Archives for posts with tag: presence

I’m enjoying a moment of peace before work. The world is in chaos, or seems to be, but that’s not new, and it’s not here, now. This moment, here? Quite peaceful and lovely.

A Spring Wednesday, and a moment of peace.

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

I’ve been working on undermining years of carefully built “autopilot features” to more comfortably and reliably exist in the present, particularly when I am spending time with people dear to me. It is a mixed success with some humorous moments. Sometimes it’s not as funny, and my frustrated tears certainly make that clear.

It’s a choice to make this change, and a matter of resetting out-of-date coping skills. I keep at it.

My choice to walk my usual walk in the opposite direction somehow puts my “halfway point” in a different place. That’s fine. I don’t mind. The familiar views seem somewhat different, and I enjoy the change of perspective. I take a seat on a large rock, and look at the vineyard from a vantage point that is obscured by tall grasses, some of which I may be allergic to. The sneezing passes. I’m grateful for the pack of tissues in my pocket and not overly concerned with my now-stuffy head. That’ll pass, too.

I sit reflecting on recent conversations with my Traveling Partner. Love reflects us back on ourselves through less critical eyes than our own. I feel beautiful, because he sees me that way. I feel more capable, when he appreciates my efforts. Although this could be problematic if I were to be reliant on his opinions for my self-esteem, there’s real joy and new perspectives on myself when I see myself through his loving eyes. I know he loves me, because he also tells me hard truths with loving words, and I think about these and take advantage of his loving perspective to help me on my path. I’ve grown a lot in this relationship (he has too). I’m not giving up credit for the work I’ve done or the choices I’ve made – I am grateful for such a strong partnership.

This morning, I sit contentedly by the trail, with my thoughts. I feel centered and unbothered and at peace. No doubt this too will pass; that is the nature of moments. I’m okay with savoring this moment and enjoying it, however brief. There’s further to go on this path, and it will soon be time to begin again.

The fallen petals of cherry blossoms are in soft pink drifts at the edge of the trail. The color is pretty. I look at the drifts of petals for awhile, considering the variations in hue. I think about what choices I would make about colors if I were to paint these drifts of petals in pastels. White isn’t white, it’s more a very delicate pale pink fading to a cream color toward the soggy edges, and dappled with bold magenta in places where very fresh petals have fallen, between these extremes, a soft cotton candy sort of pink. What we see in passing is often more complex if we take time to look closely and study what is before us for awhile.

This peaceful moment was made by slowing down, being present, making choices, and taking time to enjoy things as they are. Worth it.

I get to my feet and brush damp pink petals from my jeans. It’s time to begin again, so I do.

Self-reflection is not a five minute exercise that reliably results in some sort of personal transformation. It requires time and repetition. I’m still processing the weekend, and it’s already Monday. The shift back to the work routine comes with the sound of grinding gears, metaphorically speaking.

Sometimes illumination comes as a flash of insight, sometimes it comes in waves.

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

This morning I am thinking about my (possibly excessive) reliance on habits and routines so well established they amount to a sort of “autopilot”. Very efficient, cognitively, but my partner has pointed it out more than once as potential problem, because autopilot doesn’t “read the room”, nor does it have the capacity to listen deeply, respond in a considerate way, or adapt quickly from an emotional perspective. Not mine, anyway. It’s better at driving the car than being present.

Efficiency and being “productive” get a lot of emphasis in our excessively work-focused culture. Funny thing though, reading articles about end of life regrets or quality of life recommendations from elders, it’s rare that anyone ever lauds work, and regrets are commonly to do with missed opportunities to connect with friends and loved ones. Autopilot is better for work than for relationships. Autopilot is not mindful, present, or self-aware. It is a tool with limited value.

For a brain damaged teenager trying to master the basics of driving a car safely, there’s a certain limited value in putting a few things on “autopilot” (check both ways before turning onto the street, stop completely at stop signs, use the turn signals…) but a grown woman seeking to build or deepen a romantic connection with a beloved partner, autopilot is not only inappropriate, it’s ineffective. It’s also…rude.

I walk with my thoughts, grateful for a partner who loves me enough to communicate what doesn’t work for him in an honest way. It’s hard to hear, when I’ve been a jerk, but being open to hearing honest boundary setting and feedback also gives me a chance to reflect on my choices and consider new ones. Autopilot improves cognitive ease, but improving cognitive ease comes at a cost. I sigh to myself. Choices. We become what we practice.

Deep listening, openness, consideration, being present, and emotional intimacy are among the most challenging practices; doing any of them well requires attention and self-awareness, and a willingness to be “in the moment” with another human being, awake and aware, no shortcuts. No autopilot. Another sigh as I pause on my walk to gather my thoughts, write, and reflect. I definitely need to make some changes. I feel comfortable with my sense of what those changes need to be.

Sure, autopilot is more efficient. I go faster, get more done, but the tradeoffs come in a combination of silly mistakes made in haste, and a shallow superficial presence that lacks real connection. It’s not really a difficult choice, just a ton of practice to do. There are verbs involved. Understanding isn’t enough. Recognition isn’t enough. There’s real work involved in slowing down and being really present – and also setting clear explicit boundaries and expectations when I am not available for deeply connecting, or for paying attention to something different than I am doing in some moment (these may be the hardest things for me to learn to do well).

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I watch a gray dawn become a new day. Seems like a good one to begin again – with changes. Change is.

Sometimes the path takes an unexpected turn. Follow it? Choose another path? It is a choice.

It is a Friday morning. I’m sitting at the halfway point of my morning walk. I sat here for some little while before I pulled my hands from my pockets to write. This morning I made a point to grab my heavy fleece, scarf, and gloves from my gear bin in the car. Practical. I’d feel smart to have done so, but it’s more to do with being reminded they are there for me, last night, when I went looking for a spare filter cone for an evening coffee for my Traveling Partner who had put the ceramic one in the dishwasher.

… Reminders are helpful…

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

I feel the cold. Another near-freezing morning, but already daylight (jeez, how long was I sitting?) and things will warm up pretty quickly. Probably. Change is, and warmer days are coming.

I take my medication on time, double-checking that I took all of it. I missed a small pill yesterday morning that resulted in an unfortunate (and deeply unpleasant) emotional meltdown over nothing of consequence. It was inexplicable, and I was grateful to discover my mistake a little later, and felt more myself shortly after taking it. I think there is too little discussion about the very real psychiatric and mind or mood altering effects of common prescription (and nonprescription) drugs. We could do better.

A small herd of deer quietly and slowly walks past me, one by one. The group of does steps from the trees on the creek side of the trail, each looking at me cautiously as she steps into the more open space, and they cross the trail, and continue into the vineyard, nibbling on choice grasses and tender green shoots. Spring. They’re hungry and lean from winter, and a couple are also clearly pregnant. They are more concerned with finding food than they are with my quiet presence. They walk on, and disappear from view.

My Traveling Partner offered to disappear for the weekend. Maybe he will, maybe he won’t. I feel very loved that he offered. I could fuck off to the coast, myself, and get some solitary time, but the expense is difficult to justify. I sit thinking about things he said yesterday evening about self-care and taking the time I need, and setting better (clearer) boundaries when I’m reaching the limits of my resources. He reminded me that he no longer needs the near-continuous care I was providing after his surgery. This is definitely true. I’m relieved and happy every time I think about it. I’m also struggling to adjust, to step back, to give myself a break.

…We become what we practice…

I sit reflecting on what I need, myself, to be well and healthy, and to thrive in my life. I remind myself how adaptable I am. I remind myself that we become what we practice. I sigh quietly and watch the vapor of my breath dissipate in the chilly morning air.

… Maybe a drive to the coast and coffee on the beach this weekend, if my beloved stays home? Or a very different sort of self-care in the form of some retail therapy? (I could do with some new bras, and prefer to shop for such things in person.) Maybe a different hike somewhere new? Another sigh. No idea. I could stay home and paint, or finish tidying up my studio… I could work in my garden. I feel the “want to’s” begin to collide with the “have to’s”, and feel annoyed with myself when they blend and blur and begin to morph into more of the same scrambling and striving and working that I’ve trapped myself in for awhile now. I should work on that.

I laugh out loud. Adulting is hard. I’m tired. I’m also making choices. I can make different ones. I get to my feet, looking down the trail into the future. It’s time to begin, again.

[No AI was used to create or edit this human content.]

Yesterday was a good day, a better than average Monday. I arrived home from work with a headache, an unfortunate result of working from a seat at the library where the afternoon sunshine was directly on my face. “A sunshine headache,” the sort of thing I find difficult to explain. Surviving head trauma can have some peculiar lingering consequences, and in my case those include this particular type of headache (which were much worse when I was younger but still occur in a dim fashion now). It didn’t last; I spent awhile contentedly doing my own thing in a quiet darkened room and it passed.

We often have the tools we need for the circumstances we find ourselves in.

For me, it was a pleasant evening. I am not certain what kind of experience everyone else was having. I managed to refrain from allowing concerns about experiences that are not my own to overcome my experience, and instead simply lived my moment. I slept well and deeply. The night passed uneventfully. I woke early, earlier than usual.

When I woke, I noticed my Traveling Partner was already up. I could have made assumptions about why he was up so early, but doing so could potentially lay the foundation for stress or misunderstandings. Instead I observe that he is awake and leave further understanding for later on, when I have more information. I dress and go through my morning routine, and head out for the day. On my way, I pass my beloved, in the open doorway to the deck, breathing the cool morning air. I say good morning. He returns my greeting with a few words of explanation. I depart without disturbing his peace, nor does he disturb mine.

All of this to say we are making choices. It’s not fancy or particularly complicated. We choose our words and choose our actions. We choose peace or we choose something else. Our choices definitely matter. We become what we practice. We create the person we are with our choices.

Who do you want most to be? How do you want to be remembered?

I sit at the trailhead, waiting for daybreak to come. It is a mild morning, and the warmer Spring days after so much rain have created slippery conditions on this trail, even on paved portions. Moss is growing over the trail in places. Fallen leaves, partially decomposed, are slick mats waiting to create a slip and fall accident for some unwary walker. I choose caution – and a bit of daylight. I reflect on choices and change, and preserving my peace under challenging circumstances.

I don’t look at the news this morning. Why would I? I already know enough about what’s going on to function in society. More would be too much. I’m taking “preserving my peace” pretty seriously. If asked, I would encourage our leaders to do the same; preserve peace. I doubt they would listen to me; they are making too much money off of war and enjoying the thrill of having so much attention. I find the whole mess distasteful and frankly crass. Humanity could do better.

Choose your actions and your words with care. They have consequences.

Daybreak. The first hints of the new day dawning reveal a stormy overcast sky. The forecast says the day will be warm, like yesterday. I look down the familiar path, feeling capable and prepared, and ready to begin again.

What will you choose? It’s your path to walk.

I slept in this morning. I kept my walk short, and spent the day at home with my Traveling Partner. It was a lovely relaxed day. I didn’t think to write; I was living my experience. lol I appreciate love. Valentine’s Day isn’t really a huge deal for either of us, although I do enjoy that there is at least this one holiday that specifically celebrates romantic sexual love. (It seems really weird that we have this whole other thing to do with children giving all their friends Valentine’s Day cards.) Today, it was nice to relax in the good company of my beloved. It wasn’t fancy – it never had to be.

I have thoughts about Valentine’s Day. I’ve shared them. I guess that all summarizes as something more or less like… love yourself, too, be there for yourself, live well – intentionally – and choose your companionship with care. It’s not about cards, candy, flowers, destinations, gifts, or spending money. It’s the love that matters. Celebrate that every day! 😀

It’s already night. Evening passed quietly. I was about to crash for the night, and realized I hadn’t written today, which is quite odd. I’m not bothered by it, at all, this isn’t a forced routine, and any requirement that might exist would be my own. I have no such firm requirement, I just happen to have a gentle routine that suits my nature, presently. I generally write in the morning, but… I nearly always have words. lol Time of day isn’t an important detail; I can begin again any time.

So I write a few words. They don’t really communicate the joy and peace of the day. It’s been quite lovely. I’m sure it helped to have gotten such a good night’s sleep last night – 10 hours of deep sleep. It was wonderful! It’s a three day weekend – maybe I’ll sleep in again tomorrow? I won’t do anything to make that less likely. I breathe, exhale, and relax.

Tomorrow I’ll begin again.