Archives for posts with tag: sufficiency

When I originally planned my holiday time, it was with consideration of being new in my role, leading a team through a very busy season, and expecting I might still be scrambling to finish some holiday task or another. As it has turned out, my team is stronger than I knew and capable of getting the job done when I’m unavailable. I’m also finished with the holiday preparation. I don’t really need “more time”, but I did get quite sick after I returned from traveling for work. Turns out my plan to work half days this week (and taking the Eve and Giftmas Day off entirely) is a much appreciated adjustment to my work schedule as I get over being ill. Convenient.

Yesterday after work I focused on self-care. I feel a bit more better this morning than yesterday morning. The first thing in the morning congestion and coughing didn’t last as long, and my sinuses required fewer tissues. Small win, but still worth appreciating. I’ve got another short day today… for which I am deeply grateful. I may not actually have an entire work shift in me, quite yet. I am at least able to get a walk, and add a mile or two on these boots before the work day begins. The walking seems to help clear the congestion in my lungs.

The morning is another mild one. It rained more during the night, but for now the cloudy sky is only that. The trail is dotted with puddles. Slippery leaves are scattered here and there. I walk carefully, with my cane keeping me steady. I breathe – as deeply as I am able – filling my lungs with the rain-fresh “winter” air of the Pacific Northwest. Everything smells clean and fresh and healthy. Holiday lights on apartment balconies shine through the trees from across the creek that meanders past this section of the trail. The morning is quiet and dark. Daybreak won’t come for another hour.

“Morning! Coming up on your left!” I hear,  behind me, the voice of a stranger. Another walker – the older gentleman I spotted a few mornings ago. “Nice morning for it,” I reply as he approaches and begins to pass me. “I hope I didn’t startle you, Miss, I tried not to.” He sounds friendly and not at all threatening. We walk abreast momentarily. He shares that he’s seen me walking in the mornings and admits that it inspired him to walk more.

Turns out he’s the night security guy for the construction site on the other side of the parking lot, and began getting a walk in at the end of his shift, on this trail so convenient to the job site. He wishes me a good morning as he walks on ahead (at a faster pace on longer legs). I return his well wishes, grateful to have my solitude returned, and appreciative of a stranger’s consideration. Nonetheless, as I walk I feel for the knife in my pocket, and move it to my left hand, keeping my sturdy trekking pole in my right hand for balance. Oh, I’m not any sort of intimidating character or threat, nor am I inclined towards violence, but I’d take advantage of a lifetime of suppressed ancient rage to make an attacker rethink their life choices by defending myself, in order to enjoy another mortal day in the arms of my beloved Traveling Partner.

My hyper-vigilance is aroused by this passing stranger in the darkness, which seems unsurprising. I don’t take it too seriously; I’ve come a long way over the years, and this won’t wreck my day. It barely qualifies as “triggered”, and mostly seems useful, reasonable, and manageable. I keep walking, until I reach my halfway point and stop for a moment, to meditate and write.

Even in the darkness, sometimes there is light.

The sky has a familiar faint glow of the light of human communities reflecting back from the clouds overhead. I enjoy the silhouettes of trees and buildings and partially defined shapes of things that seem less obvious. I sit with the quiet, breathing, exhaling, relaxing, and filling up on the feeling of peace and stillness of the moment. I enjoy the feeling of being free to take my time. I enjoy feeling unrushed, unharried, and unbothered.

… Happy Holidays, however you celebrate the season…

I smile, remembering that I need to pick up a holiday pie, later this morning (then find myself wondering if I’m supposed to pick it up tomorrow… and suddenly wonder what day it even is? (Then double-check the date). I chuckle to myself. A human being, being human. A soft sprinkling of rain begins to fall. Predictable. No surprise in rain falling here, this time of year. I pull my folded rain poncho from my pocket, where I had shoved it as I got out of the car “just in case”, and put it on. The rain stops. I’m grateful to be prepared.

A small herd of deer steps shyly from the trees and walks across the trail into the grass at the edge of the vineyard, a short distance away. They are aware of me, but don’t seem concerned. I watch them. They watch me. When the rain begins again, I stand and stretch, and the deer walk away slowly, down the grassy strip along the path, before veering more deeply into the vineyard. I turn the other direction, looking down the trail towards the too-bright lights of the construction site around which the trail eventually wraps. (I wonder how this trail will change after that hotel is finished?)

I sigh quietly, contentedly, breathing the damp winter air, grateful for the mild morning. I enjoy these moments… and it is time to begin again. There are more, other, moments to enjoy… further down the path.

… And visions of sugar plums…

Twas the night before Christmas

I’m sipping my coffee (hot, black) grateful to have it. The hot liquid feels soothing on my still-raw feeling throat, although the discomfort is no longer up high near my uvula, and is definitely showing indications of having moved into my chest instead of lingering in my sinuses. I’m still unwell, but I’m working today; there is much to do as the year winds down, and giving up on it is not an effective strategy for making more money at some future point. (I don’t much like that this matters more to me right now than my fucking health, but this is America.) The box of tissues on my desk, alongside the hand sanitizer, and me wearing a mask, gives adequate caution to others that keeping their distance is a good choice.

My Traveling Partner woke me this morning, early, checking whether I was okay. I mumbled something about being okay, because for most values of “okay” I surely was. I was dead asleep when his voice roused me, but having wakened and seeing it was nearly time to begin a normal work day, I went ahead and got up, dressed, and left for the co-work space I typically use when the university library is not open. There was no traffic at all, but it was also too early to get coffee on the way. It was fine. I was awake, and the rainy drive was much improved by how little traffic there was.

None of this really “matters“, it’s just the set up for the punchline to a joke that isn’t actually funny. I let that go. I’m grateful that I feel well enough to face a work day, honestly. I’m grateful for the hot coffee that was available when I got to the office. I’m grateful for the instant chicken soup which proves to be far more satisfying than the coffee. I’m grateful for a few quiet minutes alone with my thoughts before this co-work space fills with other co-working professionals, and grateful for a desk that puts considerable distance between me and others. I’m grateful for my Traveling Partner, who does so much to care for me when I’m not well. I’m okay for most values of “okay” now, and I definitely feel better than I did yesterday, in spite of the cough I’ve now developed, that will likely linger for days or even weeks after I’m fully over whatever ick took me down in the first place.

…I can’t say I feel much like working, there’s just a lot to do…

I savor the hot too-salty flavorful instant chicken soup. There’s an intense comfort to it when I feel this way. It’s enough to satisfy what limited appetite I’ve got, and enough to genuinely “make me feel better”, every bit as much as the cold remedies I also took. Funny how “enough” changes with the circumstances, eh? On a beautiful summer morning, on some beach or forested trail, there’s little chance this off-brand cheap poor quality instant chicken soup would be at all satisfying, but here, now? It’s definitely enough and I’m grateful to have it. That brings my thoughts to the Giftmas holiday ahead. I think over the unwrapped gifts stacked in an out of the way spot needing to be wrapped and placed under the tree. Are they “enough”? G’damn, I sure hope so. They seem less than I’d like to be putting under the tree this year, but… this is what we had to work with for resources, and anyway, it’s more about presence than presents. I do like presents, no need to be coy about it, but it’s not “the big deal” it felt like in some years past.

I sigh to myself, eager to see the other side of the day, though it should be quite manageable and pretty chill, generally. Pain and illness color my subjective experience of work and even this one moment of quiet, solitude, and peace. It would be ease to slide into anger, frustration, or despair – I’m one bit of bad news or moment of Other People’s Drama away from it almost all the time, these days. Frankly, I’m appalled by the state of American governance, and it lurks in the background of my consciousness however often I attempt to resolve it, somehow. That is one of the “secrets” of human suffering; how often we choose it. I don’t bother with looking at the news today; the president gave another one of his rambling ill-informed misleading fatuous self-serving narcissistic vile and cruel speeches yesterday, and the news feeds will echo that slop for days to come. Fuck that shit; I’d be stupider for every word of his bullshit I allow into my consciousness. I’ll wait for any rationally fact-checked breakdown of that nonsense that may surface, but I certainly don’t want to expose my mind directly to that fuckwit’s voice. (If I’ve offended you, dear reader, my apologies. If you voted for that grifter and his corrupt clown car of cronies, I can’t say I understand your choice at all, but this is a democracy – for now – and it is your right to cast your vote as you will and endure the consequences of your choices, however ridiculous or hateful those look to me. It’s a shame so many other people get hurt along the way.)

I correct my posture, and breathe more deeply. Breathe, exhale, relax. I meditate. I make a point of crafting detailed mental imagery of myself as a woman standing in an airport, setting down baggage and walking away. I feel lighter for doing so, even though it is only an imagined moment. This is a practice that can bring real change of perspective and subjective experience. “Visualization” works as a practice, but indulged without consideration and care, it can drag one into a nasty negative spiral, too. Still a good practice, but associated (as many things are) with an inherent risk. Visualizing trauma and negative experiences or feelings can bring those much closer, rendering them in a very immediate and visceral way that can cause further damage. Visualizing positive experiences and moments (real or pure imagination) similarly renders those in a more immediate and visceral way, seeming to make them “more real”, and incorporating those feelings into our implicit “sense of being” in a truly useful way. Choose wisely.

I read an article recently that touched on the concepts of positive visualization for dealing with anger. If you’re someone who struggles with managing your temper in relationships, flaring up over small things that likely don’t rate that sort of escalated reaction, this one may be worth a read. Useful and practical, the basic idea is that imagining positive interactions, and reinforcing positive feelings about an individual, will tend to improve the relationship with the real person in real life interactions. That seems worth knowing, doesn’t it? Worth practicing? We become what we practice. It may be a poor choice to practice being angry and hateful… It seems unlikely that any of us would actually want to become angry hateful people. I sit with my thoughts awhile.

I stretch and refill my coffee. There’s an entire work day ahead to get through and much to do. It’s already time to begin again.

I’m at a local trailhead, waiting for a break in the rain to walk this trail. It’s dark, not yet daybreak, and a Monday morning. The rain is falling hard, and the wind is blowing hard enough for the strongest gusts to create the appearance of waves on puddles reflecting the lights of the parking lot. If I were to walk now, I’d be soaked almost immediately, and having to fight my rain poncho every step as it whips about. No thanks. I’ll wait. 😆

The weekend was lovely. I sit thinking about the upcoming Giftmas holiday. It is shaping up to be a merry one, if modest in scale (appropriate to these peculiarly dark times here in the US).

My mind wanders to work. I pull it back to this quiet moment, here. Now is mine. At least, this “now”, right here is mine. I make a point to be present, here, listening to the wind and the rain. I think of other rainy moments that left lasting memories for one reason or another. In the distance, I see holiday lights shining through the trees along the creek beyond the vineyard, most likely decorating some otherwise hidden apartment balcony. Seeing the lights makes me smile. Seeing communities “dressed up” for the holidays in colorful lights is one of the best parts of the winter holiday season (to me).

Things on my to-do list for today continue to intrude on my consciousness – or try to. I continue to set a boundary with myself; this is not that time.

The rain stops, starts, and stops again. It’ll be daybreak soon. Can I get down the trail and back to the car before the rain starts up again? I decide to chance it, and grab my cane and pull on my poncho.

I’m most of the way along the trail before the rain begins to fall again, softly. I’m almost back to the car before the intensity increases from a soft sprinkle to a seasonally typical downpour. The heavy rain catches up with me just as I reach the car. I feel fortunate. I’m not soaked to the skin, missed the worst of the rain, got a good walk, and managed to avoid tromping through any deep puddles. I’m chilly and damp, but otherwise fine. I get comfortable in the car and start drying off with a microfiber towel from my gear bin, grateful for the gear I keep in the back for whatever emergencies might arise (and for hiking and camping).

The gear bin in my car sometimes gives a sort of “Mary Poppins” vibe; I often surprise myself with what is in there, and how prepared for what sorts of things I actually am. This delights me every time I open the bin with some need to address and find that I’ve got just the thing, although I often don’t recall that I put it there. 😆

The wind is blowing ferociously again. It almost drowns out the sounds of my tinnitus. I close my eyes and am fascinated by how much I am reminded of the seashore.

There’s really nothing particularly noteworthy about the morning. As is so often the case, it’s an ordinary weekday morning. The pain I’m in makes me aware of my fragile mortality for a moment, but as bad as it is, it’s not the worst I’ve known. Far from it. I’m grateful to experience the morning aware that things could be much worse; it is reliably useful perspective. I continue to sit with my thoughts awhile longer. I’ve got a little while left for myself before the desk in the library I’ll be working from today will be available. It’s still too early. I think about coffee.

I think about holiday cards (we haven’t done them this year and probably won’t; at some point I had to admit I don’t have the energy, or the will). I think about the last bit of gift shopping yet to do. I think about Giftmas morning and brunch. Biscuits and gravy this year? I find myself wanting to pair that with Bloody Marys, as my Dad would have done most Giftmas mornings. I rarely drink, and the thought makes me smile; it’s an idea built purely on nostalgia, and maybe some desire to celebrate a certain gratitude for the holiday magic my parents achieved in spite of hardship. I’ve carried that holiday spirit into the rest of my life, year after year, and I’m grateful that it continues to last.

Curtains of dense rain continue to sweep over the car. The wind rocks it with the firmest gusts. I am warm and dry, and grateful that I am not forced to be outdoors in this. There’s privilege implied in being free to choose to walk on a rainy day. I’m grateful for the choices I have in life. I may never be wealthy (nor have any notable affluence), but I do get to choose whether (and when) I walk in the rain. That’s more good fortune than many folks have. I sit thinking about that for a few minutes longer.

In spite of the darkness of the stormy morning sky, eventually daybreak comes, and it’s time to begin again. I sigh to myself, and get the day started.

I woke with a song in my head, and a lingering recollection of strange dreams, rich with layers of meaning, hinting at the importance of living life, rather than merely enduring it or haplessly existing while someone else calls the shots.

… Thanks, Iggy Pop, you definitely know some things about living life…

Choose. It’s your life, live it. Don’t just stand there, do something. It is your path to choose, your journey to make, your destination to select, and your success to define your own way. You have a lot of power to create change. There are, of course, verbs involved. Go where you will in life, no one else will do the work for you… but don’t let that stop you from making the journey.

I reach the trailhead before daybreak and sit with my thoughts awhile. The Giftmas holiday season is, at least for me, a fairly introspective time. I think about where I am, where I’m going, how I’ll get there. I think about my relationships: personal, professional, familial, and now, in the 21st century, even the parasocial experiences that may shape my thinking.

Daybreak comes.

This morning I wait for the sun. Why not? It’s a choice that also serves to improve my Traveling Partner’s experience; he’ll maybe get to sleep in a bit.

When the sunrise begins, with streaks of magenta in a cloudy sky, I stretch and grab my cane to get started down the trail. No rain this morning, but the ground is soggy, and I see that the farm fields on the other side of the highway are becoming a shallow seasonal lake (which it does every year, once the rains come). It is a favorite resting spot of migrating geese and ducks.

It is a new day, and a new chance to begin again.

When I reach my halfway point, the sun is up, hidden behind heavy gray clouds. It was lovely to see the colorful sunrise. I sit on a fence rail at the edge of the marsh, listening and watching, breathing and being. Sometimes that’s enough. A “lust for life” doesn’t require an Iggy Pop level of energy (in my opinion), it’s more about will, and choice, and presence. It’s about being – and becoming. Living life is an active process with so many options and opportunities to choose that we may feel inclined to narrow them down somehow, even telling ourselves we have “no other choice”. That’s rarely true.

I sigh to myself, then correct my posture, and inhale the morning air more deeply, filling my lungs with it, as I fill my heart with this finite, precious, unrepeatable moment. I exhale slowly, letting go of everything that is not here, now, in this moment in which I’m existing. I repeat this exercise several times, feeling lighter, and free of baggage (which I admit, I visualize as having set down on the ground in a pile nearby). I hear geese calling, and see huge flocks taking to the air as groups, filling the sky overhead as they pass. They also have a path to follow. I find myself wondering if they have choices?

Tis the season. A season of migrating birds overhead, and queues in retail spaces. It is a season of sharing and of celebration, for many. For some it is a season of hardship, struggle, and grief. Sometimes tempers are short, and people impatient with each other, but also so very kind and willing to help. Human primates are complicated. I sit thinking about how to be the best person I can, with what I know now. I have more, better, tools and a clearer idea of who I am and who I want to become over the course of this mortal lifetime. I catch myself wondering what might be “next”, just as the rain begins to fall.

Fat cold raindrops spatter my glasses. There’s no cover nearby and I didn’t wear my rain poncho. Choices. Consequences. I get to my feet. I look down the trail toward my next destination. Some shopping. Laundry. Wrap some holiday gifts. Get ready for a new work week. Sure, it’s pretty routine ordinary stuff, but there is room to fit joy in there, and love, and even optimism. Choices. Choose wisely.

I head down the trail. It’s time to begin again.

The soft beeping almost didn’t wake me this morning. I had forgotten to set an alarm, but that is rarely of any consequence, since I also rarely sleep past 04:30 or so. This morning the quiet beeping alarm that goes off at 06:00, my morning medication reminder, was what woke me. I slept in! I even “overslept”, if I want to call it that.

I smiled through my shower and while I dressed, half humming some merry tune. I feel good. Rested. It’s a nice feeling. I let myself feel it without resistance or argument, savoring the moment. I make myself a cup of pod coffee in the hotel room, and double check that I’ll be ready to join my colleagues at breakfast.

There’s a pretty long day ahead, although much of the afternoon and some of the evening will be the office holiday party. I wonder how well rested my colleagues will be? They continued the evening after dinner, heading to some local favorite for cocktails. I rarely drink, and wasn’t inclined to join them. It was around 19:00 when I got back to the room, as it was, and I was already too tired for much more.

City lights, a view from a taxi.

… But I’m not seeing much of SF! 😆 Sightseeing isn’t the point, though.

It’s a strange journey, this thing called “life”. Meeting some of my colleagues in person has been an experience of it’s own. There are some very smart, creative, kind people here, sharing this professional journey, and making their own ways in the world. I feel fortunate to meet them and be received and accepted as their equal. I’ve had some great conversations and many chances to practice listening. I even tried shawarma for the first time!

I tidy up the hotel room. Meditate. Take time to write a few words, and wonder how my Traveling Partner is doing this morning, and hoping he slept well and deeply.

Somehow it’s already time to begin again…