M.I.A.

A first in the history of this blog.  Previously I might have gotten my post in just under the wire, but I have never missed at least one post a month since 2012.  Until now.  I've been Missing In Action, I guess.  

Yesterday around 6:00 p.m. I thought to myself, "Wow!  It's May 31st!  I have to sit down and get a blog post written before I go to bed!"  Then my kind, but inaccurate brain said, "No, it's OK.  You posted that thing about retirement communities just earlier in the month; you got one post in during May."  This morning I opened my blog software and.... WHAT?!?!?!  That Golden Years post was published on MARCH 31!  I have not missed one month, but two!

This is a bit unsettling.  They say "time flies" but don't you agree that as we grow older, time has a cruel way of not just flying but disappearing?!?  The days start with such unbroken promise on a vast expanse of timeless opportunity, then suddenly it's bedtime and I'm wondering how hours can seem like minutes.  

Also, stress....

So, here's the thing:  I've been in a whirlwind of slight and not so slight mental, emotional, and physical messiness (which I like much better than "illness").  I don't know about all of you, but some of you may be able to relate to this:

We go along living life in a normal way, taking on some extra tasks that seem totally manageable, then maybe take on another thing or two, then some other stuff happens, then we feel a wee bit stressed and possibly super tired and overwhelmed, but we think that's just temporary and soon it will be better and then maybe we don't sleep very well and cry all the time and don't really want to do the stuff we committed to because the expectations changed, and then friends and family face crises of various degrees that we want and need to attend to and offer support and assistance, then add maybe a couple of planned-long-ago (before any of this other stuff started to snowball) with-airfare-and-lodging-already-paid-for-so-can't-cancel vacations crop up on the calendar, so we pack our bags and plaster on a smile and head to the airport and realize that it's been a month of needing to be pretty darn close to a restroom at all times (even on said vacations) since a very insistent flare of stress-induced IBS (you've seen the commercials) has taken root in our guts and maybe a migraine or two has laid us low and did I say we cry all the time?  And who has had time for regular yoga and meditation practice? And it's been raining a lot so daily walks have become sporadic and there's nothing good on TV, but thank god for crocheting and cozy mysteries on the Kindle during those long insomniac nights.  But also we feel joy and love and excitement and gratitude and appreciation so it's all very confusing and complicated.  Oh, and we lose track of time and don't get our blog posts written for TWO FRIGGIN' MONTHS!  Please tell me you can relate.  

A parade of therapists and internists (also Hub, and also my gal-pal of nearly 40 years) have told me when I get like this, and yes, it's happened before, I need to STOP.  Step back.  Have some compassion for myself as a highly sensitive empathic person and realize I cannot save the world, nor anyone in it, nor can I see the future and plan for every eventuality, nor can I even have a future if I let stressed out messiness have the upper hand.   

I really and truly love the image of myself as a calm and capable person, yoga-ing my way through each present moment with a half smile on my face and an "om" in my heart.  And part of me IS that person.  But humans are complicated.  We forget and get stressed out; we default to old ways of "coping" (sugar binges). We carry a sack of past traumas with us wherever we go and sometimes that load weighs us down and we forget we have the tools, the wherewithal, to put that damn bundle down, kick it aside, and breathe.

For the past couple of weeks I've been slowly reclaiming breathing, sleeping, and smiling again.  Yoga and meditation are back on the schedule.  I'm walking more (but will be better when it's not so rainy).  My gut-body has stopped responding to a vagus nerve gone insane and is now settled into a more "regular" state.  The crying is only as is socially appropriate, not over every little thing that touches my heart in a bittersweet way, such that birds in flight call for a good cry.  Sheesh!

So, dear readers, I am back to the preferred version of myself.  And I know that's true because I also know that using the word "preferred" there is to deny my full humanity.  Yes, there is that "all is good all the time" core of being in all of us, but the messy humanness where that Spark of Life lives (and maybe feels trapped for now) is also part of the deal.  That Inner Watcher gets to calmly observe this human person go all crazy every once in awhile and just wait patiently for her to learn the lessons she needs to learn (over and over) until she calms the  hell down and is able to see clearly again that life is nuts while we are in it and eventually we might learn that it's all impermanent, a swirl of random thoughts, molecules, insubstantial "stuff" that will disappear just like the hours of each day, into the vast open space of .... I don't know.  I just hope to be more present to its unfolding than I've been lately, because that is part of my preferred self too.  

At least, that's the view from here...©