Archives for posts with tag: non attachment

Becoming aware that a particular old fear or point of insecurity no longer has any power over me is a peculiar moment, simultaneously “powerful” and somehow… relaxing? Like a weight lifted from the baggage I’m dragging through life. It’s a profoundly positive feeling, without being specifically joyful or happy. An achievement unlocked. A new “special move” in life’s game obtained. I sit with the awareness awhile, feeling something, and lacking the words.

I sip my coffee contemplating life and love, feeling this strange new feeling of security and comfortable self-reliance. We’re all in this together. We’re each having our own experience. We are mortal creatures, sometimes sharing the journey, sometimes not. We’re all travelers on this journey that is itself the destination – and there is no map. It’s helpful to avoid becoming attached to a particular outcome.

No one really has any fucking idea what they’re doing, and chances are, the more an individual clings to how right they are, the more potential there is that they’ve overlooked something and are very wrong indeed (about something). Be humble about the potential limits of your knowledge. I mean, that just seems smart. It’s hard to know what we don’t know.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. The threat that a relationship may be ended over some moment of discontent or drama has no power over me these days. Why should it? I’m not here by force, I’m here by choice. If a partner, friend, or associate feels unsafe or that their mental health is at risk, why should they stay? Walk on, I say. Take care of yourself. I’ll be okay. I feel pretty safe with myself, even in my loneliest moments, and I don’t think anyone should feel obligated to continue in a relationship that lacks value – or worse, is painful or damaging. We’ve all got options.

There’s no need to force ourselves to stay where we feel unwanted, ever. Change can be scary and difficult, but damn, it’s never helpful to cling to something that may be tearing you down. There’s no point using the end of a relationship as any sort of threat or leverage with me, though. I’ll help you pack. It’s not personal; if you don’t want to be here, don’t want to share this journey with me, go. Your choice. I certainly won’t try to force you to stay.

… Funny thing, I feel as if the work of processing grief and loss “got me here”; we are mortal creatures, and these cherished relationships between each other are so fleeting. It doesn’t make sense to waste precious mortal hours in a terrible relationship. Walk on. Begin again. Respect yourself and show yourself some consideration.

My dreams last night were full of fire and rage and heartbreak. Inescapable anguish chased me down corridors without doors. I woke angry, seething, ahead of my alarm, and got up to start the day drenched in sweat and feeling as if I had literally been running. My head ached with the effort, and it aches still. My arthritis pain is a serious annoyance. It’s a rainy chilly day, no surprise that I’m in more pain than usual. My feet crunched the leaves and gravel along the trail to my halfway point and back; short walk today. Early meetings. I feel purposeful and resolute. I’m okay right now, and my anger receded into the background as I walked.

By the time I got back to the car, I felt mostly pretty good. Demons slain. Attitude adjusted. Heart filled with gratitude. It’s a good life, generally. I’m grateful for my Traveling Partner and hoping he has a good day.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I’m here because I want to be. I’ve got options. When shit vexes me, I can walk it off, and begin again.

I’m sitting quietly, waiting for the sun. It’s a Monday. It is also 10 days until my upcoming coastal getaway. I’m not really counting down the days, although I am eager to enjoy the time painting and savoring my own company. I’m here, now. This isn’t a bad place or time to be. I even got some painting done yesterday. Amusingly, one of the two pieces is a recollection of a foggy sort of misty morning at the very location I plan to stay.

I had originally planned to camp and even try a new spot, but I needed to change the dates to fit my Traveling Partner’s care needs and PT schedule, and the new timeframe has less pleasant weather in the forecast, and I’m not even actually up to the amount of manual labor solo tent camping would require – and it would be a huge struggle to paint outdoors on rainy days. With all that in mind I finally yielded to the obvious and booked a room with an ocean view. Good enough. Better than that, actually, and I am excited.

..I’m also here, now…

My getaway is coming up. I’m pretty much always ready. I’m not emotionally attached to the outcome, because it could be that my partner won’t be enough recovered to really get by adequately without my care. If that’s the case, I’ll cancel with regret, get over my moment of disappointment, and move on. Priorities.

This morning I briefly went over all that in my head, again, and moved on. Again.

My dreams the last several days have been full of war and images of the planet burning. Grim. I avoid taking them personally, or blowing them up into more than what they are – only dreams. Almost unavoidably, the images turn up in my art anyway. My dreams sometimes fuel my inspiration. Modern warfare (any warfare, really) is pretty fucking terrifying. The cost is high. The price of victory excessive in a reality where there are no real “winners”. War makes everyone a loser. Death and destruction and chaos and trauma…no good outcomes in war. The other painting I painted over the weekend comes directly from my nightmares.

Drone warfare and it’s far reaching consequences, reaching even into my art, and my dreams.

Still, painting feels good, and it helps to paint. There was nothing on fire in my dreams last night, although my sleep was restless and interrupted. It’s been pretty bad lately, actually, and I’m not certain why. Maybe physical pain? Background anxiety over distant world events I can’t control? Concern over the upcoming election? (Did you also feel it as a direct threat to your personhood when you read or heard that Trump said “women won’t have to think about abortion anymore” if he is reelected?) It’s a scary world sometimes. I’m glad painting gives me a voice for things I don’t know how to say with words.

Huh. This morning started out fairly cheerful. I find myself wondering if that was a bit forced, or whether I’ve simply managed to make a “wrong turn” somewhere along the way. I give myself time with my thoughts. I’ve got shit on my mind, clearly, and the way out is, reliably, through. I feel that aching need to be heard. To be “visible”. To be understood and validated. Tears well up and spill over. I miss my Dear Friend who died shortly before Spring. There are very few people I feel emotionally safe unburdening myself to, specifically regarding war and trauma and misogyny, and the lingering wounds of ancient personal horrors that follow me still. She was one. Gone now. My Traveling Partner has long been another (but for now I’m in the role of caregiver and must be sparing and deeply considerate about burdening him while he heals). I guess practical wisdom suggests I make an appointment with my damned therapist. That’d be pretty grown up of me.

For now, I breathe, exhale, and relax – and let the tears fall. It’ll pass. That’s predictable and reliable, and there is no shame in honest tears, and there’s rather a lot going on in the world worth crying over.

I look to the sky for any hint of daybreak. Soon. I’ll get a lovely walk in, along a favorite trail, then head home to begin an ordinary enough Monday. My tears will dry, and I’ll begin again.

I’m waiting for another sunrise. It’s quite early, and I am at the trailhead ahead of daybreak. Again. It’s the first day of autumn – the equinox. There’s a thin mist clinging to the ground, rising up from the river. I sit quietly with my thoughts awhile before turning to writing.

Street light dispursed through the mist.

I’ve got a handful of drafts, work in progress. None of them hold my attention this morning. My thoughts are not there. I often “work on” a new bit of writing as I drive to the trail, but this morning I was lost in pleasant daydreams instead. So, this morning my writing is impromptu, raw, unfiltered thoughts-in-the-moment lacking any sort of plan or editing. This is, perhaps, my preferred approach, generally. Certainly, it is the most authentic, spelling mistakes and all.

The first hint of daybreak in the darkness.

This morning I am mostly thinking about love, and hoping my Traveling Partner is getting the rest he needs. He continues to make slow progress towards recovery (from his injury and subsequent surgery). He continues to worry (and so do I) that something got overlooked or misdiagnosed. It’s a reasonable concern. We are concerned, together. As with many things (most things?), we’re in this together… while each having our own experience. Individual perspective. Shared experience. This very human journey is a strange one. I feel fortunate and grateful to share it with him.

My thoughts drift from love (and gratitude) to art. I am looking forward to my October coastal getaway. I’m eager to devote a handful of beautiful autumn days to my pastels. I have so much inspiration welling up from within. I need to take the time for myself. Funny – as soon as the thought forms, it is followed by a question; “can my Traveling Partner make coffee for himself, now?” This seems an important (if very specific and practical) detail, even though the Anxious Adventurer is on hand to help out. Would I even feel comfortable going, if my partner were unable to make a cup of coffee for himself? I think about that for awhile. We are so intertwined, so interdependent. We rely on each other. We’ve “been there” for each other for so long now… In May, it’ll be more than 15 years. My longest romantic relationship. What a beautiful complicated journey. I am fortunate to be so loved.

The gate to the park opens with a slow screech and a dull clang. It’s still too dark to safely walk the trail along the edge of the marsh. It’s the equinox and the sun is sleeping in this morning. lol

Faint hints of the sunrise to come, and the end of a starry night.

I sit quietly with my thoughts of love and a heart full of joy and contentment. This is a truly pleasant and satisfying moment, though in most regards the facts upon which it is built are very like many other quiet moments on other mornings before sun rise. Funny how that is. I sit with my smile and my thoughts, content to be happy, now, without any promises or expectations of future moments feeling similarly. Feelings are feelings. It’s enough to savor the moment and preserve it for future recollections.

A smudge of orange along the eastern horizon hints at the imminent sunrise. I’m glad to see another one. Grateful. How many more? No way to know. I’m okay with the uncertainty. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I swap my shoes for my sturdy boots. I can see the ground, now. Looks like a good time to begin again.

I’m sitting quietly, waiting for the sun. I’m sipping an iced coffee, feeling mostly grateful, and mostly in love. Life (and love) has its ups and downs. Aging has the benefit of bringing a bit of perspective, maybe some wisdom, but…it also kinda sucks, fairly often. This mortal sack of flesh feels like a trap as often as it behaves as a useful tool. Maybe that’s my headache talking?

I’m feeling vaguely nostalgic this morning, yearning for a “simpler” time that frankly doesn’t actually exist for me. Those recollections of bygone simplicity are bullshit – fragments of experiences that were far less simple than memory suggests, and far more complicated. Memory, in my experience, is much less nuanced than the lived experience in the moment.

I think about walking the cobbled streets of old Augsburg in the 1980’s… My memory lies to me about what a time it was. The reality? Mental illness was overtaking me, I lived in terror due to domestic violence, and I was fraught with constant anxiety (both personally and professionally). The shopping in Augsburg was great. The people were friendly. The climate was delightful. The holiday market was splendid and the cafes were amazing. So… what is “really true” about my time there? Was it grand or terrible? It’s hard to say. Sometimes I miss Augsburg.

My mind wanders to Fresno. What a very different time in my life. I worked my ass off in construction – but only half of the year, generally. The money was good while the work lasted, each season, but I was trading my health for those dollars one brutal hour at a time and struggling to make ends meet between jobs. I was wracked with constant anxiety and being stalked by my ex. I was living a life of unsustainable extremes – the delights were too delightful, the lows were dangerously low. My self-care… wasn’t care-ful. I was “using myself up” without really understanding the consequences of my choices. I cultivated some amazing (lasting) friendships. Because of those friends, many of whom are no longer in Fresno, I still sometimes miss Fresno in spite of, well… Fresno. lol

My mind wanders to “the woods” at the end of the street where we lived when I turned the corner on childhood and began the painful journey through adolescence. I ran the paths through those woods so many times. Walked them on quiet days seeking peace and solitude. I sat among the trees in the summer heat, listening to the trickle of the creek that flowed through the woods and the buzzing of insects. …I was sexually assaulted there. Somehow, I still remember those woods with great fondness (and, to be fair, the trees themselves were in no way responsible for me being raped).

Funny how nostalgia tries to “tidy things up”. Life – reality – is more complicated than that. Understanding (and accepting) the complexities of life is useful for healing. I can choose to hold on to, and savor, all the beauty and splendor of this mortal lifetime, and set aside the pain (mostly), and learn to bounce back, to let go, and to learn what lessons I can. I can savor the precious memories. I can experience gratitude for the wonders I’ve seen and the love I have experienced. I can reject the darkness and refuse to let it own me.

Nostalgia is weird and complicated. I sit with the good feelings, occasionally stumbling on some painful recollection that finds its way into the mix – like stubbing my toe on a pleasant walk. It’s weird, unexpected, and momentarily distressing. I breathe through the painful memories when they come; they’re part of my life, and I am the woman I am today because life is so much more complicated than a beautiful memory. There’s more to my story, more to my journey, than beautiful sunrises.

I sigh and sip my coffee. Daybreak comes with a hint of orange low on the horizon. I breathe, exhale, and relax. This? This is a lovely pleasant moment, and I am enjoying it. Quiet time well-spent on self-reflection and a bit of nostalgia. I don’t read too much into it. This too shall pass. Moments are brief. Change is. It feels like time to begin again.

Quiet morning. Nothing much going on. Nothing much “in my head”. Pain is pain. Love is love. Human primates are a mixed bag of wonderful and vile. Life is worth living. The journey is the destination.

… Get off your fucking cell phone when you’re with people, and most especially when you’re operating a moving fucking vehicle. There’s no text message worth dying for, and no distraction worth killing for. Just saying. Stop doing that dumb shit. (Being glued to your damned phone when you’re spending time with people is just rude, not lethal, but still rude, so maybe don’t, eh?) Friendly PSA. I know, you didn’t ask.

I sit quietly with my lack of thoughts and my breath, waiting for the sun. Another work day. My tinnitus shrieks in my ears. My back aches. My head aches. I’d like to feel more comfortable but that’s apparently not a today thing, at least not in this moment. I distract myself with my coffee (it’s very good this morning), and some moments spent gazing at the nearly full waning moon. Beautiful. Worth the time spent just looking at it. It hangs overhead successfully outshining the parking lot lights that are unfortunately also in view. (What the hell is the matter with us, always trying to light up the darkness as though it were daylight and making all kinds of noise?!)

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I have the vague feeling of “having a bunch of shit to do’, but can’t recall why I feel that way. I’ve got a bit of a break, some away time, planned for a couple weeks from now. I clearly need it. Again. G’damn why do I run myself ragged this way? I can’t possibly get “all of everything” done all the time, and I only exhaust and frustrate (and disappoint) myself by thinking otherwise. I could treat myself better…

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I feel my shoulders relax, and my back. Pain sucks. It’s not always easily manageable. Sometimes it isn’t manageable at all. I generally make a point of “not bitching about it” – but this doesn’t always serve me well, it just keeps anyone else from being overly troubled by it while I trudge onward, doing my best. “Chronic pain” is not particularly descriptive of the lifetime experience of living with pain. It’s just a handy label. Be kind to people; there’s a lot of pain in the world and a lot of people not complaining.

… The sky begins to lighten…

Another chance to begin again.

Perspective. Sufficiency. Mindfulness. Kindness. Compassion. Non-attachment. Self-care. Consideration. So many things to practice on this journey… I can’t say I’ve “mastered” any of these, though they all matter to me, and I do practice them. It is a very humbling experience, this human life. My best efforts often feel inadequate, not because they truly are, but simply because I am so very human, and somehow expect so much more of myself than I know how to deliver. I keep practicing. I reflect on my failures – without ruminating. I reflect on my successes – without becoming arrogant or complacent. One day, one moment, at a time down this path that has no end. No end I can see, at least for now. We are mortal creatures. I don’t recall the beginning of this journey. I may not be aware of the end when it comes. How very peculiar. How very human.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. Daybreak has come. I can see the trail sufficiently well to walk it safely. I’ve got my boots on, and my cane by my side. I finish my coffee and look out across the meadow. A low mist clings to the ground. It’s time to begin again.

Every sunrise a new beginning.