Archives for posts with tag: perspective

It’s a lovely morning, cool, and quiet. My coffee is hot, and smooth, and somehow a much larger cup of coffee than I generally make – I’m sure that’s my doing, but it wasn’t quite a deliberate well-thought out thing. I used more water than usual, in some moment lost in thought when I might have benefited from paying more attention. 🙂

This morning I am thinking about the power of questions. All sorts of questions, really, but most particularly the sort of questions where I take a moment to ask (of myself, or of someone else) for something I want, or something I need – but in any case, the questions used to ask for something. Not the underhanded sort where a leading question is used to attempt to nudge someone into delivering on a need or desire – rather the honest, open, vulnerable simple questions that honor my heart, and respect the boundaries and resources of that other person. Straight up asking for what I want, no bullshit, no games, doesn’t feel very natural to me and it isn’t encouraged in all circumstances. There seem to be quite a few rules about asking for what we want, but they are rules we have built ourselves, and often on a fragile foundation of assumptions and expectations, criticism and judgement.

Always with the questions...

Always with the questions…

I am taking time to learn to ask the simple questions, whether it is ‘will you make me a latte?’ or ‘do you want to have sex with me?’ and to take care of me by avoiding the emotional trap of waiting around for needs to be met, or desires to be magically fulfilled by wondrous mind-reading beings who always know just what I want. Sometimes it is enough to make my needs – and my willingness – clear, sometimes it is important to be quite frank and direct (because assumptions suck, and cornering someone else into having to take action based on assumptions about what I may want isn’t as effective as using my words). I spent a lot of years living with people who invested heavily in coercive or manipulative use of language, and I didn’t realize how much of the simple power of directness I had lost over time. I do like language, and am prone to poetry and obscure vocabulary – and playful misuse of words – and those things can also be an impediment to clear communication. That’s a bigger deal when it comes time to meet real needs. It adds up to time to rethink how I communicate my needs, and how I ask for what I want in life.

My efforts to change how I ask for help, or ask for companionship, or ask for emotional support, or ask for a latte, are far more effective when they are specific, simple, and without pressure. The most effective requests are those when I am able to clearly state the outcome I am seeking, without putting pressure on an individual to provide fulfillment – and still make the request clear and uncomplicated. This does require a follow-up action from me, regardless of outcome; graciousness. Gracious and appreciative acceptance that honors and values the person coming through for me on my request if they say yes. Gracious acceptance and respect for boundaries and limitations that nurtures and supports the person who declines, simply and without bullshit or games. No tantrums. No manipulation. No ‘you owe me’ games. No ‘but I deserve this’ games. Getting the gentle dynamic of effective requests and gracious reception of answers quite the way feels best to me is a balance of emotional self-sufficiency (most things I might ask of someone are things I could legitimately do for myself, much of the time, or do without) and considerate openness (understanding that anything someone takes time to do for me subtracts from the time they have to do for themselves). There’s another balancing act involved here, too: reciprocity. If we’re hanging out at your place, for example, and I ask you to make me a latte (knowing how awesomely well you make them, perhaps), then the principle of reciprocity as a relationship value requires that when we are hanging out at my place I will be prepared – and willing – to reciprocate and make you a cup of tea when you ask (or politely offer you a beverage). It’s not a firmly required exchange, and it’s not a debt or obligation…it’s something more than that; a shared experience of openness, an exchange of emotional support, a connection, a willingness to be vulnerable enough to ask, and strong enough to answer honestly. There’s a lot of power to connect people in asking for what we want in simple and honest terms, and being open to hear the answer without being invested in a specific outcome. I’m finding it very freeing…sometimes frustrating. (Learning to comfortably decline when asked, when that is what best meets my own needs, is a challenging related bit of life’s curriculum.)

Feeling my way in the dark on something that has direct effect on the shared experience with others can feel stressful. It’s worth getting past that to be more aware of myself, my core needs, and what’s really going on with me – the process of asking for something I want forces me to be more mindful of what it is I do want, and why, and whether it really has potential to meet my needs over time. Straight up asking tends to find me looking at the content of the question more closely; is the request truly worthy? If I am going to be vulnerable, and ask in the first place, it makes sense that the question be refined and clarified in my own thinking before it becomes words at all – why waste time on confusion, if that can be avoided? Do I really want a latte? Or do I want to hold hands and yearn for that brief moment of contact between fingertips as I accept the warm mug? A latte doesn’t actually meet the need for hand holding, does it? It matters to ask the most relevant question. So much to learn.

Children seem to get asking questions, more or less, but their undeveloped narcissistic and demanding approach is a poor fit for adulthood; they lack awareness that others have no obligation to serve. It’s a free will thing. 🙂 Still, not a bad start for asking…and I have been studying how it’s done by these wee experts. “Can I have a glass of water, please?” from a being too short to reach the faucet seems simple enough. As an adult, I’d likely want to be more specific and personal, “Would you get me a glass of water?” – acknowledging I could reasonably do it for myself. How often have I heard myself say, to a partner in motion, “Are you going to the kitchen?” – when what I truly intend is to ask, at some point, for a glass of water? Where did I learn to be vague, leading, and manipulative? I guess that question isn’t really important to answer. The more useful question is “what can I do to be more clear, more direct, and more specific, without conveying a sense of obligation, sounding demanding, or being misleading?”

I am a work in progress, and life’s curriculum develops in a very personal way. I’m already more about questions than answers… Perhaps it is time to also become quite skilled at asking for things, not merely about them. How much harder is it for loved ones to provide support, encouragement, or to meet needs, if they have to continuously guess what those might be? It was something my traveling partner said to me on a recent visit that got my attention on this. “Relax. If I need something I’ll ask for it.” He said, after several attempts on my part to offer hospitality of a variety of sorts. We had a much better time hanging out when I stopped trying so hard to guess what he might need to offer it to him before he asked. It got me thinking about that whole thing, though, and I recognize the potential pitfall of setting up an expectation within my own thinking that others would be behaving similarly, trying always to anticipate my needs – that’s not only unrealistic, it doesn’t respect them as individuals with needs of their own, and the power to ask.

Today is a good day to be open, vulnerable, and self-aware – and a good day to ask for what I need. Today is a good day to be gracious, whether supported or not, and understand that we are each having our own experience, with our own needs, our own desires, and our own finite resources. It’s a good day for kindness, and learning to say ‘no’ when I must, and to do so gently and without harm. It’s a good day to be appreciative when someone says ‘yes’, and not take ‘no’ personally. Will it change the world?

I slept in this morning, sort of. Actually, I woke early, before 5 am, without any intention of getting up so early, because it isn’t necessary to do so today and I very much wanted to sleep in when I went to bed last night. I’m not sure I ever really returned to a deep sleep, but I coasted through a couple restful hours curled up with my body pillow, tangled in my blankets, and wrapped in thoughts of love, sometimes drifting off and dreaming, and got up some time later to the start the day.

I’ve a number of notions I’ve considered writing about this morning, but my consciousness is hung up on love and loving, and still soaked in the bliss left over from yesterday’s visit with my traveling partner. “It’s the love seat” I think to myself at one point, and that’s when I realize – not for the first time – how significant small changes can be. My hang out time with the wanderer seemed similarly more intimate, more connected, and closer sitting together on the love seat. Is that why a love seat is called a ‘love seat’ instead of being called a ‘mini couch’ or ‘wee sofa’? I amused by the thought that it might be called a love seat because it facilitates loving presence and connected dialogue…

I shopped high and low for the one I chose for its diminutive size (just 48″ wide). The small size of the room needed something similarly small to remain ‘in scale’ with everything else. At 60″ inches, many of the American love seats I saw would look huge in this room, taking up most of the visual space, and limiting how much room to paint I would have, even if I shift things around. That wasn’t going to meet my needs…on the other hand…I also needed to ensure that the seating would be ample for two, and not uncomfortable or cramped. I did consider comfort…I didn’t really consider ‘love’. It’s odd that it seems such a worthy choice, in general; the new love seat has also benefited me in my solitary space by taking me from my desk, often. It is a beautiful space to relax – and remarkably comfortable for me, personally. The details matter; at my traveling partner’s recommendation I have ordered some little pillows for the comfort of guests, and the wanderer noted at one point on his visit previously that ‘switching sides’ had benefit at one point during the evening – a practical suggestion that worked out for my traveling partner and I, as well.  That’s all very practical stuff…

Creating a beautiful space, building a beautiful life. Yes, there are verbs involved.

Creating a beautiful space, building a beautiful life. Yes, there are verbs involved.

…What matters most, as I sit here, is how remarkably delightfully effortlessly well the love seat seems to facilitate actual love, through proximity, through connected conversation, through crafted intimacy that seems so easily to become legitimate tender considerate closeness. When I sit in that spot, even alone, I find that I feel content – more content – and comfortable, my restless nature seeming to be soothed. I didn’t know when I chose it that all these qualities were shipped right along with this modest simply made love seat…but I definitely enjoy that it is indeed a love seat – a seat of love. 🙂

The love seat was not my first choice for next step with my moving in. I really wanted to get the curio and to get my breakables all out on display and within easy reach. My traveling partner asked me to consider getting the love seat first because he wanted very much to be comfortably able to sit close and share space with me more easily. I fussed a bit, internally, over what felt initially like my will being overridden…but the process of shopping for what I wanted of a love seat – and what I wanted of a curio, revealed that the items were not in the same category of expenditure, and that I would get ‘more bang for my buck’ with a love seat (And oh, ha ha – yes, I see the humor in the phrasing. And…yeah, that too. 😀 ).  Had I insisted, I know I’d have my curio parked in the corner where it plans to go, right now…and I wouldn’t have had last night, quite as last night was; choices matter. I’m satisfied that I’ve made a good choice that meets my needs right now – and over time. I do love seeing my breakables out on display…but while they may move me, they don’t touch me at all the same way as Love.

As with the a/c, the love seat turned out to be quite perfect for the circumstances, and again my traveling partner comes through with major skills in the area of encouraging and supporting love and intimacy. He seems sometimes to be ‘always right’, and while that is likely an illusion produced by a combination of being right often, and my intense affection for him…truly I’d be pretty foolish not to pause and consider his recommendations when he offers them counter to something I plan to do; he generally understands very well what I am seeking, and his perspective on how to get it often takes into account things I have overlooked. It’s hard, sometimes; my injury makes me vulnerable to poor decision-making, and acting on impulse, but my PTSD tends to make me resentful of experiences that feel as though my will is being denied me, and my desire to ‘be a grown up’ and take care of myself without help sometimes finds me reluctant to seek it (or accept it) – but when I  put down my baggage, the help I get from my traveling partner has been of great value. I know there’s a lesson there, and it’s something about listening deeply, reciprocal consideration, and recognizing the voice of love. I find my Big 5 values woven into so much of my experience.

It can feel like slow going, sometimes, but love, beauty, contentment...these experiences are worthy of the investment in time, and choices.

It can feel like slow going, sometimes, but love, beauty, contentment…these experiences are worthy of the investment in time, and choices.

So here I am today. I have love, and a love seat. I have a great cup of coffee, and bare toes tickled by clean carpet. I have a cool summer morning that will likely become a hot summer day. I have no firm plans, although perhaps the wanderer will come by much later. I have the recollection of an amazing time spent with my traveling partner yesterday – the sort of thing that is very much why it’s called ‘making love’ in the first place – some things seem to truly create love, and where love already exists seem to intensify and deepen it, well beyond what can be described in mere words…so no more words, today, and on with love and loving. These are things that have the power to change the world.

I managed to hang on to the slower pace with which I started the day, yesterday. I found it a pleasant and worthwhile approach to the day, which finished well with a phone call from my traveling partner, safely returned home.

This morning I am ‘in no mood to be rushed’, but it’s not an unpleasant place to be; I’m simply taking the morning slowly. My coffee is hot, and tasty, the morning is quiet – it is still too early for birdsong, and traffic has not yet begun the harried pace that creates the background noise that is so familiar to modern life. For now, it is about as quiet as it gets, here. I sipped my coffee, relaxing on the love seat, away from screens, and monitors, and applications, and active digital information being shoved into my consciousness for some time. That, too, is lovely, quiet, calming…I embrace all of those qualities with gentle enthusiasm, not looking for relief from stress or worrisome emotions – I have none this morning. I’m just enjoying a chill morning, content over my coffee.

Enough.

Enough.

There’s often so much pressure to make more of things. I’m not sure where it comes from, I’m content to be content, myself, generally. Why would it need to be any fancier than that? I do like pretty language…sometimes it carries me too far, and I find myself looking for ‘more’, when all I actually need is ‘enough’. I find the example of books fitting; I love books, real books, bound books, and although I have a Kindle, I also still have quite a few books. I could have more – there are more to have – I did have more, once, and each relocation finds me sorting through the books and inevitably sending some along to someone else to read and to have, usually based on ‘does this book really represent some piece of who I have come to be?’. I like the books I have to be part of who I am. I’ve read every book I own. On the other hand, I sometimes find myself getting caught up in the excitement of discovering a first edition among my books…then I may find that I’m shopping for more books, fancy books, first edition books, rare books…more books!! I don’t need ‘more books’, though, and I know that I will only keep the ones that mean something to me…so…what the hell? If it remains fun, and doesn’t take over my experience obsessively, and doesn’t lead to financial ruin, why does it matter what I do with my time, or how many books I pile up in corners and on shelves? Well…it does matter, for me, because the obsessive quality of acquisition isn’t based in a mindful experience, lacks perspective, often results in having so much that none of it matters and there’s no time to appreciate the individual elements being collected; it becomes an experience that exceeds any sense of sufficiency to the point that over time I feel my good character and values being degraded. Over books? Over anything – I just used books as an example.

All the practices...

All the practices…

Sufficiency is peculiar. I have a small collection of very fine porcelain demi-tasse cups and saucers. I began collecting them when I lived in Europe. Many of the pieces I own are antiques. They were not expensive individual purchases, and the study of the manufacturers, the patterns, the history of porcelain, and the slow enthusiasm of shopping with great care over time for something precious (and affordable) creates a beautiful experience for me. It’s the slow process, the depth of explored knowledge, the appreciation of each individual cup and saucer, the worthiness and beauty of them – and the power of choice that went into ‘this versus that’; there’s only ever so much room to keep things. Of all the elements of my whole life experience over time, this one – my porcelain – is entirely representative of my own choices, unaffected by the will – or taste – of anyone else. It sprang to life as a thing for me during a time in my life when damned little seemed mine to choose, and life was frightening, chaotic, painful, secretive, and potentially not survivable at all. My little collection is not only ‘enough’, and built on the sufficiency, and luxury, of beauty, it represents the incredible strength of my will to go on, and to find something beautiful in a life filled with fear, grief, and trauma. I’ve always had trouble explaining why seeing them boxed up and put away for safety from life’s chaos and OPD has been so heartbreaking for me – they are more than just ‘breakables’, by far.

Whimsical porcelain figurine; Meissen on display at the Portland Art Museum.

Whimsical porcelain figurine; Meissen on display at the Portland Art Museum.

My life is taking on the shape of who I am. I’ve never seen me in this light before, unfolding over time as this particular being, with these particular qualities of character, living her life specifically as it suits her best, decorating with bound books on shelves, and antiques not only displayed but in every day use – and still, somehow, a life lacking in clutter or chaos…tidy…simple…lovely. Couldn’t I have made these choices in other environments, in shared experiences? It seems so… I didn’t find it a simple thing to do. The living metaphor when something precious is broken just destroys me, emotionally, for some small time, and seems far more common in shared living arrangements, than living alone. I find myself wondering, a bit puzzled, if one driver of moving into my own place was simply to reduce the potential for things being broken, carelessly, and finding myself content to accept that it could be adequate cause to move into my own place, from my perspective – then realizing that this small detail speaks volumes on who I am, and how far I have come to be the woman I most want to be, and how much farther there seems to go.

Beautiful things linger in memory and meaning long after they are gone from my physical experience.

Beautiful things linger in memory and meaning long after they are gone from my physical experience.

Is this all sounding very serious this morning? It’s not so much. Just thoughts, words… I am my own cartographer; perhaps I am simply updating the map, and enjoying the morning over a good cup of coffee?

Morning is here. The whoosh of commuter traffic makes itself heard, and the sky is light enough to see that the day is overcast, at least for now.  There is a squirrel sitting outside the patio door, looking in; he has uprooted the last remaining gladiolus bulb that I had potted when I moved…or perhaps something else, that he had planted there, himself, at some later point. I smile; it’s not a detail that distresses me, and I enjoy the antics of squirrels. I hear birdsong now, and in the distance a siren – someone else’s morning is not going very well at all.

The continued investment in contentment, in calm, in stillness, all add up over time. It’s necessary to keep practicing the practices that have that result – it’s not a permanent sort of thing that can be achieved and then put aside. There is a continuous, patient, investment in self required, there are verbs involved, being human there are opportunities to fail myself now and then  – and learn and grow from that, too. My results vary, regularly, and I sometimes find myself doubting my progress or success…then there is a morning like this one. Things fit. Things feel right. I feel content, relaxed, and self-assured – it’s not a report card, or a finish line, and it is not the achievement of some goal that can be checked off a to do list, or added to a spreadsheet. This is a continuous journey, its own ongoing thing, a process – a verb, a series of verbs, an experience happening now – always happening now. I smile over my coffee; life is worth slowing down for.

It can be pretty daunting to work day after day after day after day attempting to reach a goal – harder still if I have adopted that goal from a suggestion, or had it dictated to me. When I miss the mark somewhere, or fall short of expectations – whether they are my own, or the expectations of another – it frustrates me, challenges my thinking, sets me at odds with myself (and sometimes with others) – all in service to an unavoidable prerequisite for achieving a goal; I’m not there yet.

There is plenty of encouraging literature in the self-help aisle, and more than a few apropos aphorisms reminding me that ‘to err is human’ and that ‘practice makes perfect’ (reminder: it doesn’t, at all), and book after book coaching on the  matter of progress over time, learning curves, and playing to ones strengths. When I make a mistake, I often find I am not open to encouragement, not willing to accept information intended to support self-compassion, patience, and growth – incremental change over time feels amazing, but is often received by others less well – with impatience and negative reinforcement. That generally sucks, and feels quite alienating. Human primates want they want, and living in this ‘right now’ moment the way we do, and suffering from such limited perspective (our own), it can be so easy to lose sight of how different we can each be in some moment, how varied our challenges are, and our own individual frustration with that other person takes on a life of its own – weapons of mass distraction are launched, sometimes with regret after the fact. Our impatience to have our own needs met overrides our recognition that this other human being does not live for our benefit.

I find myself struggling to ‘get it right’ – losing sight of how vast the options to do so actually are, and that I, myself, define my success or failure. Sometimes, things that are just fine, and acceptably adequate in all regards don’t feel like enough. I set the bar pretty high for myself – sometimes at the expense of my contentment, and well-being, and sometimes without realizing I have done so. I continue to work on practicing the practices that best support my needs over time. If I find I have discontinued something of great value, I begin again. I continue to support and nurture my best impulses, my most positive values, and to care greatly for this fragile vessel, and the being of light within it… sometimes I fail myself. It hurts, like any failure. I make the effort, every time, at some point, to simply give myself a break and begin again.

The thing is…there are goals, of course, but if they become expectations over time, the tendency to berate myself or treat myself poorly in the face of ‘not getting it right’ can be pretty significant – and I so don’t need that from me! The solution sometimes seems to be ‘then I just won’t bother’…like a child, fighting the process, because the process isn’t easy. Silliness, I know.  Growth takes time, and there are verbs involved. Practice may not make perfect, but it certainly crafts change – for me the fine line is what the change is about, and is it something I actually want for myself, or is it being imposed on me from an external source? That matters – I am on a journey to become the woman I most want to be, and I’m sharing my journey with my very best bestie, the woman in the mirror. Changes or goals imposed on me by my own will and intent, with mindful purpose, and good-natured recognition of what I want from myself in life aren’t ‘easy’ to achieve – sometimes they are damned difficult – but getting there is rewarding, and the journey itself is valued, however difficult. Giving up is generally not something I am seeking, or allowing myself. When change is imposed on me by external sources, or a goal is set by another person’s needs and agenda, getting there lacks any sense of reward, the journey is often a continuous source of stress and frustration, and my resentment is… a lot to drag around with me.

This probably seems pretty obvious – I’m talking it through this morning because I find that I am sometimes challenged by the intensity of my frustration when I fail at some task, goal, or have difficulty implementing some change that I neither desire, nor care about. What’s up with that? If it’s not my own, and I am not invested in it, why would I be the slightest bit troubled if or when I don’t succeed at it? How would that be any measure of my own success? How would it affect me in any negative way? That’s some baggage right there – and I’d do well to drop it off at the carousel and let it go.

We've all got some baggage.

We’ve all got some baggage.

I slept badly last night. I struggled to fall asleep, and it was well past midnight before I did. My sleep was interrupted a number of times; my apartment seemed unusually noisy, with an assortment of rather random bangs, bumps, creaks, thuds, and crackles that got me out of bed, flipping on lights, checking things out – at no time was there anything unusual to see. Sleep did not find me easily. I woke long before the alarm, with no particular hope of returning to sleep; I woke feeling frustrated, and vaguely as if I was failing to get something right. (In this case, probably sleep – I definitely wasn’t getting that right!) Once I was up, it was a rather anti-climactic ‘nothing to see here…’ sort of moment. I am awake, and woke easily, without any of the obvious grogginess that has plagued me for some days, now. I am finding new appreciation for a few moments (hours) of grogginess after a night of deep restful sleep… I probably won’t be bitching ungratefully about that any more; I value the sleep.

I am not tired so much as excited, perhaps; I have a long weekend, and I’m headed into the trees. My traveling partner is traveling, too, and taking the wanderer, and another partner, along with him for a weekend of forested fun elsewhere; they are headed to vast crowds, loud music, and communal fun. I am seeking a solo experience, and stillness, where it will be easier to listen deeply to myself; the world has nothing to say to me about what I want from my life.  I already miss my traveling partner…but I recognize that as with any other intimate connected relationship, I benefit from distance now and then; without it, I am prone to accepting the goals, needs, and desired changes of that other as my own – to my detriment. I’m not always super clear-headed about these things, and alone out in the trees, walking in stillness, listening to my own heart, I am more easily able to get my bearings, and set my own course on this journey. It’s a necessary sort of re-calibration, for me, that I am not so easily able to do at home, even now.

Did I mention I’ll be headed into the trees? You’ll likely be without me a day or two. I’ll come back with pictures. 🙂

Morning came sooner than I’d like. I slept poorly. I dozed off again and again, and the sleep I did get was of good quality. I was not able to sleep through the night, and woke regularly. It wasn’t a bad night in any distinct way, it was simply that my sleep was interrupted, incomplete, and insufficient to result in feeling rested this morning. The experience is not relevant to whether I have a good day today. So far, aside from being somewhat groggy, and writing with far more spelling errors than you will ever see, it manages to be a lovely morning in spite of the poor quality sleep.

Cloudy skies that threaten rain without delivering on their promise.

Cloudy skies that threaten rain without delivering on their promise.

I make my coffee with great care, more because I am too groggy not to follow the process quite carefully, than any wonder of mindfulness. I notice, once completed, that the fragrant brew is quite dark. I think to myself “huh, that really is the color of an ‘espresso finish’ “, without noticing in the moment that I am not drinking espresso – just coffee. The coffee is very good this morning; I made a point to get more of that Brazilian roast I enjoyed so much. I am enjoying it every bit as much as I did the first time.

No raccoons on the lawn this morning, no cats stopping by, no possums, no bunnies, and the birds are quiet. It is a quiet morning. It’s probably best that it be such a lovely quiet morning; I am not awake enough to provide any sort of crisis management, or quick decision-making. I’m okay with that. I’ve got my coffee, and plenty of time to wake up.

Sometimes changing my perspective doesn't change my understanding of things...sometimes it does. Sometimes it doesn't.

Sometimes changing my perspective doesn’t change my understanding of things…sometimes it does. Sometimes it doesn’t.

I sip my coffee, listening to sounds of morning and thinking ahead to the evening, to the weekend… my traveling partner will be away for the weekend, which is not relevant to anything in this moment but the recollection reminds me of our plans tonight. I smile, anticipating the moment he arrives. I am awake enough to value the deep connection we share. For a brief moment I allow my consciousness to brush past the previously terrifying what-if scenario of ‘what if he didn’t come back from…’. It’s not a pleasant thought to linger on, so I don’t, but as I turn my thoughts to other things, I realize…once I got past the shock of it, the sorrow… I’d be okay. I’d go on with my life, treating myself well, investing in me. I don’t doubt there would be a huge hole in my heart, in my experience, perhaps for always, perhaps not…and there is no loss of affection in the knowledge that I’d be okay – only the loss of the crippling attachment that had built over time. It feels good to let that go. Strong. Safe. Emotionally secure.

It's a metaphor. :-)

It’s a metaphor. 🙂

This morning I have the sense of taking life one slippery rock at a time, crossing a fast-moving creek; there’s a sense of progress, recognition of the distance covered and the journey ahead, and a realization that a missed step, or a fall, needn’t be assumed to be doom. I’d simply begin again. That’s enough.