Well, it’s been not quite two weeks since the lay-off. I’m pretty okay. There are things to do, steps to take, appointments to keep, and all of it needs the same sort of consistent focused attention as any other set of work-related tasks. It’s hardly any different, although my time is so entirely more “my own” than it otherwise would be. That’s worth thinking about. There’s something to learn here.
The week ahead seems pretty full. No slack in it. I’ve got a couple interviews. A couple errands to run. A meeting with a career counselor sort of person with the State as part of the unemployment process. A meeting with a “land softly” sort of professional provided by my former employer. Meetings are meetings. Feels like I’m still working. lol Routine. The lay-off itself already feels like a far more distant moment than the 12 days ago it actually was. I start to wonder if that perspective is “strange” and quickly lose interest and move on to studying a professional field of endeavor adjacent to my “regular” day-to-day sort of professional role. It sounds interesting, and I feel ready for a change. Maybe this is a good time?
I laugh at myself for thinking – even for a moment – that I’m organized about all of this. I just now managed to hold on to “today is Sunday” simultaneously with “don’t forget to submit your weekly unemployment claim”. LOL (It’s just a task, and quickly handled.) It feels good to be this relaxed. It’s been too rare. That’s on me, though, for sure – that’s not about “work” in any way. I tend to be wound a bit tight, is all. It’s likely not healthy. This moment to really breathe, to let it all go quite properly, to take leisurely morning hikes with my camera, to come home in the middle of the morning and make home made breakfast sandwiches for brunch with my partner, to take my time with a new book… all of it matters. This is life being lived. There’s room in that for work – there sort of has to be; life can be fucking expensive and having a bit of cash flow is handy.
Now, if I’m wise I’ll seek ways to hang on to some of this when I return to work. If I’m thoughtful and studious about the verbs involved, I may even succeed! I wonder what the future holds…
If you’re human, chances are, sooner or later, there’s going to be some yelling. It may seem “appropriate” in the moment. Maybe it’s because something went wrong, or was tremendously frustrating. Maybe there’s a ton of anger behind it. Could be you yelling. Could be someone else yelling. Could be “at you”, or just near enough to be audible to you. There’s gonna be some yelling at some point, because very few people are explicitly taught any other behavior, and we see that loss of emotional control modeled pretty much everywhere, daily, and then amplified in our media and entertainment. Yelling is a thing a lot of people do.
I don’t like yelling. I don’t like it when my own emotional reserves run out and I am reduced to yelling. I don’t like being yelled at (ever, at all, over any-fucking-thing whatsoever). I’m not making any claim to whether my feelings about, or response to, yelling is generally reasonable – I don’t have an opinion on that; I simply don’t like yelling. At all. That’s a me thing.
My feelings about yelling, generally, are of no consequence to the existence of people yelling as a phenomenon. Yelling still occurs, regardless of my feelings. Humans being human. We vocalize, and under specific sorts of stress, we vocalize louder. We’re rather stupid primates in that regard – we apparently think being louder makes us easier to hear, or to listen to. Doesn’t seem to be that way in practice, in any clear or obvious way. Yelling does feel “weaponized” though, and my own perspective is that any good intention in the words being spoken is entirely lost as soon as the words are being yelled. All I hear is the emotion driving the yelling.
Today is high risk of yelling, due to the additional environmental stressor of having our roof being done. It’s hard to relax, converse, work, problem-solve – really anything that requires any focus is wrecked by the “stomping” (they aren’t) and banging (they definitely are) and nailing, and all the various overhead noises that are part of roofing. So, noise being noise, and the both of us having some “noise sensitivity” concerns, there’s considerable risk of lost tempers, frustration, and yeah – yelling. Not gonna lie, I don’t like it. I am eager to have the roof finished, though. It’s work that needed doing when we bought the house, and now here we are, at last. I’m sure not going to do anything to slow this process down. Instead, I’ve got to commit to the practices and verbs that help me manage my own tone and communication – while also committing to the practices and verbs that allow me to make room for my Traveling Partner to have his own experience. We’re both wholly human, and each having our own experience. His frustration often results in yelling (it’s often not personal at all, and often not directed at/toward me – he’s just somewhere else yelling at a thing or process that is frustrating him). It’s part of his communication style and a means of self-expression, I suppose, and it’s not up to me to decide who he is or chooses to be. (I definitely do need to work on not taking it personally – because it isn’t personal.)
I so loathe yelling as an experience, myself, that I work my ass off to just not do that. At all. My results vary, and I admit that I yearn for success that results in a 100% no-yelling environment as a basic condition of day-to-day life, which is a really high bar for success). Again, I don’t make any claims as to whether this is a reasonable approach or desired outcome. I don’t know that. I just know it is what I want for myself (and the world I live in). So I keep working at it. Practicing not yelling. Practicing not becoming a crying mess of bullshit and drama when I hear raised voices.
I mean.. actually… it’s important to practice the positives (it’s hard to practice not doing something, easier to practice doing the more appropriate thing that gets the desired outcome). My Traveling Partner is right about that; expressing such things in the negative (“don’t do” vs “do”) limits success at the most basic cognitive level. I guess that makes “practicing not yelling” more about doing the practices that build emotional resilience and reduce reactivity, and practicing taking a calm and measured tone – even under stress. That’s helpful to prevent becoming a crying mess of bullshit, too, although for that I think also practicing non-attachment, and practicing acceptance, compassion, empathy, and consideration go a long way toward avoiding bullshit and drama.
Now, for anyone thinking to themselves “well, what if it is personal?”. “What if the yelling is abusive, controlling, or manipulative behavior for personal gain?” “What if I really am being emotionally attacked by this person?”. Well, to that I say “I hope you recognize that the most useful solution to such a relationship is to get the fuck out of there while you can?” Meditation doesn’t resolve abuse. Mindfulness, consideration, kindness, openness, and even love will not prevent someone who is harming you from continuing to do so. (Nor will they heal broken bones or broken hearts.) It’s important not to assume someone else’s abusiveness is “you”. Set clear boundaries. Build healthy relationships. Walk away from abuse. You matter. Work on you. Let that other person fix their own bullshit.
Anyway. It’s a second day of listening to banging over head. It’s hard on both my partner and I, and it means a day of practicing patience, of being kind, of being aware and considerate, and of cutting ourselves and each other some slack when tempers flare or voices are raised in a moment of frustration. There will be verbs involved. No doubt my results will vary. I’ll just have to begin again. 🙂
Life is filled with mysteries and unanswered questions. This is my own experience, if nothing else. These mysteries come in all sizes, from the petty to the cosmic in scale, varying in philosophical and existential significance.
“Where did we come from?”
“How do I work this?”
“Where is the matching sock to this one?”
“Where did I leave my keys?”
“How do I say this?”
“How do I get there?”
“Friend or foe?”
“Have I forgotten to pack something I definitely need?”
“What is my favorite color/food/book/movie…?”
“What are the steps to making a perfect cup of coffee?”
“Where the hell did I put my Kindle?”
It’s that last wee mystery that’s been on my mind for a couple days now. I have a clear recollection of where was before it seemed to completely disappear. 🤔 I have, so far, avoided creating chaos by tearing apart every room in the house… but I haven’t yet found it. Honestly, it can’t have gone far. Fucking thing has a bright pink cover autographed in black sharpie by several nerdcore rappers; hard to miss. Definitely doesn’t look like anything else.
Where is it??
I have a potentially misleading memory of knocking it to the floor carelessly as I dozed off one evening… I have looked everywhere that could have occurred, and even moved furniture to look under things. It’s so very much not any of those places I’ve been gaslighting myself wondering if I only dreamt that detail. I am overly certain that it is not packed in any of my camping gear… and I am second-guessing that now, too.
Where is it??
Again and again I refrain from getting stuck in an anxiety loop; it’s just a Kindle after all, and quite an old one. My Traveling Partner gave it to me for Giftmas about 10 years ago. It’s replaceable, although the cover is not (it’s autographed). Still, it’s just a thing. It isn’t even my only access to the ebooks in my library.
Where is it??
It’s the mystery vexing me, more than the potential loss. Misplacing things is not particularly uncommon for me. I have a pretty exceptional built in “finder”, so these sorts of really challenging mysteries are fairly rare, but I do have a couple lasting memories of weird losses, found much (much) later in the oddest place… This is looking to be one of those.
Strangely, I am less anxious about losing my Kindle than I am deeply curious about where the hell it will turn out to be. 😆
…In the meantime, I’ll be camping for a few days without being easily able to take along almost infinite reading material; I’ll have to actually choose a book I want to read such that I am willing to carry it. Choices.
Inspiration leads to… change. Leads to amazing discoveries. Leads to new art, new writing, new thinking. Inspiration comes in a lot of forms, and I think one of the most unusual forms of inspiration for me over the past 2 years and 8 months (or something like that) has been… the pandemic. No kidding. Yes, it’s been hard. Yes, there have been tragedies upon tragedies, upon inconveniences, upon hardships and chaos. There have been colossal disappointments and headaches, and a lot of the experiences of pandemic life have been less than ideal. No argument there. …But… Have you noticed the other things?
Early in the pandemic, to stave off boredom and despair, a lot of people took to new projects and practices to keep themselves from spiraling into depression or to “save their sanity” as close quarters quickly began to feel like real confinement. My Traveling Partner built a new gaming computer – then built one for me. (We really lucked out on the timing, there, because things like graphics cards became “unobtainium” early in the pandemic.) I took on renewed enthusiasm with my aquarium, redesigned the interior of that habitat, and gained some delightful new aquatic creatures. We worked together to refine my work-from-home space to make that not just endurable, but really practical, and actually better than anything I could achieve in the office.
As time wore on, a lot of landlords began to get restless and their ability to earn their living was negatively impacted along with a lot of hard-working people struggling during the pandemic. Our own landlord made noises about wanting to move back into the unit we were occupying – even though we were great tenants able to pay on time each month. We started looking for a home of our own, and surprised ourselves by finding one we could afford, in a community we actually found desirable and livable. We moved, during the pandemic. Craziness. The “new house” thing kept us very busy during the latter half of that first year, and on into the second.
Time kept passing. Pandemic kept being a pandemic.
On Valentine’s Day this year, my partner surprised the hell out of me with a rice cooker and a wok. (We generally don’t do anything about Valentine’s Day other than love each other – which we do all year, every day.) I had never cooked with a wok. I’d only recently even attempted a stir fry for the first time, in a big skillet. I began my next pandemic project right then; learning some Asian cuisine. This was not only wildly successful (and tasty)… it opened my eyes to something I really hadn’t allowed myself to understand before this; I wasn’t actually a very good cook. I made food that was entirely edible. Simple. Decent casseroles. Good biscuits. Acceptable mostly relatively healthy absolutely 100% ordinary food. Good enough that someone sitting down to my table would eat a meal. Not good enough that folks raved about it or asked for my recipes, with the exception of my chocolate truffles (thank you Jacques Pepin) and my shortbread (thanks, Granny). Sometimes my cranberry sauce would wow someone enough to ask for that one (my own recipe, using whole cranberries, cooked with care, and some “wow” added with tangerine slices and Cointreau). Not exactly something to brag about.
My Traveling Partner has always been kind, gracious, and appreciative of my cooking. He’s also nearly always had “notes” – feedback. Some observation on this or that I could maybe do better, offered with great care, love, and consideration for my feelings. My cooking did not get better thereby, or at least not very much. I needed more time, and more study, and I needed to get to that place where I understood that my cooking needed real improvement to be “good”.
That first “pandemic Giftmas”, he gave me Kenji Lopez-Alt’s book “The Food Lab”. (I recommend it!) This started me down the path of actually learning to cook. Like, for real. I learned to make scrambled eggs that were so good I was proud to serve them – and enjoyed eating them – and learned that I didn’t actually “hate eggs”. I just didn’t know how to cook them. LOL I started paying attention more to what I was doing, and really taking my time in the kitchen. The new house has a kitchen that is really my own – and my Traveling Partner began making me cool kitchen gadgets and tools in his shop. I added “The Wok” to my cookbooks, another great cookbook by Kenji Lopez-Alt. I began making changes to how I shopped, prepared, and cooked various foods, based on my partner’s feedback, my new cookbooks, and… inspiration.
My cooking just kept getting better.
The cutting board and knife bar were made with love – and definitely improve the flow of my work space in the kitchen!
My cooking was definitely also “skewed Asian” – I pretty much gave up cooking anything that didn’t happen in a wok. LOL (I even planted my new garden with veggies specifically for stir fries. :D) I was a bit hesitant to stray from what was working out so well!
I kept studying and seeking out chefs, cooks, and content creators whose YouTube videos gave me the most practical insights to becoming a better cook. I continue to do that today. Why am I even going on and on about it? Because… inspiration. See, one evening I decided to whip up something with pasta instead of making a stir fry, or fried rice, or noodles. It was truly dreadful. I mean, honestly, I made something I’d made before, made the way I had always made it. It was a bit of an eye opener, honestly. Did not realize how entirely mediocre my cooking actually had been. It was a hard meal to eat. We had a sense of humor about it. I went back to wok cooking, which I’ve gotten pretty good at it and continue to study.
…But it nagged at me…
…I enjoy good pasta…
I also enjoy Joshua Weissman’s cooking videos. I bought his cookbook. I recommend his content. Some of it is Asian or Asian-inspired. A lot of it isn’t. I kept thinking about pasta. I really do like pasta. I was hesitant. I went looking for more pasta-specific content I could count on to be really good – things that would elevate my cooking, and teach me. Not just any cook, chef, or content creator makes the cut for me; I want to learn. The content has to be “proper“. I’m pretty selective. I stumbled on Vincenzo Prosperi – an Italian in Australia. I watched a video on his channel Vincenzo’s Plate, reacting to bad cooking (hilarious)(and just as I had with Uncle Roger’s videos about fried rice) – and then watched Vincenzo prepare the dish correctly. I watched others. I was watching one a couple days ago. My partner happened to be watching. “Now that looks good!” I was hesitant… seriously nervous about it… but I went for it last night, and made a lovely mushroom pasta dish for dinner. Wow. Worth the study, worth the care – it was tasty and felt like a kind of a home coming. (Thanks, Vincenzo!).
It’s going to be hot this week. I woke this morning eager to consider a cold pasta salad. I searched YouTube for inspiration (…that word again…), and found Jim at Sip and Feast. I watched a couple videos, and my Traveling Partner wandered through the living room just in time to hear Jim talking about his Greek pasta salad. “That sounds yummy” he remarked. “Yeah?” was my answer while my fingers began the practical task of jotting down ingredients I didn’t have on hand. There was time for a trip to the store before the heat set in…
A recipe is really just another kind of map, isn’t it?
It’s much later. There is a lovely pasta salad ready for these hot afternoons. I’m sipping an iced coffee that I spiked with the squeezed out shell of the lemon I zested and juiced for that recipe, and some very handy Jacobsen’s Lemon Zest sea salt – which, omg, so useful and yummy. (I’m not sponsored by any of these folks or brands – I just enjoy them and want to share with you.)
It doesn’t have to be fancy to be satisfying.
It’s a good day to be inspired. It’s a good day to begin again. It’s your adventure – choose your next move. 🙂 Where will inspiration lead you?
So… the news, right? Problematic, most certainly if you are a woman. Not solely because abortion services are a sometimes necessary piece of a woman’s reproductive healthcare, but also because of what the recent SCOTUS decision says about how those people devalue female human beings, generally. There will be plenty of folks throwing words about the issue(s) at our collective consciousness for days (weeks, months). Anything I might want to say is likely to be covered more skillfully by another voice. I’ll let this one go; know that I’m am hurting over it, myself. Shocked and appalled and angry, like a lot of other people. I’ll be writing letters to elected representatives (not because it is assured to be the most effective action to take, just that I can take it, repeat it, and do so as often as needed to feel heard). I’ve got plenty of stamps for snail mail, and great internet connectivity for emails.
…But… Or… And? Maybe “and” is right… please take care of yourself.
Take time for joy, too.
My Traveling Partner and I have been putting a lot of time into “the (new) family business”. It’s fun to work together on a task, and enjoy the shared experience of successful completion and a job well done. I think it also serves helpfully to give my partner better insights into what I realistically can and can’t actually do these days. When I’m just standing around, or hanging out watching videos, it’s probably pretty easy to overlook how much pain I may actually be in, or that I struggle to climb a ladder, or that standing on my ankle for long results in intense fatigue (pretty quickly), or that I often just “run out of energy” in the late afternoon.
…I started this several days ago. I put it aside, because it didn’t look like political events were going to improve (or change) much at all, and also, life is fucking busy right now, and I grab every chance I can to hang out with my Traveling Partner – even when that choice may not be ideal self-care. I fucking love that guy, and our mortal time together is precious and limited. Today? Today I hurt. I’m quite a lot of pain, and returned home from a long seeming work day in the local co-work space to my partner’s shitty day, bad mood, and surliness. I ran an errand. Came home. He’s frank and clear with me, not unkind just having his own experience. I don’t really want any part of that mess, right now, so… I head to the studio and sit down to write.
Sometimes we just need room to be. Better or bad, convenient or not, there are moments in a human life when handling it alone feels ideal. I mean… that’s one woman’s opinion. I happen to like some solo time (like, a lot of it), so perhaps I am biased. I enjoy my own company. 🙂
When it’s just me, “everyone” in the room wants to do what I want to do, without regard to what that happens to be. lol Read? Sure. Write? Hell, yes. Paint? I’m ready for it. Watch some videos on YouTube? I’m down for that and I’ll definitely be okay with whatever I may choose to watch. lol. Cook a meal? It’ll definitely be whatever I may enjoy, myself, without holding space for other preferences. Just sit awhile, in a quiet room? No problem – and no interruptions (however long I may sit quietly). Go to bed ridiculously early? Sure. Go for it. Stay up foolishly late? Also fine. Listen to the music loud? I can do that any day, any time, but when I’m alone it’s often a different playlist.
…I’m just saying, sometimes I really enjoy hanging out with the woman in the mirror, just being.
Solo time is peculiarly rare these days. Life wedges in a lot of human interaction, in spite of the pandemic, in spite of working from home, in spite of making an effort to get the downtime I actually do need. My Traveling Partner is social (very), and we adore each other. Time together is time well-spent and these mortal lifetimes are limited and too brief. Friends? I don’t see them often enough these days, so it’s rare to turn down a chance to hang out – even if it might have been excellent solo time, with different choices. Work? Even working from home full-time, I “see” a lot of my colleagues on calls, and the conversation is almost continuous in the work channels on Slack. Running errands puts me out in the world interacting with more other people. They’re everywhere. lol Finding moments to be really alone actually takes real effort and planning. I’ve got a camping trip planned for the end of July. 🙂
My partner checks in with me. We’re okay. He’s careful to confirm that he was gentle enough with me; he was having a pretty terrible day apparently, and his emotions were raw and on the surface. I appreciate the consideration, and we share appreciative grateful words of love. I make a point of ensuring he is aware of my physical discomfort, also making a point to be considerate, and gentle with my words. Sometimes we’re sufficiently emotionally “rugged” to roll with a moment of temper – helpful because we’re both fucking human – other times we need more tenderness and care from each other. Today feels good. Connected and intimate. Aware. Compassionate and empathetic. Nonjudgmental. Feeling heard without having to try so hard. It’s nice.
Late afternoon hints at becoming evening. It’s a warm day, and I hurt too much to cook anything that requires a lot of effort. Burgers? Maybe. I don’t mind making the run. A sit down dinner out would be lovely…but… Even now, neither of us feel really comfortable in public spaces that are occupied by people in close proximity. It’s pretty convenient not being sick every two or three weeks with some sniffle or stomach ache, and while it may not have stopped COVID in its tracks, the social distancing thing has been excellent for our health. LOL Sandwiches? Burgers? I don’t actually care much – I barely have any appetite, in spite of taking appropriate steps to manage my pain. The pain shouts into my consciousness louder than my empty stomach. It is what it is.
I take a sip from my glass of clean water, and pause for just a moment to really appreciate having access to a steady supply of potable, filtered, clean drinking water. Then – I begin again.
Evening Light 