Archives for posts with tag: mindfulness matters

It’s Monday morning. I woke with some effort, to the alarm, and still struggle to ‘really wake up’. I slept well and deeply, and woke up only once, and at an unusual hour. At 3:17 am I woke, thinking I heard a noise. The noise was the sound of a front door buzzer pushed twice in rapid succession “bzzzt bzzzt”. It seemed an actual sound, but whatever actually woke me didn’t do so with any ease. I was incredibly groggy and dizzy, and there was nothing at the door – or elsewhere that I noticed – and I returned to sleep so quickly that I wonder now if any of it was real – even the waking up and getting up, parts.

I’m having trouble waking fully and getting my brain online. I am groggy even now – more than an hour after waking. The sky is still quite dark. Dawn has moved later into the morning. I am impatiently waiting for my coffee – which I am having some trouble making with skill, because I am not quite awake. I take my time with it – and successfully stop myself from rubbing my eyes while I am making coffee, avoiding rubbing coffee, coffee grounds, or hot water in my eyes. This morning, that feels like a major success. 🙂

The morning is cool, and I feel the cool air filter in through the open patio door and the vertical blinds. I am drenched in sweat after making coffee and feeling peculiarly overheated. Hormones? Please, no, not today…it is, after all, Monday. I take a deep breath of the cool morning air, and fill my thoughts with the memories of the weekend as I fill my lungs with fresh scents of this summer morning. I took the additional ‘taking care of me’ step of un-syncing my work email over the weekend, and resetting my smart device so that my work email will only sync manually outside of work hours, reducing the likelihood that I will waste precious life-time on work-related matters by reflex or habit during leisure hours. It is powerfully freeing to return to a lifestyle when work is limited to those occasions that it is scheduled for. I needed the break, badly, and don’t easily set those boundaries with myself unaided – which definitely makes setting those boundaries with colleagues challenging. My traveling partner had observed rather firmly quite recently that I was not taking the best care of myself in this area; change was needed.

Yesterday I spent the better part of the morning with my traveling partner, unexpectedly, and to my great delight. It was a lovely treat, although he arrived distressed and agitated. The level of day-to-day drama in his experience at home is much higher than mine, here at Number 27. I did everything I could to support and soothe him, and even though we shared some [perhaps unnecessarily] emotional moments together, I cherish the time with him. He made a point of following through on his commitment to provide me with some technical support (my bluetooth wasn’t working, and my own troubleshooting did not resolve the issue), and in the process uncovered the likely cause; I had peripherals plugged in to USB ports in a sort of willy-nilly random way, primarily intended for cable management, without regard to USB 3 ports, or always-on ports, or what devices need what sorts of ports, and having no particular understanding that those details were important I had created conflicts. I feel a moment of sympathy; it’s probably just as hard on my laptop to be mine, as it is for people to live with me! This morning, though, there is music. (And yesterday evening, too.) 🙂

Change is. Progress happens. We are at a disadvantage if our understanding of the world becomes 'set in stone'.

Change is. Progress happens. We are at a disadvantage if our understanding of the world becomes ‘set in stone’.

We enjoyed coffee together, and conversation, and laughter, once the technical work was finished. It was hard coming to terms with one facet of aging; I am struggling to remain current with technology, now. Poignant and emotional for me, frustrating for my traveling partner; there is no room for crying during technical support. He’s a decently good sport about it, and although somewhat impatient with me, and frustrated by my emotionality, he makes a point of hearing me. That’s enough. I got by on that, and we moved on with the morning. The high point of my afternoon was soaking in a hot bath, listening to Barry White, and talking on the phone with my traveling partner – an experience I could not easily have had the day before (my stereo sounds way better than music played over laptop speakers). 🙂

My point is that the ups and downs don’t have to be tragic, or an unrelenting buzzkill; we’re all people, having our own experience, and it is sometimes an emotional one. How we treat each other – how we treat ourselves – can be accepting and supportive and aware, and emotions pass. The respect we give each other – each having our own experience – and consideration we give each other while we do so, are a big deal; they define our character, and define the love we share. An honest apology, no excuses, goes a long way when we are not at our best. Our loves are not a dumping ground for emotional toxic waste, and when we share hurts, strong emotions, moments of anger, it’s urgently important that we follow-up with consideration, with compassion, with recognition of their difficult experience sharing that moment with us. Being open isn’t solely about sharing who we are, and how we feel – it’s also a willingness to listen deeply, to be present in the moment when our love sets boundaries, or tells us we’ve caused them pain, and accept the consequences of our actions with honor, with respect, and providing reciprocal support. In this, too, there are practices to practice, verbs involved, and room to grow – and incremental change over time can seem so slow…because that other person can matter so much.

I am taking the morning slowly.

I am taking the morning slowly.

It’s a Monday. This one begins, for me, on a foundation of adequate rest, and good self-care. It would be lovely if that were an absolute assurance of a great week, but I know that there are verbs involved, and plenty of decision-making, and opportunities to communicate with clarity and practice good practices that support my needs over time. This morning, waking so slowly, it is as if I have a head start on slowing down, perhaps there is greater potential there than I understand?

Today is a good day to take things one at a time, with consideration, listening deeply, and recognition that each of us is utterly and entirely human. Today is a good day to be aware that the relationships matter more than the challenges. Today is a good day to ask for help when I need it, and accept help when it is offered. Today is a good day for beginnings; a good beginning has all the potential to change the world. [Note: there are verbs involved, and your results may vary.]

It’s a Saturday morning. The habit of a lifetime of employment tends to get me up most mornings sometime around the same time of morning that I wake all week long. Work changes life. I am sipping my coffee, made with great care, and savoring the morning; it will not lead me to the office. This, right here, is life being lived. What follows are words…resentful words, contentious words, discontented words, and yes – angry words. In short – ranting. You don’t have to read it; figured I’d give you an easy out and let you know in advance.

Our harvest has much to do with what we planted, and how we tended our garden.

Our harvest has much to do with what we planted, and how we tended our garden.

There is so much to read about ‘work-life balance’, for and against, pro and con, is it realistic, is it worthy, is it necessary, is it valued… and I think my own musings took me along a path that opened my eyes to something relevant – a detail I don’t often see openly discussed in a comfortable way; it matters what we do for employment (work) whether work and life are out of balance in the first place. If I am working too hard, feeling under-compensated, exploited, taken for granted, and find myself compromising my own needs for my employer, then work and life are most assuredly out of balance… but…what if my passion is for the work that I do? Perhaps then the experience is quite different? If we are trying to have a discussion about work and life and balance, it’s probably important to be mindful of the nature of the work, and the nature of the life, and the needs of the individual humans discussing it relevant to their own experiences. It is a conversation with many voices.

It's my own perspective, and like so many things it may look different from some other point of view.

This is my own perspective, and like so many things it may look different from some other point of view.

For me, there is nothing whatever about the work I do that is ‘important’ to me, to the world, to humanity, to the future of our survival, to our day to day health as a society, or progress as a specie. I play a role that comes down to enhancing the revenue generating potential of other human beings engaged in task completion for our employer’s agenda. I gain nothing from the greater success, myself, when my employer does. This is likely the common experience of employment for a great many people. This sort of employment is rarely physically difficult, but it is mind-numbingly tedious – and for an artist, for a writer, for a poet, for a human being, this amounts to nothing more or less than a conversion of life-force to currency that can be used to further my own ends, and to live my life more easily (it’s hard to paint if the power is turned off, or I have no funds for canvas!). It makes the concerns over ‘is the compensation sufficient’ incredibly important, very relevant, and a key deciding factor on whether any one job is worth doing, at all, whether employers like the fact that people decide on employment based on pay, or not. (I find myself surprised every time a business leader expresses reluctance to hire or promote someone who ‘is only doing it for more money’, because… why else would they?)

Seriously? Why else would I be working, if not for money?

Seriously? Why else would I be working, if not for money?

I imagine that employment at some endeavor that is enriching, fulfilling, important to society, people, or life, or work that moves humanity forward in some fashion is less likely to feel as though one is being exploited without regard for one’s own needs in life. The closest I have come to work of that kind was being a soldier at an age when ethics and morality seemed pretty black and white to me, the world seemed simpler with clearly defined good guys and bad guys – and I was mere years from a serious brain injury; I understood myself to be ‘one of the good guys’. My understanding of my role – and my worth – was limited. The most fulfilling work I’ve ever done was in construction, working on paving jobs. Ever after I have driven those roads with wonder and delight, observing that I had a part to play in the quality of the work, and the usefulness of the outcome. It’s a very good feeling. Builders, makers, creators, discoverers, designers, inventors, explorers, doctors, teachers, healers, philosophers,… there are jobs that seem more ‘worthy’ than others, the list goes on. No one ever looked into their parents eyes as a child, earnest about the future, and said ‘Mommy, I want to be trapped in middle management supporting the revenue goals of a large faceless corporation focused on gross margin and exploiting my fellow man for corporate gains I’ll never benefit from myself!”

I feel discontent this morning, in spite of my tasty coffee; I slept restlessly dreaming of work and struggling to let it go and enjoy my time, and my life. Don’t misunderstand me – I’ve got a good job, working for a skilled boss that I respect, for a company that provides a service. The office is clean. The people are human. The environment is generally fairly humane and cheerful. It’s still someone else’s agenda, and I still resent it when the business leans into my time for more than what I have agreed to provide. We’ve built a culture that emphasizes productivity at the expense of the productive; boundary setting by the exploited is negatively reinforced and actively discouraged. The business goal in most businesses seems first and foremost to limit cost as much as possible by hiring fewer, and paying them less, with little regard for cost of living, or whether survival on those wages is even feasible. We rather glibly and without compassion argue in meetings and for publication about what one job or another is ‘worth’ – from a payroll, labor cost, and gross margin perspective, without considering at all what the job is worth from the perspective of what it will cost a human being to give up their life time to do itPeople become an expense, a resource, a commodity… and we’re really not, at all. We’re living beings, with souls, needs, desires of our own – and a limited mortal life to achieve our own ends, and have our own experience. Our lives always have more value than our ‘work’ unless the work we choose to do is something we are truly invested in as a human being, have a passion for, and feel is worthy. There are choices involved – but the game is rigged, and the choice sometimes appears to be ‘work and survive, or don’t and go fuck yourself’.

Adding insult to injury in all this, the very people being exploited sometimes argue against their own benefit, refusing to even consider that perhaps their lives are worth more than they are being offered – and they got there being told all their lives that they have no additional value, by the people who would hire them when they become adults. It’s pretty ugly. Hell yes, technology has the potential to replace people in the workplace – that should be a good thing! Go HOME – live your life! Do great things – because there is greatness within you! YES – the ‘minimum wage’ should be as high as it possibly can be and the expense should come out of the profit margin! Profiting by stealing the life force of others by under-valuing them seems corrupt, immoral, and a willful theft. Standing on a bigger pile of money by paying those we employ so little that they must also get support from the government, move into horrific living conditions, or assemble communally with friends and extended family just to make ends meet seems shameful. I find these common things about work culture actually intensely offensive, myself, and I’m just going to say so. I have yet to see any data that shows a CEO is of more actual productive value than a laborer, or technician, or customer service representative – but they are certainly paid a great deal more to answer their email.

I’m frustrated by being ‘gainfully employed’ at 52. I have – no kidding, I’m serious here – better things to do with my time. Unfortunately, most of them come at a cost that requires some amount of currency just to achieve the day-to-day basics of food & water, shelter, power, electricity…so I make choices to convert some portion of my own life force, and limited mortal lifetime, to the currency I need to manage those details. What I ask in return is to be left the fuck alone by my employer on my time. Yes, I said it – and being salaried, saying so is tantamount to revolt, but it’s a boundary – and it’s my life, and I’ve only agreed to giving up 40 hours each week.

Now if I can just get my own brain to cooperate, to fight through the lifetime of ‘good worker’ programming – because my idea of ‘work-life balance’, is to ensure that my life is always the more important element of my experience, invested in with the entirety of my will and intent, living it engaged in the moment, and filled with joy, love – and growth. There are choices involved, and some of them are mine. “Now” is mine. There is nothing more important that I could do with this moment than live it, on my own terms, with my own goals in mind, meeting my own needs and having my own experience.

See what I’m saying though? Here it is, a lovely relaxed Saturday morning, and resentment over work still has its hooks in me – more than 1500 words worth!!

Moving on to living life.

Moving on to living life.

Today is a good day to let that go, and enjoy the day as a human being. Today is a good day to value myself more than the dollars my efforts represent. Today is a good day to look into the eyes of other human beings, and value them as human beings too – whether they are the barista at a coffee shop, the person pumping gas at the service station, the postal worker dropping off the mail, the handy man in the community, the technical support person on the other end of the phone… each and every one of us, human, each and every one of us worth more than the job we do for the currency we need.

This morning I woke with the alarm, and having shut it off, lay quietly a moment – and nearly fell asleep again, then couldn’t recall if the alarm had gone off… or perhaps I’d only dreamt that it had? I checked the clock somewhat reluctantly, not really wanting to find out what I already knew; it’s morning, and yes, the alarm went off. I rose without giving the matter further thought, and was already in the shower before I realized my arthritis pain is much less today – hot weather? It’s in the forecast, so, probably.

The a/c was off through the night, and the apartment felt a bit stuffy – another sign of a hot day to come – so I opened the patio door to let the pre-dawn chill fill the place. I looked out over the lawn, lit in places by the lights along the walkway between buildings and the pool; there are rarely any other windows with light showing at this hour. I spotted … a large long-haired cat? No – a raccoon. Quite the largest raccoon I’ve ever seen in my life. She sat very still, watching me watching her, then – rather strangely I thought – she started slowly moving toward me. How peculiar…or…oh. Not peculiar at all. Half a dozen or so guinea-pig sized youngsters were playing on my patio, quite near my feet, without a care in the world – they’d found some stray gladiolus bulbs in my garden gear – apparently those are quite the fun objects for play, for small raccoons at dawn. I went for my camera – I definitely wanted a picture of the racoon family visiting this morning… They were still there! I remembered the flash, too – I was as excited as a little girl, and it was hard not to bounce, giggle, exclaim, or otherwise inadvertently terrorize my wild neighbors. Camera ready….and…

...and I forgot to open the screen door. The flash warned off the racoons, who quickly departed.

…and I forgot to open the screen door. The flash warned off the racoons, who quickly departed.

My coffee still tastes good. I still got to watch what appeared to be a small herd of wee raccoons enjoying the morning on my patio, so near to me I could potentially scoop one up to cuddle it (which, I’m just saying, seems like a very poor choice of action in practice, and I did not attempt it; that mother raccoon was simply huge and entirely fearless). I still have a lot to learn about taking pictures. 🙂

Surprises and happenstance work like that, don’t they? Opportunity, chance, coincidence – the unlikely win, the happy accident, “good luck”? There are wonders to be seen, and great things to experience – but when I am not aware, observing, and present in the moment I miss out on a lot of loveliness, fun, and experience – and overlook so much of my good fortune. I’m learning to let spontaneity have its moment; I find it a bit scary to face life without some structure and planning…but raccoons don’t seem to mind, and the missed shot with my camera reminds me of something important; it’s the experience itself that really matters, that has substance and value in my recollection – the picture is a memory in a share-able format, nothing more really. The map is not the world. The documentation is not the circumstance. So many of life’s richest and most precious moments can’t easily be captured in a photograph.

There is a lot of wildlife nearby Number 27. I have a lot to learn about taking pictures of animals living their lives; they don’t take direction well, and do insist on simply going about their own affairs. Certainly, I am doing the same, and don’t ‘set up the shot’ when I am living my life. There’s probably a lesson in there some where.

I did get a rare picture of my very shy clown pleco, yesterday morning - catching a glimpse of him so unexpectedly delighted me.

I did get a rare picture of my very shy clown pleco, yesterday morning – catching a glimpse of him so unexpectedly delighted me.

Similarly, on the commute, I had a chance to enjoy the company of a fairly large squirrel, enjoying his morning stroll along the commute to work.

Similarly, on the commute, I had a chance to enjoy the company of a squirrel, enjoying his morning stroll along the commute to work.

From the commonplace to the fantastic, there is more to life than I have the ability to experience all at one moment, even when I’m “really watching”. Awareness – mindful presence in the moment – is the thing that brings so much of what I do experience into my field of view. Self-involved rumination, and obsessive mental gear-grinding definitely result in a much narrower world-view with fewer ‘points of interest’ to delight me. Frankly, if I’m chewing my nails and worrying grimly about this or that, I’m just not looking around me at the world. There are verbs involved – and now, raccoons!! 😀 (I still grin every time I recall seeing those tiny raccoon faces looking up at me, just at my feet – I almost missed them – and they were so tiny and adorably cute!)

One concern I had when I moved into Number 27 was that I might find myself living a life of such routine, and rigid habit, in order to be assured of taking good care of myself, that I might not easily distinguish one day from another, and that life would be wasted on the mundane without forward momentum… just… time… passing… until, inevitably, death. Grim. It hasn’t been that way at all – neither has life unraveled until chaos took over. It’s seeming to be quite well-lived, with sufficient structure to feel secure, safe, and comfortable, and sufficient looseness of habit, and prominence of spontaneous use of will to be an everyday adventure… every day. I’m quite enjoying it.

Most days I drink my coffee black; it is my habit.

Most days I drink my coffee black; it is my habit.

Sometimes I choose differently - whim, or choice? Are those different?

Sometimes I choose differently – whim, or choice? Are those different?

Now and then I do unspeakably delicious excessive things with coffee and ice cream... also a choice... and a very tasty reason to have good habits, generally. :-)

Now and then I do unspeakably delicious excessive things with coffee and ice cream… also a choice… and a very tasty reason to have good habits, generally.  (Kids, don’t try this at home…or…if you do, skip the rest of your meals; this one is ‘calorie rich’!) 🙂

 

I expected to be painting more, sooner – but there is no lack of creative inspiration, or the drive to follow through on it – I am simply more focused on my writing for the time being, and often combine those experiences to write little note cards to friends, family, and loves with sketches and fun doodles, bits of poetry and such. I remember quite fondly how much I enjoyed writing letters when I was much younger – before the world was digital. I remember, too, how meaningful such things were when received from far away (particularly during war-time). Here too, in the smaller routines and experiences of daily life, being comfortably free with my choices makes so much difference; I harm no one to choose writing over painting, or sketching over poetry, or yoga instead of dancing, or reading instead of meditating… there are so many ways to take care of me, and meet my needs over time. It matters most simply that I do – and there are verbs involved.

Sometimes it's less about the individual details than it is about the feel of things, generally.

Sometimes it’s less about the individual details than it is about the feel of things, generally…

...but the details do matter, and there are wonders within reach if I am willing to see them.

…but the details do matter, and there are wonders within reach if I am willing to see them.

It’s a lovely morning. I’m quite content. That’s enough. 🙂

I woke ahead of the alarm, and almost immediately my thoughts turned in a dark direction, filling with negativity, doubt, imagined hurts – all in the seconds after waking, before my broken brain really has a chance to boot up and fight the demons in the darkness. With a sigh I flip on the light – and reach for the alarm clock. No way to I want to hear it go off – my internal alarm bells were already clanging away.

I took my morning medication and went straight for the music – “Bitch Don’t Kill My Vibe” for openers, first thing, and loud enough to hear in the shower. In this case, the ‘bitch’ in question is the woman in the mirror – and I sing along, right to her face, all through my shower and getting dressed for the day. Seriously? Acknowledging the power of my own freedom to choose, and the potential it has to color my experience, means on a morning when my own brain attempts a sneak attack – it’s totally okay to call me on my bullshit, myself. By the time my coffee is ready, I expect to be past the difficult waking moment, without using up the emotional reserves necessary to deep dive the chaos and damage; it’s enough to recognize that I have more than my share, and understand that it can make for some challenges now and then. (At least, that’s definitely enough at 4:30 am on a work morning, before I am even completely awake!)

By the time my coffee is ready – I’ve recovered my now-utterly-routine peaceful leisurely morning. I celebrate with my favorite bounce back anthem. Dancing from the kitchen with my coffee, singing along as I cross the room with a wink and a smile at the woman in the mirror – that crazy bitch knows I am not taking her bullshit today! lol [Reminder: there are no literal voices in my head, and I am just this one person right here – but I do find it handy to face the woman in the mirror on terms that allow me to communicate more easily with myself across the chasm of this injury and the vast piles of chaos and damage left behind from other experiences with other people.]

It’s a morning for music, I guess. I am moved.  Listening to “Love Sex Magic” when it comes up in the playlist, I grin and feel the residual heat and fervor of my love for my traveling partner…and on some other level, my pure delight and animal enthusiasm for healthy adult play, generally. Few things chase the demons back into the darkness like a really good playlist. 🙂

Aside from the complicated moments immediately after waking, it’s a lovely morning. My coffee is tasty, smooth, hot – and I managed it without spilling boiling water on the counter when I moistened the filter, or getting dust from ground coffee all over the floor – I often do both. It’s okay; I’m learning not to take my own humanity personally, or treat small such ‘mistakes’ as any reflection on my worth as a human being, a partner, a lover, artist, writer, or woman – hell, it’s not even “about” having a brain injury. Every human, everywhere, has moments of clumsiness, makes mistakes, causes a mess by mistake, or falls short of their own vision of who they can be on some occasion. Perfect? It’s not a thing in real life. I’m over that. I haven’t lost anything but some needless heartache to let go of emotionally brutalizing myself over ever action or outcome that could be viewed as a mistake – and with good reason, frankly; too many of them turn out to be, if not utterly necessary in some unanticipated fashion, just not a big deal at all, and definitely unworthy of the drama, turmoil, and hurt. I figure, over time, continuing to treat myself well in this fashion will also result in having the reaction, itself, come up far less often. That tends to be how incremental change over time works out.

My arthritis is hurting a lot this week. Dancing helps – hurts, but it does help, and the easiest way to overcome the inertia of pain is to find movement irresistible – that’s dance, right there, isn’t it?  Turning on the music this morning was a good call for my body, as well as my heart and mind. My playlist is mostly dance tracks, hip hop, crunk, and couple of other favorites that ‘don’t really belong here’ (Santana, Billy Idol, Skrillex) … only… this is my playlist, and they do ‘belong’. How much easier would so much of life be with practices that made the practicing itself irresistible? There’s often a real thrill or moment of gratification associated with experiences in life that present the greatest risks of negative outcome… sex… money… rage… That’s more than a little bit inconvenient for a woman with a dis-inhibiting brain injury, trust me. I’m glad I can yield to the urge to dance without concern for adverse consequences. 🙂

A summer day, a journey that continues.

A summer day, a journey that continues.

The point this morning, as much as anything, is that I am often in my own way more than anything else is. Injuries do happen. Pain is part of the human experience. The constant struggling is a choice. Learning to make my choices differently is a process. Today is a good day to practice the practices that are working best for me. It’s a good day to remind the woman in the mirror I won’t be taking her shit, either; we need each other, but I won’t be allowing her chaos and damage to call the shots, when I can avoid it with other choices. Today is a good day to enjoy the journey.

I hurt this morning. I slept well, and with few interruptions. I guess I am “at an age” where I can commonly expect to wake in the night, sometimes more than once, just to pee. It’s not even annoying anymore, and I barely wake up. I know the layout here at home so well now that there is no need to turn on a light for something so routine, and I tumble back into bed still quite comfortable; the hot water here is hot straight away, so I am not awakened by cold water, or cold hands.

I started my coffee at about the same time as I started a “conversation” with my traveling partner, online. I enjoy those moments greatly, particularly when we are both in enough pain to wonder if it is worth it to pursue the plans we made earlier in the week. The connected dialogue feels intimate and real, and often satisfies most needs to feel visible, to be heard, to feel the power and strength of the connection we share… the missing pieces (touch, scent, hugs, kisses, sex) aren’t ‘everything’ – although I am admittedly quite late in life arriving at that conclusion, and definitely miss those things when we are apart.

I’m in enough pain with my arthritis this morning that yoga is the first thing on my mind – but not yet actually ‘do-able’. I am so stiff that gentle changes in posture, for now, are enough to hurt – and ease the stiffness somewhat – and it will be possibly an hour or more before doing yoga is a thing. So, I enjoy my morning coffee and a few minutes of conversation with my dear love, and start the day quite gently.

I stepped into my living room this morning and felt something new… as if I were really welcoming myself home for the very first time. I spent quite a bit of the afternoon yesterday tackling small tasks leftover from moving: sorting papers that had been stuffed into small drawers, tidying cables and cords, taking the wall-mount hardware off the back of the t.v. and reattaching the stand, placing the t.v. in its new location, rearranging some objects and making choices about precisely which paintings will hang precisely where on the long west wall now that I could see it with the t.v. in its place. I didn’t think much about the outcome when I had finished, aside from feeling content and satisfied. This morning I wasn’t thinking about those changes, or the living room, at all – and when I stepped out of the hallway (no kidding, the builder managed to wedge a hallway into this tiny apartment) into the living room, I paused, startled – it felt like a homecoming after a long time away, a combination of welcoming relief, and delight.

Enough.

Enough.

This morning I am delightfully aware of some things I really love about my home, and my life. I take time to appreciate them.

  • Cool morning air currents chilling my bare toes as I sit, sipping my coffee, watching the morning sky lighten through the partially open vertical blinds on the open patio door.
  • The sparkle of sequins on the floor cushion by the window, where I often sit and meditate gazing out across the lawn, watching the birds, squirrels, and cats go about their own lives.
  • The plentiful hot water; I am ever-grateful for indoor plumbing, and the convenience of hot running water in good supply. The water pressure, and the ready hot water here at Number 27 are especially nice.
  • A big bathtub. The bath here is not ‘over-sized’ in any notable way – but it is of an era when ‘efficiency’ sized tubs for apartments weren’t a thing, and ‘water-saving’ tubs were not common. It is spacious, and deep enough to soak. It is enameled cast iron, too, instead of fiberglass, and retains warmth. After more than two years enduring a plastic ‘water-saving’ tub barely big enough for a child, and unreliable hot water, this tub seems lavish and I do love the hot water. 🙂
  • The aesthetic – this place looks like a place I would live; it is decorated with books (everywhere), art (mine, mostly), and comfort in mind. It is an easy place to relax, to find stillness, to enjoy solitude – or to hang out with friends (although for now, seating is limited). It is a drama-free zone.
  • I love that my breakables are on display, and have no concern that they may be damaged or mishandled; having them on display means I not only see them, and enjoy them aesthetically – they are near at hand for use! Hand made swizzle sticks, rare porcelain demi-tasse cups, lovely lampwork paperweights, antique sherbet dishes, and first edition books – out, and on display because this is my life, my home – and this is my way.
  • Every detail here is managed to provide as much comfort and ease in my own experience as I can make possible.
  • The counters are orderly and uncluttered. It’s a small kitchen, and space is in high demand – in spite of the luxury it represents, I choose to put things away in a fashion that leaves the counters mostly quite bare unless in use. The only appliances that remain out all the time are for making coffee: the burr grinder, the goose-neck kettle, the air-tight containers holding the coffee beans, and the filters. I love the smooth expanse of clean counters.

These are things that appeal to me. This is my own life. I don’t imagine for a moment that these things are necessary for your comfort; you are having your own experience. There are other ways. Other lives. Other choices. I’ve spent a lifetime compromising my aesthetic, and my comfort, for other people – often simply to pacify them, or make something more convenient in their experience – and done so at the expense of far more than my ‘convenience’ in some cases. I’ve managed to over-compromise to the point of doing myself real damage in some relationships, unwilling to say ‘um…go fuck your convenience, because this is actually something I need to heal, and to thrive.’ I didn’t have the words – and in some relationships, wouldn’t have been heard anyway. Some people only ever hear their own voice.

I think I am sharing this, today, not because you need the details of what pleases me, but to give perspective on what details may really matter – and how small those can be for any one of us. You too. It’s no trivial thing for me to have my breakables on display – it’s actually a very big deal, although in the simplest of sentences it seems a fairly small thing; it’s heart breaking for me when they are all boxed up and put away ‘for safe keeping’. Same with having my art hanging – in a building in which I reside, seeing bare walls causes me real emotional pain, and leaves me feeling frankly disrespected, devalued – and unloved. Having to double-down on that insult by seeing common ‘production decor’ hanging in my environment day to day instead of original art of some kind, by any actual artist, is… offensive. You are a different person, but certainly there are ‘small things’ in your own experience that don’t feel so small to you. Those matter. It’s okay that they matter. Taking care of you may mean giving those details more attention, and greater prominence, for no other reason than that they matter to you.

It’s taken awhile getting here…but, yeah, I matter enough to matter to me. Finally. It’s a nice feeling to wake up to, even when I hurt. No one knows me like I do – and no one can take care of me as well as I can, or show me greater consideration… but there are verbs involved, and intent, and will.  For far too long I allowed my ‘won’t’ to take the lead in my life.

I hurt today, rather a lot. It’s okay though; I’m at home. I have what I need, here, to take the very best care of me. Today, this is enough. 🙂