Archives for posts with tag: mindful living
« Older Entries
Newer Entries »

Planning, Experiencing

August 5, 2015 //
1

Waking up was hard again this morning. I don’t know what’s been driving these groggy mornings; they seem associated with deeper sleep, and sleeping through the night. Is the trade-off worth it? Well… perhaps, all but the first hour or two of the morning, when I am finding myself struggling to wake up, to remember medication, to drag myself through yoga, a shower, and making coffee… Once I am really awake, it’s no longer of any concern and doesn’t seem to affect my day. (Damn it – ‘affect’ or ‘effect’??)

I am waiting for water to heat up for coffee – it feels like a long wait. Rationally, I know that the water likely takes approximately the same time to boil each morning – or close enough that I would not be able to tell the difference without some sort of calibrated measuring device. Still, subjectively, from the perspective of a groggy morning, it seems quite forever taking.  I wait and consider the evening shared with my traveling partner, and smile.

We had a great time together: dinner out, and back to my place for some hang out time, and a show. We enjoy each other a great deal, and the time was well-spent. He’ll be away the weekend – we both definitely wanted to get some time together before he went. Thinking of his weekend out-of-town, I suddenly miss him dreadfully – even though I know that A.) his geographical location has not yet changed and B.) if it had, it wouldn’t be different for my experience right now in any practical way. Emotions don’t sign up for classes in logic and reason – they have their own way. It is a wonder to me how deep the connection we share is. I smile recalling his ‘complaint’ that he does not want to be put on a pedestal, that he is ‘just this guy’. I never can quite communicate that I am well aware of his humanity, and although I adore him well beyond any reasonable measure – I’m adoring a man, a human being, flaws and all. That’s okay with me. I know his heart. I’ve never needed him to be more than the man he is – I like that man, enjoy him, and hope to share the journey a good long way.

I smile. Sip my coffee. Let my thoughts move on.

It’s almost 6:00 am these days before the sky looks as it did shortly before 5:00 am, when I moved in here. 76 days of finding my own way – most of them alone, and most of them quite content and comfortable. 76 days of meditation, of writing, of walking, thinking, working, sleeping… 76 days of living, of thriving, and being this woman in the mirror. 76 days of living in a household where 100% of every adult is completely supportive of the health, wellness, and quality of life everyone else in the household, the goals are shared, and everyone is committed to The Big 5 values (respect, consideration, reciprocity, compassion, and openness) and making a commitment of both will and action to treat everyone else well…

What could be more worthy than being the woman I am in the most authentic possible way? There are no others quite like me.

What could be more worthy than being the woman I am in the most authentic possible way? There are no others quite like me.

 

I went on to write considerably more, but recognized that at some point I had begun to write in a detailed way about a prior predictable train wreck of a relationship. Poignant and heartfelt words – but a serious overshare with potential to be hurtful in ways I would not be skillful at identifying. Where break ups have been concerned I have maintained an adult practice of not pouring gasoline on fires, not rubbing salt in wounds, and making every possible effort to continue to practice The Big 5; I avoid venting about prior relationships because it is pointless, ugly, and reduces me to acting on base impulses.  I find that needlessly hurtful, and try to ‘be the good guy’ in a legitimate sincere way. When I face the woman in the mirror I don’t want to have to make excuses for my behavior later, or rationalize how some bit of nastiness ‘is okay because they…’ – because making the excuse doesn’t really excuse the bad act, the poor behavior, or the meanness, and all those things are loaded with potential to diminish me as a human being. This life is my journey, and I’d like to make it a good one. I’d rather continue to be compassionate, to be reasonable, to seek understanding – and to take care of me by not investing further in relationships that are damaging to my mental, emotional, or physical health. No drama required. It’s unnecessary; it is by our behavior that the world knows us, the words are extra.

Where will my path take me?

Where will my path take me?

The weekend ahead has my attention. My traveling partner will be away. The summer weather is forecast to be summer – but not an inconveniently health-threatening inferno. I am geared up to go camping, myself, and having my traveling partner’s car for the weekend I also have more options. Where will the weekend take me? I don’t yet know the answer to that question – but I know I’ll come back with pictures!

Today is a good day to explore the options. Today is a good day to remember that taking shit personally is a choice. Today is a good day to appreciate the things that work. Today is a good day to recognize what isn’t working – and do something else. Today is a good day to change the world.

Tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Categories Brain Injury, Free Will, Healthy Living, Logic & Reason, Love, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women, Words

Walking a Bit Farther

August 3, 2015 //
2

It’s not every evening that I break through something that’s been holding me back. The walk home from work began in the usual way; I left the building, and turned left. It all respects it was a similar summer evening walk home as most have been. At some point, soon after I started, I made a choice to… just walk.

It was not as hot as it has been, and the humidity doesn’t bother me much. I walked along past familiar things, thinking familiar thoughts…and then, I let even those go, too. I just walked, breathing in the heavy summer air.  No cause to rush; I had no plans on the other end, nothing to achieve beyond what I had in that moment along the way, and I felt content to stroll. I passed by a spot where the cooler air of evening-to-come was beginning to gather among the dense vegetation, lifted by whatever sorts of things cause currents of air to move along. The coolness of it brushed my arm before the subtle scent of blackberries, perhaps fallen or crushed under foot, reached my nose. I breathed it all in, almost pausing, reluctant to pass by.

Around the bend, down a hill, along a walk way open to the sun most of the way, with groves of trees here and there, well-spaced and well-mannered, sharing the moment with me as I walked past, through, beneath. Scents of parched pine needles mingle with the lusher, richer scents of the sodden earth of landscaping gone mad; sprinklers, used and over-used, nurturing dense expanses of mown lawn between trees in groups like cliques of high school girls – all of the same sort, gathered quite closely together, saying nothing as I pass. The trees are filled with birds. Some sing their song as I approach, silent while I am too near for comfort, and resuming as I walk away. Others, blue jays, and crows, call to me – setting boundaries, or perhaps sharing news of the weather, insistent, demanding.

There is a buzzing, chirping, peeping din to the left of me as I walk past the shallow lake at the end of the park. The persistent woosh of the cars on my right, somehow similar, but different – less pleasant, and only beginning to fade as I make the left through the park. I forget the sounds of traffic again and again as I walk. I don’t reach for my phone. My thoughts are… not really thoughts. I am walking. Breathing. Listening. I am aware, but not wary. I am alert, but not vigilant. I am content, without self-soothing. I am simply walking.

I turned away from home, as I got close, and walked further than needed, through the park, along other paths. Just walking. Breathing. Listening to the birds, and the frogs, and seeing the clouds shift and change as the sun crosses the sky toward twilight. No pictures. It didn’t seem to be part of the experience. When I did reach home, I felt welcome, comfortable, and…something else. I’m not sure what. Something nice. Something that feels steady, and reliable…like a promise to a friend that I know won’t be broken.

It was easy tonight to make a healthy meal without negotiating with myself, or promising more or better some other time. Easy to tidy up without fighting a child’s impulse to play at the expense of commitments to self. Easy to take care of me. Contentment feels easy. The evening feels easy. All the practicing? Right now all of that feels… easy. Worthwhile. For the moment? Natural. It’s a journey. I guess I’ve walked a bit farther than I had before. Tonight that’s enough. 🙂

Tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Categories Brain Injury, Free Will, Healthy Living, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, Words

Simple Pleasures

July 27, 2015 //
0

This morning my arthritis pain is…well, it is. But it isn’t as much so as yesterday, and the improvement is the foundation on which my smile is built, this morning. My coffee is hot and tasty, and the morning is chilly – this seems a pleasant combination, and tends to reinforce the smile. On my way to make coffee, I spotted my rather shy clown pleco (Panaqolus maccus) scooting out of view and I grin from ear to ear to have seen him at all. He has his favorite hiding spots and generally only ‘comes out’ when he’s pretty sure no one is watching.

The only picture I've gotten of my clown pleco since I moved.

The only picture I’ve gotten of my clown pleco since I moved.

So far, a basically pleasant morning, filled with small things to smile about, and some arthritis pain. I start to think ‘not bad for a Monday’ and catch myself rolling my eyes rather dismissively; there’s nothing ‘wrong with’ Mondays – and setting those expectations, even in a back-handed way, is no way to treat myself, particularly on an actual Monday. I find my thoughts wandering to ‘how did we find our way to a place where Mondays are given such a poor reputation?’ We can get pretty worked up about how shitty Monday’s might be (or tend to be, or seem to tend to be, or are rumored to seem to tend to be), but in practice, are Mondays actually any worse than any other days? Maybe Mondays are worse for people coming off a weekend bender and having to drag themselves through an ugly commute into the office to commit acts of servitude in corporate purgatory…but even that…I feel kinda bad for poor Monday having to listen to people talk shit on her all the time. Pretty good that she’s not a person.

This particular Monday seems to be starting well, at least for me. I am not reading the news – even the articles linked by friends on Facebook get no attention from me this morning. They’ll be there on Tuesday, no doubt. I am enjoying my coffee, my yoga, my meditation, my writing. I am enjoying an email from a dear friend. I am enjoying a pedicure, and a foot rub – oh sure, I know as well as anyone else that a foot rub I give myself doesn’t feel ‘as good’ as a foot rub given to me by someone else…but living alone doesn’t mean I simply go without everything that feels good. lol. That would suck, wouldn’t it? (I assure you, a foot rub I give myself still feels pretty damned good.) I woke a little ahead of the alarm this morning, and feeling well-rested, I got up. There’s more time in my morning, and on a Monday I suppose I could go to work early…but damn, what does the job ever do for me that I didn’t straight up earn in the first place? Nothing. I do verbs of a variety of sorts, for a variety of purposes and persons, all the time, and certainly I am worthy of investing in my own needs and pleasure on a Monday morning; the job will still be there at the usual time. I choose to put my time and my effort where it will be most appreciated this morning – in myself, and meeting my own needs.

The sun rises noticeably later each Monday. It is still summer, but this morning is not a hot one, and I am pleased to wear something less…sleeveless, for a change. The morning is comfortably cool. I smile, noticing the time; it’s only now the time I usually wake up, a leisurely Monday morning, indeed – with plenty of smiles.

I spent much of the weekend, in spite of pain, puttering around the apartment continuing to ‘move in’ – smaller tasks, now, but the details are part of what makes this place “home” for me. In the rush of having to move ahead of schedule (my safety is more important than financial concerns, honestly), details that I would have handled quite differently got…’managed’ hastily and without much forethought: paperwork stuffed into drawers, unrelated items packed into boxes that were not well-labeled, and on moving in some cupboards were stuffed with things that “don’t really go there”, just to reduce visual clutter enough to create a sense of order, and momentum to continue unpacking.  I love creating order from chaos. I love the sorting process of figuring out where things most ideally go for both storage and use. I love creating this space that “feels like I live here”. The small details of moving in delight me – my comfort, built on my choices. It’s lovely to have this autonomy after so many years of conversations resulting in me compromising what works for me so that someone else can have what works for them. I guess that sounds pretty selfish… for now I am okay with that. I have lived a lot of years making do in living arrangements not well-suited to the issues I have, or set up such that daily life is an impediment to therapy, or rehabilitating this injury. I’m overdue to enjoy things “my way” for a while. (First, I’ve had to figure out what that is…) 🙂

Monday? It’s a good day to spend time with the woman in the mirror. It’s a good day to take a ‘no compromise’ approach to treating myself well. It’s a good day for simple pleasures, and for bringing a smile into the office – and into the world.

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

100 coffee filters, 65 days

July 25, 2015 //
0

Life here at Number 27 is generally a very gentle experience. I can usually expect serenity and quiet on a Saturday morning. Not so this morning; there is construction very nearby, and my music is re-mixed with sounds of hammering, and the coarse humor of the workers, calling to each other from above and below, some on the roof, some on the ground. I hear a drill, or a power saw a moment later, more hammering. This is not a quiet morning. I turn Lil Jon up louder.

Home.

Home.

I woke much earlier than the work began, and I am happy enough that I wasn’t awakened by construction noise on a morning I was trying to sleep in. I remind myself that many people I interact with in the community today were likely not so fortunate, and neighbors may be irritable because of the noise. It’s tempting to be aggravated that my peaceful weekend is being disturbed by construction noise – I mean, seriously? It’s got to be more expensive to pay this crew to keep working through the weekend! As I feel the irritation develop, I take a breath and smile, and acknowledge that the needs of displaced families inconvenience by the exposed wall, the missing windows, the unfinished roof, are a great deal more important than the inconvenience of the noise for the rest of us.

A great coffee in the morning is a practice, a ritual, a measure of time, and a way to take care of me.

A great coffee in the morning is a practice, a ritual, a measure of time, and a way to take care of me.

As I made my coffee, I observed that I had used up my original purchase of 100 #1 unbleached coffee filters… already? How was it I thought that would last my first three months? That was unrealistic – even counting on me to drink just one cup of coffee a day that’s just bad math – and assumes I am an ungenerous hostess with visitors. lol I’m up to two cups of coffee in the mornings, myself, and sometimes three on weekend days, but drinking only 8-10 ounce cups using pour-over brewing, instead of 16 ounce mugs with 4 shots of espresso. I entertain friends more than I have in many years. The math is clear; 100 coffee filters does not last 90 days.

I’m just 65 days into living solo. I am still ‘getting to know me’, and figuring out ‘my way’ of doing things. I’ve learned quite a lot about this woman I have grown to be over the years. I find that there are quirks and habits I have that – regardless of peculiarity – I really favor, and find value in, and they are a part of who I am that I am eager to nurture and build on.

  • I take the trash out every night before I got to bed. It’s not about whether that’s necessary; I just prefer not to sleep near garbage, or have it lingering near my kitchen.
  • I vacuum most days by preference. I’d do it every day, but sometimes I just don’t. It’s not that I’m throwing sand in the house, or have animals living indoors, or a lot of mess – but I really really like the way clean carpet feels on bare feet. I walk on the rug every day – why would I not also vacuum every day?
  • When I load the dishwasher, I put the flatware in the basket ‘handles up’ – so that when I unload the dishwasher I’m not touching the end I’ll be putting in my mouth later – and I always wash my hands before I unload the dishwasher. It’s my way.
  • I make my bed every day – but I’m not about ‘hospital corners’ or bouncing quarters off the comforter – I just like it to look tidy. I change the linens regularly – never less than every week, sometimes 2-3 times a week, certainly any time I sweat up the sheets. I like the way clean sheets and blankets feel.
  • I manage my lighting to maintain the ambiance that feels best to me personally for the time of day…soft intimate lighting in the evening, bright artificial light when I am cleaning or working, and as much natural light as I can get, supplemented with artificial light, when I am painting… I enjoy light, and the way light can play on emotions and aesthetic.
  • I lock my front door, more out of habit than concern…I’m often sitting here writing with the patio door open, soft breezes coming in through the screen – locking the front door is not about security (I’m pretty sure the spiders do not care that the door is locked, and I worry about those getting in more than ‘intruders’).
  • I foster an emotional environment that is calm, welcoming, and drama free – and manage a great deal of success there, making this the most singularly easy-on-the-heart living arrangement I’ve ever had.
  • I am learning over time to treat myself well without much rigorous habitual behavior, and benefiting greatly from letting habits and routine support me – but not control me. This is a work in progress, but so far so good.

I have learned that the woman in the mirror invests heavily in how things feel – most of my choices are about building a beautiful life from the perspective of feeling at ease with myself and my environment long-term. I don’t care much how other people choose to do things, or whether I ‘measure up’ to some other standard. It’s nice to make so many small choices entirely on my own, and really find out what ‘my way’ actually is. I smile a quiet thank you at my traveling partner, enjoying his own Saturday morning on the other side of town; he recognized how badly I needed this, and how much the lack of individual development in this area of my life skills was hurting us, together.

Every project requires tools, a plan, and verbs.

Every project requires tools, a plan, and verbs.

I find that I am also very human – and sometimes struggle to meet my own needs easily, or recognize them in a timely fashion – I learn as I go along. It’s enough to do my best, and to try again when I miss.

  • When I am feeling low, or terribly fatigued, or in a lot of pain, I struggle to find my ideal balance between letting stuff go, and investing in the effort to handle tasks I know I will be irked about if I don’t do them.
  • I still struggle to treat myself with the tender consideration I give others that I love, and I can be pretty hard on myself when I wake and notice that indeed I left that coffee cup in the sink over night, or get home from work to notice I forgot to make my bed when I left for work in haste after losing track of time watching a great Skrillex video.
  • Slowly loosening my grip on rigid habits intended to support good self-care and emotional self-sufficiency, to learn to take the very best care of myself, and build sustainable no-bullshit lasting emotional self-sufficiency is fucking scary as hell, and I sometimes struggle with the emotional outcome of ‘failing myself’ in small ways – instead of supporting myself compassionately, and trusting incremental change over time is the inevitable result of practicing good practices.

I smile, noticing that the ratio of ‘things I easily identify as being pleased with about the woman in the mirror’ to ‘things I struggle with rather a lot’ is very much in favor of things I am pleased with. That feels pretty amazing. Just noticing it seems like a very nice thing to do for myself this morning. I sip my coffee grinning without any self-consciousness, guilt, or discomfort.

Today is a good day to sit down with myself and appreciate my progress. 65 days living with the woman in the mirror – she’s a good sort, and not bad to live with. She does tend to be rather particular, but she loves me, and does her best to care for me with great kindness, consideration, respect, and tenderness. She’s learning.

Tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Categories Brain Injury, Free Will, Healthy Living, Love, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, The Art of Being, The Big 5, Words

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
« Older Entries
Newer Entries »