I asked him to take it back but he didn’t.

Ki in daily life is the writing prompt Ron gave me a few days ago. I asked him to take it back but he didn’t.

I am feeling blah around it but I am practicing new behaviors so here we go.

I have noticed lately that I am feeling low. I am not excited to get out of bed. I am having a lot of negative thoughts like:

“I have worked my whole life and this is where I have ended up.”  I need to make more money or have more recognition.” Now the more money would be nice but I don’t need someone telling every second that I am doing a good job.

As I have said before I am turning sixty in a few days. I think the pall that I feel is because something in the back of my mind says 60 is the big one: the one where we really are all done. No more fun…just grown up hard stuff.

That being said…and I am going to keep telling about it until it passes because I know that it is a lie and if I keep telling it will diminish like all untruths…only the truth lasts and I want to live in the truth.

That being said…I feel great. Last night Ron and I went for a bike ride after work. We had a nice healthy dinner and then cleaned up the kitchen.

We played mitts and sticks and then an exciting game of “Ticket to Ride” where we had some healthy fun feuding.  He gets to wear the imaginary engineer hat and scarf because he won yet again.

008

Work felt long yesterday and I felt lonely for a bit and sad because I think I don’t get to see my family enough.

I noticed all this because I pay attention to my feelings and notice when they arise and how long they last and if they are true or a deliberate manufacturing of self-pity.

Ron and I have a lovely life together. Yet I can wander away from it to torture myself with “what ifs”…”what if we lose the house?, what if I die first?…what if I die last? What if I get dementia?  What if I am a street lady?”

I can let myself get filled with self-centered fear like a helium balloon that breaks the string and flies off to balloon heaven (or hell).

 

I practice ki in daily life by coming back to what is real. And what is real in each moment is that I am ok. I am so ok.

Then I can see if I am ok in this moment maybe I will be ok in all the moments. One moment at a time.

I come back to now by doing something physical…it may be going for a walk, hopping on my bike for a spin, doing some ki exercises, juggling for a few moments,  vacuuming the floor, sweeping the cobwebs off the lights and my mind. Sometimes I go out to the dojo and do rolls just to remind myself that I can.

AnneTest

I might write down what is bothering me, or I might write a gratitude list and share it with my gratitude group. I might write an email to my sponsor or tell Ron what is going on. I might write my blog. Sometimes I just get on my knees and pray for help. I have many tools to bring me back to the moment where all is well.

I think the challenge of getting older is to stay in the now as much as possible and to appreciate all the gifts that abound around me.

I do not have to give up and sit in my chair like my mother did. I want to grab the rest of this life and live it. I love to be alive and I am happy for the chance to see what my sixties look like on me.

008

 

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dirty black footy sock

I left the dirty black footy sock on the ground hoping the gusty March winds would whisk it away.  I did sweep up almost every one of the mouse gnawed crayons along with mini mouse poops that were scattered throughout the chewed pieces of Red Orange, Goldenrod, Pacific Blue and Forest Green wax bits. The cold cement floor looked like the happy confetti of a parade but it really was the sad remains of a storage bin left empty.

 

I suppose it could seem hopeful: a storage unit left empty, the lock off, door down, with the leavings of a life’s chapter strewn across the barren gray slab.

 

He came into the office today to sign the vacate notice. He wasn’t past due and he offered to sweep up. He seemed pleasant and soft spoken behind his purple dipped beard and shabby biker’s leathers. His navy skull cap pulled down low over his forehead with a long, thick, dark braid down his broad back, dusty camo pants shoved into worn dark combat boots. He was a working man; his big hands had scraped knuckles, thick calluses: maybe a mechanic or a mason.

 

She sat out in the battered, red wine colored Jeep Cherokee, twisted toward the back as she shushed another man’s 3 children, small they were, 2 mussed blond heads in mismatched car seats, the third a little bigger, unbelted in the center, clutching his Thomas the Train. I see her trying to quiet the fussy kids so they won’t irritate the new man in the biker’s jacket. I recognize the unease of blending stuff and expectations and families.

 

As I put the yellow lock on the latch indicating that the unit is ready for a new rental I see the dirty black half sock stuck to the webbing of the security fence. Percy the Engine sits upright on the unit lip edge, smiling, awaiting the return of a tearful toddler who will never come back.