It’s a quiet morning. I’m sitting with my thoughts before my walk, and before the sun rises. I’m drinking coffee and thinking about how far I’ve come and what a strange journey life is.
About 14 years ago, my Traveling Partner nagged at me for being “so negative”. I worked hard to change my approach, and was pretty successful (especially after I got help through therapy). I found out much later he was intending to be critical only of the way I used language, not my attitude towards life! For example, my most common response to being asked how I was doing would have been, then, “not bad”, instead of “fine”, or “good”, or however I was actually doing. This was the specific thing he didn’t care for, and purely a matter of style. What I worked to change was my actual, legit fundamental negativity toward my experience of life, the lens through which I perceived all my experiences. I succeeded in making profound changes to the way I view and experience life. I’m glad I did, but I was puzzled and more than a little annoyed that what my partner had been criticizing was a matter of communication style, nothing more.
Hilariously (in a funny/not funny sort of way), I now find deeply negative people – people whose outlook on life is chronically pessimistic, or always anticipating some shitty outcome – super irritating to have to be around for long periods of time. People who respond to circumstances with sarcasm and bitter disappointment before anything actually goes wrong vex me. I just don’t want to be around that all the fucking time. It’s exhausting. Doesn’t matter that I used to be one of those people, I’m generally not anymore, and I don’t really want to waste precious mortal hours being annoyed with life – nor with the people who are themselves annoyed with life. I have other shit to do.
I sigh to myself, stretching and working to ease my physical pain, before my walk on a chilly foggy autumn morning. It’ll be beautiful along the marsh trail. The quiet is lovely. Daybreak reveals the gray of the fog obscuring the view. The park gate groans and screeches as it opens, then clangs in place. I think to myself that I haven’t walked the river trail in a while, and change my plan. Change is. I smile to myself. We can’t know in advance what the outcome of a change may be. We can’t be assured that anyone else will appreciate a change we’ve made, however much it suits us. We can only do our best, walk our own path, and over time find out where that leads us. I’m content with being a more positive person day-to-day, inclined toward general optimism and joy, and leaning away from bitterness and disappointment. Life will surely dish out enough of that shit without me seeking it out or making a practice of it!
I breathe, exhale, and relax. I contemplate the time I’ve spent painting since I switched to pastels. It’s fulfilling and healing time. Artistically, I’m in a good place as a human being. I’m enjoying the medium and the work I’ve been doing. I learn more every time I sit down to paint. I “feel heard” (at least by the woman in the mirror) every time I look at these new paintings. It’s a good feeling, satisfying and nurturing. Self-care comes in many forms. So does communication.
This mortal life is too short for negativity and bullshit. There’s so much to see and enjoy. I lace up my boots and grab my cane. I silently dare my pain to keep up with me. It’s time to begin again.
