Archives for posts with tag: we become what we practice

I woke earlier than I had hoped. It is a colder morning than forecast. My Traveling Partner is awake, coughing in the living room. I blow him a kiss as I leave the house, realizing moments later I could have actually kissed him. He sends me his love in the form of cute “stickers” in a message as I pull out of the coffee stand with a hot cup of coffee, ready to head up the highway. I reply with a couple cute stickers back, and find myself hopeful that he may be able to get a little more sleep.

Daybreak on the horizon.

It’s 22°F (-5.5°C)  as daybreak touches the horizon. Cold. Properly wintry. I sit in the warm car, with my coffee and my thoughts, waiting for the sun. I feel fairly certain the sunrise will bring the temperature up. It’ll still be a cold walk, and I’m already looking forward to a warming luxurious hot shower after I return home, but it’ll be better than walking in the dark on such an icy morning.

I saw a shooting star as I drove up the highway this morning. Yes, I made a wish on it. No, I don’t think making wishes on stars is actually something that works. lol What did I wish for? You’d laugh if I told you.

…What a weird scary world we’ve created…

I sigh to myself and turn my gaze back to the western horizon, now a streak of dirty orange with some blue-ish sky above it. The outline of Mt Hood becomes visible. The oaks that dot the meadow begin to take shape. There is comfort in real things in this real lived moment. I take refuge from my anxiety in this gentle “now”. Nothing much going on right here; a woman in a car at a trailhead, watching the sun rise. Pretty peaceful calm stuff. I have high hopes for a pleasant day ahead.

My head aches ferociously this morning. I take some medication and hope for relief. The cold hasn’t yet had its opportunity to seep into my bones, and my arthritis is not yet vexing me. That’s something, anyway. It’s enough and I’m grateful. My pain may be less manageable by the end of the day, but for now, I’m feeling pretty fortunate. Other than the cold, it’s a lovely morning to walk the trail here.

…I think about maybe getting my nails done before I head to San Francisco this week for work. It’s a definite maybe. 😂 I mean, I’d like to, but I’m reluctant to spend the money. It seems pretty frivolous… Choices.

Dawn comes.

The gate into the main parking area opens with a screech. I move the car closer to the access point for the year-round trail. I add my scarf, hat, and oversized fleece to my layers and put my gloves and cane handily within reach. I won’t want to stop long this morning, so I finish this now, before I set off down the trail. The colorful sunrise is a beautiful backdrop to the oaks.

I take my time enjoying the sunrise.

As the first light of day begins to touch the treetops, the frosted meadow grass sparkles. The hint of white suggests snow from a distance, but there’s been none of that. I’m selfishly grateful, but dismayed when I also think about summer ahead, crops, and the possibility of wild fires. Being good stewards of this one planet that is our home has not been easy for human primates; we tend towards self-serving greed and shortsightedness. We could do better.

Daylight. Across the highway I can see the lowland farm fields that in previous years have reliably become a shallow seasonal lake favored by migrating birds each winter. This morning it is a grassy field, mown short, covered in frost. G’damn I hope the planet recovers from the damage we have done (with or without us). I’d like to be around to see that.

Walking my own mile. Where does this path lead?

I sigh to myself, and begin again.

I slept in. I reached the trailhead as the sun cleared the horizon, and after enjoying some lovely views of Mt Hood at sunrise on my way up the highway. It is a clear cold morning, frosty and breezy.

Dawn, and the mountain in the distance.

I thought to make my way around the nature park from the less frequented trailhead tucked out of the way along the west side of the park, nearer to the river. I’d forgotten that the trail on that side is part of the seasonal route; closed until Spring. I grab a shot of the sunrise and head to the main trailhead. As late as it is, this morning, there are only a couple cars in the parking lot. It’s too cold for most walkers, though it is now a few degrees above freezing. Photographers and dedicated bird watchers still show up – and me.

I reach my halfway point, grateful for the added warmth of my gloves, scarf, and hat. I sit awhile, watching small birds hopping among the bare branches of nearby oaks. Busy morning for small birds, apparently.

Which is the distraction, the many small birds, or the tangle of branches against the blue sky?

I sit with my thoughts awhile. “Other people’s drama”, mostly, pulling my focus from what I need for and from myself most. The amount of emotional energy any one of us has to put into supporting, avoiding, addressing, healing, resolving, soothing, or staying out of such things is sometimes pretty fucking ridiculous (and draining). We inflict it on ourselves through social media, we find it forced upon us in our relationships, we create it in some moment of frustration, disappointment, or misunderstanding. It’s all very messy and annoying. We could do better. Unfortunately, emotional intelligence, critical thinking, conflict resolution, and healthy communication practices are rarely explicitly taught as part of mainstream curriculum (definitely not in the US), and many of us only notice the lack in our own life and development when we finally breakdown to the point of getting (and accepting) real help. Most of us just get by on a DIY approach, changing problematic behavior only after it destroys some important relationship, or after our life “falls apart” as a consequence of our shitty behavior or lack of emotional control.

“Feel what you’re feeling, do what is right,” a monster used to say to me. (I didn’t realize then that through other eyes I might be viewed as a monster, myself. PTSD is a relentless adversary, and hurt people do hurt people.) I can’t say I learned many good lessons in that relationship – and I’m lucky to have escaped with my life. This phrase has continued to stick in my memory. It’s an important idea about choice and values and free will and could have been really useful guidance if I’d had more understanding of my emotional experience in the first place, or if I’d had a more clear understanding of what I thought was “right”, and where I stood in relation to my values. It is more useful now, however regrettable the source.

Human beings, being human. It’s complicated. Sometimes some pretty important basics elude us until we’ve made a mess of our lives completely. Sometimes we just don’t accept guidance we’re offered. People are complicated. We’re each having our own experience, but often behaving as though we have shared perspective, values, and understanding of circumstances – even though we barely manage to communicate clearly. Often we aren’t even listening to the Other, we’re just wary, defensive, and waiting to talk. We could definitely do better.

Who do you most want to be? How will you be remembered by those who matter to you most?

I sit listening to the wind blow. It’s a different experience with the hearing aids in. I ask myself what steps I would take to improve a valued but contentious relationship if it were critical to preserve and deepen that relationship? What would I tell a friend if asked? I think I’d begin with utterly basic practices, starting with the Four Agreements. (Nevermind mind the “woo”, these are really effective basic practices.) I might also suggest:

  1. Be sincerely curious – ask questions from a place of goodwill.
  2. Listen deeply.
  3. Assume positive intent.
  4. Remind yourself why this person and relationship matter to you.
  5. Behave with kindness.
  6. Do not escalate.

I know. Not the easiest list of practical suggestions. Feasible with practice, but so many verbs and opportunities for failure. It can be really hard to pause in some moment of temper and say in an honest and vulnerable way “hold on, I want a do-over on this conversation, this is not how I mean to behave.” Practice will result in incremental changes over time. No guarantees that people dear to you will stick around while you struggle to become the person you most want to be. Use your words. Do your best.

… You’ll definitely have to do the work involved in being a better version of yourself, all on your own…

…Yes, it’s real work, and a lot of it.

I guess I’m just saying, things are sometimes challenging in these human relationships. It can seem so unreasonable to have to work so hard at them. It can be so worth it! Do your best – and when you fail (and you will), take a breath, apologize sincerely for the harm you may have done, and begin again.

… Good luck! This shit is hard sometimes…

What then? What turn does the path take once you’ve achieved your goal, or fulfilled some dream for your future, or completed some grand project, or obtained some wonder you long yearned for? What then? I’m sipping my coffee and thinking about that, no idea why; it was the thought in my head when I woke from a deep sleep, groggy and trembling, unprepared for the day. (At first, I wasn’t at all certain “what was wrong”, and it took me a moment to realize I was simply awake.)

The clock ticks on. The calendar turns another page. A new day begins and the path unwinds ahead of me.

…And I’ve got this cup of coffee…

…And also pain. This morning I woke to pain. Well, shit. It is winter, and the cold and damp definitely do worsen my arthritis pain. I sigh to myself, sit up straighter, and stretch. I guess it could be worse. What did the Chaotic Comic call it? “Radical acceptance.” I sip my coffee and reflect on that. It is a concept commonly associated with DBT (Dialectical Behavior Therapy), an offshoot of CBT (Cognitive Behavioral Therapy). Radical acceptance sound rather grand and impressive to me… I smile a crooked smile and sip my coffee. I just think of it as coping, and as refusing to let pain make my decisions in life, when I have a choice (which tends to be “most of the time”), particularly since it’s been hanging around since I was in my late 20s. There is work to do. There are moments to enjoy. There is a whole life to live. Pain doesn’t change that, it’s just a… complication. I do my best to keep it managed and in perspective. I’m not saying that’s easy. My results definitely vary. Some days are harder than others. I sigh to myself, and let my thoughts move on.

I frown for a moment, looking at the browser tab I used to find linkable resources for the terms “DBT”, “CBT” and “radical acceptance”. What a world; I scrolled through many pages of links to various costly “resources” (booksellers, clinics, specialists, merch) before I gave up and went directly to Wikipedia. A Google Search is just about pointless these days; the first page is an error-laden overly-simplistic AI overview I have no use for, followed by sponsored link after sponsored link to some bookseller, or costly clinic or specialist, dwindling to videos by various unknowns. Wikipedia? I scrolled all the way to page 5 before that turned up (in spite of it being one of my own most-visited resources). The continued enshittification of the internet is vexing. “Platform decay” is real, and “AI” is not an improvement. I sigh, and wish Google a silent “go fuck yourself” before moving on.

Wednesday. Right – today I take my car for an estimate on the repairs it needs following it’s mystery collision in a parking lot on the last day of 2025. Stress shoots through me at the recollection and my anxiety spikes, hard. I breathe, exhale, and relax, reminding myself the collision is in the past, the insurance coverage is already approved, this is just another step on the path. I unclench my jaw, and take another breathe, and a sip of coffee. The memory of the feeling when I first saw the unexpected damage to my parked car brings it back; the sorrow, the hurt feelings, the stress over the damage and the repair cost to come. The feeling now is as visceral as the feeling then. PTSD. I breathe, exhale, and let that go. Again. I repeat the exercise until my heart is beating in a normal and comfortable way, and the pressure in the pit of my stomach has dissipated.

It can be hilariously difficult to describe the experience of PTSD, what it is like to feel it, to go through it, to have a flare up of one symptom or another. The way it is portrayed in the movies isn’t particularly accurate. It’s not always some massive meltdown (or lost-in-the-past flashback) – sometimes it’s a physical re-experiencing of the stress of some moment that is not now, and little more (although surely that’s enough). Sometimes it manifests itself as a lack of perspective or ability to anchor to here and now, a struggle to recognize that this is not that moment, at all – whenever or whatever “that moment” was. For people suffering with Complex PTSD (not recognized in the US DSM-V, but recognized by WHO’s ICD 11), the moments have piled up one upon the next and made things that much worse for being compounded and complicated by each other.

I sip my coffee, reflecting on my life, and finding it maybe just a little bit marvelous that at 62, after years of therapy and practice, I can at long last let my consciousness gently touch some terrible moment of pain or trauma or horror (intentionally!) without immediately losing myself in that past moment, without tears or terror, without profound anxiety or seething latent rage surfacing (sometimes). I can even, if I choose, tenderly and compassionately support myself through processing some detail without falling apart over it (sometimes). Oh, it’s an unreliable skill, and still wants further practice and reinforcement, and it requires self-care and presence, and willingness to let it go and step back if I begin to feel swamped, but it’s surely progress worth a moment of acknowledgement. It took a long time to get here, and it’s a better place to be in my life – and I didn’t know, ever, if I could even make this journey and stand in this better place. My results have varied – a lot.

I silently wish my beloved Traveling Partner well, hoping he still sleeps. I’ve come so far – and for much of the journey he has been my companion through the ups and downs, and the new practices, and the moments lost to poor mental health, and the challenges of every day life, and all the work and the bullshit and baggage and chaos and damage. The therapy. The work. The love. Fuck, I am so grateful to love and be loved by this singular human being. My heart fills with gratitude and spills over as unexpected tears. Human beings are weird. lol I sigh to myself, and my inner voice mocks me kindly, understanding, “bitches always be trippin, y’all.” I laugh out loud. A barista calls to me merrily, “good joke?”. I reply “life!” and she laughs, too.

Once upon a time, I dreamed day and night about being “a regular person”, less “quirky”, more able to endure stress and able to heal from trauma. Less “plagued by misfortune”. I yearned for things I didn’t yet have an understanding of… resilience… emotional intelligence… and love. I wasn’t certain life was worth living. I had only the most limited sense of agency. I felt lost and crushed, pushed and pulled, and I seethed with the sort of buried rage that if exposed might erupt into something really terrible. I felt invisible, and unheard, and lacked a sense of worth or purpose. Tough times. It seems very far away now. I can’t claim to be “over it” or “cured” or so thoroughly mentally healthy as to set (or comply with) some standard of “a regular person”…but I am no longer an outsider in my own life. I’m no longer mired in despair and filled with a sense of futility. I’ve got better tools for coping with the reality of who I am. I’m grateful. I’m generally content with life. I’m grateful for love and friendship and good times. I’m okay for most values of okay, most days. G’damn that’s… wonderful. It’s been an interesting journey, and not an easy one. I smile to myself, when I try to pin down “when it started”. I don’t think that’s so easy…so many beginnings, so many steps on this path. The journey is the destination. “Are we there yet?” is not a question with a satisfying answer; we walk on.

I finish my coffee, still smiling. It is, after all, time to begin again. Again.

By the end of the day, yesterday, my tinnitus, my headache, and my lingering irritability had joined forces and invited a flare up of hyperacusis (sound sensitivity). I felt as if I couldn’t find a quiet moment. Every little noise annoyed me. Every moment someone was speaking was making it almost impossible to hear anything else. Every sound seemed unnecessarily loud. I figured out it was me before I was a complete asshole about it, but it was unpleasant. It lasted the rest of the evening. Seems like I woke without it this morning, and I’m starting the day feeling hopeful.

The highpoints of my day, yesterday? A book arriving that my beloved Traveling Partner bought for me as a gift, which I’m eager to read; everything he’s recommended over the years has been worthwhile. (This one is The Stand, by Stephen King, which I haven’t read.) The other highpoint? A dark quiet room, alone with the silence, before I slept. It wasn’t even actually silent. Not at all. My CPAP machine was running, and the little ambient noise generator the VA gave me that helps me sleep by masking background noises (and to some extent, my tinnitus), was also on. Everything seemed “too loud”. Everything was turned down to the quietest settings. Hyperacusis.

I gave up, hoping it would be better in the morning. I’m grateful for the morning; it is gentle on my consciousness, so far. One more workday, this one, and then a weekend. I chuckle softly to myself; I’m back to counting weekends and looking forward to Friday on Mondays. Very human.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. My hands pause motionless above the keyboard for an unmeasured weirdly long time, as my thoughts drift through my head without transmitting anything to my fingers. I finally notice that I am sitting in this odd anticipatory state, and I make a point to observe that in writing, just to break the spell.

It’s that I’m struck speechless, perhaps, by the weird shit going on in the USA right now. It’s simply so much incomprehensible corrupt cruelty and self-serving grandstanding and grifting that I can’t wrap my head around how this is even real, sometimes. In America. Freedom of speech under direct attack. The administration pulling the nation out of important alliances, trade groups, and treaties, and withdrawing previously approved funds that throw valued lifelines to real human beings. Citizens being shot in the streets or kidnapped from their homes or jobs by masked thugs paid by federal dollars. And in possibly one of the most hilariously ludicrous re-enactments of a South Park episode, the US Dept of Health and Human Services announced a “new food pyramid” that puts red meat, dairy, and saturated fats front and center. (South Park did it first, Season 18, episode 2, “Gluten Free Ebola”, 2014) I’m still laughing. I sometimes feel like I should be resigned to waking up every day wondering what the fuck is even going on, because so much of this shit just doesn’t make any sense. I sigh to myself.

The new food pyramid isn’t the worst of all the things going on, inasmuch as eating whole real food of good quality that isn’t preprocessed and full of preservatives and additives is a better choice for our health, but suggesting (if only visually) that red meat and dairy should make up some majority portion of our intake is probably not ideal. I’ll admit I haven’t yet read the dietary guidance more closely; I’m still laughing too hard. So much of this shit doesn’t make any real sense, and that’s probably the point – because keeping us all distracted with this craziness may be intended to keep us from looking more closely at things that matter a great deal more. (How about those Epstein files? Where are we at with those?) One of the challenges, I guess, is that I find so many (all?) of this administration’s cabinet members and department heads thoroughly unlikeable and untrustworthy. They make it really clear where their interests lie, and it is not with the citizens they serve. They lie openly, as if the internet just doesn’t exist for immediate real-time fact-checking. This is without a doubt the dumbest administration in the history of American governance…or we are the most gullible population.

“Enough,” I tell myself, and I let it go. I sip my coffee, enjoying the warmth in my hand, and the mellow flavor. I enjoy the smooth jazz in the background this morning, uninvasive and subtle. Coffee and jazz on a quiet morning, a good combination, a good beginning to the day.

This weekend, at long last, the Giftmas decorations all come down and get put away for another year. I’m behind on that. I had meant to do it last weekend, but chose to rest and give myself more time to recover from having had the flu – which I feel pretty completely over at this point. Damn that was pretty bad. I’m glad I’d been vaccinated. It could have been much worse. The flu has already killed thousands of people this year, in the US alone. I’m grateful for the vaccines that make it less likely to be fatal, for so many of us. I wish more people took getting their vaccinations more seriously, and put more consideration into the value of herd immunity and community wellness, but honestly? I get it. Look at this mess; would you take health advice from the circle jerk of unqualified nitwits making vaccine recommendations right now? It’s a top down problem, too. This isn’t about the science or the scientists doing the real work of creating vaccines. It’s the administration. The stupidity and lack of qualifications of so many of this administration’s talking heads make it almost impossible to trust a word they say.

For me this shit is not a partisan issue; I dislike unethical grifters of any political alignment, and I don’t think choosing a political party is a clear indicator of intelligence or qualifications for a policy-making role. Ethical governance ought not be a partisan issue, at all. Once elected or appointed, every one of those assholes is expected to get to work – together – to govern skillfully, wisely, and in the service of every citizen, not just the ones who think like they do. Isn’t that obvious? I’m so thoroughly disappointed with both Democrats and Republicans – but the math doesn’t work for 3rd parties, because the system is set up to fail them. We’re probably long overdue for direct democracy…but I don’t exactly have a lot of confidence in how that will turn out, either, just considering what people seem willing to vote for, and why.

I sip my coffee and let my thoughts wander on.

I sigh to myself and think about suffering and changes and choices, and this journey that is one human life. One woman, one path. I am finding it hard to settle down and meditate, today. Human. Some days it is easy, some days it isn’t. It’s a “practice” because it really takes an active commitment and daily decision-making, followed by real action, and that never really changes. There are verbs involved. We become what we practice, though. I benefit so much from keeping a consistent meditation practice, I know not to let it slip. When I falter, I begin again.

I’ve still got this persistent desire to fill my tank, get in the car, and just…drive toward the horizon, until I find myself, somewhere.

…The clock ticks on. The future is unwritten. The journey is the destination – and there is no map. Where does this path lead? I take a breathe, exhale, and begin again.

First “proper” work day (for me) of the new year. I sip my coffee considering the moment, and the day ahead.

I push thoughts of worldly matters aside, in favor of here, now. The coffee is good. Hot on my tongue, soothing on my throat. I had planned to work from home. Plans change, and I am waiting for the university library to open in 15 minutes. A quiet uninterrupted work day will be just the thing to get me caught up after being ill. The morning is gray, and it has been a rainy night. It’s a cold drizzly morning in the Pacific Northwest. Winter.

… When I moved to the area in 1998, we would reliably have at least some snow before the new year, and plenty of freezing mornings and icy cold days, but it’s been awhile since that has been true. Winter (at this altitude and location) is more about gray rainy days, now. Cold, but rarely freezing. It could be that I personally prefer this, but I don’t think that has anything to do with what is good for the health of the planet.

Permanence is an illusion. Change is. I sigh to myself and think about life. Where does this path lead? How many more years? What quality of life will I enjoy over time? Will I live to see global peace…or global war? I sip my coffee. The clock is ever ticking.

I breathe, exhale, and relax, and take a few minutes for meditation, before I begin again. Say hello to 2026 – what will you do with it?