wrecked some valuable relationships because someone dear to me just couldn’t get a word in edgewise. Ever.)

"Taking Another Look at Me" 11" x 14" acrylic on canvas w/mirror 2011

“Taking Another Look at Me” 11″ x 14″ acrylic on canvas w/mirror 2011

Part of my commitment to myself this past Independence Day is to allow myself – to require myself – to step away from my own assumptions about who I am, and take another look at the woman in the mirror – change is, and perspective matters. What about you? When was the last time you took a look at who you are with beginner’s eyes, really accepted the changes that have molded you over time, and paused to reflect on where you are right now, with yourself, with who you are, and with what  you really want of life? When was the last time you swept away the expectations and assumptions that hold you back, and limit your decision-making freedom, or your growth?

What could be more worthy of study than communication? Even though we are each having our own experience, we are all in this together.

What could be more worthy of study than communication? Even though we are each having our own experience, we are all in this together. (detail from “Communion” )

Today it won’t take 1k words to be this woman I am, and to be open to the vast number of options, decisions, choices I am free to make. If I can let go of my assumptions about myself, if I can set aside my expectations of myself based on those assumptions… can I similarly do so in all my interactions, with each person…today? It’s a good start on changing the world. (I just need to give the world room to get a word in edgewise!)

Tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Categories art and the artist, Brain Injury, Free Will, Logic & Reason, Love, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, Summer, The Art of Being, The Big 5, Uncategorized, Words

Hormones and Holidays

July 3, 2015 //
1

I struggled with a bad bit yesterday. It was the first significant experience with loss of balance, volatility, and my chaos and damage since I moved. The lovely morning began to slide sideways fairly early in the day, as I reacted to fairly commonplace work stress while also struggling with my hormones. I made choices that caused both to be more serious challenges than they might otherwise have been.

I realized where my state of being was taking me around mid-day, and made the choice to start the holiday weekend early. A hot day, no clear agenda, enough background stress to repeatedly find myself clenching my jaw…I followed up my early departure from work with the choice to head to the nearby mall…an odd choice for me these days, but I found myself wanting to window shop and consider my quality of life ‘to do list’ for home and hearth, and enjoy the colder a/c for a time.

Choices matter. This choice was not ideal for me, fortunately I still have free will.

Choices matter. This choice was not ideal for me, fortunately I still have free will.

Clenched jaw. Headache. Irritability. Backache. A persistent feeling of frustrated anger simmering in the background. Feeling disconnected – and unable to connect. I felt very aware that the issue was my own, and not something anyone else was causing. As I wandered the aisles of ‘retail paradise’ I repeatedly pulled my focus back to ‘now’, working to maintain awareness, and presence in the moment. I was not expecting to find myself unable to find joy in the varied colorful displays of merchandise offered for my consideration; “retail therapy” used to be something I could easily rely on for a diversion, if nothing else. It was not working yesterday; I am not the person I once was.

I got an icy cold creamy chocolate-y coffee beverage ‘for medicinal purposes’ (yes, in my experience the combination of chocolate and coffee does help with hormone challenges). I sampled some fruit teas, and bought a nice one for iced tea for the weekend. The mall had nothing else to offer [for me], unless perhaps I had a much bigger kitchen, and an unlimited budget for high-end kitchen gear – neither of which are the state of things. I felt irritated with the noise – I went to the mall while I was struggling with noise sensitivity, too? What was I thinking? I headed for home feeling pretty low, and rather dismally disconnected from self.  The heat of the day contributed to being so cross by the time I got home that I was near tears. I sent my traveling partner a heads up that I was dropping offline for a while to take care of me, and that I was not at risk of self-harm; worrying loved ones doesn’t help with longer term stress management.

As soon as I got home I reached for the checklist. Mine is personalized with some additions that are specific to my own needs. First things first – I went down the list and checked off what I knew I had already managed and discovered something I wasn’t fully aware of; there were some significant misses. I set the check list aside, and in a ‘first things first’ sort of way, had a leisurely shower to rinse off the stickiness of sweat and the heat of the day, and changed into ‘comfy clothes’ [for me that’s yoga pants and a loose tank top]. At that point I put down everything else – including my concerns, doubts, stress, and emotional weirdness – and took time to meditate, no timer. It was a struggle. My mind wandered, again and again, fussy over nothing, irritated with minutiae, distracted and out of focus, and feeling vaguely sad. Each time I came back to my breath it got a little easier, and I felt a little more calm. My headache began to ease. My clenched jaw finally relaxed.

Another look at the checklist, and I began working my way down the list item by item…a healthy meal…some exercise…music, dance, yoga…I picked up and completed a couple small projects, and planned the weekend around taking care of me, and enjoying some leisure time. I stayed away from social media, and video brain candy. I looked into the face of my anxiety fearlessly, and allowed myself to consider that I might go completely to pieces that evening and find myself in crisis management mode, and affectionately accepted that I have challenges to deal with, even now, and that life isn’t about ‘perfect’ or ‘happily ever after’ and that the variability and intensity of my emotional life is also part of how I feel the intensity of the love, passion, and delight that I do in other moments. I reminded myself this would all pass, as things typically do; the intensity is not really sustainable.

The hormone piece is a real bad-ass as challenges go; I’ve passed menopause, and the tendency is to think this means I am done with complicated mood swings and whatnot resulting from the reproductive hormone cycle, but that’s a gross oversimplification, and this week I had screwed up the timing on my HRT – which means hormones became a factor that needed acknowledgement, attention, and self-compassion. The disinhibiting qualities of my TBI contribute to my volatility; I have trouble managing intense emotions, however fleeting, and the stress caused by my fears that I may ‘lose my shit’ unexpectedly and lash out in a socially inappropriate way doesn’t make it any easier.

Over the next few hours of taking care of me with my whole attention, and nothing else on my mind, I managed to find my way to a more comfortable place. I didn’t stop when I got there, and enjoyed several more opportunities to meditate, to treat myself with compassion and tenderness, and to restore order to my thinking through the living metaphor of restoring order to my experience, and my environment.

This morning I woke at the usual time, without the alarm, and got up long enough to take my medication on time, and return to sleep for a delicious additional 2 and half hours. I woke easily, feeling content and comfortable in my skin, and in my head. I overslept my original plans, but didn’t feel disappointed; I have a plan B. I enjoyed a few minutes of conversation with my traveling partner, in the digital world, and made coffee. I took time to enjoy my coffee without distraction, feet up, listening to music. Meditation, yoga, and dancing got my on my feet and enjoying the pleasure of movement. I took on a couple small household projects, like reorganizing the pantry for the shelves that will arrive next week, and making a home for the bin in which my journals remain packed (I once needed to see them displayed all around me to feel secure). The additional living space and order feel very good, and I recognize that the lack of order was causing me stress; these were details that felt very much that I wasn’t finished moving in.

Blooming in my own time, when conditions are right; I am learning to tend the garden of my heart more skillfully.

Blooming in my own time, when conditions are right; I am learning to tend the garden of my heart more skillfully.

It is one truth that I will face my demons until they are vanquished. It is another truth that although I have taken many steps, there are many more ahead of me. It is yet another truth that I am okay right now, and right now that’s enough.

Tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Categories Anxiety, Brain Injury, Epsom salts, Free Will, gardening, Healthy Living, Hormone Hell, Logic & Reason, Love, Menopause, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Summer, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women

Quiet Mornings

July 2, 2015 //
0

I feel sure of quiet mornings. I don’t know why. I do know that serious disruption of a morning that starts well puts me at high risk of a crappy day; I don’t recover easily from having a quiet morning blown with OPD, emotional baggage, residual angst from unremembered nightmares, or anger. It has been awhile since I missed out on the simple joy of a quiet morning – and quiet mornings may be reason enough [for me] to live alone.

What is more representative of a quiet morning than my cup of coffee?

What is more representative of a quiet morning than my cup of coffee?

I’m not “a morning person”. I say that because it is true. It doesn’t show at all, here, alone on a quiet morning. I am content, and enjoying my coffee. A soft smile lingers on my face; it arrived while I showered, resulting from the innocent sensuous pleasure of water over skin. I feel good, and calm, and generally wrapped in a sense of well-being. How did I get here? Is that a question that needs an answer? There are choices and verbs involved. Some of them matter more than others. Emotional self-sufficiency – building it, and enjoying it – is an important piece of my puzzle, and I continue to work on it with the attention of a craftsman, and the commitment that results from a passion for living well. I am not yet sufficiently skilled, or strong enough, to be so sure of myself and my choices when I live with someone I care for deeply, and reaching that place is one of my challenges – not necessarily to then live in shared domesticity, but rather simply because it is a healthy goal that gives me more options.

One very important choice I have made along the way is to refuse to wallow in regret over small things. There are a lot of little things I enjoy greatly that I am choosing to do without day-to-day, in order to take care of me with greater skill over a longer time. I miss morning coffee with my traveling partner…I don’t miss arguments over small things, or emotional storms, that sometimes resulted because I just wasn’t yet quite awake enough to make sense, or to communicate easily, or needed a few more minutes for me. I could allow myself to focus on the regret and the loss, and sit idly by while resentment and hurt builds over time…I could take it very personally and blame him, her, them, the world, circumstances… oh the sorrow and the tears! It would get ugly fast, and then… where would my quiet mornings be? I might wake every day feeling only the losses. That sounds like a very poor quality experience. I didn’t understand, years ago, how much of my experience – and my emotions themselves – is chosen by me.  It isn’t forced on me. There are verbs involved. It matters not one bit if I refuse to recognize my choices, or the power of my will (or my won’t) – they remain steadfastly what they are. The outcome is generally quite predictable if I allow myself a moment of clarity to consider circumstances calmly, with awareness, compassion, and non-judgement. Meditation has been a tool with great value for me where perspective, awareness, compassion, and non-judgement are concerned; just ‘thinking about’ things takes me very different places than meditation does.

Begin at the beginning, it's a very good starting point.

Begin at the beginning, it’s a very good starting point.

I’m not saying that I ignore things that hurt me – emotional or physical – doing so tends to cause damage, and the wounds fester over time. Still, considering quiet mornings, why does acknowledging an experience I miss require me to raise hell with my traveling partner over it? What does my sense of loss actually  have to do with him, at all? My emotions are my own. Considering how much of my experience – and my emotions – are chosen, how does the hurt-angry-blame game even factor into it? Where is the utility? If drama and emotional weapons of mass distraction seem appropriate (or irresistible) in some moment, I will find that I have failed in some obvious and elementary way to clearly and effectively communicate some element of my values, my needs, or failed to share my expectations explicitly – or have callously forgotten that he has his own. That’s some bullshit right there, and it can be relatively easily managed, in the sense that there are choices to be made, that can be made – and it’s not that damned difficult from the practical perspective of making one better choice after another. (It does require practice, and your results may vary.) One of those choices [for me] is investing in the small victories, versus wallowing in the small losses; I enjoy quiet solitary mornings, smiling over my coffee, without regret, doubt, or insecurity – because quiet mornings please me so much, and nurture the best bits of who I am so well.

It's hard to go wrong with good basics...

It’s hard to go wrong with good basics…

This morning, I quickly backed out of Facebook after briefly checking it… my feed is filled with fear, hate, intolerance, doubt – did I mention fear and hate? Oh, and the anger. I don’t need it. Change is scary for people, and between marriage being legal, people who don’t want to see an antique flag with racist overtones flying over centers of government, and people in Oregon being allowed to smoke pot, there is a portion of the world just freaking right the fuck out over the terrible decline in society – I’d like to laugh, but frightened, cornered animals act aggressively, and there are few things more dangerous than feral humans acting out their aggressive impulses righteously in the name of their god, or ideology. That shit is damned scary. They are, however, human – we can’t just put them down, forcibly medicate them for their own good, or exile them for the good of society. When I have the energy for it, I do make a point of blocking all such relayed hate in my feed – regardless why it was shared, regardless which friend of mine that I know and care for may have shared it, I block the source (it’s easy to click ‘don’t show me stuff from ___’). Doing so certainly improves my feed over time, and I can’t be stopped from making the choice not to participate in hate. I even hope, in some small way, that perhaps I am ‘breaking the chain’ just by stopping more of it from reaching me; people who post hate often post hate regularly, people who post intolerance often post intolerance regularly, people who engage in trolling are often… trolls. Block. Experience improved.

A helpful practice, indeed.

A helpful practice, indeed.

Choice is a powerful tool. Making choices deliberately, with thought, with strategy, with commitment to my own values, unapologetically, frees my choices from the web of coincidence and happenstance; then the outcome is mine to enjoy, to be accountable for, to celebrate – and to change. I like that kind of power…the power to be. In circumstances where events are inflicted on me by others, I still have that power to choose, that power to be – because I can choose my reaction and choose to continue to live my own values. Viktor Frankl wrote a very important, rather depressing although enlightening book on the subject.

It’s a lovely quiet morning. Today is a good day to enjoy being and becoming, and to enjoy my power to choose – how vast and unlimited is that power?! Today is a good day to change the world.

Tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Categories Brain Injury, Free Will, Healthy Living, Logic & Reason, Love, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Perspective, Relationships, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women, Words
« Older Entries
Newer Entries »