Author: wsquared

To do or not to do

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I’ve been owly since the moment I woke up this morning. I could list a lot of reasons, I guess – it’s snowing again, it’s only Wednesday and I’m tired and ready for the weekend, drama at home, blah, blah, blah. I haven’t slept well the past few nights, which is not all that unusual, but is annoying nonetheless. I have very strange dreams and I wake up in a panic several times a night: not conducive to well-rested days.

So mostly I’m tired. I’m physically tired, but also emotionally and mentally. I’m tired of the drama at home. I’m tired of some on-going issues at work. I’m beyond tired of the weather. Winter returned yesterday with a vengeance and while I’m not dumb enough to believe that winter could be over this early this far north, it had been pretty nice the past few weeks and I was nursing a pretty good case of Spring Fever. Then *BLAM!* winter’s back. Yuck.

So, okay, I’m tired. Big deal. This too shall pass. All of it will pass, and then there will be something new by which I’m tired and tried. I’m okay will all that. It’s life, and in the scheme of human suffering, I’m not even anywhere near the bottom of the scale. I have a good life. I’ve been very lucky, and I’m deeply grateful, both for all that I have been given, and what I have been spared.

Here’s the thing, though. Someone got the brunt of my owlyness this morning and it wasn’t fair to them and it was disappointing to me. Here I’ve been thinking and meditating and writing about being kind, and trying really hard, but when the rubber really met the road, I failed miserably over something small with one of the last people I want to be unkind to.

Rats.

I apologized and it’ll be alright with my friend, but my disappointment in myself will be a little harder to let go of. Historically, my temper and my mouth get me in all kinds of trouble. I’ve alienated a lot of friends, family and strangers alike in my 50-odd years. I’ve accepted that, and now in my old age (!) I’m trying to do better. I’m striving for enlightened communion with folks now. I’m pretty far away from that goal, but I’m working toward it and today I tripped on the path and fell flat on my face.

Blast.

I don’t have any illusions about who I have been, but I guess I was harboring some major illusions about who I believe I’m becoming. So I’ve been humbled and now I go on. That’s really the only option. I’ll lick my wounds for a short time, and then I’ll have to just get back to it: Being Kind. Just that. Trying, trying, trying.

But we know, don’t we? As Yoda said:

“Do or do not, there is no try.”

Damn.

Future shock

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So true, that. Wanting to control things over which I have no influence – time, events, people – really is my problem most of the time. Occasionally I even find myself praying to a God I don’t necessarily have faith in, trying to hedge my bets for the outcome I want. That’s when I know I’m really off-track.

That’s when I try to convince myself to come back to the moment. This moment. NOW. And then I try to come back to myself, which is, of course, the only thing I have control over – how I conduct myself in each moment. And then I breathe. Just breathe. It quiets my mind and calms the anxiety. When I’m back in my body and not sending my thoughts spinning into the stratosphere, I have choices.

Of course, it’s a lot easier to write or talk about this, than it is to actually do it in the heat of the crisis. When everything seems to be falling apart and the future is so uncertain, all I want is reassurance that everything is going to be okay. I just want someone to fix it, and to tell me I’m going to be alright. It’s the not-knowing that makes me feel unsafe, giving rise to the mind-numbing anxiety.

If I can remember to breathe, though, that’s all it takes. I remember that I can’t control the future, that everything passes, including the crisis at the moment, no matter how bad it seems. Nothing lasts forever. Sure there are losses, and that’s hard, but I’ve survived them before and I will again.

Whatever is going to happen will happen, whether I stress about it or not. So my energy is better spent calming my mind, focusing on what’s happening now. I’m safe in the present. I know where I am and what I’m doing. The same is not true of the next moment, until it comes, and trying to anticipate what’s going to happen in two hours, two days, or two weeks is just impossible.

So stay here now. Breathe. Accept whatever comes. The only other choice is to worry, and that’s wasted energy – it changes nothing but your blood pressure. Let go of the need to control. Feel the relief! You are not responsible for the outcome. You are only responsible for getting through whatever happens and then going on. That’s it.

As Dory says, “Just keep swimming.” That’s all you have to worry about. Take it one stroke at a time and breathe.

Just breathe.

 

Of feathers and flocks…

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My best friend has chickens. Last week, the whole flock ganged up on the smallest hen, and beat her up pretty badly. They pulled out all her tail feathers with such force that chunks of flesh were gone, too. My friend took her to the vet and she’s going to be okay, but she won’t be able to be returned to the flock.

About the same time another friend told me that she had had to send her 14-year old daughter to a different school, because she was being bullied so badly by “the meanest group of 8th grade girls” this woman had ever encountered.

Even my two little cats – my sweet babies – are not immune. They’re only about a month apart in age, and I got them both as kittens, within a couple of months 6 years ago. The first kitten was an “only” for about a month before the second kitten came in to our lives, but that was long enough to feel threatened, I guess. She was merciless in her treatment of her new furry roommate. Now, 6 years later, the bullied kitten has become the bully. Payback? I have no idea. They’re both infinitely gentle with me, but they try to kill each other at least once a day.

Clearly this is a thing in all of our brains – not just human brains. We want to believe that babies (and kids and kittens and all creatures) are gentle by nature. Perhaps they are, but that’s not all there is to any of us, apparently. There is something so integral to creature brain structure that it spans all species and manifests in similar ways.

Perhaps it was a survival tactic that no longer serves us as humans living privileged lives, or chickens or cats, for that matter. Maybe it was beneficial to try to make the weakest member of the flock stronger by threatening it, or encouraging it to leave the group so it’s not longer a drain on resources, or even killing it to get rid of it and its genes so that only the fittest continue on.

It must have served some purpose, but like many residual brain things no longer necessary for modern life and survival, it doesn’t serve us. I don’t know, but I know I have a mean streak, and that at times in my life, I have treated weaker people badly. At the time I didn’t realize I was doing it, especially when I was a kid. I look back now, though, and I can see it pretty clearly. I wish I could say that I grew up and became an enlightened person who always reacts correctly to everything with kindness and wisdom.

Far from it, and still not true, even though that is exactly what I aspire to. Why not? Why can’t we all just get along and be nice and do the right thing all the time? All the religions tell us that’s what we should aspire to. All the self-help books, TV talk shows.

I used to have a poster that a friend gave me that said “If it feels good, do it. If it doesn’t, don’t.” I think in the 70s this is what passed for wisdom. 🙂 I think that poster pretty accurately sums up the way most humans live, including me. Maybe not the Dalai Lama, but the rest of us regular folks, just trying to get through the days.

What happens when you feel superior to someone, especially if you’re being cheered on in your thinking or your actions by other people? You feel better about yourself. You feel great! You feel special. All your doubts and fears about how horrible you are disappear in an instant. Who can resist that? It’s heady stuff, especially in a world where what we see on TV and in movies every minute of every day tells us – especially as women – that we are NOT okay as we are.

There is great comfort in thinking that you’re doing it right and others are wrong, and for some reason, it’s not enough to just think that, it’s necessary to prove it to other people – or chickens or cats – as well. And really, that’s the problem; making other people wrong in trying to make yourself right.

I think bullying in schools is one of the biggest problems we, as a society, face. It’s getting worse all the time, and real damage is being done to young creative minds. I think it’s all mixed up in the constantly rising level of addiction and mental illness in this country, cuz people feel so bad about themselves all the time – the bullies and the bullied – that they have to find a way to escape the overwhelming anxiety.

But if it’s integral to our brains – a fundamental part of all life on this planet – what can we do? I don’t know. I don’t have answers. I wish I did. I’m part of the question, like most everyone else. I can’t fix myself, let alone all the problems in the world. I’m trying though.

Let it begin with me.

Legacy

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A friend died recently. He wasn’t a close friend, just someone I had known since we were in school together starting at age 6. Later on in our lives, we worked at the same company for a while, and even later, we were neighbors in a duplex quite by chance. He wasn’t a great neighbor (he was loud and always had people over at all hours), but he was a good guy and I enjoyed his company. He was one of the funniest people I’ve ever known. Always friendly, and oh, so funny!

So he’s gone now, and I find that I feel disproportionately bad about that. I have no idea how he died – he was only 55, and as far as I know he hadn’t been ill; I find myself just hoping it wasn’t suicide. I would hate to think of him so unhappy. I suppose I feel bad partly because he was my age and I hate to think of my own mortality this soon, but that’s not all of it. I feel sort of bad that we lost touch, but we were never that close, so it’s not that surprising. I’ve lost touch with people I was much closer to – that’s just the way it seems to go as people get older and lives and personalities age/change.

I think mostly I feel bad cuz he was one of the good ones, and now he’s gone. It doesn’t seem there are so many left that we can afford to lose any. He was a gentle and kind soul, with a little bit of a drinking problem and a great sense of humor. He was probably never going to make a mark on the world at large, but he made an impression on everyone he met, and the world is a little emptier without him. He had close friends and family, and he was here in a big way to those who knew him, and now he’s not here. Just that fast.

I suppose it will be that way for all of us, and it makes you think about what it’s all about and what you’re all about. Will I leave a mark? Will people not in my daily life mourn my passing? What kind of an impression will most people I’ve known be left with? I have a feeling it won’t be as good as the feeling Mike always left people with, and that makes me sad. I haven’t always been a particularly nice or friendly person, nor am I always now. Depression was responsible for some of that, but still, I probably could have been better.

I don’t want to live my life for other people, and mostly I don’t care what they think of me, except that I think I would like them to feel that I was at least kind. I would like them to be left with that memory. They can think whatever they want about the way I live my life, or the way I look, or anything about me, except that. If I drop dead tomorrow, I want someone to say about me the kinds of things I’ve been reading on Facebook about Mike.

So I realize I’ve just set myself a pretty good goal: Be Kind. Just that. I don’t know if I can achieve it, but now that I’ve identified its importance, I will try to be more mindful of it.

RIP Michael. Thanks for the memories, and thanks for the nudge.

Looking into the future

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I just met with our company’s retirement advisor. That’s not something I’ve ever done before because 1) for much of my life I didn’t think I’d survive to retirement age; and 2) even in the last few years it seemed so far away. I just had my 56th birthday, though, and I plan to retire at 62, so it’s coming up fast now and I need to start planning.

I’ve worked at this company for almost 18 years, and when I retire I will have racked up almost 24 years here. I know from co-workers who have retired that the company has a good pension plan, so I haven’t worried about specifics. When the opportunity to meet with this (very young, very smart) woman this morning came up, however, I found I was anxious to find out what I could.

I really try not to live in the past or the future. It’s been hard the past few years because the present has seemed so difficult most of the time, but still I’ve tried. I don’t want to wish my life away, nor do I want to hang on to the past. I try to stay in the moment – the only thing that’s real. Right now.

Having said that, I think you have to plan for the future as best you can, while understanding that your plans might not work out. I can’t honestly say I saw any of my life turning out the way it has 6 years in advance. Like most young people, I assumed I was in control of my path and I had everything all mapped out: college, career, husband, 2.5 children, nice house in a warm climate = happy life.

With the exception of college, none of that happened. My career has had nothing to do with my college degree, and really can’t be called a “career” so much as a series of jobs in different fields, most of which I’ve enjoyed and have been lucky to have, but not a “career” in the way I thought it would be (award-winning journalist and wealthy famous novelist).

No husband. No children. Both turned out to be a good thing – a choice – but not what I thought would happen.

Depression happened. Nearly 30 years unmedicated high-functioning for the most part, 10 years medicated and much better, and now roughly 7 years post-medication and therapy, doing my best. I try not to think about who I might have been without depression, or how my life might have been different. It’s just what happened, and I’ve survived and that’s all any of us can hope for.

Family happened. My mother and father both were ill for most of my life. I was the only child, so I stuck around to be available to them. So no house in a warm climate. I did buy a house, but it’s in the same small town I grew up in, near my parents, in a place where it snows 8 months of the year.

So it’s been a good life so far, but in some ways, difficult. Same is true for everyone, I’m sure. That’s the human condition. Life can be so good, and so harsh – sometimes even at the same time. One thing’s for sure – you can’t see it coming most of the time. All we can do is try to set up conditions for the best future we can imagine. So I’m trying to figure out whether I can stop working in 6 years.

6 years! I’ve worked – sometimes 2 or 3 jobs at a time – since I was 14. I owned a business for 5 years. I’ve worked in my present job for 18 years, and in the job before that, 10 years. I’m old! I’m tired! I look at retirement as the Promiseland – all I have to do is live that long and all will be well. According the the smart young lady I spoke to this morning, financially all should be well, assuming the stock market doesn’t tank. So that’s something. I don’t have any control over the stock market, or my health, or anything that’s going to happen in the next 6 years, for that matter. I have a plan, though, and hope, and armed with those two things, I march happily ahead.

Learning curve

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I’ve been having some lessons in trust. I didn’t sign up for them, but I asked the universe, god, and/or angels for help, and the result was chaos. Through it all I’ve despaired, raged, resented, trying all the while not to slip over the edge into depression. I was right at the edge looking into the depths a couple of times, but I didn’t fall in, and for that I’m deeply grateful. I kept asking for help, and things just seemed to get worse and worse. There was enough that went right, however, that I kept trying to trust that the craziness was the help I had asked for and that everything would turn out alright and that things would be better if I could just get there.

I’m not sure I’m there yet, but I’m hopeful, and trusting that I’ve been led to the path I’m on now, which, if all goes according to plan, seems like it will be the right thing, and better than where I was before. I hate to do that, because historically, when I start using words like hope and trust and I feel optimistic I am kicked squarely in the teeth. I just hate that! So let’s say I am trusting that I’m heading in the right direction, and that I’m cautiously optimistic about the journey.

When life has dealt hard blows – and it does to absolutely everyone – at a certain age, after bearing so many bruises, it’s hard to trust anything or anyone. I think I’ve gotten better about trusting myself, and I have an inkling that the “universe” or “spirit” I make my pleas to is within, but I’m not sure. The consensus is not in on that yet, right? So many religions and beliefs and they all have credence. Hard to know who’s correct, and who’s just making it up as they go along. Probably a combination of all, like the elephant in a dark room; everyone has a hold of a piece, but no one is able to see the whole or how they all fit together.

So I’m comfortable with not knowing or naming what “that” energy is. What really matters is learning to trust it. That’s been my stumbling block all my life, and it’s not any easier now, I’m sorry to say, especially when things fall apart all at once and my carefully constructed life becomes a pile of rubble at my feet. I think probably I’m just along for the ride this time – on hand for the journey because I need to get to the same place, but not in the driver’s seat nor the main objective on this trip. That’s okay, though, because I think it’ll be worth it, even though it’s been a bumpy ride so far. I have a lot to gain and not much to lose, unless I fall apart, stay in the bathroom too long at the rest stop and get left behind.  (How’s THAT for a metaphor?)

So the only way to lose on this trip is not to take it. That makes sense to me. Stay in your seat, fasten your belt, and hang on. Take it one day at a time. Take snacks and frequent breaks and it’ll be okay. Most of all…trust. It may prove to be a detour and not the right thing again, but at this point I can’t tell. So I have to trust that someone or something knows where we’re going and that we’re going to be okay when we finally get there.

It’s so hard, and the anxiety is rough, but I’m getting through each day and not looking much beyond that. The lesson continues and I’m trying really hard to learn.

The falling leaves…

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You know how I know it’s fall? Yes, the weather’s gotten colder, the days are shorter, and the leaves are turning; not that hard to figure out. However, even if I were trapped in a room with no windows, I would probably know just from the changes in body and mind.

1. I feel like listening to classical music, with opera being my first choice.

2. Hot green tea sounds better than a cold beer.

3. I want to eat soup.

4. I have the urge to buy fuzzy slippers.

5. I want fire. Put the incense away and light the candles. Lots of candles. MUST. HAVE. LIGHT.

Even though I hate fall – I mourn the loss of summer the whole of the year until it’s return in June – my body and mind are responding to it on their own. I live above the 45th parallel, so fall is usually early compared to the lower 90% of the US – this year it swooped in on September 3 – and decisive. On September 2 it was 90 ° and sunny. On September 3 it was 60 ° and raining. Just like that, the switch is flipped and the long descent into winter has begun. This time of year I want to pack up and head to Australia. It’s Spring there, you know. Lucky dogs.

I try to be a good sport about it. I avoid complaining every minute of the day, not only because it doesn’t help and makes me feel worse, but also because my friends and co-workers are aware of my hatred, and don’t really want to hear about it anymore. I come home and don my fuzzy slippers, make some tea and sit in my living room suffering in silence. The cat doesn’t like it any better than I do, though, so I can complain to him once in a while and know that he is totally sympathetic. He has taken up his winter position on top of the sofa, so I know he and I are on the same page. We’d both rather be outside in the sunshine and warmth, frolicking in those wonderful balmy SW breezes.

Oh well, it’s not to be. This is Michigan and this is September. Two seasons here as far as I’m concerned: Summer and Waiting for Summer. We have begun the 9 month period that is not summer. Pack up the shorts and the sunscreen, break out the wool and boots.

It’s just not fair. Neither, though, is the devastation in the south from Hurricanes Gustav, Hannah, and Ike this year. So today while I’m sitting here drinking my tea watching the soft rain fall outside and listening to the cat snore behind me on the couch, my thoughts are with those who are suffering the loss of their comfort, too, in a much more profound way than I am. Cold temperatures, falling leaves, and snow are small burdens to bear compared to what much of the world endures from Mother Nature.

It could be so much worse, and is for so many. Bless you all.