Tension

Last night and into this morning, I've been anxious. Not an unusual state for me. I run hot and cold. Lately, I've had some issues. We've hired possibly New York State's worst contractor for new windows and siding at our home, a project now in its eleventh week. At work, I've got funding, budgeting, and staff acrimony issues. Mom has been ill a couple weeks and will miss Thanksgiving dinner. My in-laws are in-coming and our last visit was a mess. Stressful stuff.

I think of my logical and emotional sides as two people renting space in my head. The logical one knows stress and anxiety do me very little good and that feeling them is a choice. The emotional one doesn't do logic when it's freaking out.

I imagine them as separated, but they're connected a rope stretched taut between them as they engage in a tug of war. When one of them pulls the other over or gives up and leaves nothing to pull against, I lose my balance.

Tension between them holds me upright. As I work to navigate the world, their pulling keeps me on a good path.

All that's well and good, but last night and this morning, I've been anxious, pulled off balance. What do I do about that?

Start by noticing I haven't been pulled over. Although the rope has pulled me hard, my feet are still under me, and I can exert tension of my own.

Then remember I don't have to pull opposite to the way in which I'm being pulled. I can let myself be pulled somewhat while still moving in the direction I had intended to go. I can be responsive, not reactive.

From there, notice how the tension evens out as the emotional or logical regain their footing and we work together to move forward.

Notice that, and anxiety falls away.

Better

In Pittsburgh, at an Airbnb, readying to check out after a lovely stay. I've tidied, folded blankets, put laundry in a neat pile, wiped counters, loaded the dishwasher, and so on. It may be more than we are obligated to do. We've paid money for the privilege of staying here, but it is privilege nonetheless and something to repay with courtesy.

I like returning something at least as good as I borrowed it. I won't paint walls, rewiring lamps, or fix the faucet, but neither will I leave a mess. This place will be as good as when we arrived aside from the necessarily dirty laundry.

At home, we are dealing with an inept, unreliable contractor replacing our windows. Bill keeps using my tools without asking. Our brooms and dustpans, tape measure, step stool, caulk gun, mallet, and more are returned to the wrong places, usually worse for wear. Bill can't understand why this matters.

Our Airbnb hosts will find we have cared for their place and thus for them. It's no great feat, just a matter of being sensitive to and respectful of one another.

Bill isn't sensitive to us because he is a loser whose decisions cause him to keep losing. He has been doing so for years. Bill doesn't know how to care for himself and his things, so he can't care for us. That's pitiable.

I could excuse him for using our stuff, but is that kindness? I can't fix Bill, that's up to him, but perhaps my actions will help make him better. I don't know.

Leaving no mess here in Pittsburgh before returning to clean up Bill's mess at our home makes me better. And, frankly, I could do with becoming a lot better.

From Mourning to Transcendence?

Last night, I went to type a letter on my typewriter. Yeah, I have a typewriter, a beautiful 1938 Corona Sterling was manufactured here in Syracuse the same year my dad was manufactured here in Syracuse.

I saw that the spacebar was cracked in half and the carriage would not move.

We've had contractors replacing our windows. It has been an unpleasant experience. The contractor is unreliable to say the least, but we've given him money and need to ride this out. A worker must have dropped a tool on the typewriter and not told us. So it goes.

Last night, I mourned the broken typewriter, just sat staring at it. I mourned too our choice of contractor and was stuck there a while.

Then I searched the net for typewriter repair. The guy an hour away who previously worked on the machine seems to be out of business. I sent email to Albany, Philadelphia, and a couple other places, still stuck in mourning.

This morning, I have replies from folks confident they can do the work.

Also this morning, I read Leo Babauta's "Transcendent: Take on Work & Life from Another Level" about seeing transcendence in the everyday. I realized that I sent a message, almost a prayer, out into the ether last night and this morning have a choice of two ways forward.

Pretty transcendent stuff.

I encourage you to find the wonder in those experiences of frustration or disappointment. They're not signs of failure, but just more to practice with.

I'll continue to be frustrated and disappointed with our contractor, but maybe this is my chance to practice with seeing wonder not just out there in the world but inside of myself as I move forward from mourning to action and, perhaps, to resolution and progress.

Steps

Woke this morning and made coffee like every morning. I counted the steps involved and it turns out there are so many:

Fill the kettle and set it to boil. Pull down scales, decanter, beans, filter, small bowl, spray bottle, and mug. Measure 21 grams of beans into the bowl, spray, and grind. Place the filter in the decanter and rinse with boiling water. Dump ground coffee into the filter, shake to level, make a well in the center, and zero the scale. Pour 70 grams of boiled water and start the timer. Swirl the decanter or stir. Wait 30 seconds. Add another 70 grams of water. Wait 15 seconds, add 70 grams more, and repeat until the scales read 350 grams. Put away coffee beans, bowl, spray bottle, and scales. Wait for the coffee to drip. Compost the filter, pour the coffee, rinse the decanter, and enjoy.

I make more complicated coffee than pod coffee people, but I like complication and steps. This morning the process reminded me that while complexities abound and seem daunting, the steps are simple as pouring beans and boiling water. Taking steps, one after another, becomes routine, no big deal, and the coffee gets better the more I practice.

Seems like the idea of taking steps might apply to more than just coffee.