Archives for posts with tag: perspective

I woke this morning, but I’m not actually sure when. I checked the clock at 2:38 am, but didn’t get up. I may have slept more, I don’t recall being wakeful, but I recall many moments of being awake. I don’t know whether they are consecutive (and I was awake until I got up) or separated by sleep (resulting in sleep, however restless it may have been). I got up at 6:38, 4 hour later, when I next checked the clock. If it had been, say, 3:11 am, I’d have gotten up to pee and gone back to bed afterward – and perhaps that would have been a good choice at 2:38 am. 🙂

I see signs of autumn everywhere on my walks lately.

I see signs of autumn everywhere on my walks lately; time to get back out on the trails.

I’m not sure what sort of morning this one is, so far. I’m still sore from more than usual miles of walking yesterday (a reminder to get back on the trail). I woke in pain, stiff from my arthritis, and since that’s primarily in my spine, it affects most movement, even breathing feels subtly impaired, as I fight the pain to find posture that allows deeper breaths. (Many of my headaches source with a damaged cervical vertebra (C7) and its adjacent arthritic siblings, rather than with my TBI.) I put on music first thing this morning, even before I turned on the aquarium lights, which is unusual. More unusual still, I didn’t do so with deliberate purpose and awareness, it was the action of someone just being and doing, action following impulse without intent. I’m not unhappy with the choice, but the ebb and flow of my emotions seems more connected this morning to the music than to my experience. Highs and lows come and go with the changing tracks on my playlist. I made my coffee, and forgot about it on the counter in the kitchen. My memory seems very clear on details that are often sort of vague and challenging – but I am peculiarly inattentive to other sorts of things I generally track well. And… Yesterday there was this moment when it was entirely and rather publicly clear that I had entirely lost any ability to manage simple math – I couldn’t calculate 44 days from the current date for a simple forecasting scenario, even using a calendar, and the calculator on my computer was beyond me (cognitively), at that moment. It could have been an embarassing moment – it wasn’t; I was frightened, and felt very vulnerable and insecure. The feelings passed, the concern did not. I’m sort of … following myself around observing myself in the background today, with concern and curiosity.

I write awhile. I retrieve my forgotten coffee. I change the playlist when I find myself feeling some borrowed emotion that doesn’t fit the circumstances of the day. And I wonder. I try to avoid worrying, but find myself thinking of things like “Flowers for Algernon”, and the neuroscience of cognition, and the progress on A.I., and how fragile this meat vessel really is, and how many people in my family have died of strokes… and my injury. Suddenly my fears become liquid and the tears are quietly slipping down my face, and I weep to face my mortality so starkly. 52 isn’t old. Neither am I a child. I carry enough damage to this fragile vessel from years of punishing circumstances, trauma, casual thoughtlessness, and mischance that I probably ought not expect it to be without consequence where longevity is concerned. It’s a good call to take care of myself if I earnestly want to stay around – but, realistically, so much of whether I stay around isn’t actually up to me in the moment, at all. Strokes do happen. Will I know, when the time comes? Will it be like some of the TIAs I’ve had, looking out through my eyes as windows, aware but unable to say – but for longer than a moment? What’s next? Will everything just… end?

I didn’t understand yesterday how profoundly affected I was in that moment, with a colleague, utterly unable to do the simplest math, looking up from my desk so helplessly – and asking for help. That was hard. I didn’t lose face, and the moment passed. I’m open about my issues, and learning to ask for help when I need it has had a lot of value. I’m frightened, though, and that’s harder to be open about. I let myself cry, and face the fear. I am okay right now. My coffee is hot, well-made, and tastes just right. The morning is a pleasant one. The music is all music I like very much. I live well, comfortably, and meet most of my day-to-day needs easily. I am human; emotions like fear and uncertainty are part of the experience. I guess I’m just not ready to go now, and the fear hits that yearning for more time – now that I seem to be sorting some things out. It’s a complicated feeling.  Tears and more tears, no sobbing or hysterics, just this momentarily ceaseless flow of tears, blurring my vision. And this fear. I have so much more love to give…

The tears slow, and eventually stop. My head aches from the crying… or…was the headache already there? I’m not sure this morning. This morning I lack certainty about a great many things. Will I see my traveling partner, or is he still sick? Will my housewarming later today be fun and relaxed, or will I mess with my head foolishly getting overly worked up over small things and stress myself out? Will I continue to find, over the course of the day, that other things ‘aren’t working’ as I expect them to, in my ability to think, to do math, to spell, to write,  to reason, to recall, to plan, to communicate, to feel…? Will I rise above the small challenges to engage this lovely moment, or find myself faltering and failing to find any secure emotional foothold? Will I take care of me, quite tenderly, and recognize that at any age being reminded of one’s mortality can be ‘a tough  moment’, or will I treat myself callously, with disregard, self-deprecation, and mockery? Will I “be okay”, or can I find sufficiency in being okay right now? I momentarily feel as though I might trade actual death from whatever nasty virus my traveling partner picked up for 15 minutes in his arms, feeling comforted, cared for, and alive. Fear sucks.

My playlist comes through for me in the most amazing way some times. My heavy heart starts lifting listening to Atmosphere remind me how human life is. I remember, again, that I am okay right now, and that – truly – there is nothing in this moment right here that warrants these tears. I start letting it go, and gently finding my way; mortality isn’t really something we can fight skillfully (yet) as human beings. I may not live to see us achieve near-immortality through the advances of science. I have ‘now’, and it can’t be taken from me. Today isn’t a bad one. The morning isn’t difficult. I didn’t sleep badly. My coffee didn’t disappoint me. I am not out in the cold, or without nutritious groceries in my pantry. I am not lacking in love. I don’t have to go into the office today. I am, in fact, okay right now. “All is well” is approximately accurate – at least as far as any details I can be clearly aware of in my own experience, myself, in this moment.

As suddenly as they came, the tears – and my fear and uncertainty – dissipate. I am okay, right now. It’s enough, isn’t it? 🙂

I clean my salt-spattered glasses, sip my remaining now cold coffee, and notice again the lovely morning ahead of me, requiring only that I take care of me, practice good practices, and live well and mindfully in this moment, on this day. Now.

It’s a chilly morning. I woke a bit ahead of the alarm clock, and somehow the shower didn’t warm me up much. My head is stuffy, as if in sympathy to my traveling partner, home sick at his place. I miss him greatly, but it matters more that he take care of himself and be well – besides, I don’t really want to be sick, myself, and I am content to wait to see him for some better time.

I find myself thinking about perspective, again. I know that because I’d like to be in my traveling partner’s arms so very much, it would be super easy to dive into misery, frustration, and annoyance that we are not together, and then for that to become a springboard to all sorts of doubt, insecurity, hurt, and anger spreading out in all directions from that one small thing; I miss him. Emotions are intense, and can easily overwhelm reason, and then… then what? Then I am unhappy, riled up, agitated, miserable, lonely, angry, frustrated, and filled with negative self-talk and thinking so distorted that all those feelings start fueling some sort of ‘blame machine’ that generates more distorted thinking, and rationalizes treating others poorly on the basis of that distorted thinking. This morning I am appreciative that I am not in that place. (Perspective is a lovely way to defuse those emotional bombs.)

Anyway, how would I really measure life's 'spilled milk'?

Someone else said it first; there’s no use crying over spilled milk.

Life isn’t ‘about’ my losses. Sure the losses exist, but they don’t exist isolated from the joys, the gifts, the delights, the wonders, and the cherished moments. Life is also not about keeping score; when I am focused on this moment, my moment, engaged, present, and mindful, the bullshit fades away, and I’m not filled with self-made poison. I was thinking about this while I soaked in the bath last night, too; if I measure my life by my losses, how could I not find myself wounded, tearful, and overwhelmed with doubt and sorrow? It’s 52 years worth of ups and downs – there are some losses in all that experience.

I could measure my life by my gains, if I choose. Things look different stacked up as an assortment of wins, gains, achievements, successes…and that too is misleading; I don’t learn much from the easy wins, and the emotional highs are far less intense, lacking depth and value, without the perspective offered by what has been lost, and what hurt, and what didn’t work so easily. Then, too, if I measure my life by all the things I have done or achieved that are awesome, I don’t leave much room to be vulnerable, to connect, to appreciate what is soft and tender within myself, and to value myself when I am not winning, gaining, achieving, or succeeding, and I may also need to spend a great deal of mental bandwidth defining those successes, to avoid becoming frustrated by shortcomings that might negatively affect measuring the wins. Hell, I’m only thinking about it, and I feel myself becoming a little anxious!

...and how exactly is 'success' truly defined, and measured...and who decides that?

…and how exactly is ‘success’ truly defined, and measured…and who decides that?

It’s the measuring, itself, that I find myself thinking about critically. I don’t personally prefer life to be a competition, and the measuring of successes, the score keeping, the comparing of this person to that person, the perception that there are ‘necessary’ achievements one is expected to make in life (marriage, children, car, house, career…) – I have come to view all of those as bullshit distractions, choices, simply details we can add to who we are – or not. I’m choosing ‘not’, generally, and re-evaluating where all of those things really fit in with who I am, myself. It’s been a process. Part of asking that ‘who am I?’ question, I guess…. (I’m sure not telling you what you should or must find important, yourself.) I’m just observing that holding an attachment to goals that aren’t really my own, imposed on me by expectations of one sort or another, is one very elaborate way to be miserable.

Why am I on about score keeping and measuring and comparing one to another? Because I miss my traveling partner, of course! See what I mean by how quickly powerful emotions can overwhelm reason? How are those even connected? They are connected in only the loosest way, by time itself, and by the measuring of time, and the score keeping of moments. I don’t spend as much time with him as I’d like, which has the potential to nudge me toward contemplating the time he spends with others, and to become resentful and hurt over it. It’s silliness – because love isn’t about score keeping (or time keeping), or measuring, or counting. I’ve come a long way from allowing my powerful emotions to sneak attack me on something so small, most of the time. 🙂 That feels pretty good over my morning coffee, and instead of fussing irritably about why my traveling partner isn’t in my arms (he’s sick, seriously?) I am simply enjoying a lovely morning, in this moment here, content that there are other moments to enjoy in other times, and that love exists, regardless – it’s certainly not worth stress, or agitation, or grinding my mental gears over if/when/why. That kind of mental busy work poisons my experience now, in part because my brain injury impedes my ability to regulate emotions stirred up by thoughts (they feel every bit as real, and intense, as emotions that occur in response to circumstances), and in part because I am human.

It's a journey - there are some detours.

It’s a journey – there are some detours.

That’s been another lovely bit of awakening, recently. I’ve struggled so long with sorrows over what is ‘wrong’ with me, due to my TBI, and what my injury has (may have?) taken from me… Sometime between last Friday and yesterday morning walking to work, something clicked… Whether my injury is anything to do with whatever may be ‘wrong’ with me – it is most assuredly the source of a great many things that are very right with me, that I enjoy and count on daily. Perspective.

...Life these days feels more like a construction site than a disaster area. :-)

…Life these days feels more like a construction site than a disaster area. Progress. 🙂

So…this morning…a lovely morning that could have been experienced very differently not so very long ago. Perspective matters. Practicing good practices for building emotional self-sufficiency, and resilience, matters. Remembering to include the woman in the mirror in the set of ‘all the people I love’ matters. Contentment, gratitude, and enjoying what is more than I mourn what is not, matter too. It’s a chilly autumn morning, and I am enjoying it wrapped in a warm sweater – and wrapped in love. (I’m not all certain which provides the greater comfort – I suspect it is the love, and I am awed that it comes from within.)

Today is a good day to be love.

There are no shortcuts available in life, not really; everything that feels like a successful shortcut is probably a lack of understanding of the options available in the first place. Just go with me on this one, and also accept that we’re each making the rules – and drawing the map, and writing the narrative – as we go along on this journey. I’m pretty sure of myself on this point, which does nothing to validate whether I am correct, it just speaks to whether I am likely to be acting on these assumptions (and I am).

No shortcuts – there are verbs involved, and I don’t use all of them equally easily. When I allow others to dictate to me which verbs are available in the first place, and set limits on how and when I can use them, it can definitely feel liberating – and like a shortcut – to use a verb not on the ‘official list’. 🙂

Another reminder – to me, myself, but here if you need it – we’re all making this up as we go along; mistakes, successes, highlights, bloopers, heartfelt emotions, embarrassing moments, every bit of every detail resting on the foundation we give it. If I choose to build my experience on negative self-talk, boosting the volume on negative bias, and allowing my fears and doubts to lead the way on this journey it will be a very different one than it tends to be when I choose differently. It can be so incredibly difficult to remember this in a difficult moment. Like last night.

Perspective over coffee.

Perspective over coffee.

A simple errand taking advantage of a special offered to military veterans turned into an exercise in frustration that began with the heat of the day, and the inconvenience of the destination. Problematic circumstances complicated things; I left the office later than I needed to, traffic was much worse than anticipated and the public transit system was facing serious delays. When I reached my destination, still feeling positive, although rather tired and in a lot of pain, I found myself faced with business practices that put me at a disadvantage, and I came face to face with my arch-nemesis Frustration. (I’ve mentioned it before, but if you’re new here… I’m seriously not wired for frustration, and it’s a problem. My disinhibiting TBI and the common human experience of frustration do not play nicely together.)

I managed my emotions pretty comfortably for the circumstances. Although I walked away feeling on the edge of tears, I managed to hold things together and do the adult thing courteously. Trembling and in a lot of pain, I headed back into the heat and made my way home feeling more frustrated than I needed to (the errand wasn’t essential – part of the frustration, actually, was the wasted time), and more pissed off than felt comfortable. I could see how the scenario would likely play out. I’d hold back tears, gritting my teeth all the way home, rationalizing the experience and dismissing my emotions until I felt like I wasn’t being heard, and I would begin feeling disconnected from my experience, and once sufficiently overwhelmed by my utter disregard for my own feelings, I would likely crumble – perhaps in the shower – and cry for a long time until I was exhausted from that, collapsing into an unsatisfying sleep plagued by nightmares of futility and helplessness… Only… I do have choices…

In my darkest moments, I find value in asking myself 'dark relative to what?'

In my darkest moments, I find value in asking myself ‘dark relative to what?’ It helps to let small stuff stay small.

I figured I’d try some of the new things I put so much practice into, instead of re-hashing the same old emotional shit storm, and blowing the entire evening. On the way home I emailed my traveling partner (who is out-of-town for the weekend) and shared the experience in simple terms. I was honest about my feelings without projecting the experience into his. I owned up to feeling angry in simple terms, and didn’t make it personal (it’s just an emotion). I kept it simple, and didn’t ask for help, or encroach on his time – there wasn’t anything to do about it, and already the experience was in the past. I made a decision not to continue to do business there, myself – I didn’t feel valued as a consumer, and the business is not conveniently located, so that’s an easy win for me, and I felt ‘heard’ (by me), cared for (by me), respected (by me) and supported (by me). I got home and made choices that looked like shortcuts (like nutritious calories fast, rather than a long cooking process for a hot meal), but were really only different choices, ones that maximized my ability to continue to treat myself well, in the shorter amount of time available. Later in the evening, my traveling partner followed up with a phone call, hearing me, caring for me, and showing his support, too. No tears. No tantrums. No drama. No exhausted restless night. No nightmares. Practice, and good self-care for the win. 🙂

Perspective is a really big deal - we see what we are looking at. Limiting our vision, limits our options.

Perspective is a really big deal – we see what we are looking at. Limiting our vision, limits our options.

Last night could have gone so differently. I’m taking time over my coffee this morning to consider how differently, and why it went so well. Choices matter. I have so much power to change my experience, right in the moment. Emotions are powerful, so much so that they don’t always lead well. Reason has her place in life. I didn’t understand how much less tug of war there is between emotion and reason in a life built on mindful practices, and good self-care. It’s not the sort of thing that’s easy to explain in words. The unfortunate commercialization of mindfulness tends to promote these ideas in a way that suggests a fad…there are so many voices being raised that shout into the wind about the value of being mindful, the din sort of fades into the background. That’s unfortunate because nothing has worked for me as well as practicing mindfulness, practicing meditation, practicing good basic self-care…all completely free, available for the taking literally anywhere, and effective on an order of magnitude that makes monetization irresistible for the business savvy primate looking to stand on a taller pile of bananas. It happens to me too…I get excited about how well this is going for me, and I share eagerly, and then wonder…can I profit from the sharing as well as from the practicing? The answer is, I think, actually ‘no’ [for me] – and not because it isn’t possible to make money selling mindfulness to people (who perhaps don’t realize they can get there for free) – it’s totally possible to do that (just Google mindfulness, you’ll see).

The mindfulness being sold commercially isn’t that thing that is working so well for me; it’s a product that looks very similar, packaged and marketed for appeal, that has some potential to put real people on a more mindful path, potentially, with practice. There are verbs involved, though, and paying the money doesn’t change the need to actually practice.  There’s the disconnect; when we buy a product we’re rarely expecting to also do the work. We bought it, shouldn’t we have it? Mindfulness very definitely doesn’t work that way; no amount of money spent reduces the amount of practice required. While I could profit from selling a mindfulness product of some kind… it wouldn’t truly be this thing that has done so much to improve my own experience; that’s not for sale, and I also can’t withhold it from you. Mindfulness is free for the taking – it just requires practice. 🙂

Finding the lasting value in perspective and good practices.

Finding the lasting value in perspective and good practices.

I will admit that once it was clear that practicing mindfulness was easing my day-to-day symptoms, and potentially even improving my wellness, I bought a few books (more than a few) and read a lot about this experience, this path, these practices; educating myself was  worthy, and I was admittedly still looking for ‘shortcuts’. Where some new ‘shortcut’ seemed to be working out well, it was a matter of honest practice, an effort of will and intent with a lot of verbs involved, and had I known where to look, the information was available for free all along. I’m just saying – it’s the practicing, and you can do this – your choices, your intent, your will, your vision… your life. This isn’t about ‘being right’ about mindfulness, for me. I’m not making any rules for you, or ‘showing you the way’ – I’m just practicing, taking care of me, and sharing my experience is one practice I use, for me, to maintain perspective, build resilience, and tidy up some of this chaos and damage.

Perspective is a big deal; the spiders in life are not actually as big as they sometimes look.

The spiders in life are not actually as big as they sometimes look.

I remember being ‘lost in the wilderness’ with my PTSD, desperate for any voice of hope, no idea where to turn, what questions to ask, or what books to read, and feeling so lost. I write hoping my words can be a lighthouse in the stormy darkness of some heart, now that I know it is possible to reach a safe harbor, within. (With the challenges I have with my TBI, that heart is often my own – I come back often to these words.) Still…I guess what I’m saying is that the practice is still your own, whatever you choose to practice. I’m not really interested in selling you on these ideas, I’m just living my life, and sharing some small piece of my experience along the way. It’s still my perspective. Your results may vary. 🙂

Today is a good day to begin again. Head where you are headed. Be who you most want to be. Walk your path eyes wide to wonder and delight, and if you fall, fail, miss, slip, or pause… just begin again. Lead with love; it’s a good place to start.

The long weekend is over. I sit with my coffee cup warming my hands for some minutes, considering the weekend behind me, the short work week ahead of me, and the weekend yet to be experienced on the other side. Each moment worthy of my attention, even those yet to come…and I am not  yet 100% awake, so my mind wanders easily between past and future without making clear distinctions between the two. It’s good creative space; I take notes.

I enjoyed a lovely visit with my traveling partner yesterday, in the morning, and the warmth and depth of our connection fueled my creativity further, as well as putting a smile on my face that lingered throughout the day. I woke still smiling this morning. Love is pretty amazing stuff. “So is coffee…” I think to myself irreverently, sipping my coffee warming my hands with the mug. It’s in some of these small moments of pleasure and comfort that I find myself wondering how things ever get to be difficult, complicated, and stressful… The simple pleasure in the warmth of a porcelain coffee mug in my hands on a chilly not-yet-autumn morning seems so solid, so real, so potentially lasting…so sustainable. How is it that it sometimes does not last, or isn’t so easily sustained?

Simple pleasures are as worthy of attention as grand moments of excitement or delight - and far more commonplace.

Simple pleasures are as worthy of attention as grand moments of excitement or delight – and far more commonplace.

I think about perspective, this morning, and I think about the choices I make – to hold the warmth of a coffee mug deliberately in my awareness, lingering over the simple pleasure, savoring the moment, or to let it slip out of my consciousness, swept away by some other experience, perhaps more intense, or less pleasant… I could choose to hold on to this moment, this mug, this warmth, and keep my focus there a little longer, letting stress wait its turn, couldn’t I? (It’s a rhetorical question. Yes, obviously I could…I’m suggesting that doing so has value.) I can hold this mug, feel this warmth, sit with this smile of contentment tugging at my lips… or… I could also let the awareness of my back pain take me over completely, feeling the nausea that sometimes goes along with my morning medication, more than I feel the warmth of the mug. It’s not that being aware of the warmth of the coffee cup in my hand acts as an effective pain-killer; it doesn’t, and there’s no point pretending. The thing is, though, and it seems worthy to observe it, the general quality of my experience moment to moment is much improved if I allow room for the experience of this warm mug, fully committed to the experience of the moment, present, here, right now. The pain I am often in is not the most important thing about my experience. It’s just one element of many.

Unfinished work?

Unfinished work? “Uplifted Hearts” I think a lot about love.

I smile, continue to sip my coffee, continue to linger pleasantly over memories of the weekend. I consider how best to take care of my needs this week, and over time, and whether to invest more of my time in living beautifully, or taking advantage of inspiration to continue painting during limited weekday leisure. It’s an interesting choice to have. I look around my home in the light of morning, and admit frankly that ‘the artist within’ doesn’t do her share of tidying up; tonight, at least, will be tending home and hearth and ensuring I am living the life I most enjoy, with the greatest ease I can provide for myself. It’s no difficult decision, and once made my thoughts move on.

Alternate lighting, another perspective on

Alternate lighting, another perspective on “Uplifted Hearts”, and on love.

I sit quietly this morning, considering how much of my joy I choose for myself, and how much of my misery is similarly chosen. I make so many choices that direct where I invest my will, and my emotions. Changing my choices has changed a lot about my day-to-day experience. I live quietly, and generally quite calmly, in this simple small place that meets my needs without a lot of fuss or fanfare. This morning, I find myself content, rational, and yes… happy. It’s a nice beginning to the work week, and the day.

Today is a good day for simple pleasures, and small successes. Today is a good day for love. Today is a good day to treat myself as well as I know how – and to similarly treat others well; good will, merriment, and an uplifted heart nourish something deep within me. Today is a good day to invest in joy – this, too, is a choice I make; it is a choice than can change the world.

I am sipping my coffee slowly; it’s too hot to drink comfortably. I’ve got my favorite playlist on, and it’s late enough in the morning that it is unlikely to disturb the neighbors, but I’ve got it turned down a little lower than I might later today; it’s the more comfortable choice for me, right now. It is a weekend morning, and I spent yesterday painting. I have plans to do so today, and I am finding it interesting that I feel no urgency or pressure to cram as much creative work as possible into these days and hours. I could as easily choose other things to do today, without any sense of being deprived or disappointed.

My home, my rules, my way - my time.

My home, my rules, my way – my time.

This is my place. I’ve set it all up for maximum personal comfort, personal convenience, and in celebration of my own aesthetic, ensuring my sense of emotional comfort, too. No more having to contemplate how and when I will get everything cleaned up and put away – before I even get started painting. I can live with the work in progress easily – and comfortably. This is new and wonderful.

I got close last October, when we all decided I could move upstairs to the loft (no, not really, and it didn’t happen)… or at least paint up there quite comfortably (well, for about three months, until the work space was rather unexpectedly filled up with things out of the attic on the assurance that an attic project would be committed to and wrapped up promptly… it wasn’t). I’d never gotten closer to real space to paint than those promises…until now. My previous experience has always been that my work, while valued, was in the way (“Oh, hey, I really like that one – when are you going to be cleaned up?”). My paints, canvases, my easel, the room it takes for canvases to dry…to hang…all very much in the way of everyday life – for everyone else. I got into the habit of scheduling time in advance, cleaning up quickly, and apologizing frequently for the inconvenience, and pretending not to notice when others lacked time or interest in viewing and celebrating new work with me. Every relationship offered some version of substantial limitation-setting on my freedom to work creatively. It hurt, and over time it slowly became a big deal; being an artist is a substantial part of who I am. After decades of it, I really needed something very different…and one of those things I needed turned out to be taking myself more seriously, and making my needs my own high priority.

There are moments when I really feel how much living alone lacks the intimacy and warmth of living with love…I definitely miss easy access to sex every day (and yes, at 52 I still very much want sex every day)…and hugs. I miss hugs a lot. I miss shared laughter, and touch. I miss kisses good-night, and good-bye, and welcome home. I miss someone being there for me when I’ve had a nightmare. But…there are things I don’t miss at all. I don’t miss being treated as an inconvenience. I don’t miss starting something beautiful artistically and having it completely derailed over OPD (other people’s drama), or some bit of household stress, or someone else’s needs of the moment. I don’t miss being interrupted for some mundane something or other while I am painting (or writing). I don’t miss not being able to play the music I love when I am painting (without also listening to a lot of bitching). I don’t miss living with bare walls, and paintings stacked everywhere begging to be hung (I don’t even get how that’s a thing, honestly). I don’t miss having to plan around everyone else and hoping that inspiration holds out until it is convenient for them for me to be painting. I love this space – I am wrapped in pure inspiration, undiluted by stress, drama or game-playing. I feel…artistically fearless. It’s lovely. (I still miss hugs.)

Enough.

Enough.

This morning, I slept in, woke easily and exchanged a few pleasant words with my traveling partner regarding the possibility of getting together at some point this weekend. I can comfortably finish my coffee, and pick up a paint brush…or not. Whether I paint is now dependent more on whether I am inspired than any one other factor. I am comfortably at home with myself, and with my work. It feels a little bit amazing…and for just a moment an icy sensation of fear and insecurity cuts through my soft easy mood…I look over my shoulder at the completed installation on the west wall; the sight of 17 paintings hung along an artistic progression in theme and color, inspired by my love of flowers, and the way light plays with color are enough to put those feeble demons to rest this morning. I smile as my gaze sweeps across the newly hung paintings and I think of love, too, and smile as I recall how much a few observations made by my traveling partner untangled my vision for that space. There are few things as powerful as a good partnership.

"Communion" 24" x 36" acrylic on canvas w/ceramic and glow. 2011

“Communion” 24″ x 36″ acrylic on canvas w/ceramic and glow. 2011

So little of life is truly an entirely solo effort – even when I paint, I am often ‘walking hand in hand’ with a love or trusted friend, in the depths of my heart, in the corners of my thoughts. (More than any other, my traveling partner is my artistic muse.) I am inspired by people – by the experience of being human – but that has often also been quite uncomfortable, as inspiration goes. Having a place of my own to work out the challenges, to linger in the arms of inspiration, to deep dive what is hidden within the shadows in my soul… it makes so much sense to live alone, in so many practical ways, as both a writer and a painter; these are not easily shared experiences.

Shared experience or not, I had a big hurdle to clear to get here, to this beautiful place. I needed to put me at the top of my list, and I needed to stop compromising my long-term needs for the convenience of others. It’s hard sometimes, even now. Living alone nudges me into first place on my agenda day-to-day, and that does make it much more difficult to undercut my own needs with needy bullshit sourcing deep in the chaos and damage. I still catch myself trying now and then. Incremental change over time requires both time – and practice. I am getting plenty of both, living alone. I miss the hugs, though… and sometimes it feels as if I miss them enough to give up painting and writing… only… that’s not at all the true truth. I would suffer greatly if I made that kind of choice. (Been there, tried that.)

"Sunset Meadow" acrylic on canvas w/pen&ink, gold, and glow 11" x 14" 2015

“Sunset Meadow” acrylic on canvas w/pen&ink, gold, and glow 11″ x 14″ 2015

I am still a beginner. I am a student of life, with more questions than answers (by far). This is my journey, and I am my own cartographer… the point, though, is this; aren’t we all? Isn’t today a good day to make the choice that makes the difference? Isn’t today a good day to invest fully in the best within? Isn’t today a good day to change the world?