Thursday, August 28, 2014

8.27.14 We Have The Choice To Grow More Resilient

Photo: It's interesting what constitutes a "long day". Additional duress? Difficult experiences? Pain is right up there. Physical, or emotional-just burns up all your fuel , leaving you spent. Sometimes it's mind, or back numbing work. Or perhaps somehow being off ,just enough, internally, that everything is just that much more of an effort. Sometimes, the end of the day is a reward. A plane coming in for a landing. Or coming to rest after a long hard treck through the swamps of your life. Having fulfilled your responsibilities, and if you don't have young ones, or old ones, then getting to sit back. Unwind. Have choices. It's interesting how we restore ourselves, after a particularly long day. Sometimes it's powerful to have a frequently traveled path, because then all of us just falls right into place, unwinding and restoring and settling ourselves. I love listening to people talk about what they do, to settle themselves at the end of the day. Whether it's a little time doing woodworking, knitting, mending tears in clothing, or sitting on a stool in the kitchen, chopping vegetables, while other things cook, as they look out the window, at whatever the view may be, from their hearth. Myself, I sit outside under the darkening skies. I watch the gradations of light and color, of season and time in my life. Imagining myself on this round planet, like the illustration in Le Petit Prince; where there is no up and there is no down , and here we all are. Together. I throw the broken tennis balls for my Shepherd, on his rope, and try to invent as many variations as possible, for his pleasure, and my joy. I bring the old dog out, slow motion; feeling the breeze on my skin as she feels it on her aged fur. Walking slowly next to her, with no where to rush off to. No longer any children to help with homework or social emergencies or despair. No nighttime soccer games to attend and focus on and talk about after. No checking in with what's required for school tomorrow, or the project due next week. No research to do on the new client's possible autoimmune condition ramping up, or a return of client's challenges with bone density or Ménière's or arthritis or allergies or anxiety. No clients at all, to listen to and honor, while they cry or tell stories or talk about unrelenting pain. No need to describe the path between where they are, with these physical conditions, and what needs to happen, in my experience, to get to increased improvement. A whole lifetime of caretaking, from getting up in the night with babies , as a child, to helping little siblings get dressed ; to guiding them in their adolescence or early adulthood. No working as a counselor in social service agencies, running groups, being a drug treatment counselor for adolescents, or managing a residential program for people who are mentally ill. Sometimes shifts in our lives creep up on us. While we're not noticing. Sometimes what we think will happen when we are 70 or 80 jumps upon us way earlier. Some people don't even get to live long enough to go to high school. We all know this. Each and every person you speak to today, or yesterday, or tomorrow has different personal circumstances that are special, or horrifying, exceedingly difficult or wonderful. Which is why I always come around to two things. Contemplating other humans all across the globe, both now, and far back in the past. Because whether I am relishing the ease of my day, or the severity of challenges, I always know I am in good company. Because there have always been other humans, having lives, as I have mine. The second reminds me of the context, of the scale of my own experience, by doing the same for all of the living things upon the earth. Remembering that life on earth is not only about humans. It's so easy to forget that, because we live in a species centric world, where, like whiny five-year-olds, we forget that everything is actually NOT about the convenience and ease of our own species, first and foremost. To restore myself from a long day, I think of all of the ants. And the Bears. The millions of kinds of birds, being young or old or laying eggs or coming to the end of their lives. I think of all the living things all over the earth, as much as I am capable of. And once again, , I find myself. And in good company. Heartfelt company. A myriad of living beings, having their lives. Caring. Doing what they will do. And here I am, just one of them. Somehow it makes it easier. To have any kind of pain. Any kind of distress. Any kind of worry or frustration or bitterness. What a recourse it can be, to pick up our lives and put them in the context of all that is. Including all other living beings. All other humans. Throughout history. Or just now. . What has happened before we came here. What may happen after we are gone. Sure, I love baths. Warm in the winter; cool in the summer. I love watching a garden grow, and clouds, and people making music, and anything improving. Anything at all. We all have our ways to restore ourselves. As we get older, if we choose, our ways can become more conscious and more effective. We have the choice to grow more resilient. We acquire awareness. We face situations with more agility. One of the untold number of things that I love about getting to have a life.
The Connecticut River Tonight


It's interesting what constitutes a "long day". 

Additional duress? Difficult experiences? Pain is right up there. Physical, or emotional-just burns up all your fuel , leaving you spent.

Sometimes it's mind, or back numbing work. Or perhaps somehow being off ,just enough, internally, that everything is just that much more of an effort. 

Sometimes, the end of the day is a reward. A plane coming in for a landing. Or coming to rest after a long hard treck through the swamps of your life.

Having fulfilled your responsibilities, and if you don't have young ones, or old ones, then getting to sit back. Unwind. Have choices.


It's interesting how we restore ourselves

after a particularly long day. Sometimes it's powerful to have a frequently traveled path, because then all of us just falls right into place, unwinding and restoring and settling ourselves.

I love listening to people talk about what they do, to settle themselves at the end of the day. 
Whether it's a little time doing woodworking, knitting, mending tears in clothing, or sitting on a stool in the kitchen, chopping vegetables, while other things cook, as they look out the window, at whatever the view may be, from their hearth.


Myself, I sit outside under the darkening skies
 I watch the gradations of light and color, of season and time in my life. Imagining myself on this round planet, like the illustration in Le Petit Prince; where there is no up and there is no down , and here we all are. Together. 

I throw the broken tennis balls for my Shepherd, on his rope, and try to invent as many variations as possible, for his pleasure, and my joy. 

I bring the old dog out, slow motion; feeling the breeze on my skin as she feels it on her aged fur. Walking slowly next to her, with no where to rush off to. 


No longer any children to help with homework or social emergencies or despair

 No nighttime soccer games to attend and focus on and talk about after. No checking in with what's required for school tomorrow, or the project due next week.

No research to do on the new client's possible autoimmune condition ramping up, or a return of client's challenges with bone density or Ménière's or arthritis or allergies or anxiety. 

No clients at all, to listen to and honor, while they cry or tell stories or talk about unrelenting pain.
No need to describe the path between where they are, with these physical conditions, and what needs to happen, in my experience, to get to increased improvement.

A whole lifetime of caretaking, from getting up in the night with babies , as a child, to helping little siblings get dressed ; to guiding them in their adolescence or early adulthood. 

No working as a counselor in social service agencies, running groups, being a drug treatment counselor for adolescents, or managing a residential program for people who are mentally ill.


Sometimes shifts in our lives creep up on us. While we're not noticing.

Sometimes what we think will happen when we are 70 or 80 jumps upon us way earlier. 

Some people don't even get to live long enough to go to high school. We all know this. Each and every person you speak to today, or yesterday, or tomorrow has different personal circumstances that are special, or horrifying, exceedingly difficult or wonderful. 


Which is why I always come around to two things: 

Contemplating other humans all across the globe, both now, and far back in the past. Because whether I am relishing the ease of my day, or the severity of challenges, I always know I am in good company. Because there have always been other humans, having lives, as I have mine.

The second reminds me of the context, of the scale of my own experience, by doing the same for all of the living things upon the earth. Remembering that life on earth is not only about humans. 


It's so easy to forget that, because we live in a species centric world
  where, like whiny five-year-olds, we forget that everything is actually NOT about the convenience and ease of our own species, first and foremost.

To restore myself from a long day, I think of all of the ants. And the Bears. The millions of kinds of birds, being young or old or laying eggs or coming to the end of their lives. I think of all the living things all over the earth, as much as I am capable of. 


And once again, , I find myself. And in good company
  Heartfelt company. A myriad of living beings, having their lives. Caring. Doing what they will do. And here I am, just one of them. Somehow it makes it easier.

To have any kind of pain. Any kind of distress. Any kind of worry or frustration or bitterness. What a recourse it can be, to pick up our lives and put them in the context of all that is. 

Including all other living beings. All other humans. Throughout history. Or just now. 

What has happened before we came here. What may happen after we are gone.

Sure, I love baths. Warm in the winter; cool in the summer. I love watching a garden grow, and clouds, and people making music, and anything improving. Anything at all.


We all have our ways to restore ourselves.
 As we get older, if we choose, our ways can become more conscious and more effective. 


We have the choice to grow more resilient.
We acquire awareness. We face situations with more agility. 

One of the untold number of things that I love about getting to have a life.

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