Traveling Solo: Turning it around

Sometimes in a dream, I'm squatting with ease, light and agile, ageless. I wake up invigorated, having visited this alternate reality.

My daytime life, in reality, has revolved--way more than I'd like--around pain, physical pain and its various brothers and sisters: A tiny bit bipolar? Attention deficit disorder? Definitely arthritis in my feet.

Occasionally I focus on what other people think, want or need to the detriment of my own thoughts, needs, and desires. OR I'm so focused on "managing" pain that I neglect other people.

It's time for a re-set. It looks like this:

While talking about it (chronic pain) has yielded lots of care from my family and friends, which I appreciate immensely, I'm going to start answering "How are you?" with "Fine." Talking about pain intensifies it and makes me identify with it too much.

To do the creative things I want to do, I will postpone answering and making phone calls until later in the day. To untangle myself from the news. To read and listen to uplifting podcasts and books. To rediscover hours of solitude to create new things--even if it's just a single card.

Pain is part of the fabric of growing older--for us all. Nobody wants it, but most of us get it. I want to transition from focusing on it to accepting it.

When I was a child, my daddy bought me a book called The Make It Book--a shiny blue hard-cover book of possibilities. In our house, making, re-making, fixing, planting, cooking, and sewing were expressions of creativity, which I regarded as the most important endeavors of all. I still do.

Lately, I've been frustrated that my attempts to make things has been limited, but today I'm clearing the space to make even one simple thing every day before getting sidetracked.

Yesterday was my sign that something's gotta change.

Edward came to clean and hang curtain rods, but he forgot to bring the proper drill for concrete walls. While I was making Nathan's favorite chocolate birthday cake, Edward was cursing my walls, my "cheap-ass curtain rods from China," and screws that didn't fit. I handed him the accompanying hardware, which he hadn't noticed. I could feel my agitation rising, bubbling up, spilling over into the cake batter.

"Your yelling is making me nervous and agitated," I told him. "I don't know what to do. The concrete walls have been here all the time. Wait until you get the right drill and come back. I need some quiet."

So he went to the casita and spent hours cleaning it to a fare-thee-well. Then he took the screens off the porch and cleaned the porch. After the cake came out of the oven, and after my meltdown, I fell asleep for three hours!

I went to the casita to make a card for Nathan. Luci vomited on the rug. A package intended for Carlene arrived at my house instead of hers. Little things added up and irritated the hell out of me, things that normally wouldn't de-rail me.

When I left, sweet Edward (and he is that) said, "You're gonna be okay. Please tell Nathan Happy Birthday for me and tell Elena how proud of her I am for her rodeo wins. And drive safe. I love you."

Breathing the country air in Helotes always shifts my mood. Luci too. She climbs into my lap and wants the window rolled down. I think she's going to jump out. The dogs and people are happy to see us. Big hugs, big smiles. Delicious shrimp and pasta on the porch.

Elena and Nathan get out the bow and arrow and BB and pellet guns. They set up targets and shoot--Elena mind-blowingly accurate, Nathan aiming at and hitting cans to watch the coke explode.

This was my Monday Medicine: