Archives for posts with tag: mindfulness

Well… damn. I slept rather restlessly, waking briefly, often. Around 3:20 am I woke, really woke, and got up for a drink of water, took my morning medication, and went back to bed. I mean, shit, it’s Saturday; I can sleep in!! 😀

I forgot to shut off my alarm, though, before I went to bed. It went off at the usual time. I’d only just really fallen deeply asleep, and without a thought I rolled over, turned it off, and went back to sleep. Restful, blissful, deep deep sleep… So nice. At some moment, probably approximately 5:51 am, my consciousness roused just enough to smile to myself and feel some amusement that I hadn’t at all planned the day or the weekend. How strange is that?

How strange is that?

No, hey, you there – sleeping – that’s strange, isn’t it?

Isn’t it?

My eyes opened ever so slightly and noted perceptible loss of darkness in the room… then it hit me; it’s Friday and I have work today. Fuck. Fuck, and damn it, and… LOL.

I didn’t quite launch myself from the bed, and I was calm and fairly together as I checked the time. 5:51 am. I felt a huge wave of relief; I can be entirely on time for my day, nonetheless, and start doing the things. No need to rush through my routine at breakneck speed, very little of the morning is spent on that. I accept that I won’t have coffee, or write, this morning and get one with things.

By 6:15 am, I’ve showered and dressed (a t-shirt and jeans go well with both my hiking boots and the work culture, so… yeah, done and done).  I start the dishwasher while I make coffee… and even sit down to tell the merry tale of misadventure before I leave for a work day I’d forgotten I have. The chaos in my morning… isn’t. I’m okay right now. My routine pays off. Practicing the practices pays off. I am resilient… and I’m ready to bounce. I’ll even leave the house on time! 😀

I’m not bragging. …I suppose if you aren’t aware that oversleeping on a work day could have put me in a state of unmanageable hysterics as little as 7 years ago, on this whole other “do you think we should… call someone?” level, it might not make sense that I am smiling, and merry, and even quite pleased with the morning so far. Why punish an entire Friday for 81 minutes of sweet restless sleep stolen from my morning? I must have needed the rest pretty badly. I’m glad I got it. 😀

Ready? Begin!

Ready? Begin!

Today is a good day to pause, and appreciate what works. Today is a good day to build on what is. Today is a good day for being quite human, and being quite okay with that. 🙂 Isn’t that enough?

This morning over my coffee I watched a video that resonates with me, another way of saying things about this amazing journey, another way to say “the way out is through”. Maybe you’ll enjoy it too? The Nerdwriter is a personal favorite, and this particular video on “Kintsugi” says much, quite simply.

So, this morning I go forward into the day thinking about the chaos and damage in another way; I am who I am because I’ve been through what I’ve been through, and made the choices I’ve made, and lived the moments I’ve lived… and I like a lot of who I am. There is a balance to be struck between grieving past trauma, and respecting the woman in the mirror; it’s been a hell of a journey, and we’ve come a long way together. Some of my “best” qualities as a thinking, feeling, reasoning, loving, being are a direct result of my brain injury…so… who am I? Am I my trauma? No. Am I some creation beyond or outside my experiences of trauma? Not that either.

I think I’ll stop throwing away broken porcelain. There is a better way. 🙂

 

“Who am I?” is a more-difficult-than-face-value sort of question, isn’t it? As questions go, it is one of the only ones I can think of that was once capable of spinning me into full-on freak out, real emotional meltdown, just to contemplate it under any sort of pressure to deliver an answer. Thankfully, I outgrew that at some point, and became free to fully consider the question for myself.

“Who are you?”

I wipe paint off my hands with less care than would perhaps be ideal. In the moment, it is enough to be certain of not leaving pigmented finger prints on every carelessly touched surface, and to limit the risk of ingesting paint. I am taking a break from painting, and considering the notion of “identity” – how I choose to answer the question “who am I?” matters greatly to me, although it has little to do with how I am identified to others. An odd byproduct of my musings, I find I am understanding with greater clarity how hurtful it can be to refuse to use someone’s chosen name, insisting on using a given name that they resent, dislike, or that simply doesn’t reflect who they see themselves to be. It’s a dick move to refuse to use the name someone chooses for themselves, regardless why they chose it, or what it may mean to me; it’s their name, they get to choose it if they wish to. Simple enough.

I can extrapolate that same thinking to cover most any characteristic someone might choose to identify themselves by. Me, for example… I take hundreds of pictures a month, thousands every year (some are even quite good… take enough of them, that’s gonna happen eventually). I don’t consider myself “a photographer”. I write poetry… one or two poems, reliably, every week at a minimum. Many hundreds over a lifetime. I rarely refer to myself as a poet, and this in spite of the fact that my one currently completed (as yet unpublished) manuscript is a book of poetry. I don’t paint every day, or even every week – in fact, there have been even a couple of actual entire years during which I did not paint, or sketch… but I do consider myself an artist, specifically a painter. Funny which things become part of my sense of self, my “identity” and which do not. Stranger still how little the qualities that define me, for myself, have anything whatever to do with how others may define me.

Letting go of attachment becomes most challenging when I am asked to let go of my attachment even to the words and ideas I have used to identify and define myself, within. I am an artist whether I paint or not – why is that? Is it any more “real” or “true” than any other element of my “identity” and sense of self? Am I harmed or changed in any way by not having defined myself as a photographer or poet? I still take pictures. I still write poetry. “Who am I?”

I find myself living my experience less tied to the words that may be used to describe it, just enjoying the rain as it falls, drenching meadow and marsh. Sipping a fresh cup of coffee, watching paint dry, and contemplating something beyond the words of the question “who am I?”, and living each moment awake, and aware, without being particularly concerned about who I may seem to be… even to the woman in the mirror. Today it is enough to stand naked and free and to answer the question “who are you?” with the simplest of wordless replies, “I am”. It is enough to be. 🙂

The barking began at dawn. It continues even now. It’s not unusual; I have a neighbor with a dog that barks any time it is left outside, which is… often. It is frustrating and annoying, and incessant. The neighbor has received many complaints about the dog and the barking, and the reply is generally the same, “Well, I’ve tried to teach him to stop barking, but it doesn’t work. Dogs bark.” I gave that some thought, at the time, and even during the six months that I was home every day, I don’t recall ever seeing that neighbor working with their dog, at all. I wondered then, and this morning, what exactly my neighbor “tried”. I don’t see anything going on that looks like practice or training.

Dogs can indeed be trained not to bark (at the moon, at shadows, at strangers, because they are lonely…), it requires practice. Do the thing. Do it again. And again another time, and again after that. Then repeat all the practicing. Begin again, again. There are verbs involved, and a practice is not a noun, however much it may seem to be based on its function in a sentence. It requires consideration. Awareness. Intention. Will. Did I mention the practicing?

I’m sure my neighbor would be irked with me to hear me suggest that she isn’t actually making any particular effort to train her dog not to bark every hour of the day it is left outside. No doubt she believes her internal narrative that she “tried everything” and “nothing worked”. Haven’t we all said as much to ourselves – and our friends and loved ones – about something? Is it really the true literal truth in fact? Have I indeed “tried everything”? Have I truly practiced the needed practices with the necessary constancy? Have I tried, failed, and begun again sufficiently often? Or… did I try, fail, and then tell myself that I tried and failed and therefore “it didn’t work”? I see a difference there. Once I noticed that difference, it became more difficult to allow a negative experience to be who I am; we become what we practice.

Yes, there are verbs involved. No, change doesn’t happen solely because I’ve accepted that change would have value, or even because I am desperate to experience change. One evening in the yard training my chronically barking dog isn’t going to change that dog’s behavior long-term (or maybe at all) – practice is an ongoing thing.  So it also is with anxiety, with depression, with anger, with emotional volatility, with disorder, with sloth, with overeating, with nail biting… Hell, any number of troubling or challenging human experiences can be eased with one practice or another – if change is actually practiced. Fail. Begin again. Practice. We become what we practice. (Not one word of that implies “easy” or suggests effort would not be required.)

It works in a subtle way; even practicing ignoring that barking dog has an outcome rooted in incremental change over time.

Is your dog barking? What will you do about it? Endure it? Change it? There are verbs involved, and the choices are yours. So is the requirement to practice.

About that barking...? (photo by Emma Harris, used with permission)

About that barking…? (photo by Emma Harris, used with permission)

A very long time ago, I “tried meditation” and “it didn’t work for me”. I went forward in life for many years (decades) quite convinced by that experience that “meditation doesn’t work”, and gave it no further thought. My PTSD symptoms worsened over time, rather than improving. After all, dogs bark. We become what we practice. I didn’t understand why I wasn’t getting any better… hadn’t I “tried everything”?

In 2012, I stopped trying. I wasn’t sure what I would do instead, hell, I wasn’t sure I even wanted to live any more. I mention it because that seems a long time ago now, although it has been only 4 years since February 2013, when I started actually practicing meditation (and some other things) – and I do mean really practicing. Daily. Reliably. Even when I “don’t have time”. Even when “it isn’t convenient”. Even though I “wasn’t sure I was doing it right”. Even though I “wasn’t sure it would work”. Even when I found myself certain “it isn’t working”. Even when I thought “my life was falling completely to pieces”. Even when I thought “love might be lost” over my chaos and damage. Even when I wasn’t sure I wanted to live at all. I kept practicing, and failing, and beginning again.

We become what we practice. By practicing calm, I have become calmer. By practicing perspective and sufficiency, I have gained perspective, and learned what is “enough” for me. By practicing non-violence, I have become more peaceful. By practicing feeling content, I have become more able (and likely) to experience contentment. By practicing being awake and aware in this moment, I have become more present in my life, and in my relationships. By practicing listening, I become more likely to hear what is being shared. By practicing kindness, I have become kinder.

Today is a good day to practice being the human being I most want to be. Isn’t every day? 😉

Strange morning. I feel my Traveling Partner’s absence like a weight; he is traveling, truly, and far away. I wake and start my day in the usual solitary way, but somehow I still feel his absence from my larger sense of space. My own version of separation anxiety, I suppose. 🙂 Still, in the same sense that he is away, he also tends to be “with me”, even though we are not often in shared space lately, so although I miss him, I still feel loved, still celebrate loving.

I sip my coffee, distracted and vaguely… bored? Weird. It is an uncommon thing in my experience, and I find myself poking at the feeling with a certain curiosity and wonder. The boredom dissipates as I realize it isn’t that at all. I’m just tired. My sleep tracker notes that this makes the second night on less than ideal quantity and quality of sleep. No wonder I feel a tad “out of it”. I correct my posture. Take some deep cleansing breaths. Relax. I hear the horn of the commuter train approaching the platform. I feel the chill in the room. I take a moment to just be, without fussing. It feels comfortable and self-supporting to acknowledge the fatigue, to accept myself in this moment, and to be okay with it.

One more work day and another weekend. Oh, my yes! I can sleep in tomorrow, attend the baby shower of a friend, and quite likely see my Traveling Partner in the evening. Sounds like a lovely weekend. It sounds like enough.

Today will be a good day to take care of the woman in the mirror, to be kind, and to show kindness, to take the day a moment at a time, and to enjoy this life as much as I am able (which is a lot, and mostly). Change the world? I’ll add that to my “to do list”. 🙂