Archives for posts with tag: mindfulness for beginners

Yep. That’s what I’m after this morning, as I sit here sipping my coffee – just a few well-chosen words. I haven’t got them. It’s an odd sort of morning, lovely, quiet – uninspired. I’m just a human, sipping coffee, watching the dawn unfold, content with the morning, with how I feel. Not inclined to reach for more, or find my way to less. Comfortable. Balanced.

….Two years ago, I would also have felt vaguely breathless and wary, waiting for the fragile moment to come crashing down in some random attack of drama or bullshit, unable to feel really comfortable, for fear of being unprepared.

…6 years ago, I would have been fairly certain that any such subjective experience was entirely the byproduct of psych meds I wasn’t sure I really needed (but taking them seemed to ease some things, somewhat… didn’t they?), and would be struggling with the experience, itself, as potentially “fake”, but too fearful of what “real life” might offer to seek change.

…10 years ago I could not have had this experience, at all. Between my hormones, my lack of in-depth study of my issues, symptoms, and concerns – a real lack of available knowledge to study in the first place – and the lack of emotional support in my primary relationship, things felt pretty hopeless much of the time.

Incremental change over time is definitely a real thing. We become what we practice – also thoroughly real, testable-y, reproduce-ably, demonstrably true. There are verbs involved, and seemingly endless practice. There are moments of failure and moments of “fuck it”. There are moments that seem unreasonably profound, and others that seem disappointingly practical. It sometimes feels like “an  uphill climb” – of the sort that on a summer morning looks delightful at the outset, but by the time the top of the climb seems near, fatigue and heat have set in, and it all seems so fucking tedious…but… there’s the top… just over there… only to find that cresting the hill reveals more of the journey, and another, higher, peak. There have been days when pain slowed me down, and days when the lack of pain resulted in over-confidence – and more pain, later.

…Still, when I pause, this morning, to acknowledge that I just don’t feel properly “inspired” to write, and really just set it all aside to consider the moment itself, this one, here, now, in the context of the entirety of my life… I can see it; I’ve come a long way. 🙂

Today is a good day to celebrate life. Today is a good day to enjoy the day, as it is. I’ll get some things done around the house, and later celebrate my Traveling Partner’s birthday with him. Today is a good day to enjoy the ordinary, the routine, the day-to-day of life, with a smile, and a moment of appreciation.

...as simple as we make it.

…as simple as we make it.

Today, that’s enough. 😀

By the end of the day yesterday I was in so much pain I was showing every moment of my 53 years, and possibly borrowing some extra years, besides. Today, I’ll be kinder to myself and resume walking with my hiking staff, because the additional support is helpful. Winter isn’t my favorite season, and it’s mostly to do with my arthritis. I’m not bitching, really, it’s just a thing that is part of my experience, these days.

One morning...

One morning…

I got home from work, cold, tired, in pain… I put it behind me with a leisurely hot shower, pain medication, and a quiet evening. At some point, I was commenting on my pain to my traveling partner – as I recall, something about it “being much worse than…”, and he gently reminds me that it is always worst just as fall shifts to winter. He’s right, and the reminder stops my aggravated fussing with new perspective. I crash early, but don’t actually fall into a deep restful sleep for hours – I took an Rx pain reliever. I took it knowing it had a fairly predictable risk of messing with my sleep. Two nights in a row without getting the sleep I need; it shows in my typing. My spelling and syntax are off, and I make more grammatical errors even than usual. I am so tired this morning.

...followed by an evening...

…followed by an evening…

It’s Friday. I miss my Traveling Partner… but all I can think about is sleep. And laundry. How is it that there is so much laundry to do (and conversely, so little clean stuff to wear)? Did I not do laundry this past weekend…? Why didn’t I? (Does “why?” matter? Really?) The weekend ahead feels reassuringly planned around the obvious needs: housekeeping, laundry, and taking care of this fragile vessel (sleeping – oh, please let there be sleeping!!!). I can’t recall if I have plans with my Traveling Partner… maybe we do. Maybe we don’t. Maybe that won’t matter and we’ll see each other regardless… His birthday is this weekend. I catch myself thinking I’ve overlooked getting him anything, and then bust out laughing, out loud. I’ve totally already taken care of that – he’s enjoying his birthday/holiday gift in advance this year. 🙂 I know he has plans to go out, to party, something boisterous, something joyful – and I’m stoked that he does. I’m uncertain whether I will seek to join him… for the moment, what sounds exciting to me is… sleeping. lol I take a moment to consider his planning, and remind myself to invite him to come around for brunch or lunch or dinner or something on Sunday…

...a different morning, similarly gray...

…a different morning, similarly gray, still very much its own morning…

I spend some minutes contemplating perspective, and how subtle changes can still seem to change “everything”, and how the “everything” I think I know amounts to so little of all of the everything that actually is. 🙂

...each morning, from the same vantage point, another perspective on life...

…each morning, from the same vantage point, another perspective on life…

There is more to know that I ever will know. More to do than I will ever be able to make time for. More choices on life’s vast menu than I can hold in awareness.

...mornings...

…mornings…

Some days are easier than others. Some are more exciting or stranger or peculiarly without memorable feature.

...evenings. Each very much it's own moment.

…evenings. Each very much its own moment.

Today is a good day to take moment by moment, task by task, opportunity by opportunity. I listen to the rain fall. Each raining morning so similar, each nonetheless its own moment, a unique experience – a chance to begin again. A chance for a shift in perspective.

 

It’s relatively new for me to bounce back from trauma “so easily”. “Easy” isn’t a fair descriptor, really; I’ve worked hard to get here, practiced a lot of practices, and taken careful thought-out researched steps supported by the latest cognitive science and neuroscience on the topic of implicit memory, PTSD, cognition, learned helplessness, and behavior. I read a lot. Still… it feels so much easier. Considering how much of our experience is entirely and completely subjective (to the point of being largely made-up shit we’ve crafted internally), this is good enough to be “real”. In this instance, enough is quite literally enough; building lasting contentment through awareness and acceptance of sufficiency has become a remarkable way to maintain a state of relative joy and happiness much of the time. I bounce back. I am resilient.

What is “real”, though? Good question. Let’s not do that, today. 😀

This morning I woke, and still stumbling around groggily and sort of careening around the place lacking any obvious coordination, I found myself unexpectedly cleaning the faint smudge of soot from the tile around the fireplace. What the hell, though? I wasn’t even awake yet. lol I purposefully set that aside (admittedly, once it was finished), and made coffee. I stepped onto the patio, inhaling the fresh morning air, and gazing out across the meadow into the autumn treetops beyond. No hint of fear or anxiety. Nice. I refreshed the dish I’ve been using as a squirrel feeder, after emptying it of the rainwater it had collected. I sat down with my coffee, just inside the open patio door, letting the fresh air fill the apartment, and breathing deeply the scents of autumn. It’ll be a nice day for a fire in the fireplace, later perhaps.

I was hoping I’d see birds at the feeder, and have a visiting squirrel stop by. The patio was empty. I sipped my coffee contentedly, and picked up my phone and began to shop computer parts, thinking perhaps instead of replacing my laptop, I’d build a new desktop computer; I rarely actually take my laptop anywhere, or even move it off my desk. I like it where it is, docked, ready, and reliably always right there where I expect it to be. I am probably not the person for whom laptops were invented. 🙂 After some minutes of exploring the options in cases, hard drives, motherboards, power supplies, CPUs, cooling fans, and whatnot, I looked up and noticed that quite a few meadow birds had arrived for brunch, and a squirrel visitor had also stopped by.

Sunday brunch

Sunday brunch, no reservations

I switched my phone from shopping device to camera, and enjoyed getting a couple pictures of my visitors, before setting it aside and just chilling, sipping my coffee, and watching the busy brunch unfold on the patio. It’s a popular spot; the birds come and go, competing for their moment to grab some fast food. The smaller birds wait in the nearby pine for their turn, rather than compete with the flicker who is clearly much larger than the size of the suet feeder is intended to support. She playfully spins it around again and again, which drives away some of the red wing blackbirds who don’t hesitate to take a space quite near her. The chickadees and tiny sparrows prefer to pick at what falls into the nearby flower pots, patiently.

She's a regular

She’s a regular

The squirrel who has been coming around has a couple characteristic scars from surviving life in a busy apartment community full of cats, and is a recognizable regular visitor. Her ears are tiny, crumpled, and folded against her head – I don’t know if she is a different sort of squirrel, or if this is an individual characteristic. She watches me as I watch her, and no longer darts away for safety if I approach the screen door. Some mornings, I sit quite close on my meditation cushion, and sip my coffee while she nibbles at the corn and peanuts I’ve left out for her. If I say something aloud, she gives it some thought, listening to me, cocking her head and watching me more closely as she eats. Shared curiosity. One morning recently, before I left for work, and while I was airing out the apartment for the day, I’d forgotten to check the dish on the patio; it was empty. She came to the screen door that morning and got my attention with a loud squeak or call of some sort, and ran away. I looked out and noticed the empty dish, and refilled it before locking up and leaving for the day. I returned to an empty dish that evening. We have communicated successfully. This delights me.

We are each living thinking creatures, each having our own experience.

We are each living thinking creatures, each having our own experience.

The rainy chilly morning continues. I close the patio door, and sit down at my very borrowed feeling work laptop to write. It’s quite an ordinary Sunday. I’ll do some laundry. I’ll get some housekeeping done. I’ll read, write, practice with my guitar, meditate, take a decently long walk (probably after the laundry is done). I have my own way with these things. This is my life. This apartment mostly doesn’t feel comfortably “like home” anymore, and even that is okay; it tends to keep me focused on a future place, a future home. For now, I enjoy what is, more than I grieve what isn’t, and take time to relax and enjoy each moment on its own merits. Good enough.

Enough. Yeah… enough is a good place to be, and it doesn’t generally require as much emotional heavy lifting as chasing more, better, and happily ever after. There’s less frustrated yearning in “enough”. There’s less disappointment, by far. Getting to “enough” wasn’t achievable until I learned to let go of my attachment to what I thought I “should” have, or be, or get, or achieve… That persistent need to be “right”, that had to go, too. The sense that someone else’s “more” had anything at all to do with my perceived “less”, yep, right into the waste bin with that as well.  It’s been a complicated challenge learning to truly take life at my own pace, to really walk my own path without comparing my journey to life’s other travelers,  and to stop behaving as though my own experience is in conflict or competition with the experiences of others.

I sip my coffee and smile. It’s quite an ordinary Sunday. I’m quite an ordinary woman of middle-aged years and generally quiet living. None of this is sleight of hand, or illusion. Whether I’ve had less, or had more, I’ve generally had “enough” – the choice to be aware of it has been mine all along. How I treat myself in the face of trauma or change, that’s been mine, too. It isn’t always as obvious as it seems this morning, on a quiet Sunday, sharing the moment with meadow birds, and a squirrel. I’m grateful for the moment of awareness. I’m appreciative of feeling content on an ordinary Sunday.

Today is a good day to enjoy what is. Today is a good day to embrace sufficiency. Today is a good day to find joy in contentment, and appreciate having enough.

 

My anxiety woke me during the night. No particular reason, as far as I could tell… perhaps my anxiety was concerned I’d forgotten it? No matter. I got up for a few minutes. “Checked for monsters.” Went back to bed. My sleep was restless. I woke feeling out of sorts.

"Anxiety"  10" x 14" - and she feels much bigger than that, generally.

“Anxiety” 10″ x 14″ – and she feels much bigger than that, generally.

I sip my coffee discontentedly mired in suspicion and unease. This isn’t about “reason”, and I don’t go looking for reasons. If I were to allow myself to yield to the temptation to “figure this out” in the early morning, before I’ve really quite woken up, before I finish my first coffee, I would be inviting the sort of deep down personal attack on myself that wells up from the dark corners, where the chaos and damage still lurks. It’s neither necessary nor helpful to “figure this out”; these are emotions, and I’ve just awakened from a night of troubled sleep…so… yeah. Nothing to figure out, really. I’m feeling.

This is a good morning to breathe, relax, make room to allow myself to feel my feelings without acting on them, and let them go without attachment to them.

My thoughts shift. I write some about emotion. I write about reason. I doubt the value in my words and delete all of it. I feel myself full of doubt. My nightmares, too, were full of doubt. Doubt and unease and insecurity. I breathe, relax, sip my coffee. It’s hard not to pick at those feelings, like tiny wounds. Experience suggests my wisest course is to make room for them, be open to what I can learn from them, and to maintain perspective – the broad deep perspective of 53 years that understands that this too will pass, and that emotions are more like street lights than news stories. Experience suggests letting the emotional content of my dreams color my day is a poor choice, and unnecessary – I commit to choosing differently. That used to sound like an impossible task, now I understand it as a practice. My results may vary.

I make some notes, on paper. I list the emotions and feelings quickly, without any deeper intention. I review the list, and next to each, write an emotion or feeling that amounts to a “conflict of interest” in the sense that the existing uncomfortable emotional experience can’t “compete” or continue to hold my attention were I to fill up on the other. Insecurity is the easy example, since its “opposite” experience is fairly easily identified – security. Feeling secure versus feeling insecure, feeling emotionally safe versus feeling uneasy… and having identified the preferred experience, I will cultivate that. No need to tear myself down for the emotional experience I’m having now, I will build something different, by choice. Small changes sometimes get big results.

Dismissing my feelings out of hand is ineffective; emotions tell me things about my experience, and how that’s working out for me, and although they are not a reliable source of information (because they lack precision and simple clarity, and because sometimes they are simply a byproduct of skewed biochemistry) they are my early warning system that emotional inclement weather may lay ahead. A night of nightmares and unease may mean I’ve got something on my mind that needs my attention, that I may be overlooking or avoiding. (And it may not.) Tonight will be soon enough for all that. It is an unfortunate truth of adulthood that sometimes work comes first. I sigh aloud, and sip my coffee.

My emotional life belongs to me. How I treat myself is a choice I make. The relationship I build with myself is singularly intimate, and colors every relationship I have with others. Being present, awake, and aware, in my experience with the woman in the mirror has its own unique challenges – and value. There are verbs involved.

Begin again.

Begin again.

Today is a good day for emotional self-sufficiency and continuing to cultivate emotional intelligence. Today is a good day to be present and engaged in this moment, here. Today is a good day to change the world, even if only in the tiniest way, in one single moment; every change matters.

There is so much we get to decide for ourselves, so many options on life’s menu to choose from moment to moment, day to day, over the course of a life, lived. We choose a lot of stuff. We make a lot of choices. Many decisions are in our hands. There is something we don’t get to decide; we don’t get to decide if we’ve hurt someone else. They get to decide that, as the person who feels hurt. Period. End of discussion. Non-negotiable. We only know our own intention, and we’ll lie to ourselves about that, if it suits us. (Yes, you too. Yes, me too.) We tend to make ourselves the protagonist in our own narrative – and “the good guy” as well.

Yesterday I hurt my traveling partner’s feelings. I wasn’t sure how initially; I was feeling pretty fucking hurt myself, as it happened. He’d managed to hurt my feelings, too. He brought his hurt feelings to my attention immediately. I felt crappy for hurting him, angry that he’d hurt me, and resentful that he “got to it first”, resulting in also feeling that I had no legitimate opportunity to speak up about my own hurt feelings with him directly, without undermining the sincerity of my apology for hurting him. It was a less than ideal situation for good communication, or affectionate support. Still… I muddled through, and stayed true to one understanding of emotions I have learned I can count on; when we feel hurt, whatever the circumstances, we want the person we perceived has hurt us to acknowledge our suffering, and the part they played in it, and if possible we want them to make it right (or at least to apologize sincerely without making excuses). It’s an important part of treating others well to be able to apologize wholly, to mean it, and to handle that quite separately from our own hurts. That’s hard sometimes.

It's hard to unsay the words.

It’s hard to unsay the words.

I don’t always recognize that I’ve hurt someone. I don’t always understand why they are hurting. If they are hurting, and they tell me they are hurting, I accept that the hurt they are experiencing is truly their experience; it isn’t up to me to decide for them what hurts. No amount of comparison to my own experience, or other experiences, can serve to define, clarify, or place limits on the experience of someone saying they are hurt; it’s their experience, no one knows like they do. Let’s put another period right there, while we’re at it – this is also a non-negotiable on life’s journey; we don’t get to tell someone else how they feel. Just stop doing that shit. (I still catch myself, sometimes, and it usually begins innocently enough as an attempt to connect, to understand, to empathize… doesn’t matter much how it begins, if it ends with me telling you how you feel, I am in error for doing so, regardless whether I am coincidentally correct about your emotional state.)

Search all the books that matter most to you, there are still verbs involved. :-)

Search all the books that matter most to you, there are still verbs involved. 🙂

I’ve gotten decently skilled at some of the emotional intelligence stuff… It hasn’t necessarily eased the journey in any noteworthy way. lol I am quite human, and struggle most with emotions within the context of my most passionate intimate relationships like pretty nearly everyone else. I’m okay with that, it is a process and there is no lack of love. I felt sad to have hurt my traveling partner’s feelings. Keeping my sadness to the side, without disrespecting my own emotional needs, I made myself commit to listening deeply, however much his words hurt me (there was nothing abusive about them, just painfully frank, and striking directly at where I also hurt most, myself, in that moment). In listening with great care, and great compassion, I stayed open to accepting that I had hurt him, regardless of my intent. I apologized. He lashed out, hurt and angry, and I apologized again for hurting him, while I wept private tears. My morning felt pretty blown. My head ached. I felt heartsick.

Perspective matters. I often find it here. ;-)

Perspective matters. I often find it here. 😉

I took the space I needed to care for my own heart. That was a mixed effort for some time. It got easier after my traveling partner had time to give consideration to the morning, himself, with a clear head, and unencumbered by his own hurts. He apologized to me. We mutually acknowledged the misunderstandings, the miscommunications, mistakes resulting from the order in which text messages were received or read, the way key words and phrases evoke emotional reactions, we reinforced our value to each other, and took time to say soothing, caring things. We moved on.

Be love. It's a choice. Love is a verb.

Be love. It’s a choice. Love is a verb.

Did I hurt my traveling partner’s feelings deliberately? No. I wouldn’t. It’s not my way and I find no value in willfully treating people poorly. Did I hurt his feelings at all? He said I did, therefore that is his experience; my own, in that moment, is not relevant to his experience – even if I am also hurting. (Those are quite separate experiences.) It’s hard not to respond to my lover’s pain with my own pain – but it’s not productive, generally, to do so.

Our own pain easily manages to feel like the worst pain we’ve ever known (and generally without regard to whether we’ve ever hurt worse in the past, in other circumstances). Our approach to the pain of others is different – we want to fix it, to help, and we most certainly don’t want them hurting, we try to make it go away, or try to ignore it. As silly as it seems to read it in print, we behave as though we can use our words to re-craft our experience omitting their pain. It just doesn’t work that way. Sometimes people hurt. Sometimes we are the reason why they are hurting. The result, too often, is that we put our own pain ahead of the pain of others and end up imagining our pain hurts worse, when we cannot possibly know that, and can’t validate that assumption even by asking. The kinder choice is simply to be compassionate about pain, and to apologize when we’ve hurt someone. In mutually supportive relationships among equals, this is a reciprocal practice.

It’s still super hard though; if I feel hurt I want that attended to, and letting it go long enough to care for the pain of another is one of the more difficult practices I practice. Sometimes the result, as with yesterday, is that after that hurt person is cared for, they return that care and soothe my hurt in return. Sometimes that is not the case, and I must care for myself. The thing about that… it’s okay. I’m getting pretty good at caring for myself, and when I must, I can count on me to do so pretty skillfully. The most important thing is to refrain from treating myself badly while supporting someone else. Yesterday I managed it through a haze of tears over text communication… I don’t know that I could have done it with as much success in person. I’m still very much a student. I need more practice.

I keep practicing.

I keep practicing.

My traveling partner and I enjoyed a splendid fun evening, later on, and not “as if nothing had happened” – that’s a place I don’t personally want to get trapped. Instead, we enjoyed the deeper intimacy of two human beings, fully human, loving each other humanity and all, awake and aware, present with each other. When we greet each other our embrace wrapped us both in warmth and affection, and the shared understanding that we’re really there for each other – even when we’re the ones bringing the pain. Those sincere reciprocal apologies built on respect, consideration, compassion, and openness, delivered with awareness, and accepted with heartfelt relief make a huge difference. We go forward stronger. Love wants a good apology without reservations, and without excuses. It’s okay to save reasons for another moment, a different conversation, some other time.

This morning I sip my coffee, content and calm. No lingering tears, no “emotional hangover”. It’s nice. It’s been a long journey to get here. There is further to go. Today is a good day for housekeeping, and becoming the woman I most want to be. Today is a good day to practice loving well.