Where's The Bottom?

Last night I was so tired that I stayed up late. I know that makes no sense, but it's what I do. I stayed up, watched a movie I'd seen before, and ate too much junk. None of this is unusual for me.

When I finally went to bed, I lay there wondering, where's the bottom?

In stories of addiction and recovery, there's the moment when someone hits bottom, stops drinking, and changes their life. My struggles are with food and bad habits. It's not like I can just stop eating or sitting.

When I think I'm at the bottom — weighing 225 pounds instead of 185-190 or spending the night feeling sick instead of sleeping — I wake ready to a change, but then I stay up late on the couch with a bag of chips.

Perhaps I'm looking in the wrong direction. Rather than staring into the abyss trying to find the bottom, I should to the sunlight and blue sky above this deep hole. I'm not sure how to do that.

Slowly, right? Except I fail to see how a short run or long walk moves me toward the light and ignore how the junk food and sleeplessness lead me deeper into darkness.

Usually, I try for some of conclusion in these posts. Today, I just have questions, some anxiety, and a picture of holding onto the side of a seemingly bottomless hole that also feels too high to climb.

Writing that, however, I notice a handhold just above my head. I think I can reach that. What happens next? I'll just have to see.

Paying My Way Forward

There are times I despair of paying the bills but those are few and far between these days. Mostly, I see a long-term game I've learned how to play well and about which I'm learning more every day.

As a child, I spent on almost any passing desire and once ran up a $250 debt while earning only $25 a week. When that happened, I sunk into depression, thinking, this is how my life will be forever. I've always been a bit dramatic.

Paying that debt took time, but I don't remember how long it took. The task seemed impossible until I was doing and had done it.

That same thinking, and a lot of luck in the stock market, afforded me the ability to buy a Tesla. It really was a one day at a time thing.

Today, thinking about bills, I realize how little debt we have. I see ways forward. I'm comfortable walking the path one step at a time. I've grown accustomed to going up and down. Today, we are down, pushing against reserves. Friday will rise on another paycheck that will pay bills and maybe go some into savings.

No despair. Just one thing and another over the long-term. No telling where the path leads, but one thing's for sure: it won't be in the poorhouse.

Breath of Morning

If you do not find a way to generate some mindfulness at the beginning of the day it becomes even harder to find the time as the day continues and you get caught up in your inevitably busy life.

One such practice is to find a way to remind yourself to breathe and smile even before you sit up in bed and place a foot on the ground. Remind yourself that this day is a gift, that it is wonderful to be alive, even if the day before you is busy and includes people and tasks you would rather not have to deal with.

Try to find a way to touch the wonderfulness of life even before you get out of bed. Some of the clouds passing through may involve planning and worrying about the day ahead, but at least yo ucan create, alongside such thoughts, the awareness that at its base this is all wonderful.

—Thomas Bien, Mindful Therapy, qtd. in Daily Doses of Wisdom #124

I woke this morning from a terrible dream in which I was cursing people I love over nothing. Waking, the dream stuck in my head. I was beginning the day clenched, lost to anger and hurt.

Whatever the reason, I asked myself if I could take a breath and try to unclench. I inhaled, held, and exhaled feeling myself opening as though in e.e. cummings' "somewhere I have never travelled":

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skillfully, mysteriously) her first rose

At first, I breathed to push against the dream, but then I let some of that go too. The dream stayed with me but not the clenching or as much of the fear. I'm still having to remind myself to breathe and finding it difficult to smile, but it really is wonderful to be alive and awake in this world.

That and now I'm thinking of the somewheres I have never travelled more than I'm remembering that terrible dream. The lightness of breath somehow lifts the weight of dread. Almost as though I were able to do magic.

Laundry and Have To

The washing machine is almost done. This morning I want to get some things done. Last weekend I bummed around. This weekend I'm trying to be less of a couch potato, so I threw laundry in the washer, then wrote Morning Pages. It will be ready for the dryer as I finish this.

Most things I avoid turn out to be this easy. The more time I take imagining complications, the more difficult things seem. If I just do things, they turn out as easy as measuring detergent and turning the knob.

Laundry is too easy to dread, but I talk myself out of doing these things. I'd much rather write Morning Pages. But the machine does the work while I write. It's not an either/or.

Even when a task seems like drudgery — scrubbing the kitchen sink, for example — doing it is fine. I squirt cleanser and scrub while listening to music. Five or ten pleasant minutes later, the sink is clean and I feel good.

I forget that when putting things off.

I resist feeling I have to, but really I almost never have to. Nearly everything is a choice. I chose to do laundry, chose to write Morning Pages, chose to type this. Later, I'll probably choose to scrub the sink.

If I choose otherwise, I'll have fewer pieces of clean clothing and a dirty sink. Who cares? Have to is a lie I tell out of fear. I don't have to believe the lie or the fear.

The washer is done. I'm choosing to move clothes to the dryer. Why not? It's not like I have to and it's just so easy. I should try to remember that.