Archives for posts with tag: mindfulness

Well, or maybe not – especially if you haven’t asked, or I haven’t told you, or we don’t spend much time together…right? Assumptions tend to result in people having relationships and interactions with rather different people than the people involved are thinking they are, themselves. Like a lot of thinking, it isn’t ‘real’; it’s all completely made up. When I approached turning 50, I made a choice to take a much more genuine approach to my experience, generally, and I’m glad I did. It hasn’t been the easiest change to make; I can adjust my own thinking, and refrain from making assumptions, but I can’t do a damned thing about the thinking, or assumptions, of others – not even to wake them up to the rather significant changes in my approach to my own life and experience. I will be taking The Four Agreements with me out into the trees. It seems a good time to reread it.

Pop songs make so much of life, love, and sex sound incredibly easy. I don’t even find ‘being easy’ particularly easy in practice. It’s fortunately more amusing and bewildering than anything else, most of the time.

Do you know what I like? Even if you know me personally (and some of you do), even if you are an intimate associate or partner, what chance is there that you actually know me sufficiently well that you know what I like – right now, after a couple of years of intense growth and change, without actually asking me? Experience tells me that it is quite rare to be so well-known as a human being, even by the most connected and intimate associates, even after years of interacting, without at least some exchange of explicit communication.  To expect to be known so well in the midst of change, or at the end of a period of profound growth, doesn’t sound likely at all, and seems likely to cause all kinds of suffering.

I also notice that it is very uncommon for people who already know each other to make much effort to update their knowledge and expectations of their friends, lovers, or partners identities, preferences, aesthetic; the details that express the heart of soul of who we are. That seems very strange. I know assumptions have survival value – or we probably wouldn’t have developed to make so many of them – but they are not a particularly useful intimacy building tool… and yet, we cling to them, argue to defend our assumptions – even in the face of actual information.

Do you know what I like? More to the point – that person walking beside you in life, how about that person – do you know what they like? Do you listen when they talk about it? Are you interested? Does it matter to you? And you – do you feel heard? Recognized? Valued? Encouraged in your endeavors? Do you face holidays and gift occasions eager, and content in the knowledge that you are known, and understood? That what matters to you is significant in their experience because it does matter to you? Do you still look love in the eyes eagerly wanting to know more?

Oh, Baby, you knoooow what I like!

Oh, Baby, you knoooow what I like!

It’s a lovely gentle Saturday, spent on art, lattes, meditation, and some words – and questions. Today is a good day for questions. Today is a good day for presence. Today is a good day to be genuinely this woman I am; who else could do it better than I can? Today is a good day to change the world.

I’ve been having some exceptional moments, lately. Some are small and really of no consequence to anyone but me. In some cases, these are the very best moments – gifts of heart, and love, from me, to me, myself. Those are sometimes oddly poignant, particularly if they are experiences colored by the realization that I could have been there for me, in some way, all along. They aren’t unpleasant moments, but sometimes they are uncomfortable.

Each having our own experience...

Each having our own experience…

Lately I have been really throwing myself into being who I am, by choice, supported by my values and actions, and wholly enjoying the enjoyable bits of this amazing creature I have become over the years, while steadfastly working toward my personal goals one practice at a time, investing in great self-care, and taking time to savor this amazing journey. It feels good, and more than that, it feels a bit as if pieces of heart and soul torn from me by circumstances or maltreatment are somehow ‘finding their way home’. I feel more whole than I have… ever. No, life isn’t ‘perfect’, whatever that means, and I will likely spend a lifetime healing, and sorting myself out from the chaos and damage – but it no longer feels like an exercise in futility; I feel hopeful, and better, I am often content.

Life is. Change is. Action is. Choice is. Love is. There are lots of things that are – and it’s a busy world, with each of us having our own experience. I am practicing a couple of practices to simplify my daily experience, because simpler is what suits me best, at this time in my life. I am enjoying making choices that truly support my needs over time, and learning to do so more easily has been worth the ongoing challenges with doing so. It’s still difficult, sometimes, to stay true to taking care of me when it isn’t easy, or faces the obstacle of expectations, assumptions, or agendas held by others. Practicing improves outcomes over time.

Contemplating where this journey might take me, and considering the path ahead.

Contemplating where this journey might take me, and considering the path ahead.

I have the luxury of planning an early spring solo camping trip. I am yearning to be free of steel and pavement and society’s needs and conventions. I am yearning to be among the trees, and the quiet of the world without humankind’s urgency and complicated details. I am craving stillness to the point of lusting after the sound of breezes and birdsong. I am ready to take a few days free of any agenda but my own serenity and survival. My reservations are made. My transportation plans have been confirmed. This weekend I’ll do a preliminary gear check, and make a list, and check it – perhaps a few more times than twice, just for the fun of handling the gear. 🙂

This particular camping trip is an opportunity to test new limits and current endurance; I am packing my lightest gear, going for a longer period than I generally do, and camping at a time of year when inclement weather and extremes of temperature are likely – and likely to be variable. No cot – will my arthritis be a problem? No camping chair – will I miss the luxury of my fancy folding chair, even though the campsite has a picnic table? Colder nights – will I sleep? If I don’t sleep, will I slowly allow strange noises to fuel vague fears into becoming panic and spend sleepless nights worrying about imaginary monsters in the night forest? Will I spend 4 days huddled in my tent hoping to avoid drenching rain? Will I run out of coffee? Will it matter if I do? Assurances from family members that I “can always come home Friday if…” are met with a smile, and the confidence that I’ll be out in the trees the entire time. I know me. I will learn some things about who I am now, over a few chilly spring days in the forest.

I only have one reservation - the only one I need.

I only have one reservation – the only one I need: campsite #21.

Today I plan; it’s a good day for planning, and anticipating fun. It’s a good day to enjoy the world I create with my choices, and my actions. It’s a good day to change the world.

 

 

The evening ends quietly, after a pleasantly productive day that felt more recreational than not. I spent much of it gardening…well…on such tasks as gardening offers at the tail end of winter, preparing for planting to come. Things will turn to spring seemingly overnight; I take advantage of pleasantly sunny or dry days getting ready for it. I share my love of gardening and growing things with my traveling partner, and we pass a lot of time talking about plants, gardening, techniques, yield… It’s strangely intimate, which I attribute to the undercurrent of love that is so palpable when we are together.

I’m not ready for sleep, but I am no longer feeling like companionship. These last few minutes of evening are my own; I sift through the events, interactions, and thoughts of the day, and consider them more thoroughly. I take time to savor the most pleasant moments. I make a disciplined practice of pausing ever so briefly on moments that troubled me, taking only such time as needed to observe, non-judgmentally, and moving on to other moments. It doesn’t feel natural to linger so willfully on all the things that felt the best, and delighted me most, nonetheless, it is a practice that tends to create a more positive experience overall, day-to-day, and finding and maintaining balance seems easier, generally. It most certainly counts as treating myself well.

Today wasn’t fancy, and that doesn’t matter at all; today was enough.

Some of the very best moments are the simplest of pleasures. Few things are more wonderful than love and coffee shared on a relaxed morning.

Some of the very best moments are the simplest of pleasures. Few things are more wonderful than love and coffee shared on a relaxed morning.

I love fairy tales, and stories with a strong heroine, who faces a challenge, learns a lesson, and grows to become someone wonderful. I like a happy ending. I read a lot of ‘happily ever after’ endings over the years, and at some point ‘happily ever after’ became an implicit goal. That’s especially maddening because that is basically the least attainable goal ever imagined. I enjoy feeling happy. I find ‘joy’, ‘delight’, and all manner of pleasant happiness-related, happiness-producing quite wonderful and worth experiencing. I didn’t have much success making the whole point of existence getting to some difficult to define ‘happily ever after’ place. Quite the contrary, I think making ‘happily ever after’ something to chase resulted in a lot of personal unhappiness.

I don’t actually understand why happiness seems so much more common now that I’m not chasing it…but it does tend to be the experience I am having.

Unfolding like spring flowers.

The loveliness of simply being.

I am okay right now. It wasn’t my best evening. I enjoyed the day in relative physical comfort. By the time I arrived home, after a chilly drizzly commute, I was in pain and irritable. If I could fold time, I would put this moment, here, adjacent to my arrival, and perhaps enjoy myself and my family more, being in a better mood, and less pain. I’m not complaining, and I don’t recall being unpleasant, just in pain and perhaps too tired to be more considerate with my phrasing; I know it takes a lot to hurt my traveling partner’s feelings, and I know I succeeded. I will make amends in the morning, learn from the experience and move on. It’s okay to treat myself with great care, even though I feel badly about the evening going a bit sideways, and I have spent the evening gently, managing my pain, watching South Park, and writing. It was my intention to do these things when I arrived home hurting so much, and it’s pretty satisfying to find that good self-care has indeed helped a lot, although I am still in too much pain to be able to sleep just yet; yoga will help with that a lot, and meditation afterward is a nice way to finish the day.

Every time something works out just a bit better, I take time to really appreciate it, notice it, and hold onto the experience for some minutes. I ‘let it soak in’. I make a point of continuing those practices, and even investing more time in those that are regularly part of some new moment of personal success. In the most difficult moments, I am sometimes very briefly so bitter and hurt that I am unsure these things really matter, or that I am actually making progress day-to-day. The doubts are incredibly painful, and I am very relieved each time I get past that moment, to this place when ‘I am okay right now’, and able to enjoy the moment of progress, or resilience, or emotional safety – successes, all.

Stormy sky, quiet evening.

Stormy sky, quiet evening.

I feel more vulnerable sharing successes, than I do ‘failures’, or learning experiences. Vulnerable is okay, too. It’s a nice evening.

Well, I suppose the aphorism is slightly different, for most. “Home is where the heart is”, is more likely to ring true. For me, it hasn’t been enough… Do I lack ‘heart’? That seems unlikely from the vantage point of being generally well-regarded, mostly valued, and living life embraced by love. But… living in a particular building, or at a specific address, has not been sufficient to define ‘home’ for me – even though I live with loved ones, in a generally comfortable, pretty contented day-to-day sort of way. It has seemed very odd for some time.

I’m not always sure what being an artist means, precisely. I’m not sure how being an artist defines me differently than being someone who paints an occasional painting, or creates something of great beauty once in a while; it’s the beauty created that matters more. I am uncomfortably aware in recent months that my own art speaks to me, myself, with an earnestness and import that has resulted in feeling pretty displaced and homeless not seeing it displayed all around me in my daily life; it hadn’t been hung. There’s a lot of it. One or two paintings made it to the walls over the past couple years… I have… dozens. Hundreds? I paint like a madwoman, I am not shy about admitting that. The bare expanses of wall started working on my mind, over time; the stacks and stacks of paintings at the ready, the cabinets of smaller ones, the carefully boxed (between layers of protective acid-free tissue) unframed watercolors… all waiting…all part of who I am…all disregarded in favor of day-to-day minutiae and drama, and seeming unimportant to anyone but me.

The pain of it diminished considerably when I realized in an honest and aware moment that the bare walls left me feeling quite ‘homeless’ – more ‘deployed’ than ‘moved in’; it wasn’t about anyone else’s choices or actions, and I hadn’t expressed how important seeing my working hanging really is for my day-to-day comfort and contentment. I could communicate the experience once I found words for it, and phrasing that didn’t sound like an attack on life and love. Communication is a pretty big deal, and best done in an explicit and clear way on practical matters, such as the hanging of art… or the care and feeding of artists. 🙂

Use your words. Seriously. (Also, use them gently!)

"Emotion and Reason" 2012 detail

“Emotion and Reason” 2012 detail

I arrived home last night to find that quite a number of paintings had been carefully hung… really, more ‘installed’ than hung; the care in hanging them, the considerate and meaningful placements done so skillfully that ‘hanging paintings’ hardly describes it. I sat, in the evening, feeling very much more ‘at home’ than I previously had for 2+ years. Does it make ‘everything right with the world’? Hardly. Even the delight of the artist herself, surrounded by her work, isn’t ‘everything’, is it? I do feel loved, and greatly cared for to see so many of my very best pieces hanging all around.

There are more to come, more space for art, walls as yet untouched by color or vision…and I certainly have enough work to take care of that! I expect there may be some movement, some changes, swapping this one for that one… My traveling partner has a keen eye for color, contrast, form – and a lovely aesthetic. If I have the choice between hanging my own work, and having him do my installations for me, I definitely prefer to step aside and give him room to work. I frankly just ‘hang paintings’, and not very well – they’re level, sure, and generally at an appropriate height for viewing… but I’m prone to just shoving as many pieces into a given area of blank wall as what I think will fit… resulting in a dizzying mosaic of color and glow that suits only me, and overwhelms anyone else.

I have no idea what today will hold…but I am already looking forward to returning at the end of the work day, to be surrounded by what matters so much…love, and art.