Archives for posts with tag: mindfulness

I’m at a local trailhead, waiting for a break in the rain to walk this trail. It’s dark, not yet daybreak, and a Monday morning. The rain is falling hard, and the wind is blowing hard enough for the strongest gusts to create the appearance of waves on puddles reflecting the lights of the parking lot. If I were to walk now, I’d be soaked almost immediately, and having to fight my rain poncho every step as it whips about. No thanks. I’ll wait. 😆

The weekend was lovely. I sit thinking about the upcoming Giftmas holiday. It is shaping up to be a merry one, if modest in scale (appropriate to these peculiarly dark times here in the US).

My mind wanders to work. I pull it back to this quiet moment, here. Now is mine. At least, this “now”, right here is mine. I make a point to be present, here, listening to the wind and the rain. I think of other rainy moments that left lasting memories for one reason or another. In the distance, I see holiday lights shining through the trees along the creek beyond the vineyard, most likely decorating some otherwise hidden apartment balcony. Seeing the lights makes me smile. Seeing communities “dressed up” for the holidays in colorful lights is one of the best parts of the winter holiday season (to me).

Things on my to-do list for today continue to intrude on my consciousness – or try to. I continue to set a boundary with myself; this is not that time.

The rain stops, starts, and stops again. It’ll be daybreak soon. Can I get down the trail and back to the car before the rain starts up again? I decide to chance it, and grab my cane and pull on my poncho.

I’m most of the way along the trail before the rain begins to fall again, softly. I’m almost back to the car before the intensity increases from a soft sprinkle to a seasonally typical downpour. The heavy rain catches up with me just as I reach the car. I feel fortunate. I’m not soaked to the skin, missed the worst of the rain, got a good walk, and managed to avoid tromping through any deep puddles. I’m chilly and damp, but otherwise fine. I get comfortable in the car and start drying off with a microfiber towel from my gear bin, grateful for the gear I keep in the back for whatever emergencies might arise (and for hiking and camping).

The gear bin in my car sometimes gives a sort of “Mary Poppins” vibe; I often surprise myself with what is in there, and how prepared for what sorts of things I actually am. This delights me every time I open the bin with some need to address and find that I’ve got just the thing, although I often don’t recall that I put it there. 😆

The wind is blowing ferociously again. It almost drowns out the sounds of my tinnitus. I close my eyes and am fascinated by how much I am reminded of the seashore.

There’s really nothing particularly noteworthy about the morning. As is so often the case, it’s an ordinary weekday morning. The pain I’m in makes me aware of my fragile mortality for a moment, but as bad as it is, it’s not the worst I’ve known. Far from it. I’m grateful to experience the morning aware that things could be much worse; it is reliably useful perspective. I continue to sit with my thoughts awhile longer. I’ve got a little while left for myself before the desk in the library I’ll be working from today will be available. It’s still too early. I think about coffee.

I think about holiday cards (we haven’t done them this year and probably won’t; at some point I had to admit I don’t have the energy, or the will). I think about the last bit of gift shopping yet to do. I think about Giftmas morning and brunch. Biscuits and gravy this year? I find myself wanting to pair that with Bloody Marys, as my Dad would have done most Giftmas mornings. I rarely drink, and the thought makes me smile; it’s an idea built purely on nostalgia, and maybe some desire to celebrate a certain gratitude for the holiday magic my parents achieved in spite of hardship. I’ve carried that holiday spirit into the rest of my life, year after year, and I’m grateful that it continues to last.

Curtains of dense rain continue to sweep over the car. The wind rocks it with the firmest gusts. I am warm and dry, and grateful that I am not forced to be outdoors in this. There’s privilege implied in being free to choose to walk on a rainy day. I’m grateful for the choices I have in life. I may never be wealthy (nor have any notable affluence), but I do get to choose whether (and when) I walk in the rain. That’s more good fortune than many folks have. I sit thinking about that for a few minutes longer.

In spite of the darkness of the stormy morning sky, eventually daybreak comes, and it’s time to begin again. I sigh to myself, and get the day started.

A noise woke me. It might have been a noise I made myself. It wasn’t loud, just some quiet but audible knock or clunk or bang, like something small had fallen to the floor. I got up and dressed after checking the time, and got the day started as quietly as I could.

“This is more like it,” I think as I walk a familiar trail in the darkness. It is 05:15. The scent of the air, the dark silhouettes of the trees against the cloudy sky illuminated by the suburban lights below, this is not San Francisco, nor any other notable urban place. This is home. This is Oregon wine country. The pace is slower here, and I’m grateful. Walking the city sidewalks before dawn in a big city may not even be safe, depending where I am. I feel safe here on this familiar trail. I never felt unsafe walking in San Francisco, but I also didn’t find any opportunity for peace, balance, or meditation on those walks, nor any solitude, really. There was always some traffic, and other people also walking (or standing, sitting, even sleeping in doorways).

….It feels good to be back. To be home.

My homecoming was delightful. There was a hot meal waiting for me. The house was quite tidy. The newest episode of South Park was available, and we watched it together as a family. The laundry (other than my own) was done, and only needs folding. The household felt peaceful and harmonious. In spite of travel fatigue, I stayed up a bit later than usual, enjoying my Traveling Partner’s company. He welcomed me with loving words and kisses, and a useful and beautiful box he made for me. While I was away, the Anxious Adventurer brought my art home from storage to be more safely stored at home. Working together, they even found suitable placement for the rolling cabinets that store many of my smaller pieces. I don’t think I’ve ever had such a fond and warm welcome after being away from home, in any relationship. I feel really cared for. I feel appreciated, understood, and respected.

I walked smiling, slowed down by a slight limp; my left foot is very sore for some reason, as if the bottom of my heal were bruised, and my spine is stiff with arthritis. I laugh when I think, momentarily, how this must “age me”, but I’ve had the arthritis since I was 26, and the messed up left foot and ankle since I was about 33, hardly a youngster, but certainly not “old”. (Barely “older”.) I’m smiling because I feel joyful and appreciated, and for now the pain is inconsequential. It doesn’t matter. I do get to my halfway point relieved to pause and sit awhile, grateful for the mild dry morning.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I slept well, and feel rested, although it was a short night. I generally retire much earlier, because my body (or mind) reliably wakes me very early (either long practiced habit, or sleep difficulties, it’s hard to be certain which, sometimes). The result of my “late night” is that I only got about five and a half hours of sleep last night. I’m grateful that it feels like enough, this morning. I sigh contentedly, at the recollection that I’ll be showering in my own shower this morning. I didn’t realize how much I am looking forward to that.

My paycheck hits my bank account a couple days early, a quirk of timing. The notification ping is my first communication with the world, this morning. In Trump’s fucked up terrible economy, it really makes a difference though, especially so close to Giftmas. I feel something I hope doesn’t become a feature of future holidays; relief. I wonder for a moment how often my parents may have faced Giftmas knowing three little girls eagerly awaited a visit from Santa Claus, dreading the knowledge they might have to choose between a little girl’s happiness and paying some bill? I didn’t understand then what goes into Giftmas magic. I do now, and my heart fills with gratitude and love and warm regards; they may not have been fantastic human beings, or great parents, but g’damn did they understand Giftmas.

I sit with my thoughts and my contentment and merriment. I’m grateful to see another Giftmas. I’m grateful for each chance to begin again.

I get to my feet to finish my walk in the stillness, as daybreak comes. It’s already time to begin again.

The “cold moon” supermoon is overhead. I can’t see it, tucked behind clouds, but the light shines through thinner clouds. I look up now and then, as I walk the dark marsh trail before dawn. It’s not quite enough to light the way. I carry my headlamp in my hand, enough light to see the trail escapes from between my fingers to create a pattern of light on the ground that swings and bobs with my steps. It’s enough.

I get to my halfway point thinking about sufficiency, and too much, and not enough, and fretting a bit about the cost of everything. I make a point to remind myself how good I do have it, in practical terms, in most ways. I’m fortunate and I am grateful. Life could be a lot worse – I’ve been there, too.

The morning is mild and quiet. I have the trail to myself. Some of that is about my choices; I’m here at an hour few people are even awake on a Saturday morning. I also benefit from pure chance and the decisions of others; there are some people who also walk the trail very early. They aren’t here this morning. I guess what I’m saying is that our circumstances are a combination of happenstance and choices. We don’t really know what’s going on with other people that has created a hardship for them, so perhaps best not to be a jerk about such things, eh?

I sigh quietly in the darkness. I think about the day ahead, a busy one for a Saturday. Next week, too. I’ve got a business trip down to the corporate office. The timing is not ideal, and I wonder why I didn’t consider it more carefully when the trip was being planned? Choices. Circumstances. Tis the season to feel like there’s too much going on, and not enough time for everything.

Yesterday’s work shift was a long one. Minutes into the commute home, I was in traffic, stuck at a signal light, waiting as the cars crept forward one by one, and only one car getting through each time the light changed. I managed to avoid losing my temper. My Traveling Partner messaged me about how far the slowdown extended, which was helpful. He handled dinner, and kept it warm for me, until I got home. It felt like pure luxury and true love to come home to dinner, and not be the person making it. I even had enough energy left to fold some laundry that my beloved had done, and prepare for a holiday event that will be later today. (Vending some items my Traveling Partner makes in his shop. I’m hoping it is worthwhile.) It could all have felt like too much, instead I had my partner’s help. That made a huge difference in my experience of the evening. (Note to self; definitely ask for help when you need it – and accept it graciously when offered.)

Lately life often feels like “too much”, and my resources for dealing with it feel like not enough. It’s… ordinary. Just a variety of human experience. Sometimes we are burdened with too much (or it feels that way), sometimes our resources (time, money, emotional resilience…) are not enough, or it seems so in the moment. Perspective helps. I sit with my thoughts. I have lived through real hardship and privation. This is not that. I have survived trauma and endured misfortune – but I’m here, now. I did get through it. There will be hard times. For the moment, things are okay for most values of “okay”, and I’m managing to avoid blowing things out of proportion. Helpful. With the economy in the shape it’s in, in such uncertain times, we’ve made a choice to scale back a lot of holiday spending. A lot. But I’ve had leaner Giftmases with fewer resources in worse circumstances… I’m grateful for what I have, and what I can provide my family.

Enough is enough. Even embracing sufficiency is a practice. And when I’m feeling overwhelmed? Boundary setting and careful decision-making are useful tools… when I remember to practice them!  I chuckle to myself. If, of all the world’s suffering, I could remove only that suffering that is self-imposed or chosen, I suspect it would clear up by far most of the suffering going on. It’s an interesting thought. It hints at real relief through actions we can reasonably take for ourselves as individuals, without suggesting anything as unrealistic as no suffering ever.

When I feel overwhelmed by my list of shit to do? That’s me. That’s self-imposed. I could choose differently, change the timing or reset expectations, ask for help, or…say “no”. That’s just one example of one way to restore the balance between demands and resources, in one mortal human life. There are others. Limited resources? Make more (meaning objects or goods), buy less. Do more reading and less subscribing and online shopping. It’s not everything. Sometimes our limitations are life or health threatening, and that’s a bigger scarier problem to face. It’s still going to be helpful to take those steps we can. Incremental changes add up. Our choices matter.

The early moments of a new day.

Daybreak comes. The sky begins to lighten. I can hear traffic from the highway adjacent to the park, on the far side of the marsh. I sit awhile, remembering tougher times, and reflecting on my life. I enjoy this solitary time for reflection and meditation. I try to recall why I was ever cranky about getting such an early start… I know I once was, but I can’t recall why. I cherish this precious time on some trail, walking with my thoughts, waiting for the sun to rise again.

I think about my beloved Traveling Partner, sleeping at home. I remind myself to fold the laundry he did yesterday. It’s nice having help with chores and household care again. I’m definitely going to miss him while I’m away next week… Just the thought, and suddenly I miss him right now, too. Silly human primate.

I’m startled by a splash in the marsh pond behind me. Ducks? Geese? Nutria? I only see ripples on the water. A spattering of rain begins to fall. I get to my feet. It’s time to begin again.

I’m sipping my coffee slowly, after realizing I sat down and started my work day without taking time for me, at all. This is strange behavior (for me), and likely a byproduct of lingering background stress, which seems mostly pretty pointless, and perhaps a bit ridiculous.

It’s a very human experience to be mired in stress that is “inherited” (as from another person’s stress) or “opted-into” (as with becoming stressed by choices to read or consume specific media known to cause stress, and possibly little else), or even illusory (or delusional, as with hand-crafted personalized internal nonsense that just isn’t “real” in any practical sense). Then, of course, there’s all the real stress that may be simmering in the background of an individual human experience…commuting…cost of living…lack of means or resources…some momentary hardship or disaster…the risk of any of these being imminent… Although there are definitely practices that can effectively reduce stress (a lot), feeling stress is part of the human experience. It’s pretty non-negotiable. Sooner or later, a human primate experiences stress. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I sign out of my work tools, and “look away” for a few minutes of self-reflection, meditation, and self-care.

Lately, I’ve been pretty chronically feeling (and responding to) stress day-to-day, more than I had been, for awhile. Some of it is cultural; I’m responding to what so many of us are responding to, because it’s part of our shared experience of watching American democracy struggle. Pretty terrifying shit, and I guess being stressed about it, at least somewhat, is “rational stress”, but it isn’t helpful to become mired in it, or to let it consume my precious mortal lifetime. Then there’s the “work stress”, but that is also pretty routine ordinary shit; I’m new in the role, and still feel a sense that I need to “prove myself” – but this is self-inflicted stress, and I could safely less this go… by letting it go. lol There is an act of willful self-care and discipline involved in releasing that kind of stress. The way out is through, and taking time for self-reflection, and for practices like “taking in the good” are going to be useful for this. The stress sourcing from “home stuff” is a strange stress smoothie of unrelated things: increasing costs, reduced resources, a vague unsettled feeling of job insecurity (a byproduct of being laid off a couple of times after relatively short time in various roles), things I’m behind on but really want to get done, and something I hadn’t anticipated at all – some stress around the changes in my Traveling Partner’s abilities, as his healing progresses. As stressed as I was trying to provide full-time caregiving while also working full-time, I had expected it to dissipate when that caregiving was no longer a massive day-to-day nearly continuous requirement. It hasn’t. Quite the contrary, I’m potentially a bit more stressed working to stay up-to-date with his changing capabilities and needs. I can’t assume his abilities or needs are the same as yesterday. It pushes me out of “auto-pilot”. I can’t really build a routine based on expectations of his needs. Things change and shift with each day, and I’m doing my best, but feel (often) as though I’m just a step behind on everything, all the time. Being fully present is a good thing, and healthy relationships need that presence and connection to thrive. Being fully present is also more work. I sometimes find myself overwhelmed by how much I’m trying to keep track of.

I’m not bitching, I’m simply taking a moment to examine where “all this stress” is coming from – so I can more effectively address any portion of it, at all. It adds up. I sit with my thoughts and my coffee, reflecting on life, love, work, and being human.

I give myself over to a moment of gratitude. There is so much right in my life, giving too much of my attention to the things that may be less than ideal seems wasteful and foolhardy (and a serious bummer).

I look at my hands when I feel my fingertips gently pass over a snagged cuticle, feeling the rough edge of it. The sensation distracts me. I stop myself from pulling at it. This, too, requires presence and discipline. The condition of my fingertips tells the tale of my background stress and general emotional wellness. I set myself a challenge; just for today, don’t pick at my fingertips at all. Just one day. I can do that, right? I think it over, and wonder if I really can. Brain damage and nervous tics and things of that sort don’t work the way a “bad habit” does, but the same “rules” often apply; we become what we practice. If I can practice not fucking biting my nails and tearing up my cuticles, it’s quite likely the behavior may be extinguished… eventually. I may need to replace the physical experience (the actions of the behavior itself) with something else that satisfies the signals reaching (or not reaching) my brain. I think about that, too. I’ve been having some success with a “worry stone”, when watching videos. I’ll keep practicing.

I hear a short bit of a song in my head. Again. It’s been there for days, now. It occurs to me that it may be percolating up from within, a message from me to myself to put attention on reducing my stress before it becomes a problem with serious consequences. I’ve been trying to figure out what song it is for days, because the only thing I hear in my head is the refrain, “Soothe me, Baby, soothe me. Soothe me with your kindness…” Sam and Dave. Finally figured it out. Yeah, it’s a funny little stress response, and not the first time song lyrics “speak to me” in some direct meaningful way.

Tis the season, isn’t it? Are you managing your stress sufficiently well? Have you identified where it may be coming from, in order to more easily deal with it? Are you running from it instead, and hoping for the best? Are you choosing to numb yourself with intoxicants, instead of dealing with it at all? Are you hoping it will go away if you ignore it? Have you started a meditation practice to help you manage your stress – or abandoned one because you feel you have no time for it? I’m of the opinion that life should not (ideally) feel like a hamster wheel. I prefer life to feel like a walk on a well-maintained path, myself, but that isn’t always the experience I have. I chuckle to myself; reality does not care a bit about my opinions, and never has.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. It’s time to begin. Again. I’ll start by managing my stress with gratitude, self-care, and a plan.

Sometimes things feel harder than they seem they should. Misinformation everywhere. The practical details of life getting more costly every week, every month. Paychecks don’t keep up with that unless you happen to be among the very affluent (and then it’s less that the paycheck keeps up than maybe you don’t need to notice the minutiae or count the pennies). (Remember pennies?) Balancing the load takes up a lot of mental bandwidth, even for folks who are very organized and pretty prepared. It’s exhausting.

…It’s okay to admit it when you’re tired…

My head aches. My arthritis pain is actually making me feel ill. I’m distracted from one priority task by the next ostensibly higher priority task. Subjectively, I feel like I “used to be better at juggling all of this”, but I’m not sure that’s literally true. I suspect I’m just feeling a bit overwhelmed by the lingering artifacts of chaos that arrived ahead of me (to this job) or which defy attempts to bring order (the chaos and damage in my own head), or perhaps I am succumbing to the stress of watching the decline of democracy, in spite of my attempt to avoid spending potentially productive time on that bullshit. (It’s not bullshit because it isn’t real, it’s bullshit because it doesn’t need to be this way, and we somehow chose this shit in spite of being told what was coming if we did.)

I’m tired. Not because I’m working my ass off on some construction job site, or laboring on a factory floor, or in a fulfillment warehouse, or on my feet all day. Brain tired. Soul tired. It’s feeling too much like a hamster wheel, some days, and too little like living.

…This too will pass…

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I take a moment to scrounge in my handbag for another dose of Rx pain management, only to discover I’ve already taken that, and I’m already “maxed out” for a work day. Well, shit. I sigh to myself, finish the watered-down dregs of my morning coffee, knowing I’ll likely regret that later tonight. I pull myself upright, and pause to offer someone a compliment for work well done. I find giving others sincere encouragement or expressing gratitude for some task or service someone has provided often distracts me from the pain I’m in. Certainly it’s a better reaction to pain than sobbing or throwing a tantrum. I’d happily just sit somewhere gazing out a window, letting my mind empty itself of concerns, and even thoughts. Parking this fragile vessel and leaving her to idle for awhile would feel pretty good, but… I don’t have time.

…The clock is ticking…

It helps to have a break, and I’m glad I took one. It’s not enough, but it will do for the moment. I imagine the stern look on the face of the woman in the mirror, right now, she knows I could do a better job of taking care of myself than I often do. I make her a promise I probably won’t keep, and hope that she understands. It has to be enough… it’s the best I can do right now. Isn’t it?

…”No. Do better.” I imagine her answering, “You matter. You can at least take a proper fucking break…”

I sigh again, and get up from my desk to take a proper break. The sun is shining. I go outside and get some fresh air, and watch the squirrels play for a few minutes, and stretch. It’s chilly but not cold. The sunshine feels good. Now I feel ready to begin again.