I’m sipping my coffee and preparing for an interview. I’ve got two today. In between those, I review other leads on suitable opportunities, and do coursework to refresh various certifications (and acquire new ones). Learning new skills is as much about a personal desire to continue life with a “growth mindset” – continued education has been demonstrated to slow cognitive aging – as it is to do with adding professional value. Both are worthy goals. Both require a commitment to time, study, and effort. I’ve got the time. I’ve got the curiosity and the will. All that remains is to make the effort. 🙂 So, here I am, with a hot cup of coffee and a highspeed internet connection. Studying. Updating my human software through learning. (First the learning, then the practicing!)
I haven’t said much about the CPAP machine and how all that is working out. I guess “okay”. Wearing the mask is… weird and uncomfortable sometimes, and it’s taken quite a bit of time (and mental discipline) to get used to it. I sometimes wake up in the midst of confusing dreams that I’m down in my foxhole on the perimeter, in the desert, at MOPP 4 in my NBC suit, mask on, waiting for an all clear that never comes. Stressful. It wakes me. I take off the mask, sit up for a moment and get my bearings. I breathe deeply. Sometimes I meditate for a moment or two. It passes. Sometimes, I wake up trying to turn over, and getting tangled in the hose briefly – but long enough to wake me, aware that I need to take more care. Sometimes, the sound of the machine wakes me. Sometimes the mask slips or shifts a bit, and I have to sit up and resituate the mask for better fit. Like so many things, getting it right takes some practice. I received my own machine just the other day (from the VA), so I’ll be returning this loaner to my local sleep clinic, and getting used to an entirely different model. Maybe better/easier? Maybe – maybe not. I guess we’ll see, eh? I’m certainly not questioning that I need this bit of support. I am sleeping more, and I’m not snoring (which means my Traveling Partner can sleep, which definitely a win). Whether the quality of that sleep is truly improved will be settled over time. I think I’m getting more/better rest… it’s pretty subjective, but I’ll go with it.
I started setting my sunrise alarm for an early time and getting up promptly and getting my day started, this week, returning to basic time management practices I associate with working. It was nice to take a break from it while my Traveling Partner’s son visited us, and then while I was down sick for a couple days. I even began sleeping past 07:00! The routine has value, though, and I’m taking advantage of it to get in some walking and writing time in the morning, and to give my partner a chance to sleep without me bumbling about and knocking into things, as I often do. It’s a routine that seems to work for both of us.
I look over my list of leads and tasks to tackle between interviews. First one coming up in about half an hour gives me time to study my notes before the call, and maybe get some fresh air and a bit of a stretch. I feel relaxed and ready. I feel worthy and centered.
I am here, now, this moment, this place. I very much want to be… somewhere. Else? I leave myself a note for later, “Write about being vs yearning.” I move on with my day.
January 30th, 2022
I wrote those words at the end of last year, saved it as a draft thinking I’d mull it over and reflect on the feeling further, over time. I had no idea that the time it would require would be 573 days, or that so much would happen in the time since then. The feeling itself was so vague it was hard to ascertain “what it meant” – or how “seriously” to take it. I felt it so deeply I was filled with an urgency to act… somehow. I guess, as I continue to reflect now, it doesn’t seem so surprising that since then I’ve walked on from two different jobs (under peculiarly similar circumstances that weren’t to do with me directly in any useful way). I’ve also put more attention and love into my garden. I’ve put more study, practice…and frustration… into my relationship with my Traveling Partner… More presence into other relationships (if not more time)… More commitment into my self-care… More work and fond effort into my life, generally, I suppose… More attention on my health and fitness. I don’t see, from this vantage point now (with a head cold on a summer Saturday evening, filled with ennui… and snot), that all this change, and effort, and… interesting chaos… has done much to take me further than where I sit right now. I chuckle to myself; human vanities and limited human perspective are what they are. I’m very human. I sip my mug of hot water, grateful that it feels so soothing (and strangely satisfying).
I suppose the tl;dr of the day-to-day recently is that I’ve been sick with this ick for about a week, and mostly resting and hanging out with my Traveling Partner (who had been sick himself, but is now mostly well, hanging out and caring for me while I get over it, too). Haven’t felt much like writing. Haven’t felt up to it. Haven’t felt inspired to share my vapid rather pointless stream-of-consciousness dithering and mental chatter. Just sick. Just hanging around using up tissues, forcing fluids, and napping. It’s been a surprisingly pleasant (and sometimes deep) few days, watching a favorite old sci-fi series together and talking. I’ve been fussy and sometimes unpleasant or unfit to be around – this one has hit me hard in the cognitive places, and my emotions are volatile and unsteady at times. My Traveling Partner loves me fiercely in spite of it, and it’s been good to see his deeply worried face begin to give way to mild impatience that I’m still sick, as I begin to improve. It’s hard to bear witness to a loved-one’s suffering. We’re both less worried as I improve.
…But, now that I’m “mostly over it”, I’m beginning to feel fussy and impatient with myself. It’s easy to become frustrated with how sick I still am feeling. I shrugged it off a few moments ago, and took a seat in my studio, to write for the first time since the last time. (August 17th, 9 days ago) Not knowing quite where to begin, I looked over my drafts. Found this one, which seemed both relevant, prescient, just a little comical – and a whole lot human – and figured this is as good a place to begin again as any other.
So I begin. Again. I sip my water, and consider my thoughts.
Life is calling. Take your chances. What matters most?
It’s been an interesting time, these past 3 weeks or so. Losing my job has been the least interesting thing about it. More interesting was the visit by my Traveling Partner’s son, and the couple of days at home alone that resulted from the camping trip my partner took with him. More interesting were the projects they did together in the shop, and the evenings of playing a new (to me) dice game that resulted from it. More interesting was the dinner party with my partner’s older brother and his family, in our home – our first actual family dinner as a group together (it was lovely and a lot of fun). More interesting was taking my step-son to breakfast and then going to the beach his last day in town before returning home. Hell, even waking up to discover I’d caught this damned cold, the morning I took my step-son to the airport was more interesting by far than losing my job. lol All of it also more “important” – more real. Lived experience. Life. I’ve been enjoying that so much of my time is my own.
I sip my water and remind myself to make a point to stay aware of this detail as I consider other employment; it feels good to live my life, not just frustratedly snatch this minute or that one to wedge it in between work shifts or tasks.
…It’s a metaphor…
I look over my recent pictures. I’m reminded of this or that project. Some commitments I’ve forgotten while being sick return to my awareness (I’m obviously getting well… LOL). I keep sipping this mug of hot water, thinking my thoughts.
…I’m almost out of tissues in here. It’s clearly time to begin again.
In life it’s rare for an outcome to deliver “everything” we want or need (or thought we wanted or needed) in a single tidy package of delight. Very uncommon. Far more typical of outcomes, generally, however hard we work towards a goal, is to achieve… something. A partial victory. A fraction of a total. A “participation trophy” instead of first place. A thousand dollar win on a million (or billion) dollar chance. A job that pays the bills (but won’t necessarily let someone “get ahead”). Something.
…”Something” is not “everything”…
Knowing that life is made up of somethings, and rarely features even a single “everything” moment, ever, one might be forgiven for extrapolating that human beings are therefore deeply invested in contentment, appreciation, and a deep understanding of sufficiency – having “enough” being within easy reach, versus that elusive “having it all” that so many dream of. Ah, but that’s not how human primates work, and so often a pursuit of “everything”, and the “having it all” day dreams (that often undermine more realistic goals), seem to be more likely to be expressed in day-to-day bitching about what isn’t, and what hasn’t, and what won’t, and all manner of forms of complaining and dissatisfaction in life. Peculiar.
We become what we practice.
…When we practice feeling discontented, dissatisfied, and held back by circumstances or individuals, we become very skilled at being discontented, dissatisfied, (even to the point of holding ourselves back so we can also bitch about the circumstances) and adopting an air of being downtrodden and “let down by life”. Conversely, I’ve noticed first hand, when I practice contentment, feeling satisfied, and exploring alternative choices that could allow me to capitalize on unexpected circumstances (instead of feeling held back by them), I become contented, satisfied in life, and more skilled at managing (and even embracing) change. I bounce back more easily, because my life is characterized by contentment, generally. This is a big deal. Bigger than it may appear at first glance, which is why I’m going on about it a bit.
…Maybe stop bitching so much about every fucking thing, hmm?…
It’s easy to bitch about how bad things are. (Maybe things really are bad? That’s real. I get it.) Okay, so… is it actually helpful, or useful, or likely to make things better, if I were to wallow in misery and invest time and emotional energy in feelings of discontent, and expressions of dissatisfaction to the point of crowding out time and energy for action? I haven’t seen that investing time and energy and words in discontent or misery does anything at all to ease either. I don’t become less discontented by being discontented with my “lot in life” or my decision-making, or circumstances. Not even a little bit. I don’t find myself feeling propelled forward into an exciting future by standing around bitching about how circumstances are holding me back, or the deck is stacked against me – even when it really may seem that’s the case. It’s just not helpful in any practical way, and it very much tends to alienate people who could be supportive allies, because over time it’s likely to become an annoying buzzkill for anyone who might want to stick around to help out.
I’m not saying “pretend life is rosy”. That also isn’t very useful or effective. We only need to look to social media to know that doesn’t work at all. “Fake it till you make it” has a toxic subtext, and I’m not really a fan of that approach. I value authenticity – and positive progress, forward momentum, frankness, and a willingness to embrace change. Start your journey where you are, and move forward from there. Fakery is fakery, and that often fails because it’s fake – even where intentions are good.
Nothing I’m saying amounts to “easy”. It’s hard to have a shitty moment and to resist the tendency to allow it to become a shitty experience that develops into a shitty day that slowly becomes a shitty life, over time, as shitty experiences accumulate. We pick at our wounds and prevent them from healing. It’s very human.
So many of my everyday practices are about finding a comfortable, useful, real perspective on “now” that also gives me a firm foundation to move forward from, in an emotionally healthy positive way, without bullshitting myself (or anyone else). Still not easy. There are verbs involved. My results vary. I keep practicing. 😀 Worth it. I’ve come soooo far.
This morning is a lovely morning. For real. Yes, I’m between jobs… and I’m also enjoying the lovely summer days, and time in the garden, and time spent with my Traveling Partner and his visiting son. It’s a pleasant time to reconsider what I want to be doing with my time that suits my skills, brings in a paycheck, and is also satisfying and worthwhile work. This is a great time to consider all of that. I sip a glass of water (I’ve long since had my coffee, and it’s going to be quite a hot day), and reflect on all the things that are working out well, and I take a moment to consider the things that matter, the things that fill a good life, and what it takes to be the woman I most want to be. I pause to reflect, to write, and to practice.
In games, life, and yeah, even self-care… my results vary. Practicing various practices isn’t about practicing as much as it is about improving. It’s about results. Lacking skill in one area or another is definitely going to mean I need more practice. lol Sometimes it’s just necessary to keep at it until I “git gud“. My results still vary. The journey is the destination. There’s no map. No “report card”. No one else to prove something to.
…Even with self-care, sometimes I just don’t “have what it takes” – yet. I need more practice (or better or different practices). I am sitting here reflecting on that, and drinking water on a hot summer day, from inside a cool air-conditioned office, looking down from the 7th floor to the sun lit city below me. My recent work trip to Palm Springs lingers in my thoughts. I spent a lot of time with my colleagues. More people (and time) than I typically spend on such things in a many weeks. Hell, I don’t spend a fraction of that amount of time (more than 40 hours by far) with even my dearest friends over the course of the average year. In fact, although we live together and spend the vast majority of our waking hours together, I don’t spend that much time with my own beloved Traveling Partner! Wtf. I am seriously “all peopled out” at this point. I’m craving actual solitude. It is affecting my mood.
…I was so close to getting some of that after we bought the truck, but it was a bit early for solo camping in nearby forest places at that point, and so my partner only managed to leave me to my own devices for a few hours, a couple times…
So I’m sitting here, thinking my thoughts, drinking my water, and wondering if I should be planning a bit of a solo getaway, and feeling like a jerk for it because I know my partner has probably had about enough of being alone, as far as what he may need out of my comings and goings. This is a challenge I rather suck at figuring out. So, I sit and think on it a bit, and then a bit more even than that…
…still thinking it over…
…What do I want out of such an adventure? Ease? Solitude? Trails to hike? Sunsets to photograph? Distance from other people – yeah, that one is for sure on my “must haves” list. lol Should I be planning to “go coastal”? Should I be planning to camp? How much time do I really need? Does that vary based on how much (feeling of) distance I can actually get? July has just one weekend open at this point during which none of my colleagues would be out of the office… convenient… I decide to request the time, and continue to think about what to do with it.
I finish off my water, and prepare to begin again.
I got home around 0230 a.m. on Saturday morning, although my itinerary and planning had put me arriving home closer to 10:00 p.m. on Friday. Flight delay? Mmm… Not exactly. Sort of. Real life got real, is all.
I had awakened brutally early for the day’s plan on Friday, and upon exiting my hotel room and facing what felt like a furnace blast of heat when I expected the cool of morning, I sort of just folded up the idea of one last elegant French-inspired breakfast and dropped it in the waste bin in favor of a purposeful (and early) trip directly to the airport. Waiting for my flight sounded better at that point than lingering anywhere, for any reason. I didn’t have any particular thoughts on why that might be, I just went with it.
Once I arrived at the airport, I went through security relatively quickly; there was no line. It was that early. I got a cup of coffee and commenced waiting for my flight, which would not depart until hours later. I was fine with it. I pulled out my book and started reading. When it came time to board, I quickly did so, and resumed reading my book. Short flight, and it seemed like we were on the ground in no time at all. (For which I was most grateful, since the passenger ahead of me had some pretty severe and seriously noxious flatulence throughout the flight that was literally making passengers – including me – actually gag outloud. It was quite horrible.)
We arrived at the airport in Las Vegas for a planned layover of about 5 hours. It’s a lively, busy, exciting airport, as airports go, and I expected to easily find a meal, and suitable time-passing entertainment, just strolling around the terminal. Funny thing, though, I disembarked feeling a bit… off. Queasy. Uncomfortable. Vaguely ill-at-ease. I bought a soft drink hoping the bubbles would bring some relief. I’d soon regret that choice…
…Very soon…
TW: gross human biological functions and discussion of same in the next paragraph. You’ve been warned.
Looking out the window from a seat near my departure gate.
Less than half an hour after arriving in Las Vegas, and certainly before I made any move in the direction of “entertainment”, I found myself feeling quite ill. That feeling quickly became diarrhea and vomiting, and I didn’t know it yet, but that was going to persist – a lot – for several hours to come. Probably food poisoning. Possibly the ceviche at dinner the night before. I ultimately had to reschedule my departure for a later flight; no way I could have flown in the shape I was in. I even had to ask for medical attention (and the EMT that was sent to the terminal ended up giving me IV fluids). The restroom attendant took pity on me and marked one stall of the insanely busy women’s bathroom between Gates 5 and 16 “out of order” for me, allowing me to reliably have access to the plumbing without having to wait in line. All my clothes were in my checked bag – which had already gone ahead to PDX, with my earlier planned flight. I was limited in how far I could get from that restroom by the severity of my symptoms, so walking to any retail space where I might be able to purchase a change of clothes wasn’t a serious option. I basically spent 10 hours in that airport, mostly in that restroom, shitting myself stupid (literally becoming stupider as I became more dehydrated, no foolin’) and puking up whatever remained in my guts until nothing did, and a bit even after that. It was… horrible. I couldn’t keep anything down, and initially that included all my medications (replacements for which were in my checked bag, along with all my clothes), and even the Pepto-Bismol I initially thought might ease my symptoms. (It didn’t, it just came back up a grotesque Barbie pink.) The Imodium my Traveling Partner recommended didn’t do any better, at least not right away, but I persisted with it, following the directions for additional doses, and refraining from adding to future potential misery (initially) by not drinking more water and definitely not eating anything. Eventually, about an hour before my rescheduled later flight was expected to depart, my symptoms seemed to have subsided. I was distrustful, and remained fairly near to that restroom until it was time to board, and took advantage of pre-boarding protocols to get the front aisle seat, just in case I found myself faced with an urgent need to get to the restroom, again. The flight itself was mostly routine, and I made it to PDX.
…I even found a taxi willing to take me all the way home – a drive of more than one hour, even at that time of night…
Home. G’damn it was so good to be home. I was still too sick to spend much time with my Traveling Partner and after a shower (that I very much needed), I went directly to bed. I think I slept for the better part of the next 10 hours, mostly unable to actually wake up completely at any intermediate point. I woke only briefly to pee again, or to drink water when my partner woke me to offer it, immediately going back to sleep. I lost pretty much the entirety of Saturday to resting from the exhausting airport ordeal, even after I woke up. Sunday was a taking it easy day, and I felt like I’d been in a terrible fist fight, but managed to stay awake and even got a few things done. I got back on track on all my medication, too. Not much of a weekend, honestly, and nothing like I had expected, planned, or dreamed of…. with one delightful exception; my Traveling Partner’s love.
My partner kept me company via text message all day Friday, while I was so sick, helping prevent me from really losing my mind over it. He helped me decide to ask for medical attention, helped me figure out that delaying my flight would be the best course of action. Reminded me to cancel the car service originally scheduled to pick me up and deliver me home, because they would not be able to just wait another 4-5 hours for me to get to PDX. All day Saturday – a day he’d expected to be spent on (perhaps) lovemaking and (definitely) work in the shop – he cared for me, making certain I drank adequate water, took my medications properly, and both rested, and also got up and moved around some. He took care of meals. He took care of chores. He handled everything, and helped me get well. Yesterday? Feeling some better, I got a couple things done with the day, slowly, and he was there making a point to encourage me to go slowly, while also being a steady aware presence, available to help or to offer care when it looked like I could use some. That evening, we cooked dinner together in the kitchen, and it was delightful.
…It was a little hard bouncing back to the work routine this morning. I feel a bit as if I “didn’t get a weekend”. I’m not bitching, just facing the circumstances from a position of relative privilege; there are a ton of people who don’t get enough leisure time, and that doesn’t describe me, outside this limited situation. I can get past that without whining about it (much), but I am feeling it. Short week, though; tomorrow is a holiday. 😀
I breathe, exhale, relax, and count myself fortunate. It could be that in another era, the illness that came over me Friday could have ended this mortal adventure rather definitively. Instead, I paid too much for an over-the-counter remedy, and sat around too long in an uncomfortable environment (for what I was going through). I still got home. I’m still alive to enjoy that experience. I still get a chance to begin again. 😀
Evening Light 