Posts Tagged ‘self care’

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The Data from Hurt Is Good Data

2016.September.5
Yesterday’s physical activity just never ended… There were two yoga progressions in the morning (it’s been a while since I did more than one), then I went to the kiddo’s birthday party (#assistantparent) and ended up on every slide and bouncehouse in the joint. I fretted internally over my wonky knee or busting my glasses, but the less I held back, the less I hurt, and I carried that attitude through the rest of my day. I let myself be dragged into more tents when I was tired, and I still took pictures and change for air hockey everywhere I went.
 
Then I added an errand on the way home for my favorite tea, picked up dinner, and shortly after eating started scrubbing away at the bathroom floor. That floor has been a source of tremendous frustration since late in the move; the only way I’ve found to clean it of years-old plumbing-disaster residue is scraping by hand with a small sheet of almost-sandpaper. Coming in yesterday, after several hours work spread over three weeks, I was not quite halfway through my second scrub; I committed and knocked out everything I could reach in two hours. I pushed myself. I let myself be dragged out, just as I had at the party. It felt great, physically and emotionally.
 
I ain’t going to lie, I’m hurting today. Mostly in my hands and wrist (should be great for writing my first assignments, huh?). But I’ve been reminded of an essential truth, which is that sometimes we can do more than we think we can. We can work harder or faster, not because we underestimated last time but because we’re stronger, we’ve healed some, or because we have fresh eyes. I can’t speak for how often or accurate this experience is for anyone else, but I know it’s almost cyclical for me and this is my favorite part of the cycle.
 
These kind of moments are life-affirming for me. I like being proven wrong or misguided (I like it better when there’s communication involved, but I’m not above figuring it out myself — just very slow about it). I like the process of discovery, and of experimentation. I like learning by doing. I like the way my body can ache distinctly and tell me what I was doing 12 hours ago. I like the way my brain opens up when my body challenged or diverted (as by physical labor). I like knowing I can do more, and how.
 
And that’s my first thorough update on graduate school.
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All My Old Haunts…

2015.November.30

I had a poetic opening, but that part of my brain has been lost to logistics.

It was a hard weekend — not without highlights, but they were diffuse, like a bright lamp in thick, close fog. You didn’t know you were upon them until they’d already passed. You didn’t know when or whether more would follow. And between them, it was easy to lose direction.

I wouldn’t have seen the news of the passing of a dear friend and colleague if I hadn’t left a certain app on my phone some months ago, because it had been the easiest way to connect with my mom while she stayed with my caregivee. Less than two weeks ago, we placed my charge into a memory care facility; although I visit almost daily, my era as a full-time caregiver has ended.

I’d been trying to gather my thoughts on what to write, how the move was upside down — straightforward emotions and exhausting logistics — how I’d intended to start this grand phase of healing with eyes and heart wide open but so far have struggled to get even a good night’s sleep (let alone a good perspective).

But here we are. Less than two weeks into my bloody, fumbling, desperate heal, it’s time to pack a bag, board a plane, and mourn one of the best people you could meet.

I started writing his eulogy immediately, a short one (because nothing else will do for a person who has done so much) about how he’d barely known me, three years in the same office, ended ten years back, and yet this man of accomplishment and knowledge had checked on me more than any other from that time. He’d always asked about my caregivee, even before the dementia signs, as if he’d seen known our paths were destined to merge.

Last year, he talked to another good friend, who had moved to the area and was struggling to find a job. Her career trajectory was only tangential from his, and he had only my reference to go on, and yet he gave his time and focused insight freely.

I had intended to reconnect with him, and with everyone I will recognize at his funeral, some time next year. Probably a road trip. Maybe a happy hour and a networking lunch. I wanted to see them all through new eyes, and see how they see me. Most of them, it’s been ten years. I have a devastating fear that some will not get word in time, but maybe that’s a symbol of one’s impact: that it’s simply impossible to reach everyone in time before one’s funeral.

The timing is eerie. I’m not sure I could have attended a funeral one day sooner after The Big Move. And my departed friend just re-added me on Facebook a few days ago (he had a propensity to forget passwords and, inevitably, create new profiles because he loved to connect so much).

I was supposed to have a plan, an agenda, some sense of direction and questions I wanted to ask, some notion of how I was going to connect my past as an activist with my present as a caregiver and my future as a contributing member of society. What do I want to be when I grow up? I don’t know, what does your movement want people to grow up to become?

I’m going in empty-handed, though. Just a business card and an openness to follow the experience wherever it takes me. There are sure to be stories.

He would have wanted it that way.

Now here’s an adroitly relevant video from St. Vincent:

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Social Media, Self-harm, and the Gambler’s Ruin

2015.July.12

In all of my totes-academic 2nd- and 3rd-hand reading, Michael Crichton once introduced me to the concept of “The Gambler’s Ruin”, sort of a piece of chaos theory that states winning streaks and losing streaks are inevitable, and each will get longer and more impactful the longer a person gambles. Accordingly, the secret to good gambling is not really how you gamble or how you bet, it’s knowing when to quit (i.e., near the end of a hot streak).

Feels a lot like Social Media, doesn’t it? I’ve been a power user for years, and I’ve known that there are good days and bad days and bad weeks and bad years… I’ve known that sometimes the most important support I can get is the support to take some time off the Internet (especially the social parts of it), especially when it starts to feel like I can’t catch a break. I’ve also seen the “winning streaks”, the days where the stars and pixels align and I am inundated with all the support and affirmation and cute animal pics I could have ever asked of the Internet just when I need them most.

Of course, the more I win, the more I want to win, and sure enough, I don’t get out in time.

The other day, I pointed out the parallels between social media and The Gambler’s Ruin to a lover who happens to be a counselor, and she backed up my half-joke with a serious factoid: social media has been proven to stimulate dopamine in the same way as does gambling.

I can’t think of a clever phrase that encapsulates the correlation (“The Facebook Ruin?” “The Gambler’s Timeline?”), but clearly this is A THING.

I’m also thinking about how susceptible I’ve become to negativity in activism. I’m never in on the victories because my circumstances prevent a high enough level of participation at this time, but boy am I in on the losses and the squabbles along the way. I’ve had to start saying that activism is self-harm for me in my current context (caregiving). The more I think about it, the more I think it’s just online activism that is self-harm. I can convene with interested parties, help people network, educate on important issues, and even attend a rally or something and not feel worse for it. It’s just the link sharing and flame wars that get me into heart-achy territory.

I guess online activism (especially without any offline support or involvement) is also susceptible to The Gambler’s Ruin, and it is a game at which I am particularly bad.

In accordance with my philosophy of Imperfectionism, I am posting this as soon as it is finished, with almost no revision, second-guessing, or elaboration of my quirky sense of logic. The Michael Crichton book in question was The Lost World, which is basically a book on logic and an errata on Jurassic Park disguised as an unnecessary (and highly profitable) sequel. It’s nothing like the movie, and therefor I highly recommend it.

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