Archives for posts with tag: practicing non-attachment

We have a hot tub. It came with the house when we bought it. It’s a make and model from sometime in the 90s, as I recall, so, “older”. It wasn’t in great shape when we moved in, and my Traveling Partner put a ton of work into repairing the leaking plumbing and replacing the skirting with beautiful cedar skirting he made in a wood shop that was only just being built, itself, in large part due to the tools needed to rebuild the hot tub.

That was back in 2020. Seems almost a lifetime ago, already.

A practical sort of luxury, a beautiful spot to linger on a sunny day.

It was wonderful having the hot tub, and I used it quite a lot the first couple years, even on snowy winter days, and in the rain. It did a lot to relieve my arthritis pain, and still does when I use it now. But… it’s pretty noisy when the pump is running, which is problematic for good sleep if the stupid thing cycles during the night (which it does, nightly), which is a real problem in a household of people with sleep challenges.

It’s not just the noise. Realistically, there’s quite a bit of maintenance involved in keeping it in good working order and the chemistry properly balanced, and I don’t have the capacity, the reliable skills, or the will to undertake the work required. I’m made of human, and I have limits. After my Traveling Partner got hurt, at the end of 2023, we drained the hot tub, and shut it down. It didn’t get refilled and turned on again until late in the following summer, after the Anxious Adventurer moved in. It was nice having it back… but the noisiness seemed more problematic, and now it leaks (again).

Sometimes the verbs outweigh the value.

My Traveling Partner isn’t quite up to the work of rebuilding it, now, and can’t easily use it, either. On top of that, the deck itself needs some repair work that is difficult to do with the hot tub standing there (and not gonna lie, we’d install it differently if we were doing it all over again). I use it less often, myself, now…about half the time I go to use it, the chemistry is wrong, or the water level too low. Other times, I think I may want to soak, but I don’t take action because I incorrectly remember whether it is running or not. Still other days, although I may want to soak, I’m less physically able to safely climb into or out of the hot tub without help than I was 5 years ago. It’s no longer habitual, after the long period that it wasn’t available, followed by the even longer period during which I was frankly so exhausted from full-time employment on top of full-time caregiving I couldn’t drag myself out there. Well, shit. All of that adds up to “we aren’t using it enough to make it worth the bother”.

Sometimes however much we enjoy something and value it, we may have to choose to let it go for practical reasons. Not just luxuries like hot tubs, either. This is true of a lot of things in life. We are often called upon to change, and sometimes that means letting something go that we once cherished – and maybe still do.

As much as I loved my aquarium(s), there just weren’t any good spots for them in the new house. I had to let them go.

It is a Monday morning. A work day, but also a federal holiday. When I was a child, it was undisputably Columbus Day. There was nothing especially controversial about that, that I can recall. As I reached adulthood, though, there were more conversations around the negative consequences of colonialism, and very specifically the terrible results of “the discovery” of the new world for so many indigenous peoples, and also the horror of slavery in the US, and the lasting negative outcomes for generations of descendents of slaves, or slaughtered tribes whose land was (let’s be frank here) stolen from them. More and more people seemed more and more inclined not to celebrate Columbus Day, choosing to reframe the day as Indigenous Peoples’ Day. I can recall, initially, thinking that was sort of… weird and dumb… but the more I thought about it, myself, the more I understood the real healing power of making that change, and letting go of idolizing Columbus. He may have been “good for” business, for global expansion of trade, and for people in power seeking profit and glory…but he wasn’t good for the people who already lived in those places he reached in an era when riches were built on exploitation. So… yeah. I’m at work today, and it’s a routine work day. I let go of Columbus Day a long time ago.

I’ve let go of relationships that were causing me harm. I’ve let go of friendships that undermined my wellness, my values, or which put me at personal risk in some way. I’ve let go of “values” that turned out to be problematic and more likely to deliver harm to others than to improve the world in some small way. I’ve let go of lost items that I never found but which had sentimental value. I’ve let go of jobs that I could not ethically continue to do, even for a really good paycheck. There are a lot of reasons to let something go, and a lot of things we may be inclined to cling to long past the real value they once provided. Clinging to something is easier, and change is harder – but there is no growth in resisting change.

When my Traveling Partner first put forth the idea of draining the hot tub and shutting it off for the winter (and probably permanently), I resisted. I admit it; I don’t like change, generally. I enjoy stability. I definitely enjoy the luxury of the hot tub! But my Traveling Partner is right; this decades-old hot tub is noisy, and it does leak, and the maintenance required is much… and the deck needs repair. It all adds up to “time to let it go”. The fear, of course, is that letting it go will somehow leave us “worse off” than before – and that’s an illusion. That’s the emotional cling wrap talking. If we don’t let it go, that thing we’re holding on to will continue to worsen over time, in all the ways it is identifiably not ideal right now. Just worse, and progressively more so.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. So it’s time to let the hot tub go. I guess I’m okay with that – it doesn’t harm me to be without it, and there’s nothing to stop us replacing it later on, after the deck is repaired, with something more energy efficient, more modern, and quieter. Yes, it’ll come at a cost – but doesn’t everything worth having come at a cost? I think about that, and sip my coffee. I think about my Traveling Partner’s shared plan for rebuilding the deck quite differently, more suited to our lifestyle and future needs, with a hot tub standing firmly on a foundation on the ground, recessed in the deck such that it is easier for a couple of middle-aged lovers with mobility issues to get in and out of it, to enjoy it less constrained by our individual difficulties. I smile to myself, feeling loved and understood, and cared for; my partner didn’t push back hard on my clinging while I clung to the luxury of having a hot tub right now. He let me work through it in my own time, patiently emphasizing how having the noisy thing was affecting our sleep, each time it clearly did. We got there. I let go.

It’s not always easy to let go, even when we must. There are verbs involved, and choices, and a willingness to face change and to grow, and to practice non-attachment. It’s worth it though; it’s harder to walk my path if I’m wrapped in cling wrap. 😀

I glance at the time. Yep. It’s a Monday. My calendar is pretty full, and it’s time to begin again.

This morning I am waiting for the sun. Well, I’m at least waiting for enough light to easily see the trail. It’s a gray cloudy morning that hints at rain. I arrived at the trailhead before dawn this morning, feeling quite a lot better and eager to walk. On some other morning, the early hour wouldn’t stop me, I’d just grab my headlamp and go…

…I took my Traveling Partner’s truck this morning, and forgot to grab my headlamp…

Parked and waiting for the sun.

No headlamp, no walking (only waiting). 😆

So, I’ve got this moment of stillness and waiting, and a head full of noise (and it isn’t just my tinnitus!) – seems like a good opportunity to meditate and reflect. No pressure to perform, no time-sensitive tasks facing me, just this quiet moment before a walk on a summer morning. Useful. I approach the moment with gratitude; it can be difficult to find a moment of real stillness to pause and reflect. Time well-spent, when used thusly.

I sit with my thoughts, letting them pass through my consciousness, noted, observed, but without clinging to any one thought. I breathe, exhale, and relax, allowing myself to appreciate my own presence for some little while, simply breathing and being. I make room for life’s questions to surface in my thoughts, one by one. I allow them each to move on, some answered, some “for another time”.

I write for some little while, sharing these thoughts and practices.

The sky lightens as minutes pass. The oaks along the trail are silhouetted against the gray sky. Definitely looks like rain… but it doesn’t smell like rain, and my arthritis is not griefing me in any noteworthy way this morning. Maybe it won’t rain? I look down the trail and wonder if I will regret not grabbing my rain poncho? I shrug it off as a concern; the temperature is quite mild and even a drenching downpour would only mean a shower and a change of clothes after I return home. Inconsequential. I’d just be a bit uncomfortable as I finished the walk, and that’s not that big a deal.

I swap boots for shoes, happy that I didn’t turn back over the lack of a headlamp; there is no reason to hurry through this moment. It’s mine, and I can do with it as I please. I look out at the gray hills on the western horizon and wonder again if I have been over there, looking back at this place, ever. It’s just another thought that drifts by, and I let it.

A new day, a new moment, a new beginning.

I can definitely see the trail now. I stretch as I get to my feet and grab my cane. Even the most familiar path may have more to share, if I approach each new beginning with open eyes and a calm heart. It’s a new day, and it’s time to begin.

I’m sipping my fairly bad cup of office coffee. It’s not the worst coffee I’ve ever had, and the price is right (“free”, which is to say included in the office overhead and not obvious to me – nothing’s actually “free”). I sigh quietly. I can see the luminous disk of the full moon beyond the window. I turned off the light in this little office so that I can see it more clearly. It’s lovely and peaceful looking.

I take a minute to reflect with love, and considerable respect, on my Traveling Partner. He’s getting past just recovering from injury and surgery, and beginning to think more in terms of fitness and health more generally. He doesn’t panic – he makes the changes he needs to make. There’s something to be learned from this. It’s not an easy thing – there are still verbs involved. The thinking is sound. He brings his intentions and his will together, and does the work required to be the change he wants to make. He often makes such things “look easy”, although I know they aren’t. I’ve seen him grow a lot as a human being over the years, by choosing willful change and getting to work.

I sip my coffee and reflect on the opportunity his choices for change present for me as his partner. I feel a renewed sense of commitment to my own goals, and motivation to pursue change. We’re in this together. We’re each having our own experience. This morning I’m “feeling my years” more than I’d like to. I breathe, exhale, and relax. Piece together the frayed threads of my thoughts “about things, generally”. My head aches, but my back isn’t bothering me much, for now. My tinnitus is mostly drowned out by the sound of the ventilation, and by the way my earring aids amplify that. I pull myself more upright in my office chair, shifting uncomfortably. It’s not a comfortable sort of life, this human experience, is it? I frown briefly and let my thoughts move on.

…For a moment, I think about small mammals: squirrels, chipmunks, sugar gliders, dormice. No idea why. The “cuteness” of them, maybe? Maybe their resilience? They find ways to thrive on very little, in spite of the encroachment of human kind with its chaos and purposeful destruction. I find that interesting – and a little promising.

I let my thoughts wander to old friends, and remind myself to stay in touch. My thoughts wander to Spring, and I feel reassured that more likely than not it will arrive as expected, and it’s not too far off. I think about the seashore, and walking on the warm Atlantic beach with my Granny, or with my Dear Friend along the cold beaches of the Pacific. It’s been so long, but these are beautiful cherished memories worth enjoying now and then, for a moment.

I glare into my half-empty coffee mug. Cold already? Shit. I could sit here being annoyed about that, or I could “do the verbs” and solve the problem. It’s only a choice, a will to act, and an effort to be made. These are simple things. I think again about my Traveling Partner, and his strong will and willingness to act. I sigh, and smile to myself as I get to my feet…

I return to my desk, mug warm in my hand once more. It felt good to walk around, to stand, to stretch. To act. I could honestly just as easily lay down somewhere soft and go right back to sleep, maybe. (I feel that way in the moment, but I know that in practice it isn’t so easy for me to find sleep.) I find it somewhat challenging to find just the right balance between the soft comfort of ease and stillness, and the productive effort of doing and achieving. I’m generally satisfied if I can get all the needful things done without exhausting myself into immobility. I try to “pace myself” through planning and managing my time. My results vary. For now, I enjoy these quiet moments of morning solitude, grateful to have them. Grateful even for this crappy cup of office coffee, although I will admit it doesn’t “taste good” in any definable way – it’s just satisfyingly hot, and delivers an appropriate amount of caffeine for a workday morning. It has the comfort of the routine.

I think about anxiety, stress, and panic, and how much it can matter to slow down, to consider, to choose change, and to act. I breathe, exhale, and relax. This moment right here? It’s fine. I’m okay right now. For now the world within my view is quiet and calm. It’s enough, and I make room to appreciate it and to be grateful. Sometimes changing the world has to start very small, with a handful of choices, and a moment of action. Once this moment passes, what shall I do with the next?

Soon, another sunrise. Soon, I’ll begin again.

I left the house in the usual way this morning, amused to see a dusting of snow on the car. It hadn’t been sticking on the ground. It was a loose powdery sort of snow that the windshield wipers easily brushed away. Snow was falling as I got into the car. Snow fell as I drove through town, and the streets were white with it in some of the colder places. “Funny”, I thought to myself, recalling the forecast from the night before, “we’re definitely below 500ft”.

…The weather forecast, complete with a winter storm warning, was pretty clear that the chances of snow were near 0 below 500ft, and more likely above 1000ft. Plenty of rain in that forecast, at the elevation where I make my home, which is around 150ft of elevation. Unimpressive as elevation goes. Agricultural low-lands. No particular expectation of snow in the forecast…

I drove to the office grateful that my chains were in the car, at least initially. The snow fell plentifully the first handful of miles. The closer I got to 300ft of elevation, the less snow fell. The peak elevation of my commute to the office is only about 420ft, if that. No snow. The pavement wasn’t even damp. Clear skies and dry pavement the rest of the drive to the office, on the highway and on the side streets, too. “Nothing to see here.” I chuckled to myself. There wasn’t much traffic for a Monday morning, and I felt certain a great many people likely looked at that forecast and made plans to work from home if that were an option (or to be absent from work due to the potential for inclement weather if it wasn’t). The office is empty and quiet.

It’s a useful metaphor for all manner of anticipated or predicted disasters. The plan is not the event. The forecast is not the weather. The map is not the world. Panicking over what is not yet (and may not ever be) is an enormous waste of emotional energy, and a big contributor to stress. We humans tend to expect the worst, generally. I sigh quietly to myself, breathe, exhale, and relax. I pull myself back to “now” – this moment, this very real actual lived moment of my life – right now, and any time I find myself all wrapped up in something that hasn’t even happened, or isn’t happening to or near me. I’m not saying I “don’t care” about what is going on around me, just that it isn’t helpful to get lost in a moment that is not my own, and may not be happening at all. There’s a lot of completely misleading bullshit in the media we consume, that isn’t true or real at all, and often things that are true are presented in a way that provokes far more emotion or demands more attention than is useful or necessary. Perspective is a handy stress-reliever. Non-attachment is a good practice. Finding peace in presence is healthy.

…None of this defies what is true and real; there are some really terrible things going on in the world. It’s just that we may be more able to provide whatever help we can if we’re not freaked out and stressed over the things that are far removed from our lives, or quite abstract, or not actually happening (yet)…

Another breath. I sip my coffee aware of my “winter pain”. The cold and damp make my arthritis so much worse. I take a moment to do the things I know help the most; I stretch, I move around, I take my pain medication, I distract myself with something engaging and positive, I breathe and set my timer for future breaks so that I don’t find myself stiffening up from sitting too still for too long. Practices. No, it’s not enough to get rid of the pain I live with, but the pain would be much worse without taking the steps I do. The rest is “noise”, and I’ve mostly gotten used to it. It’s not ideal, but it’s real; I live with chronic pain, like a lot of people do. Letting it wreck my life moment by moment isn’t helpful, so I do my best to avoid that (when I can). Today is better than a lot of days. Worse than some others. I breathe, exhale, and relax – and let that go. Again.

I think about the snow, this morning. It was so pretty while it fell. A beautiful moment, and like a lot of moments, so brief, so temporary – a lived moment that will never repeat. Ichigo ichie. It’s already time to begin again – here comes the next moment.

My sleep was disturbed and restless and the night seemed to pass slowly. My dreams were unsettling, but not actually nightmares. I went to bed in pain after an unproductive day struggling to manage pain and still get some housework done. The Giftmas holiday is almost here and I’d like the living room to be quite presentable in photographs. Seems reasonable – my pain and energy level may have the last word, in spite of my intentions.

I woke still in pain. (Fuck pain.) I started my day in a routine way. It’s the last work shift for me before the holiday. We settled on fried rice for Giftmas eve dinner; I remind myself to make rice after work today so I have that ready to use for tomorrow evening. After some discussion, we decided a simple breakfast of scrambled eggs, link sausages, and toast would be lovely for Giftmas morning. We all know we’re likely to over-indulge in rich treats and favorite sweets, and a hearty protein-rich breakfast will be a nice balance. My Traveling Partner spoke up in the evening, yesterday, and asked for roast beef for Giftmas dinner. Looks like I need to make a trip to the store for a roast, and some potatoes (for mashing), and a vegetable… and maybe some nice dinner rolls? (I could bake, but fucking hell, I’m just one woman.) It all sounds lovely.

I sit quietly for a moment, just thinking it over. Not planning, or “walking myself through it” in any sort of tactical way, just imagining the moments, the flavors, and the warm sentiment. Family at home for the holidays. Wholesome. There won’t be any shootings or violence at our house over the holidays; that’s not who we are. Hell, there may not be any harsh words or impatience, though we’re human and there certainly could be. There will be love and joy and humor and gratitude and fun. There will be celebration and looking ahead to another year. There will be tasty meals and delightful treats, and gifts to enjoy once opened.

… Here’s an important question; in a household of adults only, is it coffee and breakfast first, or gifts first? I chuckle to myself. I’m like a child over Giftmas and often forget we can easily wait, easily take time with all of it. We can even sleep in, if we can sleep. There’s no rush…

A wonderful Giftmas time

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I’m excited for the holiday, but recognize how easily excitement can become anxiety or irritability. I remind myself to put love first, to listen deeply, to be mindful of social cues and patient with those around me. We’re enjoying this together, but we’re each having our own experience. I sit with my feelings of contentment and quiet excitement. For now, that’s enough.