Self care, day 1.

Last week, I started seeing a therapist.  It’s been a decade since I last had therapy as part of my life, and considering my current chronically overscheduled self, not to mention my divorce (among other things), it was high time I started going again.  Yesterday was only session two, but I already have homework: intentional self care.  No screens, no friends, no multi-tasking, no direction.  Just a half hour minimum per day of doing something aimless for myself.

Much easier said than done.  While going on a walk, sitting by the river, or drinking a cup of tea are all things I do with some frequency, they are rarely alone and never aimless.  I go on a walk to a store with a friend, sit by the river or drink a cup of tea while reading a book (that I probably have some mild amount of guilt for reading if it’s fiction, because shouldn’t I always be reading things to expand my mind and better myself?).  Always, always, always multi-tasking.  Which is why the idea of relaxing for the sake of relaxing is unbearably difficult for me.

And I found these along my walk! The black feathery thing is a hair clip.

So today was day 1 of my new, prescribed, hopefully someday to be a routine, self care.  I went on what ended up being a 40 minute walk around the neighborhood a few moments of which I found myself able to relax, breathe, and be.  Sure I spent the first five minutes talking myself out of needing to plan a route in advance.  Certainly I spent a good portion of the middle of my time planning the photo walk I am leading for work this evening.  But for at least a few moments I lost myself in myself, the sunshine, lovely gardens, and woodpecker drilling on a nearby tree enough to return me to the drifting contemplative revelry I have found on walks in years past.

So here’s to finding new practices that, no matter how difficult despite seeming simplicity, I will commit to in hopes of living a deep life of both joy and peace.


I suppose I should suck it up and become a writer after all.

So let’s say one had reason for a midsummer day’s trip to the library, because one had a couple of items on hold and one just finished another wonderful novel by the fabulous Marion Zimmer Bradley, and one is craving more fantasy.  Why did is that woman no longer alive, btw???  Amazing female fantasy writers who re-envision foundational mythologies should be immortal.

Digression aside, said individual, upon perusal of the fantasy/sci fi section of her local library, finds that not only are a mere 1/10 of the books in this already small section written by women, but NEARLY ALL of those 10% are something along the line of paranormal detective romances.  Yuck.  (no offense to those that like this genre; to each their own).  So our brave lover of literature to do?

1. She-hulk SMASH!


2. Become the writer she’s always wanted to be and create the things she wants to read.  Not that there aren’t fantastic current and past female fantasy/sci fi writers out there, but the ratio is still HORRIBLE.

So lady friends and other wonderful, chronically underrepresented people: be critical of our culture and then CREATE THE WORLD YOU WANT TO SEE.

Waiting for clarity is the wrong intention after all.

Listening: Tom Waits – Bad as Me

Reading: Girls With SlingshotsLady of AvalonCurve.

Wondering: How long it will take to convince my ex to move out.  Why I can’t figure out what’s next in my life.  Why I fit so stupidly well into Things Millennial Girls Love.  If I will ever be capable of letting go of my need for control enough to write a book, try dance/burlesque, join a spiritual community, etc.

We’re deep in the throes of summer, which means I am coated in sweat, preoccupied by how many tomatoes are forming in the garden, and simultaneously wishing for and dreading rain.  Oh and feeling bad for the cats.  Poor furry babies.