Archives for posts with tag: self-reflection

I woke up abruptly this morning, lights on at full brightness. I’ve felt like I’m “running behind” ever since, though it is an entirely ordinary day in most regards. Well, not really, it’s a birthday (Happy Birthday shout out to the Anxious Adventurer!). I’ve some things to do related to that event, later, and a plan to cram the full measure of my work day into the next 4 hours, and cut the work day short. I sip my (terrible) (iced) coffee and consider the day, and this moment right here. Things seem pretty okay, although I’ve got my headache riding shotgun this morning, and my arthritis has reduced my mobility considerably (I’m very stiff this morning), and I’ve got a weird pain in my left side, like a cramp or something, higher up than my kidneys, lower down than my heart, somewhere just below-not-quite-inside my ribcage. It’s vexing me. It doesn’t come and go with my heart beat, but it’s also not steady. A dull ache that waxes and wanes in a sort of arbitrary way.

…I probably talk about pain too much…

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I sip my coffee and think my thoughts.

A colorful distraction

A moment of whimsy distracts me from my bullshit. There are bags of colorful gumballs on the desk adjacent to mine (which is otherwise bare). I laughed with delight when I first walked in and saw them, and they catch my eye again, now. The colors delight me. I enjoy color. I once dressed all in black, and had a lot of “stuff” that was also black, but it’s generally been as a backdrop to things that are quite colorful as contrast. (I learned late in life how much more powerfully a neutral gray background can highlight bold colors – maybe there’s a metaphor in there somewhere?) I don’t wear much black these days. Some, not a lot. I’m not all that gloomy or negative about life, generally, nor am I as serious as I sometimes may seem. I paint in colors. I decorate in colors. I enjoy colorful light. I don’t know what I’m trying to communicate here – certainly I have no beef with people who choose to wrap themselves in black. The colors we choose say things about who we are, but it’s not for me to say what things they say. You do you. Please. Definitely be who you are – the best of who you are. No one else can do that as well as you can.

A happy colorful space.

I think about my office, which was previously also my studio. I’ve decorated it for my comfort. It’s a place I can retreat to to meditate, to read, to work, or just to chill in a moment of solitude. It is a colorful space, comfy and cozy, and too small for everything in it, which seems to suit me just fine. I don’t like clutter, though, actually, and I find that yielding to clutter creates chaos in my thinking and my experience of life, generally, so I like to avoid that if I can. My Traveling Partner knows this about me, and when recently cleaning my computer for me, he noticed that my desk had become a bit messy. Understanding how much this vexes me, and how little time for tidying up I’ve had lately (and how little energy), he suggested adding a couple little drawers under my desk.

What love looks like.

He 3D printed the little drawers for me in colors that delight me and fit the color scheme in my office (yes, I think pastel rainbow colors and lavender, green, and pink are entirely acceptable office colors LOL). I sat down to a new opportunity to create order from chaos, and once again my desk is quite tidy and free of messiness or disorder. It’s lovely. I worked efficiently all day, smiling and grateful to be so loved.

Today I am in the office, and honestly it is a disappointingly bland space. Earth tones, white, black trim, very “corporate”, very neutral, wholly uninteresting – some days I find it hard to work here. The bags of gumballs made me smile. I don’t know why they are here, placed where they are. This space, and this day, needed some measure of whimsy. I feel merry in spite of my pain. It’s a good start to the day.

I sip my (dreadful) coffee and think about the path I’m on. This path that I’ve been on now for some 15 years, I suppose. This path I’ve chosen to walk, that leads me… where? When I “get there”, will I know it? When I get there, where will I be? “The journey is the destination.” I say it a lot, as a reminder that my choices, words, and actions right now matter every bit as much as whatever awaits me out there in the future, further along the path. I’m not perfect – but perfect isn’t the goal. I only want to be the most me, the best version of the woman I most want to be, that I possibly can be – knowing what I know now, and using the full measure of my abilities as they are, and working each day to become just a little more of who I could be. Some days it doesn’t feel like much of a goal – other days I’ve no idea why I set the bar so high. lol Depends on where I am in the moment, I suppose.

Who are you at your best? Who do you most want to be? How often do you ask yourself these questions and take action on your answers? Are you walking your path with your eyes open? When your birthday comes around, do you take an honest look in the mirror and reflect on who you have become, and whether this is who you most want to be?

Dawn comes. The sky is dull and gray this morning, and I’m grateful that I can fill my world with color, anyway. Color that I choose. Color that fills me with joy. Color that reflects agency and whimsy and lessons learned over time. There are so many choices in life’s Strange Diner. So many lessons learned over time. I choose my path, and I walk it.

The clock is ticking. What will you choose, next? It’s time to begin again.

I’m sitting in the artificial twilight of a lamppost at the edge of my preferred local trail. It’s not yet fully dawn, but there’s a hint of daybreak in the changing color of the sky. I caught myself scrolling through the news headlines, though there is nothing there worth reading. Nothing new. Mostly intentionally distressing – or selling something. I put it aside. I don’t benefit in any way from becoming sucked into that garbage.

I think about stumbling on the trail a few moments ago. I caught myself, didn’t fall, but it was a moment of inattention and the outcome could have been worse. There’s something to learn there. It’s a metaphor. In a sense, scrolling through the news feed mindlessly is another sort of stumble. Disregarding healthy portion control when I struggle with my weight? Another stumble. Skipping a planned walk or a workout when I have specific fitness goals? Stumble.

Other lives, other challenges, other ways to stumble on a path. An addict in recovery having “just a little, this one time…”. Stumble. Someone making an important lifestyle change yielding to an old habit. Stumble. Important financial goals overlooked for a little “retail therapy”. Stumble. Giving that toxic relationship another chance. Stumble. It’s so very human to stumble, but we really can catch ourselves, and get back on the path. We really can acknowledge our failures and begin again.

I sit with that thought watching daybreak come, turning the sky blue beyond the dark clouds overhead. It’s okay to fail and begin again. It’s okay to pause on the trail to rest or to reflect. It’s okay to be human. It’s a journey. The journey is the destination.

I think of a far away friend admitting to me that she hadn’t been reading my blog. I was surprised by the admission, not because I expect all my friends and people dear to me to read my writing, but more because she found the admission embarrassing or awkward at all. I’m pretty sure it’s a near inevitability that any one reader will eventually stop reading and move on to other things. lol I see “this place” as a resting point on a journey more than a path. Once my point is made, the rest is perhaps noise. Repetition. I certainly wasn’t hurt by her admission. I’m here. You’re here now. For a moment we travel together whether through coincidence or intention, and we nonetheless each have our own experience. I rarely cross paths “in real life” with someone who reads my writing. She’s rare and delightful in that way. I cherish the experience, but don’t expect it. Our Dear Friend connected us, here, through their conversations about my writing. I was fortunate indeed to eventually sit down with them together over coffee. What a joyful day! When our Dear Friend neared the end of her life, we shared that too. I’m grateful.

Dawn. A new day, and the path ahead is clear. When I see the path and walk it mindfully, I’m less likely to stumble. It’s a very human experience, though, and the path is uneven in spots. There’s still a chance I may stumble, or even fall. When I do, I get up, consider my missteps, and begin again.

Huh. Just for a moment I had the strange sense that I was completely wrong about the day, and that instead of the Monday I was thinking it was, as I sat here in the office, it was – perhaps – only Sunday, and I did not need to be here at all. A quick double-check of the calendar (and then my phone, and then the tiny date/time at the bottom right of my computer screen for good measure) reassured me that indeed it is Monday. I may not be overly enthused about that, on its own, but I am at least not incorrect about what day it is. lol

A perspective on some orange flowers.

The morning has been a slightly odd one. I woke much earlier than necessary, but got up and made coffee and hit the road anyway. I didn’t have quite enough time to return to sleep, and definitely did have time to make a point to remember my packed lunch, and to make myself some good coffee. Even the commute was somewhat strange and definitely not routine in any way aside from the route I took. I hit every traffic light green, and there was almost no traffic at all. I drove the speed limit, feeling unstressed, unbothered, and unhurried (which makes sense since it was quite a bit earlier than I am usually on the road). The office is chilly in a Spring sort of way, and my thoughts linger in my garden, in spite of the darkness beyond the window. Funny thing; the weekend was quite productive, and I seem to recall it feeling “busy”, but… at least for the moment, I don’t really recall anything that stands out as eventful or special. No, I’m wrong – one thing does stand out; my Traveling Partner rebuilt, refreshed, and enhanced our household automation, updating and correcting some out-of-date programming and making upgrades that had been planned before his injury. Quite successful and useful, and delightful to use. There’s that. That stands out. Nothing much that I did comes to mind at all, but damn I’m sore like I did a bunch of stuff. LOL I also didn’t do a bunch of stuff – I was supposedly “taking it easy”, but I don’t feel like I actually managed that trick. Feels like I just did other stuff, instead of the usual stuff.

Same flowers, different point of view.

I rub my eyes, yawn, and sip my coffee. I still don’t feel quite awake yet, which is strange; I’ve been awake now for almost 3 hours. Groggy. Foolish. Mind wandering. Feeling vaguely purposeless and “out of focus” and caught in a sticky web of random thoughts and distractions. My sleep was restless, interrupted, and filled with strange dreams. I may not “need” more coffee…but I’m sure going to have more! lol The morning feels a bit surreal, so far. And chilly. It’s chillier in the office than it has been. As if in response to that observation, I notice the small heater that was left in this office space at some point. I sip my coffee and consider the option to use it, without acting on the thought. I could, though… If I choose to.

A different angle on the same theme.

I sigh to myself, and try to shake off my grogginess by literally trying to shake it off. The sight, reflected back at me in the window makes me laugh. The laughter does more to wake me up than the shaking did. I sip my coffee, now at that “perfect drinking temperature”, and think about my Traveling Partner sleeping at home. I hope he gets the rest he needs – he has a day of work planned (and specific projects in mind) with the Anxious Adventurer’s help. He’s recovered from his injury and surgery to a point that he has begun “picking up where he left off” on all manner of tasks and projects that fell to the side when he got hurt, although he still has a way to go before he will be “at 100%”, maybe a long way to go (there’s quite a lot of work involved in fully recovering from a spinal injury and surgery). I feel relieved and delighted to see him doing so well. I can’t even describe how worried I was at some points, and I don’t like to think about it.

It won’t always be flowers and garden paths; sometimes it’s an uneven path, an uncertain destination, and a distant horizon.

Being a caregiver has been one of the most difficult things I’ve ever undertaken. I give myself about a “C” on that endeavor, if I’m honest. Even with all of my best effort, I lacked experience and skill, and I fucked up a lot (and I was exhausted all the time), and I could have done so much better given time and training and more practice – but that wasn’t how things went down. I did my best. I can say that, and for most values of worth, it was enough – but fucking hell I wish I could have done more/better for longer. Caregiving is fucking exhausting. If you know someone who is a caregiver (or, frankly, a parent), be appreciative, considerate, and kind; that’s a lot of fucking work they’re undertaking to do, on top of trying to live their own life and manage their own self-care, and possibly also working a full time job (especially if they are committed to doing all of it well). Fuuuuck. That’s a lot. Sometimes it can feel like an inhuman amount of effort is required, and it can feel like the stakes are “too high”. Be helpful if you can – and for sure just don’t be an insensitive jerk about the situation, most especially if you’ve never had to provide full time caregiving yourself. It’s a hard mile to walk. I worried the entire time. Worried about the future. Worried about my beloved. Worried that I wasn’t good enough or capable enough – and painfully aware that things could be still worse.

Walking my own path, one step at a time.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. It’s just a routine (mostly) Monday. Things are okay for most values of “okay”, and the day begins well (if a bit groggily). It’s time to get on with that. Another beginning. Another day. Another mile to walk on my path. Time to begin again.

It’s a Friday, and seems pretty routine and ordinary so far. It’s raining. Spring in the Pacific Northwest, this is not unexpected. The weather is otherwise quite mild (where I am), and I am content and mostly comfortable, if a bit groggy. My body feels as if I overslept (I didn’t) and my mind feels as if I am behind on things (I’m not). Funny how subjective our experience of life can be. This morning I am frustrated and annoyed with the amount of pain I am in, and my lingering feeling of fatigue, in spite of getting a restful night of sleep. I sip my coffee, listen to the rain falling, and try to let small things stay small, and avoid Other People’s Drama or wallowing in chaos I can not control (or fix).

I breathe, exhale, relax, and think about… lavender. I’ve now planted six varieties in my wee garden, placed close enough to various roses to (hopefully) discourage the deer from eating the roses. That was the purpose of the lavender, but I actually also like the smell of lavender, and in springtime often enjoy tea with lavender in it, or some other beverage (even coffee) with a hint of lavender. I enjoy lavender scented bath soap and fragrances. I avoid “over doing it” – strong scents can be annoying in small spaces. I have the recollection that at some point there was the thinking that lavender was an old-fashioned scent, or somehow conveyed “age”… I don’t perceive it that way, myself (I don’t think I ever have, but I’m not certain of that and thinking changes over time). On the other hand, I’m 62 this year, perhaps I like lavender because I’ve “grown into it”? (Nah, I was using lavender scented shower gel back in the 80s, as a young soldier, and enjoying the way it brought Spring to mind, for me.) I sip my coffee, enjoying the thought of the newly planted lavender settling into the garden on a mild rainy day, roots reaching further into the earth, tender new shoots of greenery developing slowly. I smile to myself, happy to have a garden, and a home of my own. Happy to share it with my Traveling Partner who is so enduringly dear to me. He comes out and sits at the edge of the garden when I work, sometimes, making suggestions and observing the work, calling out jokes or loving compliments, sharing that time and place with me fondly, in spite of commenting that he “doesn’t care at all” about the flowers. lol He cares about me. That’s enough.

Lavender in my garden.

The chaos of the world (and the turd in a clown car parked in a raging dumpster fire that is currently American governance) nibbles at my consciousness, trying to encroach on my sense of peace and contentment, but a quick glance at this morning’s headlines assured me they are all yesterday’s headlines regurgitated over new bylines for additional clicks and engagement. No thank you. I’ve got my own pain, and my own shit to deal with, and I’m already well-aware of the shit-storm of additional chaos and disappointment likely coming for us all. I’ll do my best to take care of myself, of my family, of hearth and home, and to be kind to others, and foster a sense of compassion and community. It’s important to do my best to be the woman I most want to be, and to avoid becoming “one of the bad guys” and also to maintain a strong sense of self, and ensure that my ethics remain intact. Doing that isn’t a small thing, and it has real, lasting value. It may not change the world, but it keeps my corner of it tidy and free of unnecessary bullshit, which is worth something.

Speaking of pain… I’ve got mine. It is what it is. I’m doing my best to keep it managed and to avoid letting it become a decision-making force in my life. I’d rather ache a little from the bending and reaching of planting lavender in my garden than go without a garden. I’d rather be sore from miles walked on new trails that sit at home crying over the pain I’d be in, regardless. I’m not saying that to shame anyone or criticize someone else’s choices; it’s just my own path, and I’m doing my best to walk it in spite of pain. Fuck pain. It already occupies too much of my time and attention, I don’t really want to give it more – but there it is, a near constant companion these days. Some days worse than others. Today it’s there, but it’s not “everything”. I push it aside, again and again, and get on with other things. How about you? How’s your pain? Are you managing to manage it, mostly? Are you practicing good self-care, taking meds on time, getting enough exercise, and good nutrition? Would a hot shower help? Would some yoga help? Would it help to stand up and stretch and move around a bit? Would it help to distract yourself with something positive and uplifting, like a cup of tea with a friend, or reading an interesting book? I hope you take care of yourself – you have a life worth living, and a human experience to enjoy that is unlike any other.

I sigh quietly, and notice that daybreak has arrived, blue-gray and rainy. I’m not surprised. Daybreak was expected – I’m not sure how I’d react if one morning the sun did not rise at all. It’s a strange thought. I knew it would be a rainy morning, because it already was. I sip my coffee thinking about how much of my expectations of life, generally, are simply carried over from previous days and experiences. Habits. Routines. Rituals. Familiar paths and roads. Practices. I sit with that thought a little while and wonder quietly how I can free myself from sticky expectations and untested assumptions to more easily embrace the novel and unfamiliar, or at least be more open to it when it comes?

Seedlings on a sunnier day. What have you planted in your garden? (It’s a metaphor.)

I see my smile reflected back at me in the window. I’m okay right now, for most values of okay. Even my pain, which is substantial this morning, isn’t really holding me back at all. It’s Friday. I’m eager to finish the work day and return to the garden, just to see the lavender I’ve planted there, and to count the radish and pea seedlings that have sprouted, and pull some weeds. Small joys add up. I sip my coffee and get ready to begin again.

I am reflecting on my “sense of self”, which I suppose is taking “self-reflection” to a very meta place. Definingly self-referential, and a bit like a funhouse mirror; I am lost in reflections and contemplating self-portraits I have done over time, most of them quite abstract. A friend – one of my dearest friends and among my most enduring friendships – reached out and asked to commission from me a self-portrait. An interesting commission, and I accepted it. I don’t know where this path will lead. Perhaps I am overdue to look at myself (and my life) through the lens of my own camera, my hand holding the brush poised over my own canvas? I am standing in a new place, seeing the world and my life through different perspective in a unique moment. I am at my most experienced, my most learned, my most positive – and my most fortunate. I am infused with love and a joy for living. This is not a place I’ve stood life for very long, ever, and here I stand – content and comfortable with myself. So. There it is.

The sky is still blue.

I sip my coffee and think thoughts of self. Who am I, now? Where is this path leading me? Who do I most want to be? How did I get here? I breathe, exhale, and relax. I think about colors, and I think about sunrises, sunsets, and the ticking of the clock. I think about my garden, and this sunny morning; I’ve planted seeds. What flowers will bloom, now? The morning sky is a delicate azure blue, again this morning. Same view, new day – new moment to be this human being. I think my thoughts awhile longer. There’s only so much time for that, and I enjoy it while it lasts. The clock is always ticking.