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Learning to Live with My Bestie

June 3, 2015 //
1

I slept well again last night. It’s wonderful. I definitely needed the sleep. By midday yesterday, after a great night’s sleep the night before, my body and mind were pretty certain sleep was the thing, and I wanted more than anything to go home at lunch time for a nap. 🙂 Instead, I went home for a sandwich and some yoga, enjoyed a walk in the fresh air, and got back to work. It was a long day, but a short ‘commute’ home – I was ‘in for the night’ by 7:00 pm , and by 8:00 pm I was fed, showered, and curled up under the covers teasing myself with the promise of reading for a while. I went straight to sleep and woke to an alarm clock I had fortunately remembered to set.

This morning, my pour over coffee is luscious, warm, and crafted according to my preferences. I didn’t have to ask, or compromise, or go out for it. I can count on me for a good coffee in the morning. I am learning how much I actually can count on me, for all sorts of things. The last two times in my life I have made an attempt at living alone were characterized by fairly chronic anxiety, insomnia, and poor decision-making, and like living with an ill-tempered child. This time is rather like an idealized version of living with my best friend. It’s still just me, here; I  have learned to treat myself fairly well. What matters most [to me] is clearer, and what to do about it seems more obvious [to me].

Although I am having my own experience, I am still a human primate; intimacy, connection, and contact are important to me. I thrive on love. Affection matters. Touch matters. Feeling valued matters. Being visible is a big deal, emotionally. Adjusting to how those things fit into this new context is taking some time, and firm adherence to good self-care practices; I rely on myself to take care of me almost entirely now. I’ve been here before, but this is my first shot at doing it skillfully, effectively, and achieving notably good results. I still want, need, and count on the positive interactions I enjoy with others to fill emotional needs for connection, and contact. I am a social creature, and even at my most reclusive I thrive when I enjoy close connections with others. There are, of course, verbs involved. My choices matter; interactions are not all equally valuable, or equally pleasant. My results vary. 🙂

Yesterday I went to the mail box after work, I’m not getting much mail here yet but I know bills and statements will be coming to this address now. There is a certain loneliness in an empty mail box, living alone. I opened the box…nothing. Oh, wait…there at the back…an envelope. I noticed happily that it appeared to be a real letter, and from someone dear to me. A ‘welcome home’ card! The handwritten note inside commented that she thought I might like to get some mail that isn’t a bill. I felt understood, valued, and loved. It was a nice moment. I am peculiarly sentimental about such things; I will keep the card for some time.

A smile came in the mail today, wrapped in a plain envelope.

A smile came in the mail today, wrapped in a plain envelope.

I still write letters on paper, and send cards, myself. I do it because of how I feel when I get one, at some moment when I am feeling distant, disconnected, or alone. A few minutes, the price of a stamp, the effort to address an envelope, and the consideration it takes to put the words together and follow them with a 🙂 and a signature are a small price to pay for the powerful moment delivered in a plain envelope. I find myself thinking about sending sweet notes, pictures, drawings and cards to my traveling partner – a sort of love delivery service. Living apart I do miss those small moments of connection, and finding new ways to connect over distance is something I consider often. (Consideration being one of my Big 5, this makes sense to me.)

In moments of great hurt or anger, I find value in letter writing, too, although of the sort I would not generally consider sending; there is clarity in seeing words on paper, and it can be a calming perspective, allowing me to take a step back from the moment, and see things through new eyes. I find writing a good self-care practice, generally, and the act of writing to an individual, about relevant things shared between us, can often soothe my heart in moments of hurt, or ease my anger or doubt, and sometimes helps me gain perspective or understand something better than I did before I saw it in words. I can’t point any fingers at my TBI on this one – I have no idea whether this is a shared experience that many people value, or unique to  me. I am learning to doubt ‘uniqueness’ on a number of levels. 🙂

There is power in our words. We choose them and express what we can. Our lies can affect someone else’s reality. Our anger can do real damage to someone else’s heart. Our lack of consideration, or disregard, can tear down a relationship. Our support and compassion can tear down walls. Our love can change someone’s mind, or heart. Hell, our love can change the world – it just takes a lot of it to overcome the chaos and damage. Even the words we direct at ourselves, in the privacy of our own minds, have enormous power over how we understand our experience, and how we experience ourselves.

I had observed, hanging out with my traveling partner over the weekend, that living alone I miss the welcome home greeting each evening when I get home from work. It’s a poignant moment these days; I unlock the door content and smiling, and there is this instant of pain when I step across the threshold into silence, alone. It’s a hard moment for me.  I wondered last night what I could do, myself, to meet that need. If words matter…can I throw words at the problem? Last night I explored that a bit with a sticky note in the bathroom, on the mirror, reminding myself of some task I didn’t want to forget…and at the bottom of the note I drew a wee heart, and added “You are loved, and thanks for taking care of this right away. You matter.” I had forgotten about it completely when I woke – and seeing it first thing made me smile in much the same way getting the nice card from my aunt did, last night. I don’t know that I have more to say about it, right now. It doesn’t quite rise to the level of a practice, but it was interestingly effective and thought-provokingly so.

I have plans to hang out with my traveling partner this evening after work. I am eager for the day to pass to get to that point; our time together is precious, and pretty wonderful. Living apart highlights the value of the time together, and small things stay small; we both put more into ‘now’, and appreciate the time together in a more willful way. It’s lovely. I don’t waste time wondering why it took living apart to feel this secure about love; I am content to act on what I observe, and I am eager to be in his arms, feeling the warmth of his flesh, and his smile.

I bloom when conditions are right, and in my own time. Don't we all?

I bloom when conditions are right, and in my own time. Don’t we all?

Today is a good day to enjoy the company of a ‘best friend’ I can count on every day, every moment, without ever wearing out my welcome [me]. Today is a good day to appreciate love and lovers, and the value of a hug, and a welcome home. Today is a good day to treat myself well, because it is the best way to treat me. Today is a good day to enjoy the journey.

 

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Categories Anxiety, Brain Injury, Free Will, Healthy Living, Love, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, Spring, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women, Words

Feeling Good Also Takes Practice

May 30, 2015 //
0

This morning I woke feeling anxious. There’s nothing wrong, as far as I can tell. I am not in pain or struggling with difficult circumstances. It is a lovely chill morning, nearer to summer than to spring. I slept with my window open to cool the apartment overnight; it had gotten quite hot after the heat of the day, yesterday. The community of crows that lives in our neighborhood wake much earlier than the people tend to, and they woke me to join in the delights of morning – or perhaps they just didn’t realize I had hoped to sleep in? 🙂

Life is full of lovely moments, and beauty - I have to choose to see it.

Life is full of lovely moments, and beauty – I have to choose to see it.

Once I was up, and sipping my coffee, the anxiety had passed – although like a bad tooth, I could feel it any time my consciousness poked at it. I take a moment to appreciate the time I had taken to put to rest any unrealistic expectations about mood management and ‘happily ever after’, while I was moving in. Waiting for anxiety or disappointment to set in to take care of unreasonable expectations and unverified assumptions is an exceptionally efficient way to make things so much worse when they go wrong – and things do go wrong now and again, regardless of how ideal life may seem in some other moment. This morning isn’t so bad. I’m just experiencing some feelings of anxiety – and they are primarily very physical feelings, rather than being a wholly emotional experience. I sit back with a smile as I write those words – the physical feelings of anxiety are very like another emotion, a generally positive one – excitement. Eagerness, too, feels a bit similar to anxiety, on the physical side of things…and this morning I have plans about which I am quite excited, and eager for the morning to wear on such that it becomes ‘time to go’.

Recognizing that my ‘anxiety’ is actually ‘excitement’ and ‘eagerness’ allows the pieces of that experience that drive stress to dissipate; without the perception that something is ‘wrong’, these feelings are no longer ‘anxious’ at all.

Sometimes taking care of me is as simple as enjoying a flower in my garden.

Sometimes taking care of me is as simple as enjoying a flower in my garden. Sometimes I am that flower.

I continue to enjoy my morning coffee, and to watch the sun rise, filtered through the blinds of the ‘dining room’ window. (Trust me, this small space that is so heavenly to me doesn’t really rate identifying the ‘dining room’ and ‘living room’ as separate spaces. lol) I smile, thinking about yesterday. It ended well; I sold a painting, and bought a comfortable chair for my apartment, and a modest, practical set of pots and pans. It still delights me to observe how conveniently money works to simplify the conversion of art into needed goods. The transaction was a very practical demonstration of money as a spendable form of human effort. (From my own perspective, it has no other legitimate value or purpose. I suppose that says something about who I am.)

"Sunset Silhouette" 12" x 16" acrylic on canvas w/india ink 2014

“Sunset Silhouette” 12″ x 16″ acrylic on canvas w/india ink 2014

I enjoy this small place that is my own. I feel content here. It is strange to be so aware that the good feelings associated with living alone cause some anxiety, themselves, and a certain feeling of uncertain restlessness – particularly when things are going especially well.  As a result, I am more aware this morning that even the very good feelings I enjoy so much may take some practice to handle skillfully – perhaps as much practice as managing feelings of anger, despair, grief, frustration, or hurt.  When I am over-eager, or excited to the point of fidgeting and bouncing through my experience, I tend to make poor decisions, and may lack needed awareness of consequences; there are opportunities to improve through meditation, and mindfulness that are as powerful as learning to comfort myself when I am hurting. When I am content for longer periods of time than I am used to, I am prone to taking that experience for granted, and becoming unreasonably frustrated and disappointed when things go wrong; here, too, practices that improve perspective, self-compassion, and mindfulness also ease the rather mundane and unnecessary stress of a challenging moment on a lovely day.

Awake and aware, each day is a new experience.

Awake and aware, each day is a new experience.

This morning, I am both content, and excited about my morning – and I am taking time to care for this beloved darling broken self that is mine, before I head into the world to face what is real about what is also delightful. I stick with my self-care practices, instead of allowing excitement to drive me forth, unprepared for the day. It may seem a small thing, and in this lovely moment it may even seem unnecessary – it will matter very much later, when I am tired, or frustrated over something small, that I took time to take the very best care of me this morning. Yep. Even living with less stress, and more contentment, there are verbs involved. It is still a journey, and an exploration – I am still my own cartographer.

Today is a good day to enjoy my self – and enjoy the world.

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Categories Anxiety, Art, art and the artist, Brain Injury, Free Will, gardening, Healthy Living, Love, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Roses, Spring, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women, Words

Basics and Bug Bites

May 29, 2015 //
0

I woke to my alarm this morning. I slept through the night aside from one very brief interruption in my sleep that ended with checking the clock and agreeing with myself that getting up at 1:35 am was silly. I went back to sleep easily. I am adjusting to the new environment. There’s no anxiety associated with my disturbed sleep, which is an improvement. I am simply in a new place and the differences make a difference to my sleep until my sense of things grows to rely on implicit memory of this new place, rather than some other place I have been previously. Waking in the night is no longer so disorienting, and when I reached for my alarm this morning my hand found it immediately.

Incremental changes over time do happen, and applying some verbs from my basic self-care arsenal helps that process along nicely. Taking care of me, here, is about more than stress-relieving meditation, pain-relieving yoga, and healthy sleep, too. It is also about dishes, and vacuuming, and making the bed. It is about maintaining order, and a beautiful home for myself – and not because someone else says these things have value (actually, that approach just doesn’t work at all). These are things I value for myself. I can only have them if I do the tasks and take the actions that building that life requires. The verbs are inescapable.

I woke up this morning with a smile. My coffee is hot and tasty and from the vantage point of my desk I can see, on one side, my as-yet-unmade bed, and on the other my very clean kitchen. Timing, too, is part of my self-care picture – waking to a clean kitchen and no dishes waiting in the sink really matters to me. On the other hand, there is no stress or pressure to make my bed upon rising, and I am happy to give myself time to wake up and have coffee and handle that task a little later. I am gentle with myself in this new space. I am efficient, and also patient with myself about competing priorities, and overlapping needs. I have given up berating and criticizing myself over small things – it’s mean and hurtful when others do it, and I don’t care for it – when I inflict such things on myself, it goes beyond hurting and becomes part of who I am, and changes what I accept from others, or tolerate in myself. It hasn’t been easy to give up the practice of treating myself poorly in the context of environments in which others may be treating themselves poorly, or me, or other people – it’s too much continuous reinforcement of behaviors I have been working to change.

I’m not saying it is ‘easy’ now – there are still verbs involved – it just feels a bit less complicated to practice treating myself gently in this quiet space.

They set a good example of living in the moment.

They set a good example of living in the moment.

My aquarium arrived yesterday, and having it set up here at home delights me. I definitely missed the cadre of tiny eyes watching me while I write, and the fish are a wonderful living example of being in the moment – where else would they be? The fios guys stopped round yesterday and got me connected. Later I stopped at the grocery store and picked up groceries – a far less time-consuming process cooking for one, and that one being me (I know what I like, what is healthy for me, and don’t have to work so hard to accommodate other tastes and needs now) – particularly with the store being a short walk away. My pantry is not yet complete. I don’t have a complete set of pots and pans, either. Those details don’t matter right now; I have enough.

It has been just one week since moving day, and I am moved in (aside from hanging paintings, and storing those that will not be hanging). I feel at home already, and this surprises me – I expected ‘finding my way home’ to be more complicated, and require vastly more work to change…something. Something inside myself. Whatever that something is, it has apparently already changed leaving behind only geography and choices to make. There is no need to rush the choices that continue to personalize my home over time – there is fun in the process of exploring new ideas, as well as growth, and rushing those remaining choices increases the risk of being discontent with the outcome later. I take my time with it, and enjoy the process.

Honestly, it is still very new to live entirely alone. My traveling partner wondered aloud recently what it would be like for me once the novelty wears off. I wonder too. I also wonder if I would notice the novelty wearing off at all – my novelty identification circuitry is quite broken. lol Would I complain if living alone continued to be a wonder and a delight indefinitely? I don’t think I would. 🙂 Real life is real, though, and I’m okay with that too. The kitchen floor creaks ferociously here. The fios equipment is rather awkwardly placed. The dishwasher (brand new) doesn’t work and it will be another couple of days before the appliance guy comes to fix it. My aquarium is not arranged precisely as I had it – the mover did her best, and I did not complain; I am content to have my aquarium at home, and I can make any adjustments I care to, later. The warm evening yesterday, and the open door while the aquarium mover moved my aquarium let some mosquitoes into the house and I woke with some mosquito bites this morning. So, sure… there’s no shortage of imperfections even in this gentle experience. I’m still okay with that. I’m living my life, doing my best to treat myself and others well, and using some verbs.

Who I am, who I once was, and the journey between those points.

Who I am, who I once was, and the journey between those points; it is enough.

 

I am home.

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Categories Brain Injury, Free Will, Healthy Living, Love, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Sleepless Nights, The Art of Being, The Big 5, Words

Simple Things

May 28, 2015 //
0

My coffee is hot and tasty, and potentially ‘the best cup of coffee ever’, although realistically that only tells me that I am enjoying it very much right now, relative to the memory of other coffees, at other moments. The move took me out of reach of the very excellent espresso machine in the very excellent and spacious kitchen. My wee kitchen here at home lacks the counter space for such a thing, and I shopped and studied, and auditioned coffees around town made this way and that, and decided I would enjoy mastering the ‘pour over’ method of making coffee.

The first couple of days in the new place, I got by on instant coffee, which seemed fairly commonplace for moving and didn’t disturb me, although the coffee itself was quite ordinary, and not especially pleasant. It was, in fact, the sort of coffee that people who don’t drink coffee use to justify how awful coffee drinking is. lol I still savored the moment, each morning, when I paused for my coffee, sometimes enjoying it on the patio, bare toes wiggling in the cool morning air, and listening contentedly to the birds, or watching the squirrels play. The moment itself is not truly about the coffee. 🙂

Choices come in many forms.

Choices come in many forms.

When the burr grinder, drip cone, and gooseneck kettle arrived it was late in the afternoon on a Sunday – generally a poor choice of day and time for a coffee, since drinking coffee in the afternoon generally affects my sleep quite a lot…but Monday would be a holiday, and I had no plans aside from continuing to get moved in…so…coffee!! I ever-so-carefully reviewed the steps, and then followed them…eager…hopeful…excited… Would it be everything that the fragrant, smooth, exotic pour overs I had recently savored at downtown cafes and the farmer’s market seemed to be? Would it be difficult to master this new skill? Would the experience – and the resulting beverage – satisfy my taste and my aesthetic? Would it be ‘enough’?

The first sip was quite excellent – and each coffee I have made since then has seemed so. I enjoy the relaxed precision of the process itself, and making a coffee is now more involved, requiring me to be more aware of the process itself – and that too feels quite satisfying.

I could have been more frugal, with a drip coffee machine, perhaps, and buying coffee already ground. I’d get by on that, and likely find myself content to have my morning coffee, regardless. I  considered a French press – and perhaps that is an option for another day, for making a larger quantity of coffee to share with friends or lovers….I enjoy a good French press coffee, too. That’s the thing, isn’t it? Good self-care, and the tender act of savoring each pleasant moment life offers me isn’t truly about which practice, what method, or the sort of moment, is it? This morning it seems clearer to me that it is about the experiences, themselves, and the act of savoring them, most of all; it is the living of life that is what matters most, and that I embrace my experience awake, aware, and with a sense of perspective. Or…something. Perhaps it is simply about an excellent cup of coffee, that I made for me, myself, on a lovely quiet morning, after a good night’s sleep?

This morning, in spite of waking in a great deal of pain, I feel more settled into new routines. I feel comfortable and content – and relaxed. I woke with a smile that has lingered through my shower, and remains, hovering over my coffee. I look around and see living space filled with my choices, and that meets my needs, nurturing this fragile vessel, and supporting the growth of the being within it. The smile makes sense; I am taking good care of me.

Today is a good day to make choices that support my needs over time. Today is a good day for smiles that linger, and a feeling of contentment. Today is a good day for sufficiency, and the pleasure in simple things. Today is a good day to change my world. (There are still verbs involved…and your results may vary.)

 

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Categories art and the artist, Brain Injury, Free Will, Healthy Living, Love, Metaphors, Mindfulness, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, Sleepless Nights, Spring, The Art of Being, The Big 5

New Shadows, New Noises

May 27, 2015 //
2

I got moved into my new place over the Memorial Day weekend. Movers came and went, and my travelling partner gave me a hand on moving day by taking a look around the house and spotting some things I missed when I carefully sifted through a shared household of more than two years, attempting to gently extricate myself and my household goods from the life I would be leaving behind. All that remains is to move my aquarium later this week. I am surprised at how much I miss my fish.

There was little sadness to it for me; it was a long time coming. I need space to paint, uninterrupted time to write and to meditate, and prefer to live in an environment of reciprocal courtesy, consideration, and shared values – or alone. I don’t cohabitate easily with others, and I am pleased to be at a place in life where choosing not to is quite acceptable.  I handled most of the move entirely alone, aside from the movers – that was eerie, and by far the most disturbing thing about the move was the peculiar way the household withdrew from me in the days prior to moving day. Aside from noticing it, though, there really wasn’t time to invest in that experience emotionally. There was too much to do to allow myself to be distracted by emotional bullshit or games.

In the nights leading up to moving day my sleep became disturbed and restless. Fatigue was a probable culprit in the few emotional moments I did struggle with on moving day. I’m still not sleeping deeply, or through the night, yet. It may be some time before I get to that place; there are new shadows, and new noises, and in the dim of night the shapes of things are no longer familiar. I’ve stubbed my toes several times, and my shins are black and blue from walking into things that are not where I expect them to be. I am in familiar territory here, and this will pass as my implicit memory of my living space improves over time. I am at least getting the rest I need, nightly, and I am not anxious when I am wakeful.

Simple beauty

Wild roses along a new path.

So…here I am…in my wee home, surrounded by paintings not yet hung, and silence – well, at least right now it is very still and quiet. It is just past 4:00 am, and the loudest thing I hear is my tinnitus. I woke around 2:30 am. Meditation didn’t ease me back to sleep. I am in pain, and although yoga helped relax me, and ease the pain, it did nothing to improve the odds of going back to sleep, tonight. I tried another strategy or two or three…and laughed out loud in the darkness when I realized that there was no chance getting up would disturb anyone else, now. 🙂 One luxury of living alone; my restless nights don’t mean a restless night for anyone else.

With so many things about living alone, so far, it is the ease that stands out. I have come too far to make assumptions that I will remain in a state of continuous contentment, or that I will never feel lonely, insecure or fearful. I have no expectation of perfect uninterrupted delight, or heightened satisfaction in all things. Assumptions and expectations hold so much potential to wreck a good experience, or to mislead me. I am content, for now, with simply being, and taking time to sort out who I am, and what I want and need from my experience of myself. I am enjoying the luxury of living alone, and I do so knowing I am quite human – there will be dark days, moments of sadness and doubt, and I will surely cry tears that I don’t see coming, sooner or later. I’m okay right now, though.

There is still a lot to sort out to get my new place in shape to paint without making a mess of things – and I’m eager to be painting again. Now that the move itself is behind me, it’s time to figure out new routines, and new self-care timing. Many of the cues and reminders I have counted on have been associated with shared experiences, or the behavior and activity of others. Hot flashes this morning remind me that I will have to rely on myself much more…and I obviously overlooked my hormones last night. I pause to drink water, take medication, and set calendar reminders and alarms. One miss is a mistake, and oversight – missing regularly, or chronically, would be a choice. Yep. There are still verbs involved.

I don’t enjoy living with most people, my traveling partner is a rare exception and I definitely miss him, often. I realized some time over the weekend, as I unpacked so many things that matter to me…I’d been missing me for a long while, too, and I am very much enjoying living with me, now. Right now, it is enough. 🙂

Sometimes the least familiar path is most promising.

Sometimes the least familiar path is most promising.

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Categories art and the artist, Brain Injury, Free Will, Healthy Living, Love, Metaphors, Mindfulness, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, Roses, Sleepless Nights, Spring, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women, Words
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