Tag: 2021

There was a time when I couldn’t stand to be alone with my own thoughts for more than a few hours at a time. There was a time when silence and solitude were to be avoided at all costs, lest I be forced to contend with the pain of my existence. There was a time when I absolutely hated myself.

Things are different now. I enjoy the solitude. I’m intrigued by my existence and it’s easier and easier to love myself, especially when I am by myself.

What faults I have (or will admit to having) I only consider faults when I am in close proximity—either physically or emotionally—to other humans. I only think less of myself now when my personality starts to rub against theirs because no matter what I do, it always seems to rub the wrong way.

When I am alone, my mind, to me, moves in such beautiful ways. When I am with others suddenly it is too grounded, too predictable, too boring, too dreary.

There was a time I wished I could see myself the way other people saw me, but now I wish other people could see me the way I see me. I wish other people understood the way I see the world. I wish other people appreciated the way I see the world.

I wish people knew there are other ways to be happy, to be hopeful, to express optimism. My happiness is grounded. My hope is action based. My optimism is tempered by realism.

I suppose I find the real world more exciting than daydreams and fantasies. I think problem solving and problem facing are how you really move forward. Words mean little to me and grand plans that don’t take into account catastrophe or crisis and contain no contingency plans are little more than empty talk and a waste of time. There are better uses of energy and more fulfilling ways to chase euphoria.

The week is moving along fast now. The memory of yesterday is a blur, and this makes me feel as if it were a blur when I lived it, though I know that is probably not true. Sometimes our memory of a time feels is different from how a time felt when we lived it and the less we pay attention, the less we find to hold on to, the less mindful we are, the greater and greater the difference.

Today will feel different tomorrow than it does today.

Or, I hope so anyway. It been a long day of steep highs and lows, good news and bad news, celebrations and a hard future to plan for, and all of which I found overwhelming. I coped the best I could. I talked myself down from panic and let myself feel my joys fully. I faced my failures and allowed myself my successes.

I made it through it all today and sitting here at the kitchen table, enjoying a belly full of Pad Thai and a cool breeze that I like to think blew down straight from the peak of Mount Evans, through the city and in through my open windows with the sole purpose of cooling and calming me, I’m looking back and doing the math. I’m adding up the good and the bad, those successes and failures, the worries and joys, and it seems it’s all coming out even in the end.

A lot may have changed since I woke up this morning, but nearly all of it was horizontal. All in all, I’ve come back to the same me I was at daybreak.

The hardest part has been nearing it alone. My wife is off house sitting and though she isn’t far away and we still text and call throughout the day the same as we always do, not having her physically present leaves me feeling isolated and lonely.

Without her here I don’t know where to put my emotions, except on the page I suppose, but the page can only give back what is given. It can’t change anything. Yes, I can get the emotions out but with nothing to replace them with, they just keep growing back. This is only a prolonging, not a cure.

Luckily, in addition to words, there are chores, and pets, and podcasts, all of which are very good distractions, and by the time it starts getting dark outside and I’m crawling into bed, I hope to be too tired to let the day’s events run for long inside my head.

Monday finds me fatigued and frayed with anxiety. It’s been several nights since I’ve slept well and several weeks or more of what are probably elevated stress levels. The only thing keeping me going is knowing I’m already in the tunnel and if I don’t want to be stuck here, I have to keep going to the end. The only out is through, you know?

To help, I’m insisting on time for myself. No matter that the time never seems to come packaged in hours but only ever in moments between expectations and obligations, between tasks and to-dos, between the things people need from me and the person they need me to be. No matter how little or how scattered, theses moments are mine.

And what am I doing with my time? Nothing as productive as I wish. Today, it turns out, is one of those “input days“. What I mean is, I’m doing a lot of sifting through collected articles and images, sorting and sharing them where they should go. I

I used to consider days like these lost or useless days. I used to think it was pur procrastinating or lack of willpower on my part, These articles, quotes, videos, and images are to my writing like paint is to an artist, and this sifting and sorting is like mixing colors.

Days like this are for reconnecting with what interests me, re-sparking my creativity, and remixing concepts that at the time of their discovery were concise and contained within their own realms but since have become blurred and blended in the deep and dark recesses of my subconscious.

This is the work I do now, and it’s essential to the work I want to do, eventually.

The forecast promised warm weather today but so far all we’ve gotten are clouds and cool breezes. I’m hearing murmurs of severe storms and even hail later and hoping the rumors are true. The sun has been nice, but in the late afternoon the heat can become oppressive if the afternoon storms don’t roll in and restrain the rising temperatures.

The clouds are comforting though, matching my mood as my mind replays the tragedies of the past year. I haven’t told all (not all stories are mine to tell) nor gone into great detail (an emotional burden I couldn’t ask you to bear) but these last 12+ months have been some of the hardest I have ever lived though.

Illness, losses, trauma, sacrifice, failures, the blows followed back to back with hardly any time to process before the next crisis began and as a result I’m suffering the effects in unpredictable and heart-wrenching waves.

At random moments throughout my day the realization that life is so different, has been so affected, and feels so fucking hard now and the knowledge there is nothing I can do to change where we are or to soften any of the hurt felt so far, hits me, and I break out into tears, into rage, into an overwhelming need for comfort so big I fear it can never be satisfied.

I’m trying my best to keep one foot in front of the other, in front of the other, in front of the other and to be at least realistic whenever I can’t be positive. Life goes on and I go on, one way or another. I’d like some control. I’d like to make choices. I’d like the future to be different from the past. I’d like to never have another year like the last again but if I do, I hope to find myself with lessons learned and feeling a lot more resilient than I do now.

But! It’s Friday, the sun is beginning to peek from behind the clouds and I’m ready to turn this low mood around. I have coffee in hand and my friends are waiting with promises of laughter and distraction. Life may be hard in general, but today will be a good day despite it all. The secret is in how you look at it. It’s in what you choose to focus on and what you choose to hold to and what you choose to let hold you up. It’s in how you choose to let it shape you.

Control.

Choices.

Lessons.

Resilience.

Perhaps they are already here.

Today is not as much of a “do-nothing” kind of day as yesterday was. I always forget that if you try to rest all of Saturday, you must do double duty on Sunday and this Sunday’s to-do list is quite long. Add that to the late start and the gloomy skies and my mood is bordering on irritable and I’m close to giving up and letting the universe implode or whatever happens when you decide to stop being a responsible adult for more a day or so.

Today’s coping tool is the timer. I’m alternating between writing time, and time to work through the to-do list. I set 30 minutes and type away, then I get up and complete a task. I have a drink and a snack maybe then set another 30 minutes and start typing. I’m not perfect. Sometimes typing time turns into Twitter time and sometimes task time turns into TV time, but I’m trying. In the end, something will get done today.

I admit this isn’t the most effective way to structure my Sunday. My wife is the type to separate her task time and free time entirely, as I think most people are. She spends her morning on errands and chores and then has the whole of the afternoon to herself. It sounds nice, and I have tried to break my days up this way but while doing one I’m always thinking of the other. When I’m washing dishes I want to write, when I’m writing I want to wash dishes and in the end neither is done well or efficiently.

It’s better for me to know that I only have to focus on one thing for a little while. I can enjoy the peace and satisfaction of one task without the guilt because I know I will get to the other in time.

I still wish I had another day to myself, at least. I really wish I had whole week to call my own! More time to do more of what I want in and more to spend with the people I love most. I will always believe the 40 hour work week was one of the cruelest inventions of humanity. And with that thought comes the usual Sunday afternoon blues…

It’s a do nothing kind of weekend here, the first I’ve had in a long time, and I’m exceedingly excited for it. The last few weekends have been far too busy and any free time I have over the next many have already been allocated for events and to-dos. So, I’m enjoying this peace while I can. I’m soaking up lowered expectations and reveling in not having a plan for anything.

Not that it’s easy. Sometimes resting is harder work than working. You have to fight the guilt. You have to fight the worry. You have to know your worth even when you slow down, even when you stop.

For someone like me, who struggles with self care and self worth daily, this is near impossible.I can’t change a whole lifetime of conditioning and time to do anything but work and sleep is too hard to come by, so there are a few tasks on the agenda. I tried to at least stick to only the to-dos I want to do. I chose a small house project to complete and close errand to run. Nothing too stressful or strenuous.

I’ll give in to the culture of capitalism and productivity for a short time so the rest of the day can be spent in the bliss of napping, snacking, and escaping into TV and social media. It’s sad I can’t have a whole day of nothing, but it’s at least going to be a day of gratitude and gratification. I’m happy to have the privilege of even a few hours of guilt free peace.

I spent another night tossing and turning, waking in the night, and struggling to fall back asleep. I can’t even remember the last time I slept soundly through a night or didn’t wake up with dark circles and heavy limbs. Still, considering the chronic sleep deprivation, I’m feeling pretty good today.

I feel light, like a weight has been removed from my chest for a time. I wouldn’t quite call it happy, but something very near it or something very far from melancholy, anyway. It’s more of a lack of pain than a euphoria. Sometimes when you’ve been low for so long, just getting to neutral can be a major sense of hope and pride.

Perhaps it’s only that the sun has finally returned, and the workday is scheduled to be an easy one. I feel ready to focus, ready to work, ready for a few steps forward for a change.

I read a blog post today from someone lamenting that they had fallen short of their goal and only finished half of a draft for their next book. I am by no means invalidating the feelings of failure, but couldn’t help thinking how proud this person should be to have had the courage to start at all and to make it halfway! I’m still working on ideas and anxiety. I hope one day to have gathered half the resolve, focus, and determination this blogger has. I hope they know I’m in awe of them.

The most I can ask of myself is to get through a scheduled hour of real writing. Not reading or research, not image editing, not journaling, real writing, followed by some time spent actually editing. When I say real writing, I don’t mean profitable writing, though someday soon I’d love for that to be my pursuit. I mean, writing that is meaningful to me. Writing I hope holds some value for you.

It may only be a personal essay, a poem, or a book review, but it’s writing I take seriously. It’s practice for something bigger and it’s purifying for the psyche and, for now, that’s all I ask from myself and from writing. I suppose it’s all I can ever ask.