Archives for posts with tag: what matters most?

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.

It was still dark when I stepped onto the trail this morning. It’s only barely daybreak now. My tinnitus is loud in my ears, and the morning is otherwise quiet and still. It is a peculiar solitary moment, not quite lonely, but a little poignant, perhaps, though not for any particular reason. I sigh quietly, and sit with my thoughts.

Yesterday was a good day. I enjoyed a lovely evening at home, after work, with my Traveling Partner, watching favorite shows in the newly reorganized media library. Time, well-spent. I slept well and deeply. I woke feeling rested. I feel pretty good now, too.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I sit in the solitary stillness, wrapped in contentment. For a time, there is no moment but this one, here, now. I think about sunrises and new beginnings, autumn rains and the end of summer. I realize, as I blow my nose on the last tissue in my pocket, that I forgot to pick up travel tissues for the car yesterday. I guess I was just that eager to get home after work.

I reminisce about former colleagues and past jobs, and smile thinking about my new team. Four analysts, soon to grow to seven – it’s not the biggest team I’ve ever lead, and I find it a very manageable size. Comfortable. Each team member brings a unique skillset to the work we share. Fun people, too. I’m enjoying this element of the new role. There’s so much to learn and to do. The “hardest” part, for now, is consuming all the policy documentation and learning all the new tools fast enough to be really useful, as close to immediately as I reasonably can. It is a fun and busy time. I remind myself that it is still “just work”, and relative to other things in life, it isn’t the most important thing going on, at all. There’s more to life than the job we do for the money to live that life.

Another breath of cool autumn morning air fills my lungs. I sit quietly, breathing, aware, and letting my thoughts pass through the open sky of my consciousness for a little while, like fluffy clouds.

… I am out of tissues…

I think about the upcoming Autumnal Equinox. I usually take that day off from work. My Traveling Partner had asked if I have plans. It wasn’t even on my mind, after the chaos and upheaval of losing one job, and the scramble to find the next. I’m reluctant to take time off during the first thirty days. I probably could, though. I think about it for some little while. Then I let myself think about the winter holidays, coming up so quickly. It seems only weeks ago that it was New Year’s… But it also seems an unimaginable long time ago, too, with so much going on in the world. What’s next, I wonder?

… And what about dinner, tonight? Beef and broccoli, stir-fry? That does sound good, and I’ve got everything I need to make it…

I sit with my thoughts awhile longer. Soon enough it’ll be time to begin again…

It was dark when I left the house, even though it was an hour or more later than usual. I’m slowly convincing my body to shift the day to a somewhat later start (and finish). It was still so dark partly due to the rainy weather and dense cloud cover. It was still raining gently, but had clearly rained harder during the night. I have a vague recollection of hearing the pleasant percussive chime of raindrops on a vent cover, during the night when I got up briefly to pee.

I arrived at the trailhead as the rain became a soft misty drizzle, grateful for my rain poncho, but I’m laughing now, because it isn’t raining at all, and my poncho’s only purpose is as a dry spot on this fence rail, where I often like to sit for some little while.

A favorite perspective on a moment.

My Traveling Partner pings me, asking if I am sitting in the car, waiting for the rain to stop? It’s not raining here, now, and I share that information. Simple communication, and I feel loved that he cares enough to ask. I sit watching the many little birds doing little bird things; they don’t mind the wet morning at all. Looks like the squirrels and chipmunks are sleeping in, though, no sign of them this morning. There are more migratory birds on the ponds each time I come, lately, another sign of autumn approaching. The cool rain-fresh air is another sign. The dark green of the oaks isn’t any different than summer, too early for them to change, but other deciduous trees are beginning to turn and I see hints of yellow and orange here and there. Somewhere a rooster crows.

This is one moment of many in this finite mortal lifetime, and soon I’ll return home to other moments, with a sense of being refreshed and recharged, feeling rested and purposeful, ready to tackle the Sunday housekeeping chores, and maybe bake something.

My mind wanders to yesterday. My butane stove, which I use with my wok, failed me. The nozzle or the carburetor, or some smaller part between the two, wasn’t working. It wasn’t an expensive stove, and may have simply used up what it had to offer, but it was a gift from my Traveling Partner. We looked it over together to determine whether to fix it or replace it, and decided in favor of replacement, though we both have the necessary skills to tear it down, and rebuild it. (It wasn’t obvious whether it could be repaired and safely used after doing so.) If the replacement really does arrive today, I suppose I’ll make stir fry tonight and try it out…

I breathe, exhale, and relax. Nice start to the day. I enjoy rain, and the fragrance of petrichor. I watch a rather large nutria waddling down the gentle slope from the oaks back to the edge of the pond, where I see her little ones playing on the bank. They pay no attention to me.

I sit awhile longer with my thoughts, aware of my breathing and distant sounds of traffic. I remind myself to stop at the big box DIY store on my way home for something my beloved asked me to pick up for him. I’m pleased that I didn’t forget, and didn’t need my many notes and reminders on my calendar, shopping list, and to-do list. Win! It’s a small thing, but always pleases me to remember something without help.

These gentle lovely moments really matter. I sit with this one awhile. There is no hurry, today, and there is value in savoring each moment of joy. This moment will end, soon enough, and it will be time to head back down the path and begin again.

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 glance at the clock… it’s time to begin, again.

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.