G’damn life feels too busy. Appointments. Meetings. Calls to make. Errands. Laundry. Household upkeep. Caregiving. Working for a living. Self-care. Sometimes doing the needful feels like an unreasonable amount of work, and this year I’ve rarely found myself able to make time for painting, gardening, reading, or writing (aside from this one sliver of my day early in the morning, when I can indulge myself in solitude and write these few words). I’m exhausted at the end of most days, barely able to stand by the time I take those last steps down the hall to bed.
… I feel like I’m working three or four full-time jobs…
Each morning I get up and do it again. Each day, I get my ass to work. Each day I tackle the errands on my list. Each day I give as much of myself as I can to caregiving tasks, and housekeeping chores. Each day I compromise on some detail of my self-care – because I just can’t do everything, and something has to be put aside for another day. I’m grateful to enjoy the life I do. I’m grateful to have such a strong and loving partnership. I’m annoyed with myself for griping about how much work life is, when I’ve got it so good, generally speaking. For sure there are people who have it far worse and would happily trade places with me.
I’m tired, I guess. I’ve sustained this for too long. I do make attempts to treat myself a bit better than I often do, but it’s not uncommon to return from a camping trip, or a day spent in solitary meditation, to a whole new list of errands to run, or chores that need doing. I almost immediately use up any reserves I may have built. It seems neverending… because it mostly is. It’s life, and there’s a lot to do.
… It’s only Tuesday…
I sigh quietly to myself, sitting at the halfway point on my morning trek around a favorite local trail. It’s still dark. I don’t mind. Is it my preference to walk in the dark? No. It’s the time I have, though, so it is the time I walk. I feel fortunate to still have my legs under me, and that I can still walk these trails on my own. That’s something worth a moment of appreciation and gratitude; it wasn’t a given that things would turn out so well after I broke my back in the early 80’s. There was a real chance I’d never walk again, at all. I’m deeply grateful my surgeries turned out so well. I keep walking.
I sit with my thoughts awhile. I can remember how difficult it was to understand how fortunate I really am. Understanding my relative privilege and general good fortune in life was hard – complicated by a deeply subjective perspective on life that focused on the trauma, the chaos and damage, the lifetime of hurt and anger. For a long time I was “trapped in the mire“. Resetting my own expectations was a complicated journey of its own. I keep working at it. It’s too easy to resent how much fucking work life requires for that to be “the right answer” (or even a right answer). I breathe, exhale, and relax. I’m grateful for this simple practice (meditation) that does so much to give me the calm and resilience to just keep at it, day after day after day. It’s not “everything”, and life still needs a lot of real work to “run smoothly”, but… it’s something, and mostly it’s enough.
The sky has lightened a bit. It is a deep charcoal gray, barely lighter than the darkness of night, but now I see the treeline silhouetted, where moments ago was only darkness. Meditation and self-reflection work that way for me; slowly illuminating my way, over time. Worthwhile, reliably restorative practices that bring a sense of balance and perspective are few – and worth the effort to cultivate them.
I sit watching the horizon. Daybreak soon. It’s almost time to begin again.
We have a hot tub. It came with the house when we bought it. It’s a make and model from sometime in the 90s, as I recall, so, “older”. It wasn’t in great shape when we moved in, and my Traveling Partner put a ton of work into repairing the leaking plumbing and replacing the skirting with beautiful cedar skirting he made in a wood shop that was only just being built, itself, in large part due to the tools needed to rebuild the hot tub.
That was back in 2020. Seems almost a lifetime ago, already.
A practical sort of luxury, a beautiful spot to linger on a sunny day.
It was wonderful having the hot tub, and I used it quite a lot the first couple years, even on snowy winter days, and in the rain. It did a lot to relieve my arthritis pain, and still does when I use it now. But… it’s pretty noisy when the pump is running, which is problematic for good sleep if the stupid thing cycles during the night (which it does, nightly), which is a real problem in a household of people with sleep challenges.
It’s not just the noise. Realistically, there’s quite a bit of maintenance involved in keeping it in good working order and the chemistry properly balanced, and I don’t have the capacity, the reliable skills, or the will to undertake the work required. I’m made of human, and I have limits. After my Traveling Partner got hurt, at the end of 2023, we drained the hot tub, and shut it down. It didn’t get refilled and turned on again until late in the following summer, after the Anxious Adventurer moved in. It was nice having it back… but the noisiness seemed more problematic, and now it leaks (again).
Sometimes the verbs outweigh the value.
My Traveling Partner isn’t quite up to the work of rebuilding it, now, and can’t easily use it, either. On top of that, the deck itself needs some repair work that is difficult to do with the hot tub standing there (and not gonna lie, we’d install it differently if we were doing it all over again). I use it less often, myself, now…about half the time I go to use it, the chemistry is wrong, or the water level too low. Other times, I think I may want to soak, but I don’t take action because I incorrectly remember whether it is running or not. Still other days, although I may want to soak, I’m less physically able to safely climb into or out of the hot tub without help than I was 5 years ago. It’s no longer habitual, after the long period that it wasn’t available, followed by the even longer period during which I was frankly so exhausted from full-time employment on top of full-time caregiving I couldn’t drag myself out there. Well, shit. All of that adds up to “we aren’t using it enough to make it worth the bother”.
Sometimes however much we enjoy something and value it, we may have to choose to let it go for practical reasons. Not just luxuries like hot tubs, either. This is true of a lot of things in life. We are often called upon to change, and sometimes that means letting something go that we once cherished – and maybe still do.
As much as I loved my aquarium(s), there just weren’t any good spots for them in the new house. I had to let them go.
It is a Monday morning. A work day, but also a federal holiday. When I was a child, it was undisputably Columbus Day. There was nothing especially controversial about that, that I can recall. As I reached adulthood, though, there were more conversations around the negative consequences of colonialism, and very specifically the terrible results of “the discovery” of the new world for so many indigenous peoples, and also the horror of slavery in the US, and the lasting negative outcomes for generations of descendents of slaves, or slaughtered tribes whose land was (let’s be frank here) stolen from them. More and more people seemed more and more inclined not to celebrate Columbus Day, choosing to reframe the day as Indigenous Peoples’ Day. I can recall, initially, thinking that was sort of… weird and dumb… but the more I thought about it, myself, the more I understood the real healing power of making that change, and letting go of idolizing Columbus. He may have been “good for” business, for global expansion of trade, and for people in power seeking profit and glory…but he wasn’t good for the people who already lived in those places he reached in an era when riches were built on exploitation. So… yeah. I’m at work today, and it’s a routine work day. I let go of Columbus Day a long time ago.
I’ve let go of relationships that were causing me harm. I’ve let go of friendships that undermined my wellness, my values, or which put me at personal risk in some way. I’ve let go of “values” that turned out to be problematic and more likely to deliver harm to others than to improve the world in some small way. I’ve let go of lost items that I never found but which had sentimental value. I’ve let go of jobs that I could not ethically continue to do, even for a really good paycheck. There are a lot of reasons to let something go, and a lot of things we may be inclined to cling to long past the real value they once provided. Clinging to something is easier, and change is harder – but there is no growth in resisting change.
When my Traveling Partner first put forth the idea of draining the hot tub and shutting it off for the winter (and probably permanently), I resisted. I admit it; I don’t like change, generally. I enjoy stability. I definitely enjoy the luxury of the hot tub! But my Traveling Partner is right; this decades-old hot tub is noisy, and it does leak, and the maintenance required is much… and the deck needs repair. It all adds up to “time to let it go”. The fear, of course, is that letting it go will somehow leave us “worse off” than before – and that’s an illusion. That’s the emotional cling wrap talking. If we don’t let it go, that thing we’re holding on to will continue to worsen over time, in all the ways it is identifiably not ideal right now. Just worse, and progressively more so.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. So it’s time to let the hot tub go. I guess I’m okay with that – it doesn’t harm me to be without it, and there’s nothing to stop us replacing it later on, after the deck is repaired, with something more energy efficient, more modern, and quieter. Yes, it’ll come at a cost – but doesn’t everything worth having come at a cost? I think about that, and sip my coffee. I think about my Traveling Partner’s shared plan for rebuilding the deck quite differently, more suited to our lifestyle and future needs, with a hot tub standing firmly on a foundation on the ground, recessed in the deck such that it is easier for a couple of middle-aged lovers with mobility issues to get in and out of it, to enjoy it less constrained by our individual difficulties. I smile to myself, feeling loved and understood, and cared for; my partner didn’t push back hard on my clinging while I clung to the luxury of having a hot tub right now. He let me work through it in my own time, patiently emphasizing how having the noisy thing was affecting our sleep, each time it clearly did. We got there. I let go.
It’s not always easy to let go, even when we must. There are verbs involved, and choices, and a willingness to face change and to grow, and to practice non-attachment. It’s worth it though; it’s harder to walk my path if I’m wrapped in cling wrap. 😀
I glance at the time. Yep. It’s a Monday. My calendar is pretty full, and it’s time to begin again.
I’m waiting for the sun, before I begin my walk. No particular reason for doing things this way, this morning. It’s just what I’m doing. The morning is dark, and it isn’t yet daybreak. I sit in the predawn stillness, my tinnitus is the loudest thing I hear. The overcast sky here at the trailhead is a peculiar dim dirty looking mauve, lit from communities and businesses below. Dark shapes of trees are silhouetted against the strange sky.
… Funny… I haven’t traveled far to get to this trail, but the sky is very different here. When I left the house, the night sky was clear and starry, and the full moon was visible above the mountains to the west. 25 miles away, here, now, there are only clouds.
Yesterday was… complicated and difficult, but it seemed clear throughout that my Traveling Partner and I were each genuinely doing our best under the circumstances. Dealing with pain is hard, and it can easily make it hard to also deal with each other. That sounds a little bit (to my own ears, at least) as though I am minimizing or making excuses. It’s more accurate to say that things weren’t actually all that bad, looking at it in the “rear view mirror”, from the perspective of a new day, and aware that the evening finished gently, together, cherishing each other’s good company. (Does he feel similarly? Perhaps I should ask…?)
…I nudge my thoughts toward gratitude…
I enjoyed yesterday’s shopping, and I’m eager to make the meals I’ve planned. When I’m not exhausted or struggling with one physical impairment or another, I greatly enjoy cooking. I enjoy connecting with friends and loved ones over a meal. I am delighted by how much my cooking has improved since 2015, and even more so since the pandemic. (Like a lot of people, I spent time in the kitchen as a fun distraction during the lockdown.) I’m grateful that my Traveling Partner was comfortable sharing his honest opinion of my cooking, and even more that he wasn’t merely critical, but also eager to be helpful, encouraging, and open to the necessary trial and error that resulted from properly learning to cook. I wouldn’t hesitate to invite people to dine with us. The kitchen is clean. Food storage is held to a high standard, and at long last my cooking is reliably something I’m proud of, and enjoy sharing.
I’m grateful, too, that my outing yesterday took me by a clothing store I like. 50% off fall sweaters? The timing was excellent. The new job has high potential to require me to come to the office a couple times a year – San Francisco. The “feel” of “casual” there is a little dressier than the Pacific Northwest. My tatty too-large frumpy cozy sweater isn’t a good choice for such things, so the timing was good, and the price acceptable. I was able to find three nice sweaters for work and a warm cardigan that looks more appropriately grown up than my soft gray fleece (which is branded corporate swag from my previous employer). I’d rock the swag from the current employer, but I don’t yet have any.
Daybreak comes, and I hit the trail, walking and thinking.
I can judge the new day on some limited view, or I can embrace it with gratitude and enthusiasm. It’s my own choice to make.
I get to my halfway point thinking about perspective. I consider the way the almost unique context of my individual lifetime has shaped (continues to shape) my perspective and my understanding. World events, personal trauma, day-to-day stress (and joy), all become part of the lens through which I see the world, and the context in which I understand myself. It’s like a fingerprint on “who I am”. I contemplate how “generational differences” in cohorts of human beings are defined (and influenced) by these shared experiences. I watch some geese drifting slowly across the pond nearest to me, and wonder whether such things affect other creatures, too? I find myself wondering what the “MAGA generation” – meaning Americans born between 2014 and 2028 – will be like as human beings? Who will their heroes be? What will matter most to them, culturally, socially, and politically? How will they change the world when their turn to vote comes?
I sit awhile longer with my thoughts (and my headache). In some little while, I’ll get to my feet and put another mile on my boots. Maybe I’ll be a better person today than I was yesterday? I’d like that. I’ll have the chance, as soon as I begin again. For now, this quiet moment of gratitude and reflection is enough.
This morning is better. This morning is even “good” for all the values of “good” that come to mind in the moment. It’s nice. No anxiety. I woke with my silent alarm, as the lights began to come on, and my morning routine felt… routine. The traffic heading to the more distant co-work space was light, and I got there “right on time” – by which I mean when I expected to. I got to the office with enough time to share a few words with my Traveling Partner, and enough time to set up without rushing, and to prepare for an early meeting. It all feels so… ordinary.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. I take the few minutes for meditation in the morning that I usually do. The early morning call means my walk will come a little later, and that’s entirely fine. I feel steady, centered, and comfortable in my skin. I feel self-assured and confident that I am in the right place at the right time, doing things I am capable of doing well. It’s as if I were never anxious at all, which is a very nice feeling indeed.
I look over reminders for later. No stress there, either. This is a lovely start to an utterly ordinary work day.
I’m grateful to be without the anxiety that has been riding shotgun with my consciousness since I learned I’d be laid off from my previous job. Strange that quickly securing a new job wasn’t enough to beat back my anxiety…it was the more-than-satisfactory completion of a project that had been assigned to me when I started. I really needed that, I guess, to soothe the background hurt (purely emotional, and mostly fairly bullshit and unnecessary) that resulted from being laid off at all. Knowing those sorts of business decisions are “not personal”, and even being treated with great consideration by colleagues, doesn’t mean it hurts any less. I really enjoyed that job, and could have happily done that until I finally left the workforce. That’s not relevant to the reality of the situation – in a sense that role no longer exists at all. Even the company doesn’t actually exist anymore, as any sort of independent entity. This is certainly a circumstance in which practicing non-attachment is the healthy choice. I smile to myself, feeling reminded of how very human I am. I’m grateful things are turning out so well, and I sip my coffee and reflect on that.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. New day; new beginning. The (metaphorical) clock ticking in the background? It’s always ticking, whether I hear it or not. Paying too much attention to the sound of the clock becomes a distraction; there is much to be done in those finite minutes of each day, and many practices to practice on the way to becoming the woman I most want to be.
I let gratitude fill my thoughts for a few more minutes. It’s a nice way to begin a day, reflecting on what is going well, what is working out, what I am fortunate to enjoy in this mortal life, and the people I am fortunate to know. Dwelling on the challenges seems only to fill my life with frustration and anxiety. Savoring the very best moments is very different. The small joys, the things that suprised me in some delightful way, the coincidences and happenstance moments of luck or of beauty – those things are worth “dwelling on”, however small, and they fill my life with joy long after the moments have passed. Gratitude has become a favorite practice – it feels really good, and lifts me up.
I woke up with a thing stuck in my head. Not an actual object physically lodged in my skull, just a thought lingering in the background as though it had been the topic of conversation, or the content of a dream I had. It happens to also be the wallpaper of my laptop, and a reminder that whether – and how – we use our words really matters. For human primates, spoken language is our primary form of direct communication. Written language follows pretty closely, I suppose, and language is a powerful tool that can bring us closer – or drive us apart. It can reveal profound truths, or build terrible lies. It can soothe hurts and cause real harm, too. The thing stuck in my head as I woke, though? It was this:
Borrowed from a post by Kyle Hill, a YouTube content creator.
Words matter. Meaning matters. Using words to directly communicate our experience or needs to each other matters. It’s definitely more efficient (and generally more clear) than less direct forms of communication, when used skillfully, with a bit of care. Of course, like any sort of “magic”, it can be turned to evil purposes, and be used for gaslighting, manipulation, deceit, misdirection, or to directly do injury (or persuade others to do injuries to one another).
I drove up the highway still thinking about words, language, and communication, and how difficult something that seems so simple at first glance can really be. We live in challenging times, and communication is both the cause of some of our difficulties as a species (and society), and also the solution. Weird, right? Hell, we can’t even be certain of sharing the same “dictionary”, as individuals; the nuances in how we each understand a particular word can vary our understanding so much as to be not at all related, undermining our ability to understand each other, and even limiting our ability to recognize that we have not understood.
Here’s an example. When you use a word like “liberal” or “conservative” what do you actually mean by that? Is it straightforward? Is it is a common and broadly shared definition of the term? (What makes you so sure of that?) When you use it, are you actually clearly communicating an idea – or is it “coded language” carrying more (or other) meaning than the definition that will be found in a published dictionary? Could you be more clear? Are you being less clear by intention? Is it actually “your word” expressing your own thoughts, or are you repeating someone else’s talking point, parroting a phrase or slogan, conveying a message that is not truly your own?
…Do you even know what you’re really talking about?…
It’s hard to go wrong with good basics…
My thoughts bring me back to The Four Agreements. Not my first walk down that path, either. This peculiar little volume has some powerful ideas in it. These ideas are framed in a spiritual sort of context that isn’t a good fit for everyone’s thinking (including mine), but the basic messages being communicated are profound, and worthy of consideration. One of these “agreements” is the recommendation to “be impeccable” with our words. The book makes it clear that what is meant is to be clear, accurate, truthful, and also kind, compassionate, considerate, gentle, and aware of the potential for lasting consequences when we speak to each other. Communicating well takes practice, and maybe a lot of that, quite probably “forever”. Totally worth it, though. Skillful communication is a healing thing that brings people together, when used to connect and share and build.
Why am I even on about this, this morning? No idea. I woke up with a meme in my head. lol I woke up to some sort of interrupted internal discussion of the power of words and how we use them. I drove to the more distant co-work space I sometimes work from, still thinking about words, language, and communication (and my own commonplace difficulties with good communication). I hadn’t yet exchanged words with another human being at all. I’m thinking about it even now.
My Traveling Partner pings me a greeting in the form of a cute “sticker”, and shares some words about a quality of life improvement project he’s working on – improvements to our media library, and how it is organized – and I reply. Successful communication. How do I define that success? We understand each other, and feel loved. Win. I glance down at the wee tray my Traveling Partner made to hold my “regular” glasses when I have my computer glasses on, and feel wrapped in love. Another form of communication, not in words, but in actions. Those matter, too.
What love looks like – sometimes.
I smile to myself, and sit with my thoughts in the quiet of the office. I’m grateful for the solitude, the quiet morning, my Traveling Partner’s love, a job that pays the bills (or will, once the paychecks start coming), a pleasant little home, and the ability to use words and language. Powerful stuff. I think about all the books I have yet to read, and the poetry I have yet to write. I think about delightful compliments I have been offered, and useful feedback I’ve been given that I have used to grow and become more the woman I most want to be. I contemplate the dark power of sarcasm, insults, and angry words, and the lasting damage these can do. I think about promises given, promises broken, and how much it matters to keep our word. I think about the way unexpected kind words can lift us up from difficult moments. I think about how sharing our experiences with each other through story telling and anecdotes can teach, entertain, or bring us together. Words are powerful indeed.
I sip my coffee and for a moment, I deeply miss my Dear Friend, with whom I might have shared these thoughts, and further discussion. Words connected us over great distances and many years.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. I begin the day with words, and I’ll likely end it with words, too. I take a few minutes to meditate, letting the words fall away for a time, just being, and breathing. Now, it’s time to begin again. I glance at the clock, and prepare for the work day ahead. I remind myself to choose my words with care – because words matter.
Evening Light 