Archives for posts with tag: sufficiency

This morning over my coffee I watched a video that resonates with me, another way of saying things about this amazing journey, another way to say “the way out is through”. Maybe you’ll enjoy it too? The Nerdwriter is a personal favorite, and this particular video on “Kintsugi” says much, quite simply.

So, this morning I go forward into the day thinking about the chaos and damage in another way; I am who I am because I’ve been through what I’ve been through, and made the choices I’ve made, and lived the moments I’ve lived… and I like a lot of who I am. There is a balance to be struck between grieving past trauma, and respecting the woman in the mirror; it’s been a hell of a journey, and we’ve come a long way together. Some of my “best” qualities as a thinking, feeling, reasoning, loving, being are a direct result of my brain injury…so… who am I? Am I my trauma? No. Am I some creation beyond or outside my experiences of trauma? Not that either.

I think I’ll stop throwing away broken porcelain. There is a better way. ๐Ÿ™‚

 

I’m smiling over my coffee after a weekend of painting. Switching gears to be ready to head in to the office this morning feels the tiniest bit “artificial” and forced. I carefully consider my “everyday carry” items, checking them off a mental list: access badge, card case, house keys, bus pass, packed lunch… Each item is utterly essential for its purpose, and sufficiently commonplace that I need to have it on me each day, at least as the day begins.

I find myself, as I often do, considering “everyday carry” in a more metaphysical way, and contemplating what I am well-served to have going for me, each day, in my cognitive and emotional backpack as I get the day started. Resilience. I definitely favor making a point to be adequately prepared with emotional resilience each day; I never know when life is going to haplessly knock me down. I like knowing I am prepared to get back up and begin again. Oh, and I’m also going to want to bring as much mindful awareness along for the day as I can; it’s more than helpful to be aware and in the moment, and also to recall that we are each having our own experience. So, perspective gets stuffed into my mental backpack for the day, too. Kindness? For sure, I’m definitely going to be bringing along kindness; I try to plan on enough so that I don’t run out before the day ends. A sense of sufficiency helps ease stress all day long, and minimizes any creeping sense of entitlement that might sneak in somewhere, so I maintain that with great care, too.

What’s in your everyday carry of the heart? How about your cognitive everyday carry? Are you prepared for imagined disasters, but not for the most likely stressors you’ll face each day? Are you prepared for major successes, but not for small failures? Flip that one on its head – are you prepared only for failure, but giving no consideration to success’ sometimes weighty consequences? I’m just saying, it’s a an exercise worth indulging to consider one’s preparedness for the day from the perspective of emotional experience, and of likely real-world events that any one of us might be required to face. We think to double-check that we’ve grabbed our house keys, our credit cards, and our cell phones before we head out for the day, why wouldn’t we also “check ourselves” and ensure we are bringing our best self, and our most skillful self-care along as well?

Some days are rainy. I may need different things in my everyday carry to account for the weather. :-)

Some days are rainy. I may need different things in my everyday carry to account for the weather. ๐Ÿ™‚

Today is a good day to be prepared. Today is a good day to choose, to act, and to change for the better. We become what we practice. We could, if we choose, practice changing the world. ๐Ÿ™‚

“Who am I?” is a more-difficult-than-face-value sort of question, isn’t it? As questions go, it is one of the only ones I can think of that was once capable of spinning me into full-on freak out, real emotional meltdown, just to contemplate it under any sort of pressure to deliver an answer. Thankfully, I outgrew that at some point, and became free to fully consider the question for myself.

“Who are you?”

I wipe paint off my hands with less care than would perhaps be ideal. In the moment, it is enough to be certain of not leaving pigmented finger prints on every carelessly touched surface, and to limit the risk of ingesting paint. I am taking a break from painting, and considering the notion of “identity” – how I choose to answer the question “who am I?” matters greatly to me, although it has little to do with how I am identified to others. An odd byproduct of my musings, I find I am understanding with greater clarity how hurtful it can be to refuse to use someone’s chosen name, insisting on using a given name that they resent, dislike, or that simply doesn’t reflect who they see themselves to be. It’s a dick move to refuse to use the name someone chooses for themselves, regardless why they chose it, or what it may meanย to me; it’s their name, they get to choose it if they wish to. Simple enough.

I can extrapolate that same thinking to cover most any characteristic someone might choose to identify themselves by. Me, for example… I take hundreds of pictures a month, thousands every year (some are even quite good… take enough of them, that’s gonna happen eventually). I don’t consider myself “a photographer”. I write poetry… one or two poems, reliably, every week at a minimum. Many hundreds over a lifetime. I rarely refer to myself as a poet, and this in spite of the fact that my one currently completed (as yet unpublished) manuscript is a book of poetry. I don’t paint every day, or even every week – in fact, there have been even a couple of actual entire years during which I did not paint, or sketch… but I do consider myself an artist, specifically a painter. Funny which things become part of my sense of self, my “identity” and which do not. Stranger still how little the qualities that define me, for myself, have anything whatever to do with how others may define me.

Letting go of attachment becomes most challenging when I amย asked to let go of my attachment even to the words and ideas I have used to identify and define myself, within. I am an artist whether I paint or not – why is that? Is it any more “real” or “true” than any other element of my “identity” and sense of self? Am I harmed or changed in any way by not having defined myself as a photographer or poet? I still take pictures. I still write poetry. “Who am I?”

I find myself living my experience less tied to the words that may be used to describe it, just enjoying the rain as it falls, drenching meadow and marsh. Sipping a fresh cup of coffee, watching paint dry, and contemplating something beyond the words of the question “who am I?”, and living each moment awake, and aware, without being particularly concerned about who I may seem to be… even to the woman in the mirror. Today it is enough to stand naked and free and to answer the question “who are you?” with the simplest of wordless replies, “I am”. It is enough to be. ๐Ÿ™‚

The barking began at dawn. It continues even now. It’s not unusual; I have a neighbor with a dog that barks any time it is left outside, which is… often. It is frustrating and annoying, and incessant. The neighbor has received many complaints about the dog and the barking, and the reply is generally the same, “Well, I’ve tried to teach him to stop barking, but it doesn’t work. Dogs bark.” I gave that some thought, at the time, and even during the six months that I was home every day, I don’t recall ever seeing that neighbor working with their dog, at all. I wondered then, and this morning, what exactly my neighbor “tried”. I don’t see anything going on that looks like practice or training.

Dogs can indeed be trained not to bark (at the moon, at shadows, at strangers, because they are lonely…), it requires practice. Do the thing. Do it again. And again another time, and again after that. Then repeat all the practicing. Begin again, again. There are verbs involved, and a practice is not a noun, however much it may seem to be based on its function in a sentence. It requires consideration. Awareness. Intention. Will. Did I mention the practicing?

I’m sure my neighbor would be irked with me to hear me suggest that she isn’t actually making any particular effort to train her dog not to bark every hour of the day it is left outside. No doubt she believes her internal narrative that she “tried everything” and “nothing worked”. Haven’t we all said as much to ourselves – and our friends and loved ones – about something? Is it really the true literal truth in fact? Have I indeed “tried everything”? Have I truly practiced the needed practices with the necessary constancy? Have I tried, failed, and begun again sufficiently often? Or… did I try, fail, and then tell myself that I tried and failed and therefore “it didn’t work”? I see a difference there. Once I noticed that difference, it became more difficult to allow a negative experience to be who I am; we become what we practice.

Yes, there are verbs involved. No, change doesn’t happen solely because I’ve accepted that change would have value, or even because I am desperate to experience change. One evening in the yard training my chronically barking dog isn’t going to change that dog’s behavior long-term (or maybe at all) – practice is an ongoing thing.  So it also is with anxiety, with depression, with anger, with emotional volatility, with disorder, with sloth, with overeating, with nail biting… Hell, any number of troubling or challenging human experiences can be eased with one practice or another – if change is actually practiced. Fail. Begin again. Practice. We become what we practice. (Not one word of that implies “easy” or suggests effort would not be required.)

It works in a subtle way; even practicing ignoring that barking dog has an outcome rooted in incremental change over time.

Is your dog barking? What will you do about it? Endure it? Change it? There are verbs involved, and the choices are yours. So is the requirement to practice.

About that barking...? (photo by Emma Harris, used with permission)

About that barking…? (photo by Emma Harris, used with permission)

A very long time ago, I “tried meditation” and “it didn’t work for me”. I went forward in life for many years (decades) quite convinced by that experience that “meditation doesn’t work”, and gave it no further thought. My PTSD symptoms worsened over time, rather than improving. After all, dogs bark. We become what we practice. I didn’t understand why I wasn’t getting any better… hadn’t I “tried everything”?

In 2012, I stopped trying. I wasn’t sure what I would do instead, hell, I wasn’t sure I even wanted to live any more. I mention it because that seems a long time ago now, although it has been only 4 years since February 2013, when I started actually practicing meditation (and some other things) – and I do mean really practicing. Daily. Reliably. Even when I “don’t have time”. Even when “it isn’t convenient”. Even though I “wasn’t sure I was doing it right”. Even though I “wasn’t sure it would work”. Even when I found myself certain “it isn’t working”. Even when I thought “my life was falling completely to pieces”. Even when I thought “love might be lost” over my chaos and damage. Even when I wasn’t sure I wanted to live at all. I kept practicing, and failing, and beginning again.

We become what we practice. By practicing calm, I have become calmer. By practicing perspective and sufficiency, I have gained perspective, and learned what is “enough” for me. By practicing non-violence, I have become more peaceful. By practicing feeling content, I have become more able (and likely) to experience contentment. By practicing being awake and aware in this moment, I have become more present in my life, and in my relationships. By practicing listening, I become more likely to hear what is being shared. By practicing kindness, I have become kinder.

Today is a good day to practice being the human being I most want to be. Isn’t every day? ๐Ÿ˜‰

What an odd night. I woke once during the night unsure of where – or when – I was. It took some minutes walking through quiet rooms, a disoriented groggy stranger in my own experience, to remember myself. I returned to sleep easily and without stress. I woke again later, some noise or another, and again returned to sleep. Having taken a day off of work for an appointment, I thoughtfully reset my alarm sometime when I woke during the night, and got an extra hour of sleep. I woke feeling rested and content, sometime between when I ordinarily wake, and the time I for which I had reset the alarm.

The morning has not been the slightest bit routine. Usually it is pretty fixed: meds, yoga, meditation, shower, dress, coffee, write, tidying up, then off to work. This morning I dilly-dally over my coffee, in my yoga pants, having not yet yoga-ed at all (What the hell is the past tense for that verb?? …Then I remember that it is a noun,ย and that I am an abuser of good grammar.) I sipped coffee on the patio, though, feeling the pre-dawn chill of a mild winter morning, and listening to the geese on the marsh, and the horn of the distant commuter train. I rely on habit and routine to ensure, day-to-day, that my self-care needs are met, and recognizing that stepping away from those routines and habits could come at a cost (if I fail to follow through on practices that I know benefit me greatly) my alarm is set at intervals to remind me before the clock runs out on the morning.

Easy enough to shrug it all off and say “what does one day matter if I don’t…?”, but I actually know that in some cases, for me, it really does “matter”. There are differences. No yoga? By day’s end I will be less mobile, less flexible, and in more pain. No meditation? By midday, I’d likely be edgy, irritable, and at risk of losing my shit over something small or inconsequential. No shower? Well, come on now, does this have to be explained? If nothing else, the lack of basic hygiene would hint at disordered thinking when my Traveling Partner turns up later, and that would be a source of concern for him, not to mention that basic hygiene is… well… basic. (One of my own first alert “symptoms” that my mental or emotional health is slippingย is that I begin to find it “hard to drag myself into the shower”, versus enjoying the sensuous pleasure of warm water on bare skin.) No getting dressed? For me that’s also no going out. lol I have stuff to do. Getting dressed is definitely happening, preceded by showering, and yoga will definitely be a thing, and while I’m at it, I’ll meditate somewhere between yoga and heading out for my appointment – and probably a time or two later on, also.

I notice the time. My perspective shifts and I feel the day as “busy” although it is far less so than usual. The clock ticks on. I have less time to do “all the things”. I feel a surge in anxiety, briefly, and recognizing it is merely my moment of time-related awareness, I let that go. There is no rush. There is only this moment here, writing, sipping coffee, enjoying the morning. I have an alarm set to remind me of theย time, and that timing is based on still not having to rush. Since it hasn’t gone off yet, I am most definitely not in any hurry to be anywhere else. ๐Ÿ˜€

I swallow the last of my now-cold coffee. I check my spelling ever so carefully (fully knowing that both the spellcheck and I will miss something.) It’s time to move on with the morning, and with the day.

It's not really "made of gold", it's more a matter of perspective.

It’s not really “made of gold”, it’s more a matter of perspective.

Today is a good day to go and do and be. Today is a good day for love. Today is a good day for a moment of sunshine, a smile, or a friendly word. Today is a good day to be the woman I most want to be. I think I’ll go do that. It’s enough. ๐Ÿ™‚