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Hate is contagious and corrosive. It can become lethal. Hate can influence the thinking of entire groups of people. Hate can make one individual do terrible things. Hate can drive people to murder.

… What does it mean when someone perceived as hateful, or who espouses hateful ideas, is themselves the victim of hate?…

I’m as human as anyone. There are ideas and people I find pretty horrible and hateful, myself. It’s most often not a personal sort of emotional experience, it’s more abstract than that. I’m not sure I’ve ever truly “hated” anyone in a direct and personal way. I have actively disliked people enough to avoid them. I have even loathed an individual to the point that I had nothing good to say about them, if asked. Hate, though? That seems a bigger deal, a deeper emotional investment that implies a commitment to infusing the awareness of the individual with persistent steady negative emotion – enough, perhaps, to be a weapon itself. I’d really have to care about someone, in some sense, in order to hate them, I think. What do I know, though? I avoid engaging in hate as an experience. There is reliably always too much I don’t know that could change my opinion.

Don’t shoot people because you’re angry. Don’t shoot people over ideology either. That kind of hateful shit is terrible for the perpetrator, in it’s own fashion, and it’s likely to have regrettable consequences. It’s terrible for the world. Violence is toxic and terrible and the “solutions” it provides aren’t the sort with real value. (Have you seen the images of Gaza and Ukraine since the most recent conflicts began in those places?) I don’t suppose, if you’re reading this blog, that you need that sort of cautionary reminder; you’re likely on a different path.

So… Charlie Kirk is dead, I hear. I can’t say his death moves me personally at all. He represented no good qualities or ideas to me. I did not know him personally, and was only aware of him in the most indirect way, as some favored conservative talking head notable enough to be mocked on South Park. (South Park is hilarious, and definitely knows how to tap the zeitgeist, and my opinion hasn’t changed.) I don’t have any personal feeling of loss over Charlie Kirk’s death. The hateful ideas of our conservative administration get people killed and wrecks lives every day…why would this one guy, famed for saying hateful things, getting shot be at all noteworthy?

I think killing people is wrong. It’s vile and wasteful and morally repugnant. Humanity could do better. That doesn’t change because someone I find unlikeable gets killed. It’s still wrong. I just don’t plan to spend more time thinking or talking about this particular death. Aren’t the innocent lives lost to school shootings, domestic violence, and police brutality more worthy of conversation? Isn’t genocide more important to address than the death of one voice espousing hate? And femicide? Infant mortality due to disease? I guess I’m just saying that this one particular shooting death carries no significance for me. It’s unfortunate people are still so primitive and barbaric that they seek to solve problems through violence. That’s the problem worth solving. We could definitely do better.

Don’t spread your hate around (or anyone else’s) – it’s not fucking jam.

I pull myself back to this gray moment, here, now.

I sigh to myself looking at the gray sky. Daybreak came on the trail and I am sitting with my thoughts before the work day begins. I’m tired and I slept badly. The alarm woke me, and I thought it was a mistake, at first. My eyes still feel gritty and dry. My head aches. I’m feeling cross with myself and with the world. I definitely need more rest than I got. I’m grateful the weekend is ahead and that the week has gone well… but… g’damn I’m just so fucking tired. I’ve got shit to do, and all I really want is to go back to sleep.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I yawn and rub my eyes. I don’t feel groggy – that’s something good. Too much to do to have to deal with grogginess or brain fog, too, and I’m grateful. Slowly I pull my focus back to the things that matter most (to me, right now) and let the rest go. I’m grateful that I remember telling my beloved Traveling Partner I’d run to the store before work, and glance at the clock. Already time to begin again…

This morning is better. This morning is even “good” for all the values of “good” that come to mind in the moment. It’s nice. No anxiety. I woke with my silent alarm, as the lights began to come on, and my morning routine felt… routine. The traffic heading to the more distant co-work space was light, and I got there “right on time” – by which I mean when I expected to. I got to the office with enough time to share a few words with my Traveling Partner, and enough time to set up without rushing, and to prepare for an early meeting. It all feels so… ordinary.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I take the few minutes for meditation in the morning that I usually do. The early morning call means my walk will come a little later, and that’s entirely fine. I feel steady, centered, and comfortable in my skin. I feel self-assured and confident that I am in the right place at the right time, doing things I am capable of doing well. It’s as if I were never anxious at all, which is a very nice feeling indeed.

I look over reminders for later. No stress there, either. This is a lovely start to an utterly ordinary work day.

I’m grateful to be without the anxiety that has been riding shotgun with my consciousness since I learned I’d be laid off from my previous job. Strange that quickly securing a new job wasn’t enough to beat back my anxiety…it was the more-than-satisfactory completion of a project that had been assigned to me when I started. I really needed that, I guess, to soothe the background hurt (purely emotional, and mostly fairly bullshit and unnecessary) that resulted from being laid off at all. Knowing those sorts of business decisions are “not personal”, and even being treated with great consideration by colleagues, doesn’t mean it hurts any less. I really enjoyed that job, and could have happily done that until I finally left the workforce. That’s not relevant to the reality of the situation – in a sense that role no longer exists at all. Even the company doesn’t actually exist anymore, as any sort of independent entity. This is certainly a circumstance in which practicing non-attachment is the healthy choice. I smile to myself, feeling reminded of how very human I am. I’m grateful things are turning out so well, and I sip my coffee and reflect on that.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. New day; new beginning. The (metaphorical) clock ticking in the background? It’s always ticking, whether I hear it or not. Paying too much attention to the sound of the clock becomes a distraction; there is much to be done in those finite minutes of each day, and many practices to practice on the way to becoming the woman I most want to be.

I let gratitude fill my thoughts for a few more minutes. It’s a nice way to begin a day, reflecting on what is going well, what is working out, what I am fortunate to enjoy in this mortal life, and the people I am fortunate to know. Dwelling on the challenges seems only to fill my life with frustration and anxiety. Savoring the very best moments is very different. The small joys, the things that suprised me in some delightful way, the coincidences and happenstance moments of luck or of beauty – those things are worth “dwelling on”, however small, and they fill my life with joy long after the moments have passed. Gratitude has become a favorite practice – it feels really good, and lifts me up.

I glance at the clock… it’s time to begin, again.

I walked the first “half” of the trail thinking thoughts about words. I started with the word “open”, and thoughts about open doors, open minds, and open questions. I finished as I reached my “halfway point”, which isn’t typically actually halfway – it’s more to do with a convenient stopping point, or a particular view. I still call it halfway, which is sloppy and inaccurate. These thoughts are inconsequential noodling as I walk, neither amounting to worthwhile thinking, nor meditation. Just chaos and noise in my head, really, and it’s been quite difficult lately to quiet the noise.

I breathe, exhale, and relax, and hope that meditation may provide some calm to the inner chaos. I turn off my headlamp. It was necessary when I started down the trail, it is less necessary now. Daybreak is here, and the sky has begun to lighten, revealing a cloudy sky.

My mind wanders. I pull it back to this quiet moment and my breath. My tinnitus is loud in my ears. The air conditioning of some nearby building is almost loud enough to drown out my tinnitus, even at this distance. I pull my attention back to my breathing, which I hear as somewhat louder than either my tinnitus or the building AC. It’s relative and a bit peculiar that these three things seem so nearly the same loudness…they definitely are not, at all. I’m momentarily distracted by that thought, and gently let it go and refocus my attention on the moment, and my breath.

This morning meditation is hard. It’s been like that for days now, and getting worse. I struggle to calm my mind. Even my sleep is more than typically disturbed by strangely “busy” dreams. I wake not feeling rested. I work feeling constantly on the edge of being completely overwhelmed. I get home feeling sound sensitive and unable to “hear myself think”, but thinking isn’t even the goal, at that point – I just want to find rest.

I’m scrambling to consume as much information as I can as quickly as possible in my new job, and I’m doing so in the context of a ticking clock in the background (a 30-day trial period is a standard practice at this company). It’s working on my mind a bit, I guess. I sigh and look out into the dawn sky. Cloudy. Looks like rain. My head aches ferociously. My arthritis is giving me grief, too. I feel a bit “tense and weird” and wonder whether I just need a vacation – seems premature, considering how new the job is. I’m so tired, though…

I let all that go with my breath as I exhale, and I pull my attention back to this moment, here, as I inhale. Meditation helps. Maybe it helps a lot? I’m not losing my shit over dumb stuff or making everyone around me miserable. That’s something. I could do better with the self-care, clearly, and that’s a manageable detail. Even the work is entirely manageable. I definitely do need to figure out the cognitive fatigue before it breaks me, but as problems to solve go, it is also pretty manageable.

My mind wanders to dinner, to household chores that need doing, to the note on my calendar reminding me to make more tuna salad for my Traveling Partner, to make a quick grocery run… there is more to do than I can keep up on. I sigh to myself as the thought spikes my anxiety. I pull myself back to my breath and do my best to let all of that go, again. It can wait. The work day is ahead, and for now I can let that go too, and simply be.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. My mind wanders, I pull it back. I begin again. I repeat the sequence. Again. Yet again after that. I keep practicing. We become what we practice… eventually. I take another deep breath and exhale as a sigh. I watch the dawn becoming day.

… It’s time to walk on, already. A new day, and there’s work to be done. Rest will have to wait for later…

I woke up with a thing stuck in my head. Not an actual object physically lodged in my skull, just a thought lingering in the background as though it had been the topic of conversation, or the content of a dream I had. It happens to also be the wallpaper of my laptop, and a reminder that whether – and how – we use our words really matters. For human primates, spoken language is our primary form of direct communication. Written language follows pretty closely, I suppose, and language is a powerful tool that can bring us closer – or drive us apart. It can reveal profound truths, or build terrible lies. It can soothe hurts and cause real harm, too. The thing stuck in my head as I woke, though? It was this:

Borrowed from a post by Kyle Hill, a YouTube content creator.

Words matter. Meaning matters. Using words to directly communicate our experience or needs to each other matters. It’s definitely more efficient (and generally more clear) than less direct forms of communication, when used skillfully, with a bit of care. Of course, like any sort of “magic”, it can be turned to evil purposes, and be used for gaslighting, manipulation, deceit, misdirection, or to directly do injury (or persuade others to do injuries to one another).

I drove up the highway still thinking about words, language, and communication, and how difficult something that seems so simple at first glance can really be. We live in challenging times, and communication is both the cause of some of our difficulties as a species (and society), and also the solution. Weird, right? Hell, we can’t even be certain of sharing the same “dictionary”, as individuals; the nuances in how we each understand a particular word can vary our understanding so much as to be not at all related, undermining our ability to understand each other, and even limiting our ability to recognize that we have not understood.

Here’s an example. When you use a word like “liberal” or “conservative” what do you actually mean by that? Is it straightforward? Is it is a common and broadly shared definition of the term? (What makes you so sure of that?) When you use it, are you actually clearly communicating an idea – or is it “coded language” carrying more (or other) meaning than the definition that will be found in a published dictionary? Could you be more clear? Are you being less clear by intention? Is it actually “your word” expressing your own thoughts, or are you repeating someone else’s talking point, parroting a phrase or slogan, conveying a message that is not truly your own?

…Do you even know what you’re really talking about?…

It’s hard to go wrong with good basics…

My thoughts bring me back to The Four Agreements. Not my first walk down that path, either. This peculiar little volume has some powerful ideas in it. These ideas are framed in a spiritual sort of context that isn’t a good fit for everyone’s thinking (including mine), but the basic messages being communicated are profound, and worthy of consideration. One of these “agreements” is the recommendation to “be impeccable” with our words. The book makes it clear that what is meant is to be clear, accurate, truthful, and also kind, compassionate, considerate, gentle, and aware of the potential for lasting consequences when we speak to each other. Communicating well takes practice, and maybe a lot of that, quite probably “forever”. Totally worth it, though. Skillful communication is a healing thing that brings people together, when used to connect and share and build.

Why am I even on about this, this morning? No idea. I woke up with a meme in my head. lol I woke up to some sort of interrupted internal discussion of the power of words and how we use them. I drove to the more distant co-work space I sometimes work from, still thinking about words, language, and communication (and my own commonplace difficulties with good communication). I hadn’t yet exchanged words with another human being at all. I’m thinking about it even now.

My Traveling Partner pings me a greeting in the form of a cute “sticker”, and shares some words about a quality of life improvement project he’s working on – improvements to our media library, and how it is organized – and I reply. Successful communication. How do I define that success? We understand each other, and feel loved. Win. I glance down at the wee tray my Traveling Partner made to hold my “regular” glasses when I have my computer glasses on, and feel wrapped in love. Another form of communication, not in words, but in actions. Those matter, too.

What love looks like – sometimes.

I smile to myself, and sit with my thoughts in the quiet of the office. I’m grateful for the solitude, the quiet morning, my Traveling Partner’s love, a job that pays the bills (or will, once the paychecks start coming), a pleasant little home, and the ability to use words and language. Powerful stuff. I think about all the books I have yet to read, and the poetry I have yet to write. I think about delightful compliments I have been offered, and useful feedback I’ve been given that I have used to grow and become more the woman I most want to be. I contemplate the dark power of sarcasm, insults, and angry words, and the lasting damage these can do. I think about promises given, promises broken, and how much it matters to keep our word. I think about the way unexpected kind words can lift us up from difficult moments. I think about how sharing our experiences with each other through story telling and anecdotes can teach, entertain, or bring us together. Words are powerful indeed.

I sip my coffee and for a moment, I deeply miss my Dear Friend, with whom I might have shared these thoughts, and further discussion. Words connected us over great distances and many years.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I begin the day with words, and I’ll likely end it with words, too. I take a few minutes to meditate, letting the words fall away for a time, just being, and breathing. Now, it’s time to begin again. I glance at the clock, and prepare for the work day ahead. I remind myself to choose my words with care – because words matter.

It’s early. A little later than usual, but it makes sense; I’m trying to shift my usual waking time to something a bit later. Even a small change can add to my anxiety, and this morning it does. I’m hopeful that I managed to slip out quietly, without waking anyone. No one needs my anxiety to be the thing they wake up to!

A full moon peeks out from behind the trees.

I breathe, exhale, and relax, and lace up my boots to walk the local trail I favor, but I arrived to a lot of noise and bright light at the trailhead. There was an event here over the weekend, and a crew has come to clean up. Well, shit… That’s less than ideally peaceful, eh? I move the car to the other side of the parking and walk to my starting point from there, well out of the way of the work crew.

… Every day we make so many small seeming choices intended to get us to a goal, or to achieve some particular result…

The morning is chilly, not yet “cold”, but hinting at colder mornings still ahead. Daybreak arrives in the usual way. Blue sky shows through dark clouds as the sky lightens, and I head down the trail.

The camera makes things at this hour bluer than they seem to my eyes.

My head is stuffy when I reach my halfway point and stop for a moment. Something in the air doesn’t agree with me, perhaps? I’m glad I stuffed some tissues in my pocket as I left the house this morning.

My anxiety has come along for this morning’s walk. It’s “only” background anxiety to do with the new job, I think. Experience tells me it will pass, and to care for myself. Self-care defuses a lot of anxiety. (I silently acknowledge that sometimes self-care causes me more anxiety, setting up a brief back-and-forth with myself over whether that is the case now, and if not why mention it at all?) Anxiety is a liar, and aside from that, anxiety is also a bit of a self sabotaging drama queen. I laugh uncomfortably to myself, and fill my lungs deeply, then exhale slowly, not quite a sigh, definitely an expression of… something. I’m a little annoyed with myself, I guess. It was a good weekend. The job feels like a promising opportunity and a good fit to my skills. What’s to be anxious over?

Change is. One of the results, sometimes, is anxiety. Feeling routines and my “sense of things” being disrupted is uncomfortable, sometimes even upsetting. I feel unsure and uneasy and reluctant to trust. I feel vigilant and as if I’m waiting for that metaphorical other shoe to drop. It’s a little ridiculous, but the awareness brings no relief. I find some relief in meditation. I find some relief in routines. I finding some relief in the distraction of a sunrise on a gray morning as summer begins to turn to fall. Little things matter. I’m grateful when my anxiety begins to ease.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I sit quietly, grateful to see another sunrise. Grateful for another job opportunity. Grateful for good friends, loving family, and skilled friendly colleagues. The gratitude pushes aside the anxiety, and sets me up to enjoy the day ahead. The anxiety, this morning, is dysfunctional, a broken indicator light on life’s dashboard. I chuckle to myself thinking about the Parable of the Mechanic for a moment. This morning my mortal physical body feels more “hoopty” than sports car, for sure. I’m fighting arthritis pain along with the anxiety, and it’s possible that my arthritis is actually causing quite a bit of the anxiety in the first place. Definitely adding to it.

I sigh to myself and take something for my pain.

It’s a new day. Anxious or not, I’ve got shit to do that won’t wait around for my best mood or greatest comfort. Sometimes the path we walk is paved, level, and well lit, sometimes it is rocky, uneven, and dangerously pocked with potholes or littered with obstacles. Sometimes a distracting “side quest” is truly what matters most. The way forward isn’t always clear. We’ve just got to go ahead and get on with things, walk our path, and fulfill our “destiny”, if such a thing exists at all. If it doesn’t? Well, the journey is the destination, after all, and not walking our own path isn’t really an option. Our every choice, every moment, is another step along the way.

I think about a cookbook, a map, a menu. I think about a miscalibrated scale. Metaphors worth considering. Topics for another day. For now, I hear the clock ticking, and it feels like time to begin again. The path ahead won’t walk itself – and it’s the only way forward from here, now, to… wherever it leads. I smile to myself and watch the sun rise on this new day.

Where does this path lead? Choose and find out. Walk on.