The missing piece

I've been doing December for a while now. We're past the half-way mark, past the solstice and really in the home stretch now. Just a few days left to go. Of course, it's been feeling interminable. Over the weekend, I got out a jigsaw puzzle and started putting it together. There is something very calming about jigsaw puzzles.

I'm sure someone has written their master's thesis about their neurologic effect. To me it seems obvious enough why they are satisfying: the visual skills that we honed through generations of gathering food, (seeking out shapes and colours that we recognized as "mushroom", "berry", "plant with tuber below", etc.), still enjoy hunting through the pieces for the shapes and colours that create a recognizable image.

A little 500-piece puzzle; one of many that I won at a penny auction
at the West Dublin Hall (several years ago now). 

I find jigsawing meditative. I can get into a Zen state where all I am thinking about are the colours and shapes. It's all about the edges – the shifts in colour within the design and the shapes of the pieces themselves. 

However, I don't always get synced up and become one with the puzzle. Jigsawing can also lead to rumination. And rumination is a double-edged deal. It can be dark and it can be light. I can think about things that take me to a place of grief or anger or disappointment; I can think about things that take me to a place of joy and uplift and excitement. And, as my therapist spent many hours trying to teach me back in the day, at its best, it's not either/or, it's AND. 

Thinking about gladsome tidings does not wipe out pain. And thinking about grief doesn't have to erase joy. Of course, holding both at the same time is not easy. Although human beings are capable of believing many contradictory things at the same time, we also have a tendency to pick one side of a dichotomy and stay there. 

I was on the dark side of December for a good few days this month. And I'm afraid that jaunty little jigsaw puzzle sent me spiralling further down. 

Until I remembered that the antidote for disconnection is gratitude. I sat down and wrote a list of all of the people I feel thankful for. People who taught me things (even hard things), people who helped or guided me, people who gave me gifts this year – gifts of connection and belonging, gifts of being seen, heard and accepted, moments, presence. 

There were 75 people on my list. And although I am still feeling sad and I am still wishing December was over, I am also holding that I am a very fortunate person to have so many people and moments to be grateful for — and to know it. 

It's both.

It's all. 

(And December is almost over. THANKS BE!) 

Winter Accomodation: Resolutions and Perspective (and Sondheim?)

I'm just about to move into my winter accommodations. Salinger and I should be relocated by Sunday.

We had a beautiful September – warm and sunny with very few chilly mornings. Really, it was everything I could have asked for when living in a converted trailer with the R-value of a sieve. And I've had so many good times with friends, at the West Dublin Market, at the beach.

And yet, I feel more excited than loathe to leave. I'm renting space from a friend in Lunenburg and I'm looking forward to being in town for the winter.

I'm looking forward to being able to leave my car at home when I go to the Farmer's market or – gasp – a restaurant or the pub. I'm looking forward to having real high-speed internet access again and running hot water.

Resolutions

I am starting to make winter resolutions. I have decided:

• I am going to become a member at the Lunenburg Makery and finish off as many of my half-completed quilting projects as I am able to complete over the next 6 months
• I am going to knit in the evenings, make some socks and maybe even complete an unfinished sweater or two
• I am going to get back into a regular yoga practice with YogaGlo
• I am going to read all of the books I have gathered about organic gardening and solar/sustainable housing
• I am going to practice my new DIRA habit
• Salinger and I are going to do more jigsaw puzzles (I currently have 20 puzzles that I have won and not yet assembled)
• I am going to keep up the good work budgeting with YNAB; I think I'm finally getting the hang of it!

 

Perspective

I have to say how deeply grateful I am to be feeling well this autumn. 

A year ago, when I was moving into winter accommodation, I was a mess. Heartbroken and depressed and not even sure I wanted to make it through the winter. Grim times.

I got a lot of support from my friends and family and I've had many epiphanies over the past year+. Some of them I've written about in this blog (Here's one. Here's another.)

But I haven't yet written about my most recent epiphany. It happened a couple of months ago when I read this article – that, yes, I saw on Facebook. The article has kind of a stupid title, in my opinion, but the body of the article is not stupid. It basically says that the crappy times are where the growth happens and are therefore are some the most important and most fertile times we have.

The article is focused on intimate relationships. But I think it applies equally to our relationships with ourselves. Relationships are not just about the good times. When we go through something really challenging with someone else, it either strengthens the relationship – or breaks it, depending on how much people are able to show up for one another and and how well they are able to bear the situation. The same goes for our relationships with ourselves. I can see now that I really showed up for myself this year. I didn't do it perfectly or anything. I spent a lot of time feeling mad at and disappointed by myself. But when I read that article I could see that, on the whole, I stuck by myself in The Pits. I didn't abandon myself into another harmful relationship or booze or drugs. And even my relationships with eating and work – two of my favourite, safest hiding spots – didn't take over too much.

I kept going with my goals at the pace I could manage. I kept trying to be kind to myself and others. I struggled to let other people's kindness in and accept help. I let myself cry – a lot. I figured a lot of things out. I hung out in The Pits and I feel like I gained a lot in understanding, in tolerance, in forbearing.

I grew.

And Sondheim? 

I'm reminded of some lyrics from Sondheim's Into The Woods:
And I know things now,
Many valuable things,
That I hadn't known before:
Do not put your faith
In a cape and a hood,
They will not protect you
The way that they should.
And take extra care with strangers,
Even flowers have their dangers.
And though scary is exciting,
Nice is different than good.
Now I know:
Don't be scared.
Granny is right,
Just be prepared.
Isn't it nice to know a lot!
And a little bit not...

(Read more: Into The Woods - I Know Things Now Lyrics | MetroLyrics)

Actually, Sondheim obviously knows this stuff inside out and backwards.
How about these lyrics from Merrily We Roll Along:

All right, now you know:
Life is crummy.
Well, now you know.

I mean, big surprise:
People love you and tell you lies.
Bricks can fall out of clear blue skies.
Put your dimple down,
Now you know.

Okay, there you go —
Learn to live with it,
Now you know.

It's called flowers wilt,
It's called apples rot,
It's called theives get rich and saints get shot,
It's called God don't answer prayers a lot,
Okay, now you know.

Okay, now you know,
Now forget it.
Don't fall apart at the seams.
It's called letting go your illusions,
And don't confuse them with dreams.

Yes sir, quite a blow —
Don't regret it,
And don't let's go to extremes.
It's called what's your choice?
It's called count to ten.
It's called burn your bridges, start again.
You should burn them every now and then
Or you'll never grow!

Because now you grow.
That's the killer, is
Now you grow.
 
(For all the rest of the words, go here.)

How did I end up writing about Sondheim? I don't know. It's raining. I'm procrastinating packing for my move.

I think it's time I put a little Sondheim on the speakers and started making breakfast and getting this rainy day underway.

The moral of this story: difficult things happen and they are difficult. If you can get through them with a mostly open heart, you will grow. If you get through them with a mostly open heart inside a relationship with a partner who can also keep their heart open, the relationship will grow.

Easier said than done, I know.


I wish you and me and all of us lots of luck.

Menopause and Misery

Back in February, I wrote a blog post about Menopause and Euphoria. 

Today, it is time to write about the other side of the peri-menopausal coin.

The Dark Side.

Yes, this is the part of the menopausal experience that gets all of the bad press. And I understand why.

I once worked in an office in which about 75% of the employees were women going through menopause. I have never been exposed to so much random screaming and crying. Seriously, there were so many damn feelings around the place that it was often difficult to get any work done. Responses to every little thing were over-the-top, melodramatic. And as for the BIG problems – well, there was more than one all-out, cataclysmic meltdown during my time there. At the time, in my late twenties and early thirties, I rolled my eyes and sighed a lot.

Now I have a much deeper understanding.

Wow, but the feelings that come with these hormonal ebbs and flows are big. They are inarguable, irrational and often very, very unpleasant.

The voices in one's head say terrible things like "Why do I even bother to keep on living?" "Nobody loves me." "Everyone is taking me for granted/trying to screw me over."

The voices are loud and insistent. And they make me want to do terrible things: send out vicious emails, fire clients, tell people exactly what I think of them, weep all everybody, complain, wail, bemoan, etc., etc., etc.

I cannot imagine having to hold down a 9–5 job while this is going on.  I also can't imagine trying to have an intimate relationship. I am grateful that I don't have children. I can only imagine the damage I might do.

A few days a month, the best thing I can do is keep myself to myself. Try not to post on social media (unless it's something innocuous like a picture of the beach), try not to hit the Send button on any email that is not strictly routine (As requested, please see attached file. Best regards, Alex), decline invitations to social events and hang out alone repeating to myself:

"This is not real. This is a mental state caused by fluctuating hormones. It will pass. Ride it out."

An innocuous photo of the beach.
Posted on social media with the inoffensive comment: "Low tide:"
When in doubt, try to stay rooted in reality. If reality seems entirely
awful, go back to bed for a couple of days, or until you seem to
have regained your sense of perspective.

As hard as I've tried to avoid taking action when I am in a state of emotional distress, I have definitely slipped a few times and done some dumb things this summer, damaged some relationships, hurt myself and others.

I'm hoping that I'll keep learning and that I will get better at surfing these waves of feelings.

I'm prescribing myself another winter of jigsaw puzzles and rest.

And reminding myself of a few basic tenets:

If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all.

There is a time and a place for everything.

Count to ten before responding to something upsetting (which translates to waiting AT LEAST 24-hours before sending any email with emotional content – or even with emotional undertones)

To abstain from action is well – except to acquire merit. (Rudyard Kipling, Kim)