Archives for posts with tag: mindfulness

I managed to hang on to the slower pace with which I started the day, yesterday. I found it a pleasant and worthwhile approach to the day, which finished well with a phone call from my traveling partner, safely returned home.

This morning I am ‘in no mood to be rushed’, but it’s not an unpleasant place to be; I’m simply taking the morning slowly. My coffee is hot, and tasty, the morning is quiet – it is still too early for birdsong, and traffic has not yet begun the harried pace that creates the background noise that is so familiar to modern life. For now, it is about as quiet as it gets, here. I sipped my coffee, relaxing on the love seat, away from screens, and monitors, and applications, and active digital information being shoved into my consciousness for some time. That, too, is lovely, quiet, calming…I embrace all of those qualities with gentle enthusiasm, not looking for relief from stress or worrisome emotions – I have none this morning. I’m just enjoying a chill morning, content over my coffee.

Enough.

Enough.

There’s often so much pressure to make more of things. I’m not sure where it comes from, I’m content to be content, myself, generally. Why would it need to be any fancier than that? I do like pretty language…sometimes it carries me too far, and I find myself looking for ‘more’, when all I actually need is ‘enough’. I find the example of books fitting; I love books, real books, bound books, and although I have a Kindle, I also still have quite a few books. I could have more – there are more to have – I did have more, once, and each relocation finds me sorting through the books and inevitably sending some along to someone else to read and to have, usually based on ‘does this book really represent some piece of who I have come to be?’. I like the books I have to be part of who I am. I’ve read every book I own. On the other hand, I sometimes find myself getting caught up in the excitement of discovering a first edition among my books…then I may find that I’m shopping for more books, fancy books, first edition books, rare books…more books!! I don’t need ‘more books’, though, and I know that I will only keep the ones that mean something to me…so…what the hell? If it remains fun, and doesn’t take over my experience obsessively, and doesn’t lead to financial ruin, why does it matter what I do with my time, or how many books I pile up in corners and on shelves? Well…it does matter, for me, because the obsessive quality of acquisition isn’t based in a mindful experience, lacks perspective, often results in having so much that none of it matters and there’s no time to appreciate the individual elements being collected; it becomes an experience that exceeds any sense of sufficiency to the point that over time I feel my good character and values being degraded. Over books? Over anything – I just used books as an example.

All the practices...

All the practices…

Sufficiency is peculiar. I have a small collection of very fine porcelain demi-tasse cups and saucers. I began collecting them when I lived in Europe. Many of the pieces I own are antiques. They were not expensive individual purchases, and the study of the manufacturers, the patterns, the history of porcelain, and the slow enthusiasm of shopping with great care over time for something precious (and affordable) creates a beautiful experience for me. It’s the slow process, the depth of explored knowledge, the appreciation of each individual cup and saucer, the worthiness and beauty of them – and the power of choice that went into ‘this versus that’; there’s only ever so much room to keep things. Of all the elements of my whole life experience over time, this one – my porcelain – is entirely representative of my own choices, unaffected by the will – or taste – of anyone else. It sprang to life as a thing for me during a time in my life when damned little seemed mine to choose, and life was frightening, chaotic, painful, secretive, and potentially not survivable at all. My little collection is not only ‘enough’, and built on the sufficiency, and luxury, of beauty, it represents the incredible strength of my will to go on, and to find something beautiful in a life filled with fear, grief, and trauma. I’ve always had trouble explaining why seeing them boxed up and put away for safety from life’s chaos and OPD has been so heartbreaking for me – they are more than just ‘breakables’, by far.

Whimsical porcelain figurine; Meissen on display at the Portland Art Museum.

Whimsical porcelain figurine; Meissen on display at the Portland Art Museum.

My life is taking on the shape of who I am. I’ve never seen me in this light before, unfolding over time as this particular being, with these particular qualities of character, living her life specifically as it suits her best, decorating with bound books on shelves, and antiques not only displayed but in every day use – and still, somehow, a life lacking in clutter or chaos…tidy…simple…lovely. Couldn’t I have made these choices in other environments, in shared experiences? It seems so… I didn’t find it a simple thing to do. The living metaphor when something precious is broken just destroys me, emotionally, for some small time, and seems far more common in shared living arrangements, than living alone. I find myself wondering, a bit puzzled, if one driver of moving into my own place was simply to reduce the potential for things being broken, carelessly, and finding myself content to accept that it could be adequate cause to move into my own place, from my perspective – then realizing that this small detail speaks volumes on who I am, and how far I have come to be the woman I most want to be, and how much farther there seems to go.

Beautiful things linger in memory and meaning long after they are gone from my physical experience.

Beautiful things linger in memory and meaning long after they are gone from my physical experience.

Is this all sounding very serious this morning? It’s not so much. Just thoughts, words… I am my own cartographer; perhaps I am simply updating the map, and enjoying the morning over a good cup of coffee?

Morning is here. The whoosh of commuter traffic makes itself heard, and the sky is light enough to see that the day is overcast, at least for now.  There is a squirrel sitting outside the patio door, looking in; he has uprooted the last remaining gladiolus bulb that I had potted when I moved…or perhaps something else, that he had planted there, himself, at some later point. I smile; it’s not a detail that distresses me, and I enjoy the antics of squirrels. I hear birdsong now, and in the distance a siren – someone else’s morning is not going very well at all.

The continued investment in contentment, in calm, in stillness, all add up over time. It’s necessary to keep practicing the practices that have that result – it’s not a permanent sort of thing that can be achieved and then put aside. There is a continuous, patient, investment in self required, there are verbs involved, being human there are opportunities to fail myself now and then  – and learn and grow from that, too. My results vary, regularly, and I sometimes find myself doubting my progress or success…then there is a morning like this one. Things fit. Things feel right. I feel content, relaxed, and self-assured – it’s not a report card, or a finish line, and it is not the achievement of some goal that can be checked off a to do list, or added to a spreadsheet. This is a continuous journey, its own ongoing thing, a process – a verb, a series of verbs, an experience happening now – always happening now. I smile over my coffee; life is worth slowing down for.

I am enjoying my morning coffee. The morning is still and quiet. My tinnitus is louder in my ears (in my head?) that the sounds of the world that are audible through the open patio door. I slept well, and through the night, waking at my usual time, and returning to sleep after taking my morning medication. Sleeping in is a lovely start to a Sunday.

I have re-started this post three times now, changing the underlying idea, changing the title, changing my mind about what matters most this morning…it’s easy; it’s a blog post.

Life allows us to re-write our own narrative, too. I’ve needed to make use of that truth so many times, I sometimes forget how easy it is to commit to one detail, one experience, one notion of the ‘true truth’ or the ‘real reality’ that it becomes less clear that many of the details of life that I cling to with such passion are…well…completely ‘made up’. Seriously. How often has a simple change of perspective completely altered my understanding of the basic facts of an experience such that what I think about it, and what it means to me, are completely changed? Let’s just call that quantity ‘often’, and move on, without criticism or judgement.

I started the weekend with a loose plan, and a lack of preparation. I am ending it mostly with no plan at all, completely prepared for each moment as it happens – just by being here – and I have been both enjoying and benefiting greatly from the experience. Enjoyable has not meant ‘easy’, although it has been very restful and nurturing time with myself, it has also been emotional. The benefits in these circumstances are that I am forced nudged encouraged to listen more deeply to myself regarding what I need, not just of this weekend, but out of my own life, and out of living alone. As usual, there have been verbs involved; I’ve had to repeatedly choose to turn away from brain candy, to listen deeply to my own heart. Tenderly caring for old wounds, and looking at some of love’s challenges from a different perspective has had profound value. I still have more questions than answers – but the questions I have right now are particularly good ones to ask.

One of many creative endeavors - and satisfying without being messy.

A well-spent evening.

I spent yesterday evening meditating and sketching pen & ink note cards for future correspondence. It feels good to work artistically, and it is definitely one purpose of this solo space – more room and time to paint is how I have phrased it, but without intending to limit my creativity to paint on canvas. I have spent a lot of time this weekend meditating, and simply sitting quite still in this quiet place. Oddly, the love seat that arrived Thursday seems to help with that; I find myself sitting there far more often than at my desk. I thought to ask myself why the chair that was already here, in the living room, did not also have that effect? I have no answer, but it is true – I spend much less time at my desk now (and my back thanks me).

Some things don’t work. Quite a few things, actually, and my first draft this morning focused on things that don’t work, from the title to the last word – when I realized I don’t really want the day to be about that. My mouse, for example, is apparently dying… fresh batteries are no improvement. Cleaning it didn’t help. Highlighting more than one word is currently an exercise in managing frustration, as is clicking on a link, which now requires a very careful, deliberate, thoughtful action to be at all successful. I had been, as is my way, just ‘working around it’ and didn’t quite  understand my mouse to be dying – I thought it was something about me that had changed somehow. It was my traveling partner’s frustration with my mouse, and his firm advisement that the mouse is dying, that got me thinking about the experience differently; a needed change in perspective. With some small amount of sadness, I have ordered a replacement for it, and even paid to have it arrive sooner. I like this mouse… it seems to have an image of a naked woman dancing on it, rather abstractly, in the design, and the mouse itself is small and fits nicely in my hand. I feel sad when I replace things that have worked for a long time; this is also part of who I am. There have been other things not working, for days, for weeks, recently, over time – it’s part of life that some things work well and easily, and others less so. It sort of goes without saying, doesn’t it? Even with love…some things work, some things don’t. How that experience fits into life’s narrative remains largely chosen, and changeable – subject to interpretation.

As with so many journeys, it isn't always clear where the path leads.

As with so many journeys, it isn’t always clear where the path leads.

I have a pleasant morning ahead of me. A hike. Brunch with a friend and a visit to a nearby farmer’s market. Coffee and conversation about art, later. An afternoon of housekeeping and taking care of me before reluctantly facing the ongoing truth of having sold my life and effort for 40 hours a week to the highest bidder; tomorrow is Monday, and I must return to work.

I miss my traveling partner a great deal. I wonder when I will see him again? (And what of the wanderer? I have been missing him, as well.) We have plans for next weekend, and I am already eagerly looking forward to dinner with him – ‘dating’ my partner is great fun, and we didn’t do much of it when we first got together. It’s a strange place to be with life and love; appreciative of what we have together, and aware that I want a great deal more from love than what he has to offer, right now. I suppose loving with my whole heart while also leaving my loves free to love in just such measure as they are able to is something to celebrate – sometimes, though, I miss reciprocity, and wonder what I can do to love more skillfully, more tenderly, more passionately, as if doing so would result in being more well-loved… Forgetting, perhaps, that love looks very different seen from their perspective; love has many faces, and all of them are beautiful. Still… I miss romance, and touch, and intimate laughter. I am eager to welcome love home.

Tending the garden in my heart.

Tending the garden of my heart.

Today is a lovely day to be present, and engaged, and real. Today is a good day to love.

I could as easily ask ‘what time is love?‘ – same answer: at the tone the time will be…’now’. It’s always ‘now’, actually, and never any other moment…unless, I suppose, we count the possibility of time travel, or perhaps the influence of huge quantities of certain hallucinogens. So… sure, okay, a few things may shake the unavoidable ‘now’…but…generally…’now’ is the time. Here we are. This is it. Whatever it is…it is.  This morning, ‘now’ came early – at 3:17 am, actually. I turned off the alarm once it was clear I was definitely entirely awake, and headed for the shower.

It’s still ‘now’. A shower, yoga, meditation and preparing coffee…and although it is later, it remains very much ‘now’. I can look ahead…it’s still simply ‘now’. I can look back…still, here I am, fixed firmly in the ‘now’ moment. Wherever I turn, ‘now’ is what I really have to work with. It’s not that the future is unaffected by ‘now’ – it is most definitely affected by ‘now’; every choice I make ripples through my future. Even the past is altered by ‘now’; my perspective changes with experience, with new information, with the passage of time itself. Still, however busy life is, all I have to work with, to enjoy, and to live is ‘now’.

Taking a few moments to consider an idea.

Taking a few moments to consider an idea.

What time is it? Right now it’s coffee time. My coffee this morning is quite dreadful. I am considering pouring it out and making a fresh cup. ‘Now’ matters that much; if I am not present in the moment, my actions may not be sufficiently relevant to my needs, and I may be unaware even of what my needs in the moment actually are. Me, personally, at 4:43 am…I need coffee, and frankly, my preference is that it be, if not exceptional, at least quite good. So…now I am going to make a fresh cup of coffee because this one… yeah… it sucks. It’s definitely important to pay attention while making coffee if using something that requires an artful touch, and some precision, as with a pour over. “Paying attention” is one way to describe mindfulness.

Second cup, no second thoughts – and it is still very much ‘now’. That’s how it tends to be – ‘now’. What will I do with the moment? I rarely pause to consider it, I simply do and be much of the time, and I don’t make that observation with any hint of criticism. I find life is to be lived. I strive to live well, and mindfully, and mostly doing so is more pleasant than not, and tends to result in a certain sense of worthiness to the entire endeavor – which seems worth having, and reason enough to work at it attentively, investing in good self-care practices, and learning to cope compassionately with my injury and my damage. ‘Now’ has become a pretty big deal.

Here’s something noteworthy about ‘now’, though – it’s easily wasted. It can slip away in an instant and become hours that have passed me by without action, without effort, without any investment of will and intent, and without significant result, or activity worthy of later recollection (I’m looking at you, television!). I find that almost any moment spent mindfully aware, even the painful ones, and yes, even the ones spent in stillness, meditating or watching clouds drift by, is a moment well spent. I remember more when I am awake, aware, and present. I have the sense that I am doing or achieving more, regardless how much ‘got done’. Life feels lived – as though the noun itself comes alive and gets all verb-y straight away – when I approach it mindfully, aware of my choices, deliberate in my actions. Time itself passes more slowly – and ‘now’ becomes of even greater value, extended, prolonged, and significant.

There’s nothing actually ‘easy’ about mindfulness. It’s also not actually ‘difficult’. It isn’t expensive to pursue it, and it requires no costly memberships or equipment. It need not be attached in any way to profit-generating activities, although it is clearly finding its cultural moment, and along the way many people are finding ways to market mindfulness or profit from it. The current popularity of mindfulness as a word, as a concept, and as an endeavor don’t make it any more likely that people will actually practice the needed practices to become more mindful – though many will say that they will, or do, or are. I don’t worry much about any of that, although I am sometimes frustrated to read articles that seem critical of practices I find have such value, myself. I worry, sometimes, that people innocent of the marketing bullshit, the hype, and the inevitable disappointment of people who expected it to be ‘easy’ or to ‘fix everything’ will result in someone who really needs what mindfulness has to offer not finding their way to it – that was my own experience. I didn’t get ‘here’ sooner; I was distracted by other people losing their way, being discouraged, and because I was discouraged, myself, the first time I was exposed to meditation – there were verbs involved, and more than one sort of practice, and… and… and… it’s not easy! (“Isn’t there some prescription, or…?”)

Mindfulness practices can be very simple and very basic. My own favorite meditation is not any sort of elaborate guided meditation with a soothing voice, lovely visual image, or lofty conceptualization – it isn’t necessary that it be such, and those don’t ‘work for me’ in the sense that although they may be soothing and pleasant, what I need myself is to become very centered, present, and calm within myself. I rely on meditation to keep me from standing on the precipice, to pull me back from the brink of disaster, to clean up the chaos and damage; the only world I am looking to change with any urgency is the world within. My own favorite meditation is simply to focus on my breath, to remain in this ‘now’ moment until I achieve stillness and inner calm. Yes. I have to keep at it. Yes. My mind wanders. Yes. I am sometimes distracted by physical discomfort, noise, stray thoughts, having to pee, and suddenly remembering other things that arise in my recollection attached to a sense of urgency. There’s no rush, no pressure, no report card, no internal criticism; I just keep at it until I do find that inner stillness. If’ I’m uncomfortable, I adjust – and begin again. If I am distracted, I take another breath, and begin again. If I have to pee, I take care of that biological need and begin again. If I remember something important that has been forgotten, I take a note and begin again (and often meditate with a notepad very near at hand for that reason). It’s called a practice for a reason – and there are most assuredly verbs involved.

“Does mindfulness work?” is a question with similar value as “what time is it?” – It really depends on what you are trying to find out. I find mindfulness practices very effective, myself, but the outcome is entirely dependent on my actions, my own investment in practicing the practice, and how well-chosen the practice is for my needs. If I were to discontinue the practice of meditation, would meditation itself be less effective because I stopped practicing it? Um…no. I might be less effective – but it would be a choice I make for myself, not a failure of meditation as a tool or practice.

The Stillness Within

“The Stillness Within” 8″ x 10″ acrylic on canvas w/glow 2014

The time is ‘now’. If one practice has failed, try another. If the ‘failure’ is simply a lack of actual practice, easier still – begin again. There are verbs involved, and there is all the ‘now’ in the world to use them. 🙂

 

Yesterday (truthfully, most days) I was early everywhere I needed to be. This was both practical and possible because I had arranged with my traveling partner to borrow his car for the day. Handy. I arrived on the east side of town about an hour before my appointment time, got a coffee from a nearby boutique cafe with a working class theme – one I’d never been to before, and don’t expect will still be there the next time I am in that neighborhood.  Making a small business thrive is hard enough when it is any sort besides a cafe, in a city where cafes are on literally every corner – and a third of them are Starbucks. It’s a tough business. The coffee was good – lavender infused iced coffee with whipped cream – and a nice treat.

Even buying a cup of coffee, I had nearly an hour before my appointment. I had once lived in this neighborhood, and a favorite small park was right down the street from my appointment. Walking those lovely paths in the quite of early morning, uncrowded, undisturbed, sounded like a lovely accompaniment to my coffee. I hadn’t been to this particular park in quite a lot of years, although I’d only left the neighborhood some 5 years ago; I had at some point gained so much weight on the drugs the VA was giving me that walking the distance to the park (less than a mile) was too hard for me. I figure the last time I walked the paths of this lovely park was sometime in… 2004? Or…possibly I’ve simply forgotten other visits.

A small park, but no shortage of grandeur.

A small park, but no shortage of grandeur. The entry way has a big view.

The Crystal Springs Rhododendron Garden has history. It is a common visitor destination, particularly on Mother’s Day – so of course, I didn’t make a practice of going then. In fact, my most common time to visit this park was by moonlight – sneaking over or under the fence to get into the park after dark. In the summer it was especially nice – it felt very safe, and the air less stifling than in my tiny second floor apartment with no a/c, and the windows placed such that breezes just didn’t make it into the hot still rooms. I would often get into the park, and pull off my confining summer dress and sandals and stroll the well-maintained paths quite naked by moonlight. Those were some of the loveliest moments ever. It struck me strangely yesterday that it had been so long since I even held the recollection of these treasured moments in my consciousness…why had I let them go?

Lacking the time to explore at greater length, I paused frequently to breath the fresh air, and listen to the sounds of the trees and birds and breezes all around me.

Lacking the time to explore at greater length, I paused frequently to breathe the fresh air, and listen to the sounds of the trees and birds and breezes all around me.

The dogwoods are still flowering - they remind me of my childhood home.

The dogwoods are still flowering – they remind me of my childhood home.

I step to an edge to experience the dizzying view to the water below, from a path high above the creek.

I step to an edge to experience the dizzying view to the water below, from a path high above the creek.

I sit and meditate for a time, in a favorite spot. On a moonlit night, the silvery moonlight fills this place, and the only sound is the waterfall.

I sit and meditate for a time, in a favorite spot. On a moonlit night, the silvery moonlight fills this place, and the only sound is the waterfall.

There are little waterfalls here and there all through the park.

There are little waterfalls here and there all through the park.

This is my favorite among the waterfalls.

This is my favorite among the waterfalls. I linger awhile.

There are no rhododendrons or azaleas blooming this time of year, but there is no shortage of flowers.

There are no rhododendrons or azaleas blooming this time of year, but there is no shortage of flowers.

And there is no shortage of picturesque views.

And there is no shortage of picturesque views.

It has rained, and everything is covered with tiny drops of water, and the air smells fresh.

It has rained, and everything is covered with tiny drops of water, and the air smells fresh.

It is a lovely place to spend an hour on a Wednesday morning.

It is a lovely place to spend an hour on a Wednesday morning.

The paths follow the banks of creek, stream, and lake; eventually I am n noticed by the ducks.

The paths follow the banks of creek, stream, and lake; eventually I am n noticed by the ducks.

The ducks here are rather tame, and unharassed; they come seeking treats.

The ducks here are rather tame, and unharassed; they come seeking treats.

They invite their friends.

They invite their friends.

There are lovely moments for perspective...

There are lovely moments for perspective…

...from one point of view or another.

…from one point of view or another.

And still more flowers.

And still more flowers.

At some point they boarded up one favored way into the park at night... it would not longer be so easy to stroll here in the moonlight.

At some point they boarded up one favored way into the park at night… it would not longer be so easy to stroll here in the moonlight.

It is a lovely place...but eventually my path takes me to the exit, and onward with the day.

It is a lovely place…but eventually my path takes me to the exit, and onward with the day.

It can be so easy to look back on years of hardship and struggling, and overlook the wonders, the delights, the precious moments that I did enjoy – they are locked in this rather poorly maintained file system I call my memory. There are some lovely moments tangled up in here, sometimes lost, sometimes found. I enjoyed visiting this one – it is precious to me. There are few recollections of life well-lived that beat walking naked in the moonlight on hot summer nights along well-maintained paths among the trees and flowers, feeling the breezes, catching the delightful scents of flowers on the breeze… fearless, relaxed, and if not ‘happy’ – at least happy enough to enjoy living that moment. It is too easy to overlook the good moments mixed in with the difficult times; I cherish the unexpected opportunity to reset my thinking on that era of my life so simply, and so delightfully. It wasn’t all bad – there was a lot of fun, plenty of good times, and some lovely memories were made. Isn’t that what so often traps people in a poorly chosen situation; it isn’t all bad….? We hang on to what works, what feels good, what is ‘good enough’ and forget to take care of ourselves with greater care than settling for what we’ve got, even though we’re merely surviving it. Still…once I take the steps to make better decisions, to take care of me, to live well and to thrive – isn’t it also important to cherish what worked, in spite of what didn’t? 🙂

Today is a good day to appreciate life’s joys and delights; they are rare enough as it is, and I don’t serve myself well to overlook them because they were part of a challenging time in my life. Today is a good day to smile at the pleasures offered by happenstance – and to take the opportunity to enjoy myself that is offered. Today is a good day for perspective, and to be mindful that “now” is the moment I am in, always, but there have been others that have been worth savoring in life, and it is never too late to enjoy a memory. 🙂

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.