Archives for posts with tag: there are verbs involved

Why bother? Why bother trying? Why bother working so hard? Why bother “fighting it”? Why bother making the extra effort to get some particular outcome? Just… why bother, at all? The shortest answer for that one that I’ve got, myself, is simply this; because I’m better than the challenge I’m faced with right now. That’s it.

Things could be worse, for just about any of us. Some momentary challenge is not enough to amount to an excuse not to make an effort to do a better job of being the person I most want to be, to live a good quality life built on healthy values lived authentically, and to just maybe also manage to be helpful, kind, encouraging, curious, compassionate, approachable, considerate, thoughtful, fair-minded, and ethical (if not every minute of every day, then doing my best to be these things in as many moments as I realistically can be)… these are all qualities I value. So… I try. I practice. I share honest insights into my challenges. I work on bettering myself and contributing positively to my household, my community, and my world, if only in some small way. I mean, seriously? I’m one woman; I’m not moving any mountains by myself with a teaspoon, and determination. Not in this lifetime. My actions and choices of words still make a difference in the moments I live and in my interactions with others. I try to stay mindful of the implied power this does have, and do my best to be a basically decent human being, day-to-day. Don’t you? (If not, why not? The answer to that question is an exercise for the reader.)

Holiday lights at 04:30.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. It’s a new day. I woke at some ridiculous hour – 3 am? Maybe. I didn’t check the time, I just wanted to sleep. I could hear my Traveling Partner awake in the other room, blowing his nose. It sucks that he’s awake dealing with his sinuses and struggling to breathe. I fall asleep, wishing he could sleep, too. Some time later, I’m awakened again. It sounded as if my beloved was clearing his throat and blowing his nose right outside the door. I know that’s not the case. He’s most likely seated at the dining table, which is at the end of the hall, opposite the door to this bedroom. The sound is basically piped straight to the door. I sigh, and roll over, and return to sleep. A short while later (I think), I’m awakened again. I’ve no idea if a long while has passed or only a few minutes. I’m groggy. My head aches, and my eyeballs feel gritty. The room feels too hot. I toss around for a moment or two “trying to get comfortable” again. No luck. I must have drifted off, though, into a sound deep sleep, because the next thing I recall is my partner calling to me softly in the darkness, but I don’t recall the question, or whether I understood. I struggled to wake enough to respond to him – I wanted to sleep so badly. The door closed quietly. I know I said something…but I’m not sure what, and the uncertainty itself, and a sudden concern that I would somehow be infinitely trapped in a pattern of waking from deep sleeps without being able to get rest, ever, fully woke me. I could not even imagine returning to sleep. I turn on a light and struggle to sit up. Vertigo. The room reels for a moment, before things steady, and the vertigo passes quickly. I’m grateful for that, and get up to use the bathroom and splash cold water on my face, still trying to really fully wake and maybe somehow manage to feel rested in spite of the interrupted sleep. Restless nights happen now and then, for one or the other of us. After so many years, I generally just move on from it, and practice letting shit go, because there’s no real value in taking an unpleasant tone over a sleep scenario neither of us can change. Sometimes one of us is wakeful. Sometimes we sleep badly. He greets me with a smile and sweet words when I enter the livingroom. I put on my boots and my cardigan and kiss him on my way out.

Holy shit I’m in a ton of pain this morning – and as I drive to the office, I wonder whether my pain was making me restless in my sleep, without waking me, but enough to disturb my Traveling Partner’s rest? Seems possible. Fucking hell, I feel bad for the both of us this morning. I hope he manages to go back to bed for awhile.

Another breath. Another exhalation. Another attempt to fully relax and let stress and pain fall by the wayside. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it’s just practice. Does it matter which it will be? No, I’ve still got to make the effort; it’s the consistent practice that creates incremental change over time. I sigh to myself, and glare at my packed meeting calendar. Tuesday. Fuck. Well, I won’t get much else done than meetings, today, but they are the plan, and that’s what I’ll do. I smile happily when the thought of my beloved’s birthday crosses my mind; my time off for that day is approved. I grin to myself. It’s not that we have elaborate plans, I simply enjoy the man’s company. I’m happy we’re together. He’s worth celebrating, and as I consider the man and the moment, my heart fills with joy.

…For a moment I forget about the pain…

I look at the clock. Always ticking. It’s a new day, and new opportunity to be the woman I most want to be. Feels like I’m off to a good start, this morning, in spite of feeling less than ideally well rested, and a little groggy. I think of the holidays ahead. This year won’t be lavish – everything costs more in Trump’s America, and resources are more limited. That won’t stop the holidays from being magical – I’ve done plenty with less, in years past. It’s more about presence than presents, anyway, isn’t it? I remind myself to propose board games of an evening, or a hand or two of cribbage… Maybe a walk or a drive to see the holiday lights? We’ve got so many ways to enjoy the holidays together!

It’s time to begin again. It’s definitely worth the effort. Why bother? Because you are better than your challenges. Change is. Choose wisely.

Sometimes things feel harder than they seem they should. Misinformation everywhere. The practical details of life getting more costly every week, every month. Paychecks don’t keep up with that unless you happen to be among the very affluent (and then it’s less that the paycheck keeps up than maybe you don’t need to notice the minutiae or count the pennies). (Remember pennies?) Balancing the load takes up a lot of mental bandwidth, even for folks who are very organized and pretty prepared. It’s exhausting.

…It’s okay to admit it when you’re tired…

My head aches. My arthritis pain is actually making me feel ill. I’m distracted from one priority task by the next ostensibly higher priority task. Subjectively, I feel like I “used to be better at juggling all of this”, but I’m not sure that’s literally true. I suspect I’m just feeling a bit overwhelmed by the lingering artifacts of chaos that arrived ahead of me (to this job) or which defy attempts to bring order (the chaos and damage in my own head), or perhaps I am succumbing to the stress of watching the decline of democracy, in spite of my attempt to avoid spending potentially productive time on that bullshit. (It’s not bullshit because it isn’t real, it’s bullshit because it doesn’t need to be this way, and we somehow chose this shit in spite of being told what was coming if we did.)

I’m tired. Not because I’m working my ass off on some construction job site, or laboring on a factory floor, or in a fulfillment warehouse, or on my feet all day. Brain tired. Soul tired. It’s feeling too much like a hamster wheel, some days, and too little like living.

…This too will pass…

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I take a moment to scrounge in my handbag for another dose of Rx pain management, only to discover I’ve already taken that, and I’m already “maxed out” for a work day. Well, shit. I sigh to myself, finish the watered-down dregs of my morning coffee, knowing I’ll likely regret that later tonight. I pull myself upright, and pause to offer someone a compliment for work well done. I find giving others sincere encouragement or expressing gratitude for some task or service someone has provided often distracts me from the pain I’m in. Certainly it’s a better reaction to pain than sobbing or throwing a tantrum. I’d happily just sit somewhere gazing out a window, letting my mind empty itself of concerns, and even thoughts. Parking this fragile vessel and leaving her to idle for awhile would feel pretty good, but… I don’t have time.

…The clock is ticking…

It helps to have a break, and I’m glad I took one. It’s not enough, but it will do for the moment. I imagine the stern look on the face of the woman in the mirror, right now, she knows I could do a better job of taking care of myself than I often do. I make her a promise I probably won’t keep, and hope that she understands. It has to be enough… it’s the best I can do right now. Isn’t it?

…”No. Do better.” I imagine her answering, “You matter. You can at least take a proper fucking break…”

I sigh again, and get up from my desk to take a proper break. The sun is shining. I go outside and get some fresh air, and watch the squirrels play for a few minutes, and stretch. It’s chilly but not cold. The sunshine feels good. Now I feel ready to begin again.

We don’t always wake to a new day feeling eager and encouraged and excited at the possibilities. Sometimes it’s harder than that. That’s just real, eh? What I like to do on mornings such as that is “anchor” to some event or experience that felt joyful, fulfilling, safe… whatever positive emotional alternative that feels most “opposite” the emotional drag I woke to is “coming from”, if I can tell.

This morning did not need that practice…

Yesterday was lovely. I got a nice walk, in the early morning sunshine. I got some things done that I’d planned to do, and also a few things that were sparked by some observation, or by a request by my Traveling Partner. My beloved and I hung out together quite a lot, and enjoyed each other’s company. Later on we shared the sort of intimate connected time that adults are fortunate to enjoy in a loving partnership. It’s nice to still be able to enjoy those “sexy fun times” together. My soul is still humming a merry tune, and I woke feeling wrapped in love, this morning.

Tis the season

The Giftmas tree is up, decorated, and greeted me with soft colorful light when I entered the living room. I smiled on my way past. I really like the tree this year. Each ornament tells a story of some other time or some special moment. My beloved Traveling Partner has kept the 3D printers busy making holiday items, and this year’s new ornament delights me. I am still thinking fondly of the weekend, although it is now behind me.

I hope I never lose my sense of fun and whimsy.

The work day peers over my shoulder, tapping at my consciousness impatiently. Four day weekends do that to me, sometimes. I get back to work ready and rested, almost impatient. The trick is to avoid succumbing to that subtle pressure and simply “stay on the path”, relaxed and unbothered. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I settle in and catch up on email and plan the day. “Nothing to see here,” I think to myself, feeling amused by the sense of “performance pressure”. I remind myself that consistency and a good plan produce a steady result over time, and that frenzied action most commonly results in errors and half-baked bullshit. My best work usually results from my most patient and well-considered effort, attentive, and focused. Funny that it took so long to learn that. I think on that awhile.

…On the other hand, I hope I never stop learning and growing…

I sip my coffee and think, too, about my Dear Friend. I miss her greatly this time of year, and broke down in tears once or twice over the past few days because of it. We shared a fondness for the holiday season, and when one or the other of us lacked the means to be at all lavish about it, we still shared conversation, sentiment, nostalgia, pictures…and I definitely miss the exchange of eager emails about this or that gift for this or that dear one. I miss talking over things we were making, or shopping for, and pictures of wrapped gifts. I miss the game of telling her I would likely not be able to send anything for Giftmas this year, and her agreeing with me that perhaps that was best, then both of us surprising each other with some unexpected package near to Giftmas Day. Shopping for the holiday, it hit me hardest; I don’t need to keep an eye out for some suitable little thing. She’s gone. My eyes tear up, just recognizing that loss, even for a moment. Grief is sometimes quite inconvenient. S’Ok. There is no shame in honest tears.

Love takes many forms.

I sigh to myself, and my heart is eased by the recollection of my Traveling Partner’s embrace, yesterday, during a similar moment. He understood. He held me close until my tears stopped.

The clock keeps ticking. I glance at the time. It’s a work day, and it’s time to begin again.

I don’t use AI in my writing. Not here. Not at all. These are my human words (spelling errors, excessive use of ellipses and all). I write what I write, from the contents of my own actual thoughts. Sometimes I am inspired by my environment, or my experience, or my past, or something I saw or heard, or a video I watched, which is the case right now.

Is ChatGPT turning everyone into bots? This video answers that question “yes”. You may want to watch this and think about your own position on using LLMs like ChatGPT. Are you undermining your ability to write, think, reason, make decisions, or simple be? I watched this video – then I watched it again. I’m grateful for the discernment to be exceedingly skeptical of the value in these tools that have become so readily available. There’s a longer video on this theme that is worth watching, if you are seeking clarity regarding what these LLMs are actually capable of.

The tl;dr from my perspective? I use GPTs and LLMs in the context of my professional work, and only do so reluctantly (and in a very limited way) due to obvious issues with inaccuracy and bogus citations (but it is a requirement for some elements of the work I currently do). I keep it to a minimum and approach every reluctant use with a stern critical eye, vigilant and wary, doing my best to detect every error, every lie, every misleading bit of bullshit. Trusting an “AI” (it isn’t intelligent) or LLM is like trusting MadLibs. lol Don’t do that. Definitely don’t worship the fucking things, or seek love from them. They’re bots. They don’t (and can’t) think, feel, reason, or demonstrate actual judgement. It’s just software, not an independent consciousness.

… It’s not even clear that the designers and developers are reliably decent human beings who are committed to bettering the world for everyone…

Don’t let ChatGPT (or any other LLM) steal your humanity from you! You’re better than that – even if your spelling is poor, and you’re not sure what to say in that email (or conversation). Do your best – it’ll be better than a bot! Be human with your whole self. Be present. Be aware. Feel and experience each moment of your life – it’s already ridiculously brief and quite finite. Don’t let a bot steal what little there is. You can choose differently. It’s probably for the best that you not take life advice from software that has never, and will never, live. (And maybe don’t be so trusting that billionaires seeking still more wealth and power are going to give you free stuff or look after your interests “out of the goodness of their hearts”, without something in it for them personally.)

Your choices matter.

I’m in the co-work space this morning, and already set up for a new work day (and week). Short week; it is Thanksgiving this week, and for me that kicks off the winter holiday season, generally. Over the years, my thinking has evolved with regard to many of the holidays on the US holiday calendar, even Thanksgiving. When I was a child, I had a child’s perspective on this holiday. Family, feasting, and… pilgrims. Somehow, the USA made this holiday some sort of foundation myth of our national identity, but without the nasty bits. We glossed over land grabs and genocide with a hearty portion of turkey with stuffing and mashed potatoes with gravy, a side of corn, and big slices of pumpkin pie for dessert. Tradition.

For me, this holiday is not in anyway to do with the mythology of US identity, nor pilgrims, nor even the indigenous peoples we surely could have treated more ethically than we did. It is first and foremost, a harvest feast, a celebration of thanks for making it through another year of struggle, an opportunity to sit down together and share whatever abundance we have with each other, and exchange our gratitude and anecdotes along with our treasured recipes. It doesn’t need to be more than that. It never did.

My fondest Thanksgiving memories from childhood are of distant cousins coming to town to sit down for the most lavish meal of the year at Grandfather’s house. Family from as far away as the Dakotas and Texas would journey to coastal Maryland. The meal would be served at “the big table”, after a day of women in the kitchen, and men out hunting. Kids underfoot at the house would be enlisted to complete various chores, setting the table, carrying things up or down stairs, tidying up some shared space. The conversation among the women in the kitchen was often lively, and sometimes “scandalous” (if I understood what I was hearing). The men would return from hunting, in jovial moods, whether they were “successful” or not – it was the outing that was the thing, strolling the forest and hillsides in the crisp autumn air. I have dim recollections of occasional snow, and occasional football. I have clear recollections of stealing cookies from the big tins of holiday cookies baked by my Grandmother. (Her cooking wasn’t great, but she made fantastic cookies!)

My adult Thanksgiving memories span multiple partnerships and locations. They vary. The food was always good, generally the company was as well. Most of the time, people managed to set aside petty gripes and bullshit and drama, in favor of a merry holiday meal. Sometimes that wasn’t so easily done. Some years, the meal was a quiet one, just my partner and I. Other years, it was a busier affair with friends or family. I even enjoyed Thanksgiving quite alone once or twice, without sorrow or disappointment; they were lovely holidays, and I enjoy my own cooking. A couple times, we’ve gone out for Thanksgiving dinner, putting the time into other things, and the money into someone else’s work in the kitchen. Those were delightful celebrations, too.

I guess what makes it Thanksgiving for me is more about the intentional observance of giving thanks, together. The practice of making a moment to truly express and experience my gratitude for here, now, and the sufficiency of the moment is what makes it Thanksgiving, and not just a party or an elaborate dinner.

I begin the week thankful. The pantry is stocked with everything I’ll need to make Thanksgiving dinner. I’ve got a secure home, pleasantly warm, with indoor plumbing and highspeed internet access. I’ll enjoy the meal with people dear to me. I’m in love, and have the good fortunate to share my life with this person I love so dearly. I have what I need in life. I’ve got this job to pay for it all. It’s a lot to be thankful for, so I guess I should not be surprised that I can find opportunities for gratitude almost every day, and probably all week long. I smile to myself and sigh contentedly. Nothing lasts forever, I know, but wow this is one lovely moment, right here, now. I take time to enjoy it, before I begin again.