Gratitudes

I've been looking through old posts—1,464 so far, since April 12, 2009, but really getting going in 2015. It's fun to see my life (recent and going back some) laid out in words. I've done some cool stuff! Been some cool places! Discovered some really interesting things. Spent time with wonderful people.

Lately, though, I've been in a bit of funk, and I've been trying to figure out how to break out of it. 

Pharmaceuticals, maybe? Psilocybin? Coffee doesn't seem to work.

Just kidding, ha ha.

But also not. I feel like I need a shift in perspective. A shift in sensibility. And I don't know how to achieve that. (Psilocybin, my brain whispers... if only it weren't illegal...)

An acquaintance of mine had a health issue recently, and as it was being resolved, she found solace in Icelandic horses. I love the specificity of that: you hurt? go to Iceland, find a horse with your name on it. A grounded place, and someone (preferably with a mane) to hug.

I have always used travel as my something to hug, but that's not working so well anymore. It's not especially huggable, arriving in a foreign place and having to reconnoiter, in a strange language, in a traffic jam, wondering just what I am risking waiving the insurance on the rented Peugeot, why my credit card is being refused at the train station kiosk.

Last year, I traveled to Portugal and France, the Galápagos, Ontario, and Madagscar. This year, so far, to Denmark, Norway, and France. It's been eye-opening and rewarding; I do benefit from the stimulation, the difference, for sure. But centering? grounding? Not so much.

So I find myself growing ever more focused on my leaf-patterned chair upstairs, or the comfy brown couch in front of the TV. 

And that is not good.

It is strange to feel the world shrinking around you. I think some of it comes from Covid (scary virus!) and some—moreso—from the political insanity in this country, and elsewhere as well. I honestly feel that the world I grew up learning about, fitting into, has vanished. Or at least it's contracting, growing ever more conservative, restrictive, rights-bashing, dare I say fascist. Even bastions of open-armed liberalness like Denmark and the Netherlands have closed in on themselves. But this country? Half of it has gone insane. And that scares me. 

Not that I, personally, will be affected by the rightward shift. But this country isn't just about me. It's about an ideal, an idea, yes. But it's also about real, struggling people. Whom the GOP don't seem to give a damn about. If I may generalize. But I think it's a fair generalization.

In any case, I didn't come here to whine about the state of my country. Whining does no good. The other day I posted some tips for dealing with depression, and I think I'll start mining them more.  

One thing that is missing from that list is meditation. I've said before that I'd like to start meditating—as in, regularly. As in, every day. Maybe now's the time to start. (How many times can I say that without acting on it? An infinite number, apparently!) Also, writing some short gratitudes every day. 

Like, today: I am grateful for Lindt caramel milk chocolate truffle bars, which presently are on sale at Safeway (and I'm grateful for that, because it gave me permission to buy four of them, for five bucks). I am grateful to be finished with chapter 4 of the guidebook on swimming in California that I'm editing; only two chapters to go, and then I'll be done with work for a while—like, until (if) I decide to take on a new project. Which at the moment, I strongly do not want to do. But I know how restless I get, how undirected. Work gives me focus. And yet . . . I really do think I'd like to quit. Forever. And put my attention somewhere else more centering, more grounding.

So, gratitude #3: I am grateful for having so many interests and, dare I say, a few skills. I brought home from Europe a couple of books each in Norwegian and French. When I finish improving other people's prose in English, maybe it'll be time to tread some foreign-language waters. I may not be a confident swimmer, but at least I know I can stay afloat. And maybe I can get back to making artist books. And curating photos. And taking new photos, with my new camera. There's always the garage to clean out, books to cull. And I'd like to do more reading—um, in Norwegian or French. Or English! There's so much good literature out there. I don't have all the time in the world, after all. And I have many, many more books than I can read in whatever time I have left. Finally, there's the sourdough starter I've concocted, and that's doing really well. Maybe it's finally time to try making a loaf of bread? So yeah: I should get to it. Honestly, there is no shortage of (personally) worthwhile things I could be doing.

Okay. That was a good pep talk, which I'm putting out here for all the world (or at any rate, my six followers) to see.

But I'm still interested in psylocibin . . . Or what the heck, maybe Icelandic horses.

Or both!

But not at once.