Archives for posts with tag: the map is not the world

Where Was I?

July 10, 2015 //

I spent yesterday taking care of me: getting some rest, treating symptoms that had flared up, meditating (not at all the same thing as getting some rest), and putting some gentle distance between myself and Wednesday. (It wasn’t that Wednesday was so terrible, it was that small things about Wednesday found me very reactive, and got my PTSD going, which wrecked my sleep…etc; it’s a spiral that has to be interrupted as quickly as practical.) Real sleep was a challenge and other than a very restful nap in the late afternoon, the construction work nearby kept sleep just out of reach until evening. When evening came, I slept easily. I slept well. I slept deeply.

I was so tired I don’t remember taking this picture.

I woke this morning at 4:59 am, just ahead of the alarm – my honest preference is to wake on time without the alarm going off. I dislike the sound of it, and hearing the noise of an alarm first thing before I am even awake does indeed ‘alarm’ me. I did not have to hear it this morning, and I woke feeling alert and… ‘ordered’. I don’t have the right word for that. I need a word that means ‘the opposite of disordered’. It would be more easily pursued and goal-worthy with its own name. 🙂

My coffee is a treat this morning, brewed from a blend of Latin American beans in a medium roast (“Pamplona“) it is a departure from my usual morning preference, which is generally for darker roasts. I am enjoying it without expectations or assumptions, and finding it quite pleasant, with rich, complex flavors. There’s really nothing much else going on right now. It is very early, the sky only beginning to turn shades of blue, and even the crows are quiet for the moment. There is no movement outside, beyond the open patio door, there is no sound besides the trickle of the aquarium and the hushed hum of humanity’s existence, and the rhythmic tap of middle-aged fingers on a mechanical keyboard. It’s quite lovely and still.

A bit at a time, I am getting to know myself on an entirely new level – the ups and the downs take on more meaning; I face them alone these days, most of the time. I am learning not to run from the difficult moments, which are often more manageable than my fears tell me they will be. I rarely cry. That’s a strange realization; I do not know what dried my tears. Is it really so hard just living side by side with other people? Has that, all by itself, been so much of the difficulty all along – more than hormones, more than being the older one, or being the one working, or being the one not sleeping, or… well… or any of it? My PTSD flares up less often, and less severely lately. My headaches are somewhat less frequent, and often less intense. I sleep more soundly, more of the time. Wait…am I right about this? Or is it merely the perspective of the moment?

Perspective matters. Is it a forest, or some trees?

I frequently make generalizations, and sometimes keep them. I’m quite human. From the perspective of this lovely moment, it is easy to reach back in time and connect it to other moments, create trends out of memories… Is there ever a way to be more certain of the truths on which my perspective rests? I give that some thought, and smile. For me there is; I write that much. I’ve kept a journal since I was a ‘tween; I still have every volume since I was in my twenties, although older ones were lost between moves at some point. I paused my journal writing in 2012; it had degraded into obsessive rumination and was doing more harm than good. When I picked it up again, about the same time I went into therapy in 2013, I focused on observational writing: simple, aware, nonjudgmental [at the request of my therapist, and often in a ‘homework assignment’ or ‘question & answer’ format] – and I continue to write, here in this blog, there in my journal, every day. I make notes about my life and my experience. I can ‘fact check’ myself – and regularly do. I don’t use my notes, or my journal, to attempt to correct the misunderstandings or perceptions of others; it is not my role to build, manage, or maintain someone else’s world view, but I have my own, and it is not easily shaken by argument. I have data.

Coffee and journals.

I recently had a conversation with a friend, about a former associate. He said “she remembers things very differently than you do…” I don’t recall the context, but I recall smiling a certain knowing bitter smile. “I’m sure she does.” I said, preferring to move on without further discussion. There is no argument possible on the details, not only because was I there the first time; I made notes. Simple notes. Observational notes. Notes about actions taken. Notes about things said, and behavior in the delivery. Notes that detail chronology very clearly. I have rather a lot of notes, taken daily and summarized weekly. I can refer to them any time. I make a point of doing so because I am on a very particular journey to become the woman I most want to be. Understanding and perspective on who I am are valuable tools. I make a point of checking my notes when the risk of being mistaken is also the risk of hurting someone who matters to me; I am human, and fallible even in my own memory. Human beings rewrite their recollection of events to best suit their own understanding, and generally, more often than not, to make themselves the good guy, regardless how damaging their actions may be. Cognitive dissonance exists. I know where that bitter knowing smile of mine comes from, and it isn’t a happy place; I know people rewrite the how and the why of their actions to excuse mistreating others, because I have chronicled my experience with being mistreated. No stone throwing from me, I’m also human. Bottom line, it is not possible to rob me of my perspective of events, or persuade me to change my view…unless you bring data to the table.

In spite of the note taking, the study, the archived emails, “being right” is not important to me as an experience, and I dislike arguing. It is not a successful way to build an intimate connection, or to enjoy my experience, and my perspective is not subject to outside persuasion in that fashion. We are, however, each having our own experience. That doesn’t take anything from the underlying facts, and whether any one human being can or does acknowledge a fact does not alter the existence of the fact, itself. (More easily expressed as “science does not care what you believe”.) The point I’m making is… of course we each remember things differently than each other, even when we share an experience; our perspective is our own. My violent first husband didn’t consider himself a bad guy, or that his actions were ‘wrong’, generally. I certainly know how damaging his actions were, and the lingering damage definitely suggests he wasn’t ‘a good guy’. Perspective is a very big deal – I rely on my own these days, although I am also learning to listen deeply to the perspective expressed by others, whether I agree or not – it improves my understanding of that human being, what they are capable of, and the relationship we share.

People get very invested in ‘being right’. It isn’t for me to decide that is a mistake for anyone but me – I know my stress level went down a lot when I let go of that baggage and allowed myself to be open to change, open to new understandings, open to learning new information, open to being wrong, and to being mistaken. Being open takes so much less effort than being ‘right’, and it is so much less likely to find me being factually incorrect while demanding that my error be given validation as a truth. Being ‘wrong’ turns out not to be particularly scary, and it opens all sorts of doors to new knowledge, improved perspective, growth, and perhaps at some point, wisdom.

Walking my own path, finding my own way, seeking illumination.

Today is a good day for perspective, and a happy genuine smile; my perspective is my own and can’t be taken from me, even by force. Today is a good day for growth, and just being, instead of ‘being right’. Today is a good day to embrace authenticity, and take ownership of my journey – we are each having our own experience, and I am my own cartographer. The map? Yeah, it’s still not the world.

Tags a good night's sleep, being right versus being accurate, emotional self sufficiency, I am my own cartographer, I matter to me, I'm taking notes, mindfulness, perspective, practicing the practices, ptsd, taking care of me, TBI, The Art of Being, The Big 5, the map is not the world, walking my own path, you don't tell me!, your actions tell your truths

Categories Brain Injury, Fiction, Free Will, Logic & Reason, Mindfulness, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, Summer, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women, Words

More or Less, and Enough

June 30, 2015 //

This morning I woke gently, slightly before the alarm clock. I got up feeling nauseous, which is odd; I often feel ill after my morning medication, but I hadn’t had it yet. For the first time in decades unexpected nausea in the morning doesn’t cause me to wonder if I am pregnant. (Yay, menopause!) I lay down for another minute or two to let the nausea pass, if it might be due to getting up too quickly and making myself dizzy. It does pass; I exchange it for hiccups.

It will be a hot day according to the forecast, so I wear cool summer clothes; in the chill of morning I am chilly and feeling a bit underdressed. I know the feeling will pass when I begin the walk to work, and it has me thinking about the a/c in the office – perhaps I should take a light sweater to leave at work for these hotter summer months?

I have worked out the theme and selected the canvases for the long wall along my living room. Many of them have never previously been hung, they do not yet have hanging hardware on them, and some of them are unframed (and clearly meant to be framed). I have a vision, and I am not yet ready to proceed. The lovely sheers for the patio window, too, are ready to hang…only the bracket to support the curtain rod is not quite long enough to reach past the vertical blinds in the intended way.

It isn’t always clear where my path will take me.

In other times in my life any one of these somewhat frustrating circumstances could have blown my day, my experience, or at a minimum my mood. Instead, and seemingly without effort, I feel more or less prepared for each circumstance facing me, and that’s enough. I have forward momentum. I am not stalled in my tracks by other steps, small delays, or minor detours; these experiences are also part of the journey. I didn’t do significant work on this directly – although managing my frustration (rather, my lack of skill at dealing with it) has been on my ‘to do list’ for a very long time. It’s another bit of internal change that is going on as result of other practices, and day-to-day reductions in stress. I didn’t understand the degree to which managing day-to-day stress would improve things that didn’t seem directly stress related in my understanding of things. It’s very efficient, and I smile at the recognition that I am getting a lot of good results from a few simple changes, a handful of good practices, and a commitment to some verbs.

Well, sure, that makes sense…

There is more to do. It feels a little awkward lately how often I sit down to write and find that few challenges speak up to be spoken about within the quiet of my thoughts. That’s no great tragedy, obviously, it just seems a bit unsettling to be so content – happy? – for so long. More than a month with so little drama that drama seems not to exist, and so little stress that I can count on one hand the number of times I have wept helplessly since I moved into my own place – and it doesn’t require all my fingers. I get more moved in every week, and the small details matter. Once I evicted my arachnid roommates (they were not paying rent, and biting me all the damned time), I settled into contentment, and life, on a new level. I don’t know that I have words for it – or that there is any way to share the experience in a comfortable rational way without sounding like I am bragging, or being smug. It is a humbling experience because I am both challenged to express it, and a little frightened by it – if I stare into the face of contentment, will it take its leave of my experience? It’s silly, but I have never been here before and I just don’t really know.

I have lived alone a couple of times previously (it never lasted long), and never found this level of contentment for more than hours or days. My first exploration of living alone was when I left my violent first husband. I moved into a tiny partially furnished apartment in low-income housing. I spent most of my time anxiously peering through the curtains to check if he was still parked outside, sleeping in his car, or looking over my shoulder to determine where he was, somewhere behind me (he often was). It was not ever an experience characterized by contentment. I was trying to survive. The next time I made an attempt to live alone I had left my first husband permanently, and although I loved my quiet beige and white apartment, I spent most of my time anxious that my ex was still stalking me, worried about money, and struggling with my libido. Living alone didn’t last long, and it was not an experience characterized by contentment; I was still looking for ‘happily ever after’, contentment was not an idea whose time had come for me. I don’t consider experiences with barracks life, or shared living, any sort of ‘living alone’ – there are just too many people outside those doors to qualify in any way as ‘solo living’ in the same sense. I also can’t realistically count circumstances where I was alone for a time when housemates, family, or partners were away for however long; not my house, not my rules, not my way.

I didn’t know what to expect when I moved into Number 27. I love this place. Oh, sure, it’s a rental and it’s an older one. The carpet is worn. The appliances (whether new or not) are modest, fairly sturdy and commonplace sorts. The kitchen and bathroom are small, on the edge of ‘cramped’. It is in a largish community, and my windows look out onto the lives of others. Generally speaking, it’s an ordinary enough sort of rental of (as it turns out) minimal square footage to be comfortable for me. I moved in prepared to struggle with sorrow, loneliness, frustration, privation, isolation… and I’ve had brief moments of sorrow, usually hormones or fatigue are involved, the loneliness turns out to be less about whether I am alone and much more about the quality and nature of interactions I have with lovers, however remote. Frustration? I don’t know, now and then I guess, in a very ordinary way, hardly attention-getting. Privation? Not a thing here. Isolation? Also not a thing here. This is my home. I love it here. I don’t mind that it is an older rental and a bit run down; I keep a tidy well-cared for home, and it is mine, and it is lovely and welcoming. The small ordinary details that fall short of ideal teach me what I am looking for in a ‘forever home’… which may turn out to be very like this wee place that is so very much home to me now (perhaps a bit larger in the kitchen, bath, and living room…) only situated somewhere a bit more private.

I once spent a lot of time daydreaming about ‘the perfect home’, and in my daydreams it kept getting grander, larger, fancier, more remote, more secure, with more interesting luxuries, more features, more gadgets…turns out, in real life, all I really want and need is… enough.

The path branches, forks, detours, and the way is not always clear – but the journey is what it is, I am my own cartographer, and enough is enough.

Today is a good day to let events unfold with an open mind. Today is a good day to coast through the small challenges on a smile. Today is good day for ‘enough’.

Tags being and becoming, caring for this fragile vessel, coming home, contentment, emotional self sufficiency, enough is enough, experience, finding my way home, finding sufficiency, good self-care, home, home and hearth, meditation, mindful living, mindfulness matters, my house my rules my way, perspective, practicing the practices, ptsd, self-acceptance, taking care of me, TBI, The Art of Being, The Big 5, the map is not the world, walking my own path, what matters most?

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

Meditation Over Coffee

June 24, 2015 //

This morning I chose meditation over coffee. It’s not as if I’m going to skip the coffee, there’s time for both on most any morning. Generally coffee gets to the head of the line as soon as my eyes open, but this morning I woke, somewhat groggy, pleased to have slept through the night, but feeling some nagging sense of ‘being unsettled’ that I have come to associate with ‘needing to meditate’. I am beginning to learn self-care in real-time response to needs (before they become crises, or events), allowing habits to be infrastructure instead of relying on them utterly. Incremental progress over time.

One coffee, one moment – but the picture is not the beverage.

Choices matter. Meditation calms me, and sweeps in stillness and a feeling of being centered, where I had felt some vague unease when I woke. Change sometimes makes me feel uneasy, even positive changes. I enjoyed time in the company of the wanderer last night, and ended the evening feeling well-cared for, in the context of great affection and high regard. It was a lovely evening. It was a good time, and I’m still smiling. I likely woke uneasy as I struggled with my baggage, and having given priority to meditation first thing, I get to the part of the morning where coffee is a thing feeling content, calm, and that things are right in my world.

A different coffee, another day – and a question; why do I have so many pictures of coffee?

Balance matters, in relationships and in life, and I find myself eager to exchange morning greetings with my traveling partner, and find out how his evening was, and share smiles and Love before the workday starts. If we lived a bit closer, if he were likely to be up at this hour, if there were no commuter traffic…I would invite him to join me for morning coffee. It is a morning that I would greatly enjoy his charm, his affection and his conversation. It hints at lingering remnants of unhealthy co-dependence that when my phone hums a notification, I check to see if it is from my traveling partner, with a hint of disappointment attached to each coupon offer that arrives. There is still work to do. I have plenty to learn about life, about love, about treating others – and myself – truly well. It’s not the eagerness to hear from him that is the sign of co-dependence; Love is eager. It’s the subtle anxiety that results from not hearing from him, although there is no explicit expectation that I will, or requirement that I must, and no need to feel anxious, at all, that causes my concern about co-dependent behavior and thinking. Baggage – and not even baggage associated with my traveling partner! How unfair is that? I’m still carrying baggage from other relationships, in which I was treated poorly, manipulated and punished with jealousy, and petty possessiveness, and confused with ever-changing rules that could not be mastered and benefited no one. That is not now. I smile and the anxiety eases; this is a different life, in the company of well-chosen friends and lovers. There is nothing to fear aside from allowing fear to drive my decision-making, or color my experience. 🙂

It’s not about half full or half empty – I’d rather consider ‘is it enough?’

I sip my coffee and think of 18-year-old me, heading for adulthood and innocently thinking that I could simply choose to be who I am, and joy would be waiting for me. My optimism didn’t last – and no wonder; it was built on a foundation of chaos and damage, and wishful thinking. I lacked the skills I would need to live the life I wanted, and lacked the awareness of my lack of skill. Life’s obstacles at that age seemed so personal, and so targeted. The “world” wasn’t ready for me, either – and I lacked the experience I would gain over time that now allows me to stand, facing the world with a smile, and say “you don’t need to be more ready than you are; this is who I am”. I don’t regret leaving youth behind, when I think about how damnably awkward and unsatisfying it was at the time. lol

A picture that isn’t coffee, selected in error – and a great metaphor for gnosis; we are often right on top of the illumination we seek, unaware we have all we need to be enlightened.

I am still a student, and life’s curriculum is endlessly rich, continuous, variable, repetitive, complex, obvious, wonder-filled, and sometimes studded with frustrations and disappointments. There is a lot to learn. I’m fortunate that I have so many opportunities to learn lessons about Love, love, and loving; I have a lot to learn, and a great deal of enthusiasm for the topic. Being as passionate and involved with the woman I spend the most time with (me) has been a very big deal for teaching me skills that I can put to work loving others. It’s a bit puzzling that I get to this place in part through making the choice to live alone… It is what I need for myself, right now.

Mmm…my traveling partner makes an amazing latte. Of course I miss that. 🙂

I do miss living with my traveling partner, especially in the morning. There’s something quite wonderful about being able to reach for him and find him there, or sharing small delights in the moment. Still, the challenges of the bit of distance are worth mastering to once again experience compersion as his relationship with his other partner improves, and to once again experience the great delight of novelty in our own experience together; passion loathes boredom or complacency. For now, my progress in therapy needs some space to maintain momentum, and my injury was getting in the way of meeting my traveling partner’s needs (and limiting his ability to meet mine). No regrets over taking a break from cohabitation, at all…although I do miss my traveling partner in the morning, over my second cup of coffee. 🙂

Like moments, the cup of coffee that matters most is the one in front of me now. 🙂

Today is a good day to enjoy each moment exactly as it is, and make good choices for the moments to come. Today is a good day to listen deeply; we are each having our own experience, and each with our own story to tell. Today is a good day to connect, to share, to be. Today is a good day for Love, love, and loving. Today is a good day to include myself when I act on intentions to treat others well. Today is a good day to be the student.

Tags a very good cup of coffee, be the change, being and becoming, emotional self sufficiency, good self-care, love, meditation, mindful love, mindful loving, mindfulness, perspective, ptsd, TBI, The Art of Being, the map is not the world, walking my own path, what matters most?

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

Action and Reaction

June 20, 2015 //

Saturday is finally here. It was a longer than usual work week, with longer than usual days. I intend to set very firm boundaries about over-work, but it’s a small team, and vacation time gets covered whatever that takes. By the time I got home last night, I was exhausted, and ready for a quiet night. I managed to push myself through laundry and self-care basics, and spent the rest of the evening quietly, reading. I crashed pretty early, and slept through night – hell, I ‘slept in’ more than an hour past the time my alarm usually wakes me, and woke feeling rested, the work week finally behind me. 🙂

This morning there are a couple of light chores to take care of, and I’ll spend some time in the garden before the heat of the day. I may hang a painting that is nagging my consciousness for a place to be. Sipping my morning coffee, I wonder if it fails to satisfy because I am looking forward to having coffee with the wanderer, later this morning.

A change in perspective is generally worthwhile.

Looking forward to Saturday in good company.

I dither a while over my rather mediocre morning coffee wondering if I should go back and check every use of ‘traveling partner’ – should those all be capitalized? What about ‘the wanderer’? Capitalized? No? I wonder if I have been consistent – it’s the potential lack of consistency that grates on my nerves most. Do I yield to the sensation and let it drive my behavior? Do I allow myself to react to it? If I do, how far back ‘should’ I go? Any? lol I quickly move on to wondering why I am even allowing my consciousness to pick at this point – do I actually even care one way or the other? Well…maybe….if it results in not being understood…am I being understood, I wonder? I sip my coffee and wonder how I managed to make such a relatively poor cup of coffee on such a lovely morning. Then I wonder how important it actually is for each reader to clearly identify the wanderer and my traveling partner in this narrative as specific people identified thus…maybe that’s only important to me? (It isn’t likely I’d forget.) I sit here considering a trivial point of grammar (yeah, I said it), and realize that it is more important to me that the choice be mine, whatever the outcome, and since I already have that I lose interest in the internal discussion and move on.

There have been a lot of things lately where the outcome of some choice was less important to me than that the choice be my own, in the moment. Sounds a tad child-like in some fashion, and I don’t allow myself to be berated (by myself) over it; it also seems a natural enough developmental step to find myself taking on this journey. I am flexing my will a bit, perhaps, but after a lifetime of over-compromise and de-prioritizing myself and my needs, it seems appropriate to take the opportunity living alone presents to live my own life, and the outcome of my own choices, more fully. Sometimes it plays out predictably enough; perhaps I find myself wanting cookies, I bake cookies, I over-indulge on the cookies, I find myself annoyed with feeling over-full on cookies, and moody from too much sugar….all my choices, all my actions, definitely no potential for blame-laying, or being annoyed with someone else, but the actions/reactions lack the developed control and will an adult might ideally show. I continue practicing specific practices that focus on self-restraint – learning skills that limit the effect of having a disinhibiting brain injury, and do so without resulting in frustration or discontent, and rely less on habitual behavior than good decision-making. Yesterday, in the morning, I made cookies, because I wanted healthier sweets on hand. I did not over-indulge. This morning there is a container full of cookies, and they may last days, although I made batches appropriately sized for solo-living. Practicing good practices results in improved outcomes. I like that phrase better than ‘practice makes perfect’, although it is less quippy, and no doubt less effective as an aphorism or ad slogan than the old stand-by.

Sometimes the journey is an uphill climb.

There is no room in my day-to-day experience for guilt, shame, or emotional self-flagellation over the picayune details of everyday life. My rules, my home, my way…and I take a moment over my gradually cooling mediocre morning coffee to consider how long overdue this experience is for me, and how little self-possession and consideration I’ve allowed for myself, from myself, for so many years. Better to indulge, to err, to learn, eyes wide to what my experience can teach me, and prepared with self-acceptance and rational accountability to grow and move forward. This may mean the occasional mediocre cup of coffee – but it also means fresh cookies, sleeping in, long showers, and happy laughter when I master a new yoga pose. Choices matter a lot – giving myself the freedom to enact my will through action is pretty huge, too.

I am finding my way home.

This is a much less anxious place to be. It’s a much less angry place to be. The undercurrent of subtle continuous resentment and the sense of being imposed upon almost continuously by rules external to my own thinking and practices are dissipating. Instead, I smile a lot, and I feel content much of the time. I make my own choices – and sometimes change my mind with new information, or experience a less than ideal outcome, or find my understanding of circumstances has changed. I don’t rush myself to get a faster decision made to avoid inconveniencing someone else. I don’t think I know how to have this experience in the context of living with others – not yet – but I have the glimmer of an idea of what that might require of me. Realistically, cohabitation may not be ‘for me’ with the issues I have – I’m even okay with that, from the vantage point of a lovely Saturday morning, content, calm and smiling over my coffee. For now, this journey is about will and action, action and reaction, and practicing the practices that help me on my way to becoming the woman I most want to be.

Today is a good day to practice The Art of Being – and there’s no doubt in my mind that that needs to be capitalized. 🙂

Tags anxiety, being and becoming, emotional self sufficiency, good self-care, homecoming, it's not a competition, love and lovers, meditation, mindful living, mindful loving, mindfulness, mindfulness for beginners, mindfulness matters, morning coffee, performance to goal, perspective, practicing the practices, ptsd, relationships, taking care of me, TBI, The Art of Being, The Big 5, the map is not the world, the woman in the mirror, walking my own path, what matters most?

Categories Anxiety, art and the artist, Brain Injury, Free Will, Healthy Living, Logic & Reason, Love, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women, Words

Definition

June 16, 2015 //

I stood in the shower smiling this morning, feeling comfortable, and enjoying the sensation of warm water over skin. The bathroom is small, and the standing room is quite limited. I don’t mind it much at all; the bathtub is quite large, and of a shape and design that allows it to fill and hold water sufficiently deep to properly soak, quite comfortably. The bathtub makes the small bathroom utterly insignificant. The bathtub was a detail I shopped for specifically while I was looking for a place to call home – it matters to me, and because that is the case with regards to the bathtub, taking care of me meant being attentive to this detail.

Soaking in a different tub, on a different day, in another life.

What matters most to you? Small details, too, do you take a moment to consider you while you are planning your day, planning a move, planning your social calendar, your relationships, your choices? Do you also pause to consider love, and what matters to those dear to you? Who is at the top of your agenda? If the person at the top of your list isn’t you…why isn’t it? If it is you, do you maintain that placement at the expense of others dear to you? Questions on a Tuesday.

I am listening to music, and listening to a pop star plead for someone to come and rescue her, to save her life, to turn her on…I love the track, but watching the video and listening to the lyrics is a tad dismaying if I give it too much attention. Even as a metaphor, reaching for an external solution to feeling unsafe, to feeling incomplete, and to be brought to life by some other being troubles me, now; all of that is within my own control, built on my choices and my will. Art doing its thing this morning – and doing it well – I am provoked to think more deeply about love, lust, emotional self-sufficiency, and the defining of self. I find myself asking powerful questions about how I define who I am, and how I answer the questions ‘what moves me?’ and ‘what do I want?’. Who I am is self-defined. This morning I recognize how much and how often I have failed myself by putting that power in other hands.

“Portrait of the Artist’s Tears” watercolor on paper 5″ x 7″ 1985

I am thinking of love and lovers, and giving consideration to what it means to free oneself from external definition. I am asking myself questions about what I want from a lover, and whether it is something I could be providing myself? I am enjoying being so much more free of external definition, and the [perceived, subjective] need to satisfy the expectations of others. I am awakening to the realization that this quality of life is sufficiently important to me that I will likely continue to live alone until I understand it well enough to maintain it even when cohabiting. The freedom of it is intoxicating.

“Joy” watercolor on paper, 6″ x 8″ 1995 (sorry about the camera flare, this delicate watercolor is under protective glass)

I still love the track, and the video, enough to listen to it again. That’s another lovely quality to art; I don’t have to agree with what it says to me in order to enjoy it, and there too, I bring the message with me, the context of my understanding is my own.

“Emotion and Reason” 18″ x 24″ acrylic on canvas w/ceramic and glow. 2012

Today is a good day to put things in context, to ask powerful questions, to move on to other things before answering them – I find it is the questions that have the power, answers tend to impose definitions and limits. Today is a good day to limitless, and free of external definition. Today is a good day to put me at the top of my list, without crossing off those dear to me; they have their place in my experience, too. Today is a good day for verbs – and music. 🙂

Being, and becoming. Having my own experience.

Tags are you going my way?, art and the artist, be the change, being and becoming, emotional self sufficiency, good self-care, love and lovers, meditation, mindful living, mindful love, mindfulness matters, p.s. I love you, perspective, practicing the practices, relationships, taking care of me, The Art of Being, The Big 5, the ephemeral beauty of self-portraits, the map is not the world, what matters most?

Categories Art, art and the artist, Free Will, Healthy Living, Logic & Reason, Love, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Perspective, Relationships, Summer, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women, Words

Where Was I?

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More or Less, and Enough

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Meditation Over Coffee

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Action and Reaction

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Definition

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