Sometimes I wonder how much progress I’m  making. On those days when anxiety is high and panic is setting in and I have no idea why, I start to question how much therapy has helped me. I don’t know whether I’m just more knowledgeable about what’s going on now so I recognize it more fully or whether I’m starting to create new things to fear.

The aging thing has been on my mind lately. From the deep chasms in my mind there is still this tendency to compare in order to validate my beauty. It is such a weird thing now. I can tell that I will still at some level compare myself to other women (although not nearly as directly as I did in my childhood). I think that validation is more conniving though.. it is more about finding errors than it is affirmation. Or I guess negative affirmation. Come to think of it, I’m incredibly skilled in finding errors. It’s a really positive trait for data analysis, and a really negative one for self worth.

Anyway, I think some of that is perpetuating or being perpetuated by the anxiety. It’s hard to tell sometimes. Being in a rush can put me off for days because I will tend to hold on to the panic as if my life were in danger. In reality, my life on the outside is more than calm. It reminds me of the last line in this thing I wrote years ago…

the old man travels uncertain roads. It is mankind that forgets that all roads lead to roads. a reversed dead end, an infinite connection. The persistent enemy without escape. The bandana’s fabric whisks in the wind. How ideal this road, leading into a sunset, a diner stop for poetic nutrition. The head full of beautiful ideas that fiends for an agonizing view. The terror of possibility in infinite space. Each second usurps the former. For each second he awarded himself the next. for all seconds the revolt contrasted a hollowed living.


compassion no. 1

People always say their body is a temple or whatever. I don’t really relate to that. I think of my body more as a vessel. Sometimes I think if my body were a pet, it would be pretty neglected. I mean it would have more than enough food and water and decent shelter, but it would be like one of those feral cats who never fully adapt to domestic life. For this reason I feel like I should treat my physical expression more like I would treat a pet. That doesn’t really make a lot of sense but whatever.

I listened to this show about being compassionate this week. The guy talking said that the person who we usually need to be the most compassionate with is ourselves. In being compassionate with ourselves, we are softer to the rest of the world. I have a really hard time maintaining that compassion with myself. It seems overwhelming  a lot of times to try and think to retrain how you interact with yourself in addition to how you interact with others. Like it is too much stuff to remember all at once. I know it’s a practice that you develop over time, but I feel like I need itty bitty baby steps. I can’t multitask on that.

But I guess it might be interesting to try and start documenting my journey of compassion. Oh god, here we go..

I’m grateful to myself that I never fully give up. Even when I feel like shit and have fallen into my sunken depression mode, I don’t ever give up entirely. Okay, maybe for a couple of minutes. But then I come back and resolve to do something.

I’m grateful to the sky and space. There is no greater feeling of humility. Knowing that I’m an anomaly (maybe!) across our solar system at least makes me feel lucky. The feeling of being lost in it all excites me. Having this short opportunity to ponder on it feels special.

Okay, and last but not least.. the morning caffeine. It is my drug of choice (besides carbs). I look forward every morning to making my earl grey creme tea or buying a cup of coffee at McDonald’s.


May 9th