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Clocks and Calendars

April 2, 2024 //
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It’s quiet early, but daybreak arrived before I finished my commute into the city. I’m sipping my coffee and watching the sun rise from the office. The big windows, and this corner seat, give me an amazing view of the changing colors of the sky. Looks like another sunny Spring day ahead. I smile to myself, enjoying the coffee and this moment.

A glance at the calendar reminds me it’s a short countdown to my next wee getaway to the coast for some solo time. I’m surprised that I’ve needed so many short breaks to maintain my emotional wellness over the past six months or so, but when I reflect on that, I guess it isn’t so surprising. I’ve had a job change, my Traveling Partner has had an injury (some months ago, now) that has required my continued assistance and support, as well as the picking-up-of-slack resulting from his reduced ability to do things around the house when I’m working (or, generally) while he recovers, and more recently the loss of a dear friend hit me hard – right in the emotions. So, okay, I need a bit of a break from life and routine and… effort. Not so surprising at all. I’m fortunate that I can take the break I need. I’m even more fortunate that my partner supports my doing so, and more generally supports my commitment to self-care (and has, himself, a personal commitment to my wellness as well as his own).

Calendar and clock remind me of all the many details of a planned work day. I sigh to myself, already chafing at the constraints of time and planning. The clock never stops ticking; what we do about that is what matters. I know I need a day or two without feeling “chased by time“, and I’m eager to enjoy a couple days of … no agenda. No plan. No specifics. Just sleeping, waking, breathing, and being. Meditating without a timer. Napping without checking whether it makes any sense to nap right then. Reading because it’s what I feel like doing in that moment. Walking on the beach without a goal or destination. Eating meals based on whim or curiosity without being concerned about what anyone else likes. Seeking awe in small details of the world around me, without chasing any particular experience or satisfying any expectations. Giving up the structure and routine of day-to-day life for a couple days, in favor of savoring each moment of existence as something of a personal adventure in leisure and relaxed joy.

…Oh, damn, that sounds soooo good…

In the meantime, I am counting down the hours with an eye on the clock and the calendar. There are things to do before I leave, and things to do to prepare to go, and … just things to do that need to be done. All very commonplace stuff, and nothing to be stressed about. No reason any of it should “weigh me down” or create a feeling of pressure… sometimes it does, though. Adulthood requires us, individually, to keep track of a lot of fucking details. This morning it was a gentle reminder from my Traveling Partner that I’d said I’d take the glass bottles on the counter to be returned or recycled, and hadn’t yet done so. Routine shit and I honestly just forgot; they’d become invisible to me sitting there, unless I was standing right there making coffee. Just a small detail that needed attention. They add up. I make lists. I do my best to keep on top of all the shit that wants doing. lol It’s a very human experience and my results vary.

The medical appointment that was stressing me out so badly was… fine. Productive. Useful. Promising. I’ve got to make some changes to medications I’m taking, and I’ll start a new one at the end of the weekend (yes, Ozempic), after I come back from the coast. I’m hopeful that small changes in treatment will result in big improvements in wellness – there are still verbs involved, and I’m not allowing myself to become overly eager and wantonly encouraged by the temptation of improvement in the form of a prescription; I’ve still got to do my part to skillfully manage my calories, the nutritional quality of the food I eat, the exercise I get, and on and on – details. Details that add up. I raise my cup to the sky, toasting the value of incremental change over time. I finish my coffee, and begin again.

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Categories Allegories, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, Love, meditation, Moments, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being, turning 60, weight loss secrets

Anxiety in the Passenger’s Seat

April 1, 2024 //
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I woke more or less “on time” this morning, a few minutes ahead of my planned time. I got up, quietly went through my morning routine and headed out… well… after I remembered my lunch and stepped back from the front door to grab that. Then, also remembered my “computer glasses”, and went back for those. It’s been that sort of morning, so far.

The morning sunrise is painted across dark gray clouds on the horizon, streaks of bold pink, magenta, and orange contrast sharply with the gray of the clouds. The sky above is hinting at the bright blue of the day to come. I sip my morning coffee and think about my anxiety. I woke with it, although I hadn’t yet recognized my “companion” quite yet. The awareness hit me in the car, as I turned a corner and felt it surge as if from nowhere. My thoughts were quite suddenly filled with scenarios of doom, disaster, and unmanageable hardship. The feelings (both the physical sensations of anxiety, and the emotional experience) weren’t tied to anything real in my environment in the moment. I explored my thoughts gingerly – was I actually this anxious about getting the taxes done? That seemed unlikely; it’s never really stressed me out, ever, and has always been a rather routine bit of tedium that just happens to have a deadline. Could I be anxious about taking a couple days away, for myself? I mean, maybe, sure, but… this kind of anxiety, over that? I take a mental inventory of possible stressors and as I consider each, it’s clear that that isn’t “the thing”… so what is?

As I drove, poking at my anxiety mentally, I let my thoughts carry me back to the very first clear recollection I have of feeling “anxious”… I was, as I recall now, about 8? Maybe 9? (Honestly, I’ve very few memories earlier than 10 or so, so I could be way off here.) I had come downstairs to tell my parents I “didn’t feel well” and described the feeling in the pit of my stomach, the sense of pressure around my chest, the difficulty breathing, the feelings of… panic and dread. I didn’t understand why I was feeling this way. My father rather sternly asked me what I had “done wrong”, and flatly asserted that it sounded like I felt guilty about something. I immediately learned to associate anxiety with guilt, and to question my actions, thoughts, and sense of right and wrong, any time I felt this combination of feelings and sensations. It’s rather a shame my parents didn’t simply teach me about anxiety and how to manage it at that time, but it’s quite possible they did not know, themselves. It’s generally best to use the correct tool for a purpose. Conflating anxiety with guilt created considerable difficulty for me with regard to managing my anxiety later in life; I spent a lot of wasted time trying to figure out what I had “done wrong” that would cause me to feel such panic and uncontrollable dread. It became progressively more commonplace and intense over time, and more so still when my PTSD worsened.

I sighed quietly to myself, as my thoughts played out with the morning commute. One of the most profound changes I made later in life was simply to learn to recognize my anxiety for what it is, and to uncouple it from any requirement or expectation that it must be “because of…” something. It often isn’t “because of” anything at all; it’s a biochemical experience that can be triggered (rather easily) by an unfortunate number of sometimes completely unrelated (and under other circumstances, untroubling) experiences. Sure, it seems helpful generally to have some sense of “why” something feels the way it does, but insisting on certainty with regard to “why” can seriously fuck with how quickly anxiety can be resolved – at least in my own experience, this has proven to be the case. So. I allow room for the uncertainty, and acceptance that the experience of anxiety is, quite often, it’s own thing – and nothing more.

I’ve got a doctor’s appointment later today. We’ll be talking about weight management, my blood sugar, my blood pressure, my anxiety, my fitness… and… we’ll be talking about Ozempic. The recollection that I do have this appointment immediately sets off my anxiety on an entirely other order of magnitude. Fuck – is that it? I’m stressed about the appointment? Okay. Well. It’s just a fucking doctor’s appointment. But… now I get what’s got my anxiety going; my deep inner fear that “nothing is actually going to help” where my weight is concerned, combined with the steady drumbeat of concern about the costs of medical care (and the high price of prescription medications)(definitely real world worries in the US). I most definitely do not want to “get stuck on” an Rx that’s going to cost me $1k a month for the rest of my life! (What if for some reason I lose my good healthcare through employment!) Holy shit, yep, that’s it. That’s “the thing”, at least this morning… so… Okay, sometimes there is “a thing”. lol

I breathe. Exhale. Relax. I take a minute to acknowledge that these are legitimate concerns. I make room for the awareness that addressing chronic long-term wellness concerns – particularly those that are holding me back from making more profound gains in good health – really do matter. (I’d like to be around to enjoy my Traveling Partner and my pleasant life for a good long time to come.) I’ve got a good doctor, these days, and she’s not going to make recommendations that could put my health at risk (and fears about that are “old baggage”). I feel my anxiety begin to dissipate as I provide myself a moment of my own time and attention, allowing myself to “feel heard” about the things that make me feel potentially reluctant to “try something new/different”. The panic recedes and begins to fade into the background. The anxiety slowly fades. There’s no “disaster” looming, here, it’s just some nerves about taking a medication I’ve no experience with – which does reliably make me a tad uncomfortable, every time it comes up.

…Now, the morning feels pleasant and promising and filled with potential. Yes, I’ve still got the taxes to wrap up, and my Spring allergies are still flaring up (with trees in bloom all around), and I’m just days away from taking a couple days for downtime on the coast (which means getting through the week’s workload in just 3 days)(why does excitement have to feel so similar to anxiety? what a cruel prank) … but… isn’t that all pretty routine basic adulting stuff? “Nothing to see here.” I sip my coffee, feeling more at ease and comfortable with myself, and the day ahead. No, I don’t know where this path leads, and the future is unwritten… but I’m here, now, and I can begin again.

…I take a moment for the sunrise, watching the colors slowly fade as the dawn becomes day. I sip my coffee, and stretch. I breathe. Take a few minutes for meditation. I reflect on the wonderful weekend I shared with my Traveling Partner, and the satisfaction I felt planting 4 new roses in the garden, and seeing seedlings sprouting on my windowsill for the next plants that will go into the veggie bed (bush beans, Bok choy, melons, and sweet peppers) when the weather is just a bit warmer. I reflect on the frustration (and fun) of trying a new video game for the first time, and the challenge of learning the new interface – difficult for me, but really healthy and worthwhile to do so. It was a splendid weekend.

I sip my coffee and yawn. I catch myself fussing with my fingertips, moments aware from tearing at my cuticles – but I stop myself and reach for some hand lotion instead. It’s likely to be an entire day of new beginnings, do-overs, restarts, and opportunities to begin again. I guess it’s time to get going on that. 😀

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gardening, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Roses, Sleepless Nights, Spring, The Art of Being, turning 60

Forgiveness, a Difficult Practice

March 29, 2024 //
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I’m sipping a relatively dreadful cup of coffee this morning, and watching the sky slowly change from the dark of night to the deep blue-gray of the earliest moments of daybreak, and anticipating the new day ahead. It’s a Friday. I’m looking forward to the weekend. I am thinking about “forgiveness”.

I frankly find forgiveness difficult. Hurts hurt, and the damage done can be quite lasting. So often, at least for me, the lack of any indication of regret, contrition, and likely lack of any sort of apology, can make it super difficult just to let go of some transgression (major or minor), forget about “forgiveness“!

For a long time, I thought of forgiveness as something one gives to the person who caused hurt or damage, or delivered some insult. That felt… unbearable. Unjustifiable. It felt like a bullshit band-aid for an injury that would not heal any better for having provided it. Somewhere along the way I read something, or perhaps my Traveling Partner said it, to the effect that forgiveness isn’t for the person who has done us wrong, so much as it is for us, ourselves – a means of truly letting something go, and moving on in our own experience. It was expressed as a way to limit the amount of time someone who has hurt us gets to live in our heart or our mind rent free, continuing to hurt us again. Understanding forgiveness differently, as something I would do for myself, to ease the burden my own pain is for me, certainly makes me more willing to consider it – but I still find it a difficult practice.

The sun rise, this morning, begins with a streak of vibrant pink low on the horizon. The sky above has turned a steely silver-gray, bluer in places where clouds gather. I make a second coffee, and return to my desk to see the sunrise beginning to be reflected in building windows opposite the rising sun, deep blood red and orange. It’s a beautiful sunrise this morning. Another new day.

…Another opportunity to forgive…

Forgiveness is a practice. It does require practicing. We become what we practice.

My Traveling Partner suggested often that I would do well to forgive a particular ex. I found it hard to do so, in part because I did not feel at all understood by my Traveling Partner; he had his own experiences and baggage with that particular human primate, and these made it quite difficult to discuss mine with him. That feeling of “not being heard” by my partner, on a circumstance that we shared (in a somewhat superficial way, since we were each still having our own experience), made it incredibly hard for me to forgive my ex, even after my partner seemed willing to forgive her, himself.

My Traveling Partner is far more grown up and emotionally mature in this particular area than I am myself. He’s a definite fan of forgiveness. I can still hear myself, at 20-something, snarling to a friend “there are some sins even your God does not forgive,” discussing my bitterness and seething rage at horrors I had endured that I could not yet find myself ready to forgive, at all, and could barely discuss. I’ve grown since then, and it’s unlikely that I share much of who I am now with that wounded creature who was once me. I recognize the value in forgiveness, and the purpose it serves, I just still sometimes find it quite a difficult practice, in practice.

My Traveling Partner made mention of this particularly toxic ex recently. I don’t recall why, or what the context actually was, but I found myself curious and took at look at her web page. She doesn’t write much anymore, and I guess that’s no surprise; she once cautioned me discouragingly that maintaining a daily writing practice was “very hard to keep up” (which still amuses me, as a woman who has written more or less every day of my entire adult life, either pen & ink, or online, mostly without any particular effort required, and had done so since long before ever making her acquaintance). Her most recent entry was largely positive, expressing gratitude for being in a better place than she was some years ago. I found it interesting that I had no particular emotional reaction beyond “well that’s good see”, before moving on to things that were of far greater interest in the here and now.

She did a lot of harm. She did the harm she did by intent, and said as much at the time. I walked away from all that, but I carried some baggage for a long while and I stayed angry until… I don’t know when, actually. Some time ago, she – and the damage she had done – stopped being something that mattered to me at all. I no longer had the time or inclination to let her “live rent free in my head”, and I let all that go. In the process, I forgave her. I forgave the damage, the toxic bullshit and game-playing, the ugliness, the meanness, the lies, the violence, the narcissistic entitlement… all of it. Like a troll in a fairytale, she had no power over me, in life. I had turned the page on that story. Not gonna lie – I definitely don’t ever want to deal with her again (and hopefully I’ve learned enough to avoid similar people in the future), but forgiveness isn’t about forgetting, or excusing, or condoning, or permitting new hurts. Forgiveness is understanding with some measure of compassion that we’re each human, and each capable of some really shitty behavior – and letting it go, accepting the truth of what was, and moving on to something new and better. I wouldn’t want any part of having her in my experience now, but I also don’t grudge her finding her own peace or joy. Forgiveness lets me let her go, completely.

The sun is up. The sky is a soft blue. My coffee is warm and comforting. My heart is light. Forgiveness is still a difficult practice for me, but over time I’ve come to embrace it. I’ve forgiven those who have wronged me along the way. It’s been worthwhile to do so, although it doesn’t heal the damage done all by itself. There are still verbs involved in healing a wounded heart. It still takes time. It still takes work. It still takes a commitment to myself – and that’s where the forgiveness lies; I don’t benefit from continuing to use energy on hate and resentment and seething rage that could be more effectively used for healing myself, so at some point, it’s utterly necessary to “let shit go” and forgive those who have hurt me. They’re human, too, each having their own experience, wading through their own chaos and damage, and struggling with their own challenges. The damage they’ve done to me is a whole lot more about them than it ever was about me. Accepting that is an important step towards forgiveness.

…Forgiveness is an important step toward healing…

I finish my coffee and my thoughts. The sun is up, and it’s a new day unfolding ahead me. I smile, thinking about my Traveling Partner and the love we share. I feel relaxed and contented, and generally well; it’s a good beginning to the day. It’s already time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, Despair, forgiveness, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, Love, meditation, Moments, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Spring, women

One Lifetime

March 28, 2024 //
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I very nearly started this out as a reflection on having “only” one lifetime, but… I don’t actually know that with certainty, any more than anyone else does. Maybe there’s more? Maybe not. Won’t know until I’m “on the other side”, I suppose. What I do know is that I’m here, now, living this life, right here. Each individual day made up of so many individual moments – some of those truly “unique” (or at least, unique in my own experience), although many of them are quite similar to each other, as days and moments go, built on habits and routines and rituals and celebrations and things noticed along the way. I sip my coffee and think about this one lifetime, and what sorts of things I’d like to experience and fill my time with.

Daybreak and dawn have come and gone. The sun is up, somewhere beyond the dense gray of an overcast day. My coffee is… fine. It’s fine. Not great. Not bad. Just… coffee. Mostly gone, which seems fitting for the hour of the morning in which I find myself. Pleasant enough morning, if not especially interesting or adventure-filled – I’m fine with having an ordinary morning. Quiet. Productive. Undisturbed. Busy without being frantic. Calm. I’m neither joyful this morning nor somber, neither aggravated nor merry. I’m just here, being. It’s enough, isn’t it, most mornings?

Yesterday was an odd one. All day I felt rather as if some small portion of my brain never really woke up when I rose for the day. That feeling lingered well into the evening, and when I finally went to bed, I crashed out hard, immediately, no reading or lingering wakefully waiting for sleep. I woke this morning to the lights on full brightness; my artificial sunrise didn’t actually wake me up until I just happened to open my eyes as I turned over, and realized the room was fully light. I sat up confused and groggy, but that feeling passed quickly, and soon I was on my way to the office. Traffic seemed quite a bit heavier than usual, but it was just a byproduct of my somewhat different timing, which amounted to a “late start” compared to most recent mornings. The commute, like my morning coffee, was… fine. “Nothing to see here.” Just a drive to the office in the pre-dawn gloom.

Today? A new day, a new opportunity, a new series of moments to live in this one life. What will I do with them? Nothing much – for me – just work, at least for the next few hours. It would feel like tedious drudgery, but I like the job and the team I work with, and the day will pass quickly and likely have some entertaining moments to reflect on later. I’m eager to be home; the moments I spend with my Traveling Partner are some of the best I have in this life, at least over the past several years (and, I hope, the many yet to come). I miss him when we’re apart, in spite of my yearning for solitude now and then. Even when I am most eager to embrace some solitary moment or experience, he’s part of my thoughts, in my heart, and a notable feature of my emotional landscape. “The love of my life” is not an exaggeration; I can’t imagine feeling more strongly, deeply, affectionately about any one other human being. Sitting here with my nearly finished coffee, thinking about how much I think about my Traveling Partner, and what a big part of my experience he has become, my heart fills with love and a smile develops on my face that doesn’t make any sense. “Too much smiling!!” I think to myself, almost laughing. Fuck that man fills my heart with joy, just by existing. It’s nice. 😀

I sit thinking about things I enjoy doing, or experiencing, and ways to spend more time on those things, and less on things I dislike, or don’t get anything out of. Choices. There are so many choices. Too often I find myself choosing to undertake things that seem to “need” to be done, without really examining how true that actually is. Other times, I dodge doing the needful, in favor of doing something that is neither necessary, nor what I might actually want to be doing… just a thing being done that gets me out from under doing something “worse”, but having the unintended consequence of putting something far more pleasant, desirable, or necessary even further out of reach. Humans are weird.

I laugh and yawn, and rub my eyes. I could do better. Choose my actions with greater wisdom and discernment. Be more present and aware, more willful and studious about my decisions. I could undertake a few more verbs, and a little less sitting around, perhaps. I sigh and glance at the clock – it’s already time to begin again. The clock never stops ticking…

…and there’s just this one life…

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Spring, The Art of Being

Rites of Spring

March 25, 2024 //
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I woke ahead of the alarm, this morning. I got going and headed up the highway a bit earlier than usual, enjoying the lack of traffic. I’d love to say I drove mindfully, fully present in the moment, but… it wouldn’t be true. My head was still in the garden, after delightful weekend hours planting and planning, and putting to good use the seed starters my Traveling Partner had 3D printed for me, for such crops as will be planted later, in warmer weather.

2 of 4 seed starter sets (translucent covers not pictured), with re-usable inserts that separate into two sections for easy removal of tender seedlings for planting.

Much of the drive this morning was spent entirely in my own head, having imagined conversations with family and friends no longer available in life for such conversations, at all. I miss sharing the details of the garden and gardening with my Dad, with my Granny, with my dear friend… It’s okay, I guess, the conversations would be much the same as previous such conversations had been, and it’s easy enough to replay them in my head, and imagine sharing the new details of this garden, and this Spring. New roses. New herbs. New ideas. In a sense, it isn’t “new” at all, more part of a seasonal cycle that repeats each year, embraced by those that love it so.

New plants waiting to be planted.

I do share what’s going on in the garden with my Traveling Partner, and he’s a wealth of good ideas and insights, but whiling away endless hours talking about this variety versus that variety, or what specifically to plant in that corner over there isn’t really his thing, so much. lol I’m okay with that; we each have our own things to share and to do, and there’s always much to discuss about the things that interest us both equally. A passing conversation about the garden, a quick update, and a shared moment are quite satisfying, and I’m grateful to share them with him. I do miss the conversations with Granny about the various herbs, and the kitchen gardens and medicinal gardens of her youth. I miss the eager excited exchanges with my dear friend about garden plans and new roses, and her delight over pictures shared over the years. I miss my Dad’s amusement that what had been such drudgery for me as a kid has become something I truly love as a grown woman, and our conversations about the garden as a metaphor, and how we change and grow in life.

So, I drove into the city with my thoughts. It was a pleasant drive, and as I reached the city I found myself wondering what I need most to take care of this fragile vessel, right now? Do I need “down time” at home, in the garden, and more shared connected time with my Traveling Partner? I can easily make a strong case for that. Do I need “down time” in the form of a short getaway, a chance to fully immerse myself in my own thoughts, to read, to write, to paint, to enjoy the stillness of solitude? I feel that, too. I’m in a peculiar “in between place” with myself, and I’m not at all sure what will serve best to satisfy moments of restlessness or ease the internal chaos. I reflect on that and sip my coffee, as daybreak arrives, revealing a cloudy sky.

…Is it too soon for comfortable camping…?

…Can I get an affordable room on the coast and watch the tide come and go for a day or two…?

…Do I even want to be away from the comfort of home at all…?

…Every day away from home is a day away from my garden, and it’s Spring…

I sigh out loud, feeling mildly annoyed with myself. I’d email my dear friend and get her thoughts on it, but… she’s not replying to email, these days, and no longer answers texts. We are mortal creatures, and it’s damned inconvenient, sometimes. :-\

My thoughts bring me back to missing departed dear ones, far away friends, and fond memories of other times and places, other gardens. I sip my coffee as the dawn becomes day. I remind myself to bring up my “what to do about me?” questions with my Traveling Partner; he’s always got useful perspective and good ideas to share. I’m very fortunate to have a partner who supports me taking care of myself properly, and doesn’t grief me over needing time away, when I do. He sees me from a different perspective than I see myself, and I often find his thoughts quite useful for improving my perspective.

…I think of my Traveling Partner, hopefully still sleeping, and my heart fills with love. I’m very fortunate. I sip my coffee and finish this moment with gratitude and quiet joy, and thoughts of garden tasks yet to be completed. The work day stretches ahead of me, and the afternoon on the other side will be another chance to be in the garden for some little while. I smile, and get ready to begin again. 😀

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Categories Allegories, breathe, Free Will, gardening, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, loneliness, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Roses, Spring, The Art of Being
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