Well, shit. Every now and then, just when I start feeling like maybe I’m “well” and whole, and not beat down by bullshit and baggage, and perhaps just maybe there’s something like a “happily ever after” potentially lurking around the next bend in the path… I have a day like today. It’s been a wild ride…
I spilled my Traveling Partner’s coffee early in the morning, mere minutes before we needed to leave for an appointment we could not risk being late for. It didn’t take long to clean up, but it disrupted my calm rather a lot.
The drive into the city got going pretty nicely, except for some reason my Traveling Partner’s phone wasn’t pairing, and once it did, it seemed all his personalized settings for the truck were gone. Annoying. Negative emotions carry a certain unfortunate contagion, too. It was less than ideal.
Traffic was routine, but the route the GPS selected, while familiar, was the most likely to be congested, and it was pretty annoying to drive past a turn that could have taken me down pleasant country roads. That’s on me though, eh? I know GPS is not “AI” – no intelligence, no understanding, no context to the decision-making. I could have chosen differently, but decided against it. My reasoning was poor, and I paid for that.
We got to the appointment in plenty of time, but in the process of getting the truck parked…well…I… Let me start by pointing out that a) I never measured the height of the truck with the tire on the roof rack, and also b) the height wasn’t noted anywhere obvious as I pulled in. Yep. I entered the parking garage, and as I turned around the bend to the next level up…I scraped the roof rack, tire and all, right off the top of the truck. 😦 Well, shit. Fuck.
…Not my best moment, not my best day…
…It could have been ever so much worse, and both the truck and I are entirely fine. The roof rack? Not so much.
My Traveling Partner got to his appointment. We managed to also get safely home, mostly in pretty good spirits. I went on with the day, dropping pill containers (shit!), knocking over books, bottles, objects… it’s just been that sort of day. Also… it’s been hot. Like seriously fucking hot, and I am grateful that the day was such that I got to spend most of it indoors, in A/C. Like I said, could have been so much worse.
Yeah. Fucking rough. Some days are. My pain is pretty well managed. Things have calmed down. It’s evening. The house is comfortable, and quiet. I’m fine, for most values of fine… and it’s enough. Tomorrow? Yeah, of course, obviously – I’ll begin again. (Again.)
It’s late. Or, it’s early. I suppose it’s a matter of perspective – and expectations. I expected to be asleep right now. From my perspective, it’s quite late. Too early to be awake, by far. It’s just a bit after midnight. I could be sleeping right now… I expected to be sleeping right now… I am not sleeping.
The guest in the room next door (or perhaps directly above me, it’s hard to tell) has left the fan on in their bathroom for what now seems an unreasonable amount of very noisy time. It surprises me that anyone could be sleeping through this ridiculously noisy fan. I’m certainly not. I’m quite wide awake.
I breathe, exhale, relax… and try to “get used to” the noise so I can maybe go back to sleep… (Am I even actually still tired, after “sleeping in” yesterday, and multiple delightful naps today?) I’m not adding annoyance or any particular amount of stress to being wakeful over the noise of a bathroom fan that is not mine, so… I could potentially go back to sleep at any point, once I’ve managed to get past being wakened by this noise. By itself, the noise could be super aggravating (once upon a time definitely would have been). For now, it’s just… well, I’m awake. That’s it. lol I’m awake, and I expected to be asleep.
I sip on a bottle of icy cold water. It’s refreshing. Eventually, I’ll go back to sleep. A couple more hours of sleep, and I’ll wake, shower, have coffee, have breakfast, and get packing to return home. I miss my Traveling Partner. I’m eager to be home. I feel rested and recharged, and were it not for this rather annoyingly timed bit of human misadventure, my away time has been quite nearly perfect (from my perspective). Fucking hell, I do wish someone would turn that fan off, though. LOL I keep sipping on this bottle of water; it is both too late and too early for more coffee.
I stepped outside on the balcony for some air, and it was delightful. I could see the stars – so many stars – and even the Milky Way. Wow. I stood there quietly, breathing in the cool ocean air, listening to the waves.
…Why is there always some asshole leaving a bathroom fan on in a hotel room??…
I sigh, and let go of my expectations. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I’m here. Now. Yeah, there’s a fan going, and that’s not ideal, but it will, eventually, pass. Probably. Maybe. Or I’ll get used to it vibrating noisily in the background. I laugh to myself, and put on my noise canceling headphones for a while. I could probably sleep in these, they’re pretty comfortable…
I’m sitting with my first coffee of the morning. I came prepared, and although it is instant, it’s a good quality instant, and a good cup of coffee. It’s hot, clean tasting on my tongue, and satisfying.
A rainy coastal Monday.
My first sight upon waking, was the rainy day beyond the balcony of my “ocean view” hotel room (which lacks any hint of ocean view, by virtue of being on the first floor, but offers a lovely view of Siletz Bay). The second thing I noticed was a couple of young… sea otters? Seals? They were relaxing on this side of the bay, quite nearby. I went to grab my camera to get a shot of this not-all-that-common sight (usually they’re on the other side of the bay, too far away to get a good picture with my lens). Returning to the balcony, I see that a man walking his dog has also spotted them. Does he stay well back to let them be? Oh, hell no, he’s American; he quickly moves forward to take his fucking dog closer. Jackass. The sea otters (I think, based on how they moved) slipped back into the water as he closed in on them with his (thankfully leashed) dog. I got a couple of truly pointless shots of the larger pod they are clearly part of, as individuals bobbed above the water, and the pod moved on down the bay. Still – what a fun sight. I take a moment to enjoy that, and I forget about the man and his dog.
I woke early enough that the beach was empty (on a rainy morning), and slept in (for real) late enough to wake well past daybreak, dawn, or even sunrise (although there is no sunrise to see on this gray rainy morning, only a homogenous gray sky). I feel rested. I leave the balcony door wide open to let in the sea breeze and the cool fresh air. I sip my coffee, contentedly. I’m here with my pastels, and I can paint as easily from reference photos and from my imagination, as I can from the actual view, so the rain is nothing to me, and doesn’t change my plans, or upset me in any way. It was lovely to sleep so deeply, and to wake so rested. If that were all I got from this trip away, it would be very much worth it.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. My back aches ferociously. The damp climate of a cool rainy summer day on the coast is hard on my arthritis pain, and for a moment I am “feeling my years”, until I think to recall that I’ve had this arthritis since I was 24 or 25 years old – so for almost 40 years – and it’s nothing at all to do with age or aging. I shrug it off as an annoyance of no consequence, and get on with things anyway. It still amounts to an irritating distraction, but little more than that, so far. My tinnitus is not quite silenced by the wind and the waves – it’s a combination of sounds that sort of “drowns it out” when I’m on the coast, close enough to hear the ocean. It’s a nice break from the aggravation of my tinnitus at full volume. I take a minute to enjoy it with my full attention.
It’s not yet late enough for the hotel breakfast, but I rarely find their strange grab-and-go assorted things for “breakfast” to be satisfying, nourishing, or even particularly “breakfast-y”. Just a cheap convenience, and this trip I am more prepared to take care of this fragile vessel. I’ve got salad greens, blueberries, cashews, and hard-boiled eggs in the room fridge, and I make a simple breakfast salad. My stomach isn’t yet particularly interested in food (it’s a bit soon after waking), but it’ll be lovely to have a “real breakfast” once I’m ready to eat something.
These are such mundane details of such an ordinary life – why bother writing any of this down? I dunno, because maybe someone, somewhere, reading this hasn’t sorted it all out yet? Hasn’t “solved for X” in some of life’s math, perhaps, and simply reflecting on the things that work – or don’t – and what matters most (at least now, to me) may be helpful perspective in some way? In 2013, for example, I don’t think it would have occurred to me how much my own choices in life – simple practical decision-making – were responsible for the vast majority of my personal misery. I don’t know that simply saying “you’re doing this to yourself” would have gotten through to me, but perhaps someone simply reflecting on the things that are working well – small, sustainable, simple choices – might have guided me (or at least made me think)? Besides… I just write. It’s a thing I do. (I’m grateful that you are reading. Thank you.) It’s also “for me”; I often go back and read my writing from other days, other circumstances, with new eyes, or seeking new inspiration, or a reminder that “this too will pass”, or that I’ve “been here before”. (One of the lasting consequences of my TBI is simply that I have some memory-related challenges, and some oddities about how I perceive (or don’t) novelty – sometimes I just don’t recognize that I’ve “been through this before”. Helps to have a reminder.)
…I sit awhile, reflecting on how far this journey has taken me over the past 11 years, from being deeply negative, traumatized, mired in despair, and looking for “an exit strategy”, to where I am now – mostly pretty positive, generally contented, often joyful, enjoying life and love (and even enjoying work), and feeling a deep sense of… joie de vivre. It’s lovely. Each sunrise is worth seeing. Each day has something new to offer. Not only is the journey the actual destination…it’s a journey I find worth taking. That’s a long way to come from those dark days standing on the precipice, ready to decide whether to make a permanent end to my pain. I’m grateful that I made the appointment with the therapist who helped me find my way to a better path. (If you’re in despair, please reach out to someone for help. You matter.)
I stand, stretch, and begin to dress. I haven’t yet gone for a walk on the beach (or taken any walk at all yet, this morning). Seems a pleasant morning for it. The rain has stopped, the sand is firm, and although the tide is coming in, it won’t be a very high tide – plenty of beach to walk. The morning feels oddly “out of order”, with coffee and breakfast ahead of my walk. I chuckle to myself. This is the sort of healthy variation from a routine that serves to keep my brain flexible and young. I go with it. No complaints. Rigidity of thinking does not serve a human primate well. I breathe in the fresh ocean air deeply, and exhale, imaging blowing my pain out with my exhaled breath. I’m not sure it’s an effective strategy, but doing so amuses me and diminishes the power my pain has over my mind. I stand in the open doorway, watching the gulls and crows down on the beach. Somewhere nearby I hear a woodpecker. Now dressed, the day feels that it has more truly begun. I nibble at my salad, and finish my first coffee. There’s more hot water ready, so making a second cup is an obvious next step; there’s no hurry. This is my life. This is my time. This is my experience. Every step on this path is my “next step” – mine to choose, mine to walk, mine to reflect upon at the end of the day. Although our lives are intertwined and we are interdependent social creatures, we’re also each having our own experience. It matters to be and to choose – and to experience this life that I have chosen. I breathe, exhale, and relax.
…The day stretches ahead of me, unplanned, unconstrained, not yet filled with my choices and the verbs required by those choices. I am my own cartographer. The journey is the destination. It’s time to begin again.
Stress complicates things. Letting it go, when I can, makes sense for a lot of reasons. Ruminating about past events that can’t be changed isn’t very helpful. Worrying about future events that have not occurred is also not helpful. Learning from past mistakes and being prepared for future events or decisions are both excellent strategies, though… Finding balance between the extremes is a worthwhile endeavor.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. I purposefully let go of my stress. I make a point of not exploring deeply what may be driving it. Honestly, it’s just too easy to make it much worse by giving my thoughts over to it, so instead I focus on here, now, this moment – a very useful practice.
… And anyway, the things that cause human primates stress are pretty commonplace, aren’t they?
I breathe the scents of summer as I sit at the halfway point of this morning’s walk. The air smells like rain and the sky overhead is obscured by dense clouds, dark and stormy gray to the north and east, and a smooth homogeneous wash of paler gray to the south. The sky was a clear mild blue across the western horizon at daybreak, but now it’s a soft neutral gray, too. I listen to birdsong and the sound of traffic on the nearby highway.
…My mind wanders to my to-do list, and my anxiety surges. I’m reminded that my Traveling Partner’s health challenges are worrisome, and I struggle to calm myself, briefly. Life has some difficult moments. I feel fortunate to share many of those with my Traveling Partner. I breathe, exhale, and relax, again. I allow myself to acknowledge the legitimate stress that results from my partner’s injury last fall, and the challenges of getting him a skilled diagnosis and the care he needs. (He’s right; our system is badly broken and it shouldn’t be this hard.) Another breath, another attempt to let the stress go. It’s not particularly helpful to get wound up and angry, or to become mired in frustration, feeling beat down or hopeless. Perspective can be hard to achieve. I keep at it. Practicing.
…Breathe, exhale, relax…
Sitting here, the tallest meadow grasses obscure me from the trail. I watch the grass sway in the gentle breeze. I enjoy the solitude. My tinnitus is loud in my ears. It vexes me, but I get some sense of relief by turning my attention elsewhere, listening to the sounds around me: distant traffic, chirps and birdsong of the early birds, the sound of rustling leaves. Quiet sounds, but audible when I turn my attention to those.
… Breathe, exhale, relax…
My background stress day-to-day has reached a point where my morning walks fuel just about enough resilience to carry me through the day, but rarely further. Nights are sometimes difficult, restless, wakeful, and full of troubling dreams. This time I take for myself is now pretty necessary, just due to circumstances, instead of being a pleasant luxury. My Traveling Partner sees it too, and frequently encourages me to take care of myself as a priority. The challenge is that the whole messy business has a certain “failure is not an option” feel to it that is a major cause of my stress. Yeah… That’s a thing. I sigh out loud, missing my Dear Friend acutely; I would benefit so much from talking all this over with her!
… Breathe, exhale, relax…
Just moments in a lifetime. This too will pass. Change is.
I brush the bits of leaves from where they’ve clung to my jeans, and stand and stretch. There’s a list of things to do and time is short. I turn to the trail, to head back to the car. It’s already time to begin again.
…You don’t have to read this. In fact, I strongly suggest you skip it. I’m going to vent a bit, and share too much, and be too angry, and maybe you just don’t need that right now? Fucking drama, right? I know I don’t need this shit… I also don’t need to save it up to blow up over some even smaller bullshit later on. So, I just need to say words. You don’t have to read them, though…
Sure, it could be better, but it could also be a whole lot worse.
I didn’t get enough sleep last night. I woke with my headache “turned up to 11” this morning. My back aches with my arthritis. I’ve been dealing with a ton of “extras” – extra needs, extra tasks, extra negative emotions from people, extra calls on my calendar, extra email threads – and too little actual bandwidth to deal with it all comfortably, or easily, or with any particular measure of grace. Too much to do and I’m stretched to thin to be good at any of it. I’m just doing my best – and it’s clearly not enough to get the job done like a pro.
I catch tears welling up over and over again. Twice they dripped down my cheeks as I sat at my desk trying to focus on the task at hand. So… on top of all the other bullshit, I’m clearly also dealing with my own – while I sit in an open shared “public” professional (cowork) space. It’s awkward. Uncomfortable. Inconvenient. Inefficient. Distracting. (I’m still doing my best.)
…I even saw today coming, because it was pretty fucking predictable, and in no way actually “personal”…
On top of all that? The lights here are too bright. The office is too cold. My tinnitus is crazy loud. I’m noise-sensitive af. I broke a nail below the quick, and the broken bit snagged on the fabric of this office chair and tore right the fuck off – which hurts like hell, but nothing like this g’damned persistent now-going-on-11-years headache that follows me every-fucking-where, and for which no one (thus far) seems to have any useful insight on it, diagnosis of it, or treatment for it. It’s just there. Reliably. For 11 fucking years now.
My smile feels brittle when I have to interact with someone. It’s not real and doesn’t reach my eyes. I’m aware of it, and I feel self-conscious on top of being in pain. I want to do more, and do it better, and “be there” for everyone who needs me to be – especially my Traveling Partner, who’s dealing with his own misery today (and it’s probably worse than mine,) and who definitely needs my help, my love, and my care.
Why bother to drop this on you? Mostly because you’re here. Writing is a way I cope with complex emotion and shit that is overwhelming me. (Are you still reading this?? I did try to warn you…)
I breathe, exhale… I keep trying. I keep going. I just keep stepping through the various motions of various practices and waiting for something to click… for success to catch up with me… My results vary. Today, my results are not everything I need – they’re just all I’m going to get, apparently.
Hard is hard. The chaos and damage of trauma linger way past when we expect it to, and sometimes that really complicates things. It’s easy – too easy – to take all of it personally (it so clearly is not). My poor quality sleep impairs my thinking and limits my resilience. The work day limits my focus – but there, too, I’m struggling. It’s hard to focus. Hard to stay focused when I get there. I’m distracted by what’s going on with me and what’s going on with my partner and his health. Messy.
…Sometimes doing our best doesn’t get results that feel like enough, but it’s not actually possible to do “more than our best”. Frustrating. Enough has to be enough, but often it doesn’t feel like it is. Sometimes, our “best” is within reach, if we just reach farther, dig deeper, but g’damn… when does that ever end?
…I’m tired and I’m frustrated and I’m in pain. Still not personal. Still just sucks. So human. What is there to do about it besides take a minute to breathe, maybe time to meditate, stay on the path, and begin again? Nothing, I guess… but that doesn’t make it any more comforting when it doesn’t feel like enough, or any easier to practice when it doesn’t immediately feel effective.
Evening Light 