Thanking the Universe

Daily writing prompt

Describe one simple thing you do that brings joy to your life.

I have a lot of quiet joy in my life. Largely because of gratitude. I feel grateful that I am living a calm life without the ravages of unmedicated bipolar disorder. I feel grateful that I live comfortably. I feel grateful that I have survived all the stupid things I have done in my life. I feel grateful that I have the husband I have instead of ending up with all the unsuitable people I dated.

Every day, when I think about it, I send a ‘thank you’ to the universe for the things I’m grateful for. Research in positive psychology shows that practicing gratitude is one way in which someone can increase their happiness. I find it works, but not so much when I practice gratitude journals (the recommended way). Practicing gratitude works best for me when I can do it spontaneously, make it a regular practice in life.

Time to Unplug

Daily writing prompt

How do you know when it’s time to unplug? What do you do to make it happen?

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I have two levels of “need to unplug”. The first is the normal level. I can tell I need to unplug because my brain shuts down. I literally become unable to think. It’s a feeling like my brain has become too full. In that case I rest my mind by lounging in my chair and reading something fluffy but informative like Quora or looking at memes of cats. Definitely cats. Sometimes I close my eyes and lay back, but this usually results in my sleeping.

Then there is a level beyond that, when my body and mind are weary and I can’t cope anymore. I get weepy when that happens. At that point, l lounge in that chair and do absolutely nothing. I’m more likely to fall asleep because by then, I need sleep.

My body lets me know when it’s time to relax. I listen to it.

I Wish I Could Talk to You

Daily writing prompt

Who would you like to talk to soon?

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I’m a pretty self-contained person. I really don’t feel the need to talk to anyone, except my friend and mentor Les, who died some years ago at age 95.

I talked to him the other day in a dream. I ran into him on a stair landing and gave him a hug. He told me he was in a hurry because he needed to meet his other family, and we parted ways. That was the most real dream I’ve ever had; maybe I really did talk to him.

If I were to talk to him again, I would tell him how my life has changed since my bipolar diagnosis, how I didn’t feel like crying for hours anymore, how my crushes didn’t control me. I would tell him I had more trouble feeling in touch with the spiritual world and how that worried me. I would tell him how my ordinary day reflected quiet joy, and how a lot of that had to do with my husband. He would know I was in a good place.

I would thank him again for all the times he listened to me, above and beyond the line of duty. How I don’t think I would have gotten through life without that. And I would apologize for all those times, because if I had been in my right mind I wouldn’t have needed so much support.

We talked about all this before, a few years before he died, so it’s not unfinished business between us. But I would talk to him again about it, because I am so bewildered about what it means to be become sane after fifty years of crying jags. Who was I and who am I now? He might have known better than I did.

No Religion

I wouldn’t call what I practice religion. For example, I’m a Friend (Quaker) who hasn’t gone to Meeting in years, because there’s not one close enough. I believe in Quaker doctrine such as the peace testimony and the Light within. I don’t know if I believe Jesus is divine because I don’t connect to him. I don’t believe in being saved. I don’t believe in the God of the Bible (have you read the Old Testament?), but I believe in the Inner Light of the Quakers. I pray in a running dialogue to Him. Or her. I know She answers prayers by making me more able to face situations, not by fixing things for me.

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I don’t pretend this makes any sense. It’s like I believe in something, but not the God I was brought up with. I want God to be something I experience, not just pay lip service to. I want a relationship, not abject worship. I want a God of love, not the insecurity of the Christian God, who throws people into Hell for not identifying with Him (always Him).

God was so much easier to access before I was treated for bipolar. This concerns me, because it makes me think God was a figment of my over-amped imagination. I miss the God who talked to me. Perhaps that’s why I struggle with religion.

Life Before the Internet

I’m 62, so I’ve lived life before the Internet. It was a time before information flowed readily and before we had the world at our fingertips (literally).

I remember researching before the Internet, which required reading through periodical indices and card catalogs. A lot of reading, and a lot of taking notes, and for someone like me who was not organized as I should be, a lot of frustration.

I could not write novels before the Internet. I wanted accurate detail in my books. For example, I had my idea for what became Whose Hearts are Mountains in graduate school, but I couldn’t pack up and live in the desert for a year to find out about desert life. It would have been hard for me to pick a spot in the desert and determine the flora and fauna, the temperature, and the layout. What I knew back then was that deserts were hot and deserted.

Now, facts flow almost as fast as I can type. I have written several novels, because I can do research while writing. I can access publication databases online from my home. I can answer random questions or look up childhood experiences to reminisce. I don’t know how I would do without the Internet, and I hope I never have to find out.

My Ever-Evolving Bucket List

I achieved two items in my bucket list yesterday, both dealing with dinner. The first is that I got to eat a (reasonably priced and portioned) Black and Blue (Pittsburgh) steak, and the second is that I got to sit at a Chef’s table (in view of the kitchen).

My bucket list is ever-evolving. If I see something I want to do that’s not an everyday thing, I put it on the bucket list. Sometimes I put it on the list immediately before doing it. I think ‘helicopter ride’ was put on that list just as I climbed into the helicopter.

Sometimes things fall off the bucket list. Skydiving is definitely off the list, as I have become somewhat acrophobic in my old age. Walking the Illinois-Michigan Canal trail is prohibited because of my knees and my endurance these days.

I’ve got a new one I hope my husband will indulge me on one of these days. I want to go on that big Ferris wheel in Kansas City. Despite my acrophobia.

Mini vacation

This will be a quick post, because I’m at Broadway Cafe in KC doing a mini writing retreat. Also because my keyboard is having trouble with the Space key, which I have to mash to get working. It’s going to be a rough day writing, I can tell.

This trip is going to include some rare steak eating — both in terms of “I seldom eat steak at a fancy steakhouse” and “I’m ordering this black and blue”. I apologize to all the vegetarians out there.

We shall see.

Having it All

I have it all, all I really need. Let me explain.

I see ‘having it all’ as a matter of contentment. Is one satisfied with what one has? Typically, no. A bit of research shows that Americans want 10% more income on average no matter what their income is. A vague discontent seems to be the lot of the US.

I don’t think of ‘having it all’ as a material-laden destination other than having one’s needs and a reasonable number of their wants met. How that looks depends on the individual. In the US, that means a house; other countries (I’ve heard) differ in that. I see ‘having it all’ as a matter of satisfaction with lifestyle, which is more than just possessions. It’s friends, family, the safety of where one lives, rewarding pastimes and the like.

I am satisfied with my life. I have a solid marriage with someone who I can be myself with. We own a house and our cars are in reasonable shape.

I have a good job that challenges me. My hobby (writing) gives me plenty of flow activity. I have some health challenges, but they’re under control (except for the arthritic knees). I could use more friends, but as I don’t get out much, I don’t know what we’d be doing.

In my eyes, I have it all.

I’ve Lost the Fever

The book is going slowly; I’m writing an average of 1000 words a day, rather than my typical 2000. It’s a stubborn book; it doesn’t know if it wants to be written. I’m writing it mainly because my husband suggested I should when I told him I had no more books to write.

Writing is no longer the fever it was when I started writing. I have gone through all the obsessions, all the stories that clamored to be written. Writing now is not exactly a trudge, but it’s no longer the force it was when I started. I suspect this is natural, a consequence of time or age. Or of the change in medication I went through about a year ago, and then it’s a matter of finding my equilibrium again.

I miss the writing obsession. It gave me a sense of purpose, a feeling that I labored for something bigger than myself. Maybe it was delusional; maybe it’s a good thing to lose the fever. I miss it, however.

The Curio Cabinet

I have too much stuff. I have wearied of a materialistic lifestyle, although I don’t know what I’d do without the gadgets I have amassed over the years (sarcasm). I have some collectibles, and a collection of coffee pots (which I do use occasionally). I have one possession that I treasure more than any, however, and that is a curio cabinet that my dad made for me.

It is in the form of a primitive pie safe, with no carving and no curves. Where there is punched tin in a pie safe, my dad put panes of glass. The cabinet is made from wood scavenged from a packing crate, and the glass was scavenged from the old windows that had been replaced in the house I grew up in. It’s stained in antique oak stain.

The only thing it’s lacking is my dad’s signature. My dad died several years ago, and I would have loved that reminder of him. But I have my dad’s work, and it is my most treasured possession.