I don't consider myself an angry person. If fact I can probably count on one hand I've truly been angry in my whole life. Actually, I can't point to one specific memory where I remember where I felt true real anger, but that seems impossible so let's just say less than 5 times. Sure I've been pissed, grouchy, ticked off, annoyed, disappointed, resentful and alike, but these moments are usually fleeting and become comical shortly thereafter. But on a whole I feel like sustained anger is a waste of energy, and that I really don't believe in.
But today I left work so angry I was visibly shaking. I just couldn't believe what had happened. And because I fervently believe in not blogging about the details of my job, I won't go into it here. But I will go in to what I wanted: giant glass/bottle of wine. and a cocktail. and any other form of recreational sedative or release, legal or otherwise. Instead I had plans to hang out with my friends who don't drink so I brought ice cream to dinner and it almost did the trick. This was probably the healthiest thing I could have done, which that I am grateful for. Plus they have a super smiley 1 year old and what smiling 1 year old doesn't neutralize any anger of the heart?
But when I was alone with my own thoughts again that anger started to resurface and I just can't release it. I am no longer shaking, so that's progress, but I can feel the tension through my jaw, neck and shoulders.
I've been re-reading Thich Nhat Hanh's writings, particularly the Five Mindfulness Trainings, which is rooted in Buddhist teachings and practices but really focuses on practice being actively present in the current moment as a way to center and ground oneself. As a way of coping with some of the debilitating and disruptive anxiety I've been having over the last few months, it has really helped me. This feel like a good time to exercise those teachings and so I'm trying....hard.
As writing and reading are hugely therapeutic for me, I'm hoping that through this and some reading I can shake this by morning. I have a long run planned for the morning to hopefully expel any remaining tension.
Wish me luck.
Thursday, November 28, 2013
Posted by Miss C
Thursday, November 7, 2013
Posted by Miss C
It's national novel writing month, Which I argue is better than Mo-vember. Don't worry, I'm not participating in either. Homeslice ain't got time for that.
But I have always wanted to be a writer. The life of a writer may be a little too recluse, too tortured and removed. Oh, let's not forget too poor. But the romantic notion of being a writer I can identify with.
The romantic writer in me wants to spend my time writing the next great American novel, sitting in various scenarios around the globe, and write about my adventures and thoughts and people and past.
I want to spend weeks in snow covered log cabins in hills of Vermont in front of the fire and the aroma of chili stewing on the stove and an apple pie baking. I'm probably wearing plaid and fur slippers in this situation.
Maybe I'll spend a couple months, or years, sitting in cafés around Rome that over look piazzas, sipping espresso and nervously twiddling a pearl necklace while channeling inspiration to clear a writer's block. I'll probably be easily distracted watching the beautiful people glide by making up stories of where they are coming from, where they are going, what their hopes and dreams are, and what is on their grocery list.
I picture myself writing in a cozy pub in Dublin during a thunder storm over a good stout and watching groups of friends laugh and loudly cheers to the good life. I picture hair tossed up in a messy bun and a big cream-colored sweater, well-worn denim and a pair of boots to keep me warm.
I want to rent a white washed studio loft in San Francisco with a view of the iconic bridge and watch the fog roll in and out, drinking strong tea and pastry from the local hippy-dippy artisan bakery. I imagine it feeling like home just a little bit more grown up with more depth.
And that's just the short list.
When it come to authors as heroes, to me they are Jhumpa Lahiri, Betty Smith, Jon Krakauer, Sylvia Plath, Mary Doria Russell, Richard Russo and more. I soak up their writing like a sponge, lost in their characters, story telling and examination of life. I think Nora Ephron is the pinnacle of writing perfection. I recently was introduced to Shane Koyczan who is a writer and spoke word artist and whose GRID Talk is awe-inspiring and drips of truthiness. As they share their thoughts and emotions and present them in words is the one of the most beautiful things a human can do. These are with authors whose writings I hold in the highest regard.
So I'm tethered to the reality of my practical nature and confined to the creature of comfort paradigm that wants to have a job that provides a steady income, health insurance, and a 401k. I'll keep spending my weekends watching the rain fall while reading or listening to story slams. I'll sip on coffee and keep dreaming far off place to see and beautiful spaces to write in. All the while, I'll be in this corner of the internet dedicated to keeping that dream alive.