I know life isn't always this hard. Doesn't have to be this hard. I also know many many people in this world have it so much harder than I could ever imagine. (Why do I always write things like that? Or more precisely, why do I so rarely think things like that unless I'm writing? Maybe it's because I feel whiny when I write a bunch of negative things, and I try to write for constructive reasons, like putting things in perspective...)
This year has been by far the hardest year of my life. Started about 3am on January 1st...blood, ambulance, ER, surgery, shock, obscene pain, physical recovery. My week-old babe still nursed flawlessly through all of it.
I don't want to write a litany of all the negative things that have happened. I don't want to be superstitious or ungrateful or bitter or depressed or anxious or distant. After every event, I've searched for its meaning. (I hesitate to say "reason" because while I appreciate that I'm here, I'm not sure whether I got here because of or in spite of past mistakes and messes. Probably both.) And I've found meaning in every event. Something clarified, something learned, something shed, something to sharpen my focus on being grateful.
After every event, I feel like I've also had a new "quick fix" attempt, sometimes large, sometimes small. A long ago friend (ex-boyfriend in high school) told me (at 17) something about how I needed to learn how to improve and remodel the house of my life, instead of tearing it down and building a whole new one every time something changed. I take that to mean that my adjustments to change were (and in some ways still are) far grander than the changes themselves warranted, and I think I often miss the smaller significant details in the process.
I feel a period of growth coming on, but one that moves in small significant ways. Thoughtful intentional actions. Chosen conscious habits. I see this happening very well (for me, at least) in [dp's deceased grandmother's] house. I've been thinking lately about the gift she has given us here. The ability to grow gradually and with strength, to be connected to the natural world and so much beauty.
There is pain here too. For me, in good moments, this pain is gentle and reminds me to be grateful. In anxious moments, it reminds me of the close line between life and death, and sends me in spirals of panic. That said, I think the same is true about all places, if you stay there for a bit - and it is the natural result of a conscious life regardless of physical location. And to me, the pain also provides a balance, a sense of motivation, a drive to improve myself and the lives of those I love, because after all, love and joy are both more needed and more appreciated when you've experienced the pain and sadness the world has to offer. And if you work hard enough at keeping love and joy alive, the pain becomes softer and softer until it's almost a treasured memory, because of the value of its lessons, and how it has inspired growth.
I can no longer afford to be impatient. I must be patient and focused.
This year has been by far the hardest year of my life. Started about 3am on January 1st...blood, ambulance, ER, surgery, shock, obscene pain, physical recovery. My week-old babe still nursed flawlessly through all of it.
I don't want to write a litany of all the negative things that have happened. I don't want to be superstitious or ungrateful or bitter or depressed or anxious or distant. After every event, I've searched for its meaning. (I hesitate to say "reason" because while I appreciate that I'm here, I'm not sure whether I got here because of or in spite of past mistakes and messes. Probably both.) And I've found meaning in every event. Something clarified, something learned, something shed, something to sharpen my focus on being grateful.
After every event, I feel like I've also had a new "quick fix" attempt, sometimes large, sometimes small. A long ago friend (ex-boyfriend in high school) told me (at 17) something about how I needed to learn how to improve and remodel the house of my life, instead of tearing it down and building a whole new one every time something changed. I take that to mean that my adjustments to change were (and in some ways still are) far grander than the changes themselves warranted, and I think I often miss the smaller significant details in the process.
I feel a period of growth coming on, but one that moves in small significant ways. Thoughtful intentional actions. Chosen conscious habits. I see this happening very well (for me, at least) in [dp's deceased grandmother's] house. I've been thinking lately about the gift she has given us here. The ability to grow gradually and with strength, to be connected to the natural world and so much beauty.
There is pain here too. For me, in good moments, this pain is gentle and reminds me to be grateful. In anxious moments, it reminds me of the close line between life and death, and sends me in spirals of panic. That said, I think the same is true about all places, if you stay there for a bit - and it is the natural result of a conscious life regardless of physical location. And to me, the pain also provides a balance, a sense of motivation, a drive to improve myself and the lives of those I love, because after all, love and joy are both more needed and more appreciated when you've experienced the pain and sadness the world has to offer. And if you work hard enough at keeping love and joy alive, the pain becomes softer and softer until it's almost a treasured memory, because of the value of its lessons, and how it has inspired growth.
I can no longer afford to be impatient. I must be patient and focused.
