Archives for posts with tag: walking my own path
« Older Entries
Newer Entries »

Anxiety is a Liar

July 4, 2015 //
4

I woke around 2:30 am, drenching in cold sweat, feeling a vague sense of panic, breathless, heart pounding…and anxious. I tossed and turned for some moments until I was awake enough to realize I was struggling with, rather than responding to, my feelings.

"Anxiety" 10" x 14" - and she feels much bigger than that, generally.

“Anxiety” 10″ x 14″ – and she feels much bigger than that, generally.

By the time an hour had passed by it was clear that self-compassion, reassurance, and a little meditation were not sufficient to put this particular anxious moment to rest. I got up for a few minutes and did some yoga (specifically a sequence of postures that are described as ‘calming’). I took a Benadryl (over-the-counter, fairly safe, and one of the oldest pharmaceutical anxiolytics). I got comfortable in bed, with some soft dim light, and read something light and entertaining for a few minutes. I got back to sleep.

I woke this morning, having slept in until past 7 am, anxious. Great. It’s going to be that holiday weekend, is it? I remind myself of two things as I head for my coffee: I overslept my usual timing on my thyroid medication, that can sometimes make me feel anxious, and anxiety is a liar.

  • My anxiety tells me ‘something is very wrong’. There isn’t anything actually wrong, based on observation of my environment and circumstances right now.
  • My anxiety tells me I have clearly done something terrible to feel this way. This is more a reflection of learned responses; as an anxious child, my parents reinforced the idea that anxiety is an indicator of unstated guilt. (Anxiety may or may not be associated with feeling guilty – it is a separate emotion, and correlation would not prove causation.)
  • My anxiety tells me I am ‘not good enough’ and backs that up with delusional ‘examples’ that ‘prove it’. (Taking a look at each offered example from another perspective derails the seeming factual nature of those arguments – but the anxiety exists; it is its own thing, requiring no ‘proof’, and refuting an example successfully doesn’t end the anxiety, it feeds it with attention.)
  • My anxiety reminds me that ‘time is running out’ – which, while true, is more about playing on a basic understanding of ‘how things work’ to terrorize me from within; what I do with my time is what sets the pace of my experience, not the sweeping second-hand on a clock.
  • My anxiety is a very physical experience that dissipates quickly if it can’t get a solid emotional foothold and a steady infusion of new chemistry; it will whisper anything it has to into my vulnerable consciousness to achieve emotional domination. Anxiety is a bad ass – but not to be counted on for truths.
  • My anxiety finds ways to put doubt, insecurity, and fear in my path; if I am consumed by those I stop questioning the anxiety and build it a home, instead.

Sometimes a bit of anxiety may be a healthy indicator that I am stepping outside my comfort zone in a positive way – that’s not what this morning is about. I am nauseated, and my body is enduring physical sensations I associate with imminent threats, terror, impending physical attack, terrible consequences, and future preventable loss followed by the dismay of others on a ‘how could you??’ level. It isn’t real. How am I so sure it isn’t real, when it feels so real? Because both thoughts and emotion lack substance until we give them substance. Emotions are physical experiences that manifest themselves both in physical and cognitive ways. Feelings. I feel. However, I am also able to make some sense of reality (in whatever limited way is available to me as a human primate with a complete set of common place senses and faculties) – and there is nothing in my environment that would cause this experience.

I am so human. Without question there are circumstances and experiences in my adult life that might cause some moment of mild anxiety…but this is not that. This experience qualifies as ‘disordered’, if for no other reason because it is very clearly and demonstrably not based in my real experience of now. Still, the small things that tend to drive small anxiety hop right into the ring with the Anxiety-with-a-capital-A of the morning; there is a chance that putting those to rest one by one may ease the Anxiety, but it isn’t a given, and is as likely to make things much worse if I become frantic or driven over it, by becoming invested in the outcome.

I am drenched in sweat. The apartment is a comfortable 72 degrees, and I am not exerting myself. Hormones? Still? Maybe – or just the anxiety, over coffee. Oh hell yes I am still having my morning coffee – with caffeine – in spite of the anxiety. Basic self-care demands it; the headache I’d be having later today if I don’t have my morning coffee would only put me at risk of being less able to continue to work through the anxiety if it lingers.

I have PTSD, and anxiety is part of my experience sometimes. I have a brain injury that results in executive function impairments – one of which is that I lack skill at managing strong emotions; I tend to put it all right out there, and find it difficult to ‘wrap things up’ in a timely way, sometimes remaining immersed in an emotional experience that is long behind me. These two things do not play nicely together. I write those simple words and tears start falling (I still find being quite so broken a sad thing, I mean, fuck – I’m 52 and still dealing with this bullshit!) – quite possibly the healthiest thing I could do for me right now are these honest tears – the science suggests that this will bring my cortisol level down more rapidly than most things I could do right now. Still sucks. I feel like a big cry baby (yeah, I hear the beratement and derision there, and recognize my demons on the war path, attacking me when I am vulnerable – it’s not helpful to treat myself callously right now).

I don’t like writing about anxiety…but if I were to omit this experience from my writing in a willful way, then I would also be a liar, leaving you thinking that somehow I had magically cured my anxiety issues with some sitting still, a few good books, and the occasional walk in the sunshine. It isn’t that easy. If it were, I wouldn’t be 52 and crying over my coffee because I am just that anxious on a lovely summer morning, utterly without cause. Writing about it, in a practical way, without ruminating over the details that my Anxiety would like to direct my focus to, seems helpful this morning; I am (after 1000 words or so) considerably less anxious now. Experience tells me it may surface again a few times over the course of the day or weekend, ready to become a weapon of mass distraction in some future interaction; today I will continue to take care of me.

Huh – there it is again. Is it my commitment to taking care of me this weekend that is actually causing the anxiety? Just now, as I considered taking yet another day focused completely on taking the best care of me, my anxiety shot through the roof… interesting. Am I still harboring feelings of guilt over putting me at the top of my agenda day-to-day? It’s a question worth considering some time.

Few things are more delightful than a leisurely morning over coffee with someone I love dearly.

Few things are more delightful than a leisurely morning over coffee with someone I love dearly.

…It is hours later now, about 2 and half hours actually. My writing was interrupted by the door bell. I checked through the peephole expecting someone canvasing the neighborhood for sales or prophet, and to my great delight my traveling partner was on the other side! We shared a leisurely morning coffee, catching up on small things, celebrating life, love, and enjoying each other’s company greatly. His is that rare presence that nearly always eases my anxiety, regardless of circumstances. I find myself on the other side of the anxiety, feeling comforted, safe, and assured that ‘all is well’. Good practices, trusting that the anxiety will pass, being frank about its appearance in my experience, and refraining from investing in holding on to it all help greatly – the addition of a pleasant intimate connection with another human being finished it off.

It’s a promising start to the day. I put on music, make a second coffee, and consider this pleasant moment. What could be worth more time, study, investment, or practice than Love and loving? 🙂

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

Quiet Mornings

July 2, 2015 //
0

I feel sure of quiet mornings. I don’t know why. I do know that serious disruption of a morning that starts well puts me at high risk of a crappy day; I don’t recover easily from having a quiet morning blown with OPD, emotional baggage, residual angst from unremembered nightmares, or anger. It has been awhile since I missed out on the simple joy of a quiet morning – and quiet mornings may be reason enough [for me] to live alone.

What is more representative of a quiet morning than my cup of coffee?

What is more representative of a quiet morning than my cup of coffee?

I’m not “a morning person”. I say that because it is true. It doesn’t show at all, here, alone on a quiet morning. I am content, and enjoying my coffee. A soft smile lingers on my face; it arrived while I showered, resulting from the innocent sensuous pleasure of water over skin. I feel good, and calm, and generally wrapped in a sense of well-being. How did I get here? Is that a question that needs an answer? There are choices and verbs involved. Some of them matter more than others. Emotional self-sufficiency – building it, and enjoying it – is an important piece of my puzzle, and I continue to work on it with the attention of a craftsman, and the commitment that results from a passion for living well. I am not yet sufficiently skilled, or strong enough, to be so sure of myself and my choices when I live with someone I care for deeply, and reaching that place is one of my challenges – not necessarily to then live in shared domesticity, but rather simply because it is a healthy goal that gives me more options.

One very important choice I have made along the way is to refuse to wallow in regret over small things. There are a lot of little things I enjoy greatly that I am choosing to do without day-to-day, in order to take care of me with greater skill over a longer time. I miss morning coffee with my traveling partner…I don’t miss arguments over small things, or emotional storms, that sometimes resulted because I just wasn’t yet quite awake enough to make sense, or to communicate easily, or needed a few more minutes for me. I could allow myself to focus on the regret and the loss, and sit idly by while resentment and hurt builds over time…I could take it very personally and blame him, her, them, the world, circumstances… oh the sorrow and the tears! It would get ugly fast, and then… where would my quiet mornings be? I might wake every day feeling only the losses. That sounds like a very poor quality experience. I didn’t understand, years ago, how much of my experience – and my emotions themselves – is chosen by me.  It isn’t forced on me. There are verbs involved. It matters not one bit if I refuse to recognize my choices, or the power of my will (or my won’t) – they remain steadfastly what they are. The outcome is generally quite predictable if I allow myself a moment of clarity to consider circumstances calmly, with awareness, compassion, and non-judgement. Meditation has been a tool with great value for me where perspective, awareness, compassion, and non-judgement are concerned; just ‘thinking about’ things takes me very different places than meditation does.

Begin at the beginning, it's a very good starting point.

Begin at the beginning, it’s a very good starting point.

I’m not saying that I ignore things that hurt me – emotional or physical – doing so tends to cause damage, and the wounds fester over time. Still, considering quiet mornings, why does acknowledging an experience I miss require me to raise hell with my traveling partner over it? What does my sense of loss actually  have to do with him, at all? My emotions are my own. Considering how much of my experience – and my emotions – are chosen, how does the hurt-angry-blame game even factor into it? Where is the utility? If drama and emotional weapons of mass distraction seem appropriate (or irresistible) in some moment, I will find that I have failed in some obvious and elementary way to clearly and effectively communicate some element of my values, my needs, or failed to share my expectations explicitly – or have callously forgotten that he has his own. That’s some bullshit right there, and it can be relatively easily managed, in the sense that there are choices to be made, that can be made – and it’s not that damned difficult from the practical perspective of making one better choice after another. (It does require practice, and your results may vary.) One of those choices [for me] is investing in the small victories, versus wallowing in the small losses; I enjoy quiet solitary mornings, smiling over my coffee, without regret, doubt, or insecurity – because quiet mornings please me so much, and nurture the best bits of who I am so well.

It's hard to go wrong with good basics...

It’s hard to go wrong with good basics…

This morning, I quickly backed out of Facebook after briefly checking it… my feed is filled with fear, hate, intolerance, doubt – did I mention fear and hate? Oh, and the anger. I don’t need it. Change is scary for people, and between marriage being legal, people who don’t want to see an antique flag with racist overtones flying over centers of government, and people in Oregon being allowed to smoke pot, there is a portion of the world just freaking right the fuck out over the terrible decline in society – I’d like to laugh, but frightened, cornered animals act aggressively, and there are few things more dangerous than feral humans acting out their aggressive impulses righteously in the name of their god, or ideology. That shit is damned scary. They are, however, human – we can’t just put them down, forcibly medicate them for their own good, or exile them for the good of society. When I have the energy for it, I do make a point of blocking all such relayed hate in my feed – regardless why it was shared, regardless which friend of mine that I know and care for may have shared it, I block the source (it’s easy to click ‘don’t show me stuff from ___’). Doing so certainly improves my feed over time, and I can’t be stopped from making the choice not to participate in hate. I even hope, in some small way, that perhaps I am ‘breaking the chain’ just by stopping more of it from reaching me; people who post hate often post hate regularly, people who post intolerance often post intolerance regularly, people who engage in trolling are often… trolls. Block. Experience improved.

A helpful practice, indeed.

A helpful practice, indeed.

Choice is a powerful tool. Making choices deliberately, with thought, with strategy, with commitment to my own values, unapologetically, frees my choices from the web of coincidence and happenstance; then the outcome is mine to enjoy, to be accountable for, to celebrate – and to change. I like that kind of power…the power to be. In circumstances where events are inflicted on me by others, I still have that power to choose, that power to be – because I can choose my reaction and choose to continue to live my own values. Viktor Frankl wrote a very important, rather depressing although enlightening book on the subject.

It’s a lovely quiet morning. Today is a good day to enjoy being and becoming, and to enjoy my power to choose – how vast and unlimited is that power?! Today is a good day to change the world.

Tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Categories Brain Injury, Free Will, Healthy Living, Logic & Reason, Love, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Perspective, Relationships, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women, Words

More or Less, and Enough

June 30, 2015 //
0

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.

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...

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.

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 , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
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 //
1

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.

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?

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?'

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.

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. :-)

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. :-)

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 , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
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 //
0

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.

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.

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 , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
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
« Older Entries
Newer Entries »