Meeting Morning

The power of defining oneself as “not a morning person” struck me once again at 4am, mountain time as I clung to my covers, twisted and turned from one sleepless position to the next and tried to convince myself that I was not awake. How could I be? It was 4am. Five layers of blankets separating me from the 50 degree house, the warm sleeping cat curled into the crescent sleeping on my side creates, the absolute darkness, the 3 hours my alarm still had to count down before screaming, counting my breathes – none of these things soothed me back to sleep. Something was wrong. At quarter to five I eased myself from the layers of quilts and conceded to wakefulness.

To my surprise the morning hours before sunlight tints the sky are not that bad when not forced to approach them by a relentless alarm and an ever encroaching deadline to leave the house.

I enjoyed a productive, caffeine-free morning. Any other day and the words “productive” “caffeine-free” and “morning” could not truthfully be put together in a sentence that applied to me.  But by 5:30am I was dressed for the day with the pets fed, the dog  let out and back in, and the dishes from last night’s meal done. By 6:30 I had finished breakfast (with water rather than coffee or tea!), wandered around feeling as though I should be rushing to something and after several minutes of finding nothing to rush to, realized that on this particular Monday morning there was nothing left for me to do but relax. I gathered a couple of books to choose from and started toward the couch; it was then that I heard it. I noticed the sound of no music, no clattering from the other room, no one talking, no pets scampering over the hardwood floors.  It was – I believed – quite. Every other living being was asleep behind a closed door. I was alone in a quite house with hours to fill. An excitement I had not felt in months closed in resulting in a giddiness akin to seeing an old friend for the first time in years. I opened my computer and began to write.

And so – after months of neglect – I have a  new post for the blog. On the horizon is a break in my busy schedule when I hope to be able to ramble more frequently. Also new today is a posting on my photoblog at: eyewonders.wordpress.com – check it out and check back here soon!

 

A measure of nerves and nails

About a month ago I broke a nail for the first time in years. And I’ll have you know that when that bit of nail ripped off it exposed a very sensitive patch of skin just beneath my fingertip and I suddenly understood why breaking a nail is such a big deal. After I finished nursing my finger, I stared at my hands and realized the nine remaining nails were quite long and inexplicably smooth. It didn’t seem quite right, so I gave my hands a second scan and sure enough, white tips extended over the rounded skin capping my fingers. I stared for a while longer pondering how this had come to be and further lamenting my broken nail because if not for it, I would having started digging through my archaic selection of nail polish for the perfect color with which to celebrate. Now I would have to wait at least a week and hope I didn’t break another nail.

This morning I gave my fingernails a quick trim and filed down some rough edges. I’m thinking I might go with a shimmering torquise but also like the idea of keeping it plain and versitle with a warm brown that will also hide the dirt that keeps getting caught under my nails. I’m still a bit clumsy if my nails get too long; opening a can of soda can be tricky, as can typing. How do secretaries with half-inch nails do it? That remains as mysterious to me as women who can walk in silettoes for hours and get up and put on another pair the next day. For my own sake, I stick to flip-flops and try to keep my nails trimmed even with the tips of my fingers; but the nail upkeep is all so new. Taking the time to trim and file still feels like a strange weekly addition to my hygiene routine but  I just don’t have the nerves to bite them anymore.

After over a decade of nail biting and futile attempts break the habit, it simply disappeared without any thought or effort. So what changed?  Most notably changes in where I live and what I do, which have slowed down daily life to a pace of living I find more comfortable.

This morning after my nails were trimmed, I went out front to water my flower bed and struggling tomato, pepper, and squash plants. When finished, I watched three humming birds chase each other around the feeder and through the tree. I was so close to them that I could see the multiple shades of green on their heads, the 3 cm wide fuchsia band on the male’s throat, even their feet. I didn’t know humming birds had feet. On the other side of the yard, I watched as my golden retriever toss himself from left to right, belly-up with a stick in his mouth getting in a good back scratch in the sun. “This is my life,” I thought, and felt a smile spread across my face.  Back inside, I sat with my coffee and a magazine and let my mind wander over tentative plans to run the river and go for a bike ride today. Plenty of time and little pressure to do both.  Being able to take time to have fun and not feel like I should be doing something else – that has helped my nails grow.

I also like to think that I’m doing a better job of managing the stress that is still around, mostly by practicing mindfulness but also acceptance and an assortment of strategies that I often suggest my clients try but have only recently tried myself.  Every day I working on taking deep breathes, acknowledging and accepting that I can only do one thing at a time, not thinking too far beyond the present, looking for the little things that calm me, letting go of what I can’t control, and most importantly finding quiet moments to sit and be still.

Thus I’ve reach the real point of this ramble – my nails are one measure of many that show that I have started to shed stress and anxiety that I have carried with me for many years. And that I have done so and noticed it through the simple things that so often get forgotten in the rush of daily life.