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I have no idea if this will make sense to anyone, but it helped me make sense of the tangle i am in, returning from business travel.
Of general interest was seeing the Mongolian documentary Passion.[1]
I feel a little dissociated.
I will proceed, recognizing that the sense of dissociation is probably a long learned coping mechanism.
I think i am overwhelmed by hats. Work hat, Meeting hat, friend hat, family hat, spouse hat, creative hat, project hats. In this dark hour before the savings-time dawn, i find myself fingering the brim of each hat, my fingers tingling with the implications. "If i put on this hat," i feel, "i will be pulled into engagement this-a-way, if i put on that hat, i will be pulled that-a-way."
The work hat is one i don't feel much choice in taking on, so i postpone to the last minute, knowing that when it goes on i will be consumed by my work self. I do my best to pace and i have been learning how to pace my work day, how not to flood out with all my energy like a fire hose, draining all my reserves, treating the everyday as an emergency. I'm learning. I still have the sense of urgency, but i can see myself playing it out. I'm pacing and pausing more often.
In this morning hour, i hold the work hat aside and consider the other hats.
There is the spouse hat: to put that one on right now is to reflect on Christine's anxiety yesterday evening in Japantown. It's been so long since she's had a reaction like that, but i wonder if it's because we've not been in an urban setting for so long. We saw a wonderful Mongolian documentary, Passion [1], and began wandering in the Japan Center Miyako Mall. The first store we went into had shelves that adults could easily see over and did not have many people in it. The next store, though, had taller shelves and many more people. I realize how narrow the isles were and realize that Christine has a consistent reaction to tight, crowded spaces. Triggered, she went into a reactive spiral, that consumed her the rest of the evening.
I want to digest the movie, i want to digest the Meeting for Business, i want to reflect on an email a friend wrote about wanting to discuss Quaker theology. The garden, my crochet, the weather, spring, the evening light on the Bay as we drove home....
I'm holding all these experiences as separate moments, unable to -- what? Let them fall on the ground? It is past, mostly lovely and good and pleasant, but past.
Naming the hats helps me feel a little more integrated. I think part of the dissociation is how the work travel removed me from the day to day rhythms of my own integrated (as well as i can) life. I read the email over my phone, but never really felt like i could engage, and packaged up all the reactions, holding them until i could engage. Re-engagement is a challenge, and i realize i cope with that re-entry challenge by compartmentalizing my experiences, bringing home the sense of being away and separated. Instead of experiencing the flow of the day, i bundle up every experience for when i can deal with it. And then, as i return to my regular rhythm, there are all these bundles in the way, and so i am not experiencing the flow and regular rhythm, but i continue bundling things up.
I can not repair the time i was bundling things up. It's a fallacy embedded in the coping mechanism. I can procrastinate on some things, but i only have the now. I don't have "extra now" to catch up on the past. So, what shall i leave here, this moment, and not carry forward?
* There's followup from She's Geeky and Midwinter gathering: i don't want to drop those.
* There's correspondence for two deaths and a get well: i want to send those.
[Had a back spasm and now just trying to get out the door to work.]
[1] See evernote web clippings about the film
Of general interest was seeing the Mongolian documentary Passion.[1]
I feel a little dissociated.
I will proceed, recognizing that the sense of dissociation is probably a long learned coping mechanism.
I think i am overwhelmed by hats. Work hat, Meeting hat, friend hat, family hat, spouse hat, creative hat, project hats. In this dark hour before the savings-time dawn, i find myself fingering the brim of each hat, my fingers tingling with the implications. "If i put on this hat," i feel, "i will be pulled into engagement this-a-way, if i put on that hat, i will be pulled that-a-way."
The work hat is one i don't feel much choice in taking on, so i postpone to the last minute, knowing that when it goes on i will be consumed by my work self. I do my best to pace and i have been learning how to pace my work day, how not to flood out with all my energy like a fire hose, draining all my reserves, treating the everyday as an emergency. I'm learning. I still have the sense of urgency, but i can see myself playing it out. I'm pacing and pausing more often.
In this morning hour, i hold the work hat aside and consider the other hats.
There is the spouse hat: to put that one on right now is to reflect on Christine's anxiety yesterday evening in Japantown. It's been so long since she's had a reaction like that, but i wonder if it's because we've not been in an urban setting for so long. We saw a wonderful Mongolian documentary, Passion [1], and began wandering in the Japan Center Miyako Mall. The first store we went into had shelves that adults could easily see over and did not have many people in it. The next store, though, had taller shelves and many more people. I realize how narrow the isles were and realize that Christine has a consistent reaction to tight, crowded spaces. Triggered, she went into a reactive spiral, that consumed her the rest of the evening.
I want to digest the movie, i want to digest the Meeting for Business, i want to reflect on an email a friend wrote about wanting to discuss Quaker theology. The garden, my crochet, the weather, spring, the evening light on the Bay as we drove home....
I'm holding all these experiences as separate moments, unable to -- what? Let them fall on the ground? It is past, mostly lovely and good and pleasant, but past.
Naming the hats helps me feel a little more integrated. I think part of the dissociation is how the work travel removed me from the day to day rhythms of my own integrated (as well as i can) life. I read the email over my phone, but never really felt like i could engage, and packaged up all the reactions, holding them until i could engage. Re-engagement is a challenge, and i realize i cope with that re-entry challenge by compartmentalizing my experiences, bringing home the sense of being away and separated. Instead of experiencing the flow of the day, i bundle up every experience for when i can deal with it. And then, as i return to my regular rhythm, there are all these bundles in the way, and so i am not experiencing the flow and regular rhythm, but i continue bundling things up.
I can not repair the time i was bundling things up. It's a fallacy embedded in the coping mechanism. I can procrastinate on some things, but i only have the now. I don't have "extra now" to catch up on the past. So, what shall i leave here, this moment, and not carry forward?
* There's followup from She's Geeky and Midwinter gathering: i don't want to drop those.
* There's correspondence for two deaths and a get well: i want to send those.
[Had a back spasm and now just trying to get out the door to work.]
[1] See evernote web clippings about the film
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