“All I can tell you is that if this were a riddle, the answer would be that the game is life, and that while we do not make all the rules ourselves, the one who awards or takes points is always you.”

— Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality by Eliezer Yudkowsky (hpmor.com)

~ ~ ~
Sometimes I forget that my “worth” as a writer is not measured by external things, such as number of blog subscribers or published books. It’s intrinsic.

This is what I need to remind myself in these times—and I’m sharing it here in case it someone else needs to hear it too:

✨ You are the one whose life this is; so when it comes to what you do and make, you are the only one whose opinion ultimately matters.

✨ Don’t try to write what you think other people want to read. It’s not their life that you’re living.

✨ Value yourself enough to write and express what you are interested in. Besides, if others aren’t already interested in it, they might become interested in it, if you show them the awesomeness you see!

✨ Share what excites you, what upsets you, and what amazes you, especially when you feel like “Why isn’t everyone saying this?”

Maybe that would be a good writing prompt, actually: what comes to your mind when you hear the question, “Why isn’t everyone saying this?”

Here’s one thing that comes to my mind: the awesomeness of the essay “Self-reliance” by Ralph Waldo Emerson. (I’ve quoted from it a lot on this blog, especially in this post: “Emerson on Authenticity.”) I suppose one does have to wade through his old and flowery prose, plus some passages where he stretches his points rather too far. But to me, it’s worth it for the gems of pure power! (They are like antidotes to the poison-dogma I learned growing up in high-control religion!) Here are a few of them:

“Nothing is at last sacred but the integrity of your own mind.”

“What I must do is all that concerns me, not what the people think.”

“To be great is to be misunderstood.”

“[People] imagine that they communicate their virtue or vice only by overt actions, and do not see that virtue or vice emit a breath every moment.”

“Insist on yourself; never imitate.”

“Every great [person] is a unique…Do that which is assigned you, and you cannot hope too much or dare too much. There is at this moment for you an utterance brave and grand as that of the colossal chisel of Phidias, or trowel of the Egyptians, or the pen of Moses, or Dante, but different from all these.”

“Abide in the simple and noble regions of thy life; obey thy heart.”

~ ~ ~
So: you lovely, unique person reading this, what is something you wonder why everyone’s not talking about? Maybe that will point you to your own “utterance brave and grand.” ✨

"I'm sorry" were the words my lips
learned like my own name.
"I'm sorry, God, I let you down.
I'm trash but for your grace."

Now, years (and tears) away,
my partner frowns and says, "For what?"
when those words fall from my lips--
and I recall: I'm worthy of love.

In the notebook

Here’s an aspect of autism I have been coming to understand lately: autistic joy.

I gather that autistic people tend to have strong emotional experiences in general, which is usually noticed in the context of meltdowns. But we also tend to have extra-intense experiences of positive emotions, like joy, excitement, amazement, awe, affection, and so on.

Hmm, what’s the opposite of a “meltdown”? … how about a “sparkle up”?

That would describe what I observe happening in my autistic daughter (“Twin 2”) when she’s excited about something. She practically vibrates with the feeling, which then comes out in “stims” such as hopping, humming, dancing, hand-flapping, and finger-flicking.

Since I have been accustomed to “masking” my feelings, it only recently dawned on me that I have correlates to this in my own experience, too.

I was telling a friend how, while driving through the West Virginia countryside on the way to her house, I’d seen a horse—and I suddenly, involuntarily gasped, with my whole body lighting up with delight and awe.

Some people get excited when they see celebrities. I get excited when I see a horse. :-D

A deeper dive into my relationship with joy

For that same friend I mentioned, in her childhood, joy was just outlawed—it was a foreign concept, not remotely conceivable or allowable.

For me, joy was allowed, but it was polluted, twisted, and pressed into service, in two main ways.

1. First my joy was recruited for putting on a cheery show for my parents, especially my mom, to indicate that I was fine, and therefore everything’s fine; we’re all fine. “There’s no problem here.” Joy—or at least the pretense of it—was a tool I used for collectively soothing our nervous systems.

2. Then the religion stuff swept in and turned joy into something to be used for the purpose of worshiping and glorifying God. Joy meant something: if I felt joy, that meant I was right with God, walking in the Spirit, experiencing the fruits of the Spirit, and all was well.

Then I would chase that feeling in other times, because of that moral sense that that was the correct way to be—if I’m not feeling joy, I’m not being correct. (I literally had a biblical counselor tell me once that if I was not experiencing “perfect peace,” it meant that I was not right with God. That was not helpful.)

Since I left (home and) Christianity, my relationship to joy has been complicated. It has meant something still, even though my parents and God were out of the equation. If I felt joy, that meant I was doing things right—or just “things are good; we’re going to be okay.”

Now, learning about this concept of “autistic joy” has been helping me to decouple the experience in the moment of feeling joy from the stories of “I’m okay, we’re doing fine, everything’s good, I’m doing things right,” and so on. Now I can see that there’s no relationship or correlation there. Joy is just a feeling that I can have.

And I can see that that feeling of joy tends to happen in relation to certain things, such as horses, writing, forests/nature, animals, music, books, office supplies...and so on. :-)

It’s just about my nervous system and my experience in the moment. It doesn’t have to have any sense of correlation to stories of how I’m doing, which are just stories anyway. This is very freeing.

I’m free to just let joy happen as it happens, however, whenever.

Or, in other words, I’m free to “sparkle up.” ✨

The river does not ask the sky,
   "Am I good enough?"

It simply flows along its course,
   sometimes mighty,
   sometimes low,

but always it is 
   something true
   and wondrous--

as are you.

In the notebook

The me in my head
  was awkward, odd,
inferior to others,
  and a wretch to God.

Now when I look
   at those photos, I see
someone loveable
   who was me.

In the notebook

We are not the cycle keepers,
   but its breakers. 
We decline to keep
   the pattern.

We came from mothers
   who had to keep 
   their silence, keep
   up appearances, keep 
   the men happy.
We do not want to keep
   doing that.

Our mothers came from mothers
   who had to keep
      calm and carry on
   in dire situations.
We honor them best
   by climbing higher 
      than they could.

Our work is to expand, to keep
   not the peace, but space
for the nuanced needs
   of bodies and hearts--
      our children's,
      our downtrodden neighbors',
and most of all, our own.

River Roundup

Section posts since last time

~ ~ New section ~ ~

⛲Fiction Fountain

a place for short fiction reflecting on themes of inner growth, struggles, and healing

“Always in the past she had stuck by Eden, helping to calm her and make peace when her temper rose. But maybe she was getting tired of this.”

🖋️Writer’s Waters

a new-to-me story-writing process that I’m really enjoying

🪷Serenity Splashes

a shape poem

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published

                   I   try   to   be   
       strong   like   a   great   oak
           but  the   winds   of   life
  (the   work   to   do,   the   mouths   
      to   feed,   need    after    need,
 and   everywhere   so    much   suffering)
       would    push    and    pull    me
                     till    I    break   
                          unless 
                          I  stay
                        connected 
                          tightly
                          to   the 
                          unseen
                      underground
                           center 
                    of my lifeforce--
my real experience in each present moment,
                       my  feelings,    
               thoughts,  and   needs,    
             as   they    are,   not   as  
               I    wish    them   to   be,      
         relating  to  them  with  kindness--     
        for    what's    underground   is   what     
      matters    most--   what   keeps   me    
standing    strong,    whatever   winds   come.

note to self

My to-do list is not:
   a promise
   a contract
   a slave master
   an assignment for a grade
   or a god.

My to-do list is just:
   a memory aid
   of things I want 
   and need to do
   when I can.

My to-do list is like:
   a wishlist for Santa
   a bingo card
   a handful of tossed wildflower seeds
   or lottery numbers to play.

Life doesn't care
   about my plans;
I'll get what I get today--
   that's all.

But I can care
   about my wellbeing
and do what I can today--
   that's all.

It started when I asked ChatGPT to give me some prompt questions to help me (more quickly and deftly) create story ideas that incorporate my real-life experiences and learnings.

It took some doing, but finally it gave me a set of six questions that were exactly what I was looking for. I’ll list the questions below, and then I’ll show you my specific process in using them to create this story.

1. 1. What truth am I trying to explore?

2. 2. What small slice of life naturally contains this truth?

3. 3. What disturbance enters that ordinary day?

4. 4. What impossible choice does it create?

5. 5. What changes?

6. 6. What image closes the story?

Here was how I answered these questions in my notebook (photos below), which led to the creation of this story.

1. 1. What truth am I trying to explore?

I’m learning to stop unconsciously co-dysregulating for others (taking their dysregulation onto myself) and start regulating myself first so I can consciously, healthily co-regulate for others.

1. 2. What small slice of life naturally contains this truth?

staying subdued, cowed, and on alert when someone else is mad, triggered, and/or dysregulated …

Ok, so maybe we see this in a friendship between two women … maybe on a road trip… or maybe just riding together to an event…oh, a wedding?

1. 3. What disturbance enters that ordinary day?

They get into a traffic jam and are going to be late. Main character (MC) was navigating and friend blames her.

1. 4. What impossible choice does it create?

Stay in that cowed state or speak up/move back into her own emotional space.

1. 5. What changes?

MC realizes she doesn’t have to be ruled by others’ feelings…and maybe the friend, after more rage, eventually calms down…and maybe MC realizes she doesn’t want to spend as much time with that friend anymore.

1. 6. What image closes the story?

She finds and holds onto something in her pocket.

This process felt helpfully straightforward for me, in a way that inspired me to want to do it again and again!

Another aspect of the process of this story was the practical logistics: I just wrote it in my same notebook I use for everything these days, marking each entry with a long “SS” symbol (for short story, or to look like a road). This gave the writing of it a very relaxed and fun vibe for me!

Some notebook photos:

I look forward to more attempts with more stories to come!

And please feel free to borrow this story-creating process if you so desire!

Traffic Jam

by Anna Eplin

Looking back, Jessie knew something was off from the moment Eden burst out the door of her parents’ house, her hazel eyes glaring and her long blonde hair in disarray. Eden ran her fingers through it as she clacked down the sidewalk in her high heels toward Jessie’s car.

“Mind if I drive?” Eden called as she approached. They were riding together to the wedding of some friends from their college, which they would be returning to next month, when summer break ended.

Jessie wrinkled her eyebrows at her friend and waved her hand through the open car door window. “Um, hi—it’s been almost two months—good to see you, too. And why do you want to drive my car? You hate it, remember?”

“True,” said Eden, now pulling her hair back into a makeshift bun. “But I drive faster than you. I don’t want to be late.”

Jessie frowned, trying to recall what her dad had said about whether her car insurance would cover other drivers.

“And of course, it’s great to see you,” said Eden, finally done with her hair. “I’m just all—” she waved vaguely at her house, a gesture Jessie took to mean that Eden had been fighting with her mom again. “Come on, we’ll catch up on the way.”

“All right,” Jessie said. She got out and went to the passenger side.

It was always easier to just go along with Eden. They’d been friends since high school, and now they roomed together at college. These past two months of summer had been quiet for Jessie while being back home at her parents’ house; she’d come down with mono and had to rest most of the time. She was finally feeling better, and it was good to see her wild-card friend.

“You’re better at navigating, anyway,” Eden said as she slid into the driver’s seat. She tossed her purse on the backseat and backed the car out of the driveway with speedy precision.

Jessie, still a little uneasy about Eden driving her car, but resigned to it now, pulled up her phone’s maps feature to consult the directions she’d looked up earlier. Just to be sure she’d typed the address in correctly, she dug through her purse for the wedding invitation.

“So yeah—my mom was really on form today,” said Eden as they sped down the main road of their small town.

Jessie clicked her tongue against her cheek in sympathy, still looking for the invitation. Where had she put it? It didn’t seem to be in her purse at all. Maybe she didn’t really need it…surely she had entered the address into her phone correctly…still, it would be nice to have that tangible reassurance.

“She actually accused me of wrecking her plans for the day,” Eden was saying, “because I forgot to tell her about the wedding until this morning, and she had booked mani-pedis for us today. She thinks the world revolves around her!” Eden made an exasperated growl.

Jessie clicked her tongue again and tried to think of something sympathetic to say. But then Eden launched right into a fuller account of the conflict, so all Jessie had to do was listen.

Meanwhile, she kept subtly looking for the wedding invitation, to confirm the address and time. Finding it seemed to have become somewhat of a nervous fixation for her at this point.

Finally, she reached into the pocket of her cardigan, and there it was, tucked beside a folded piece of paper. Jessie quickly studied the wedding invitation, reassuring herself that she had gotten the address and time correct, while Eden went on talking about her mother.

Jessie then unfolded the piece of paper she’d taken out of her pocket, having forgotten what it was. Oh—it was a flier for an upcoming event at their town’s library. She’d picked it up the other day at the library drive-through window. “Yarn and Yarns” was the name of the event, which was evidently a knitting and crochet circle accompanied by a popular audiobook. Jessie thought it sounded like fun, and the event would take place before she had to leave for the fall semester. She enjoyed crochet; and although she’d already read the book, it was one of her favorites.

Eden paused her narrative as she sped up the interstate entrance ramp. She glanced at the flier in Jessie’s hand and snorted. “’Yarn and Yarns’? Do they not know any other words?”

Stung, Jessie folded the paper back and put it back in her pocket. “I thought it was cute,” she said quietly.

Eden shrugged. “Anyway, so then my mom was all like—“

Suddenly she stopped. Looking ahead, Jessie could see why: the interstate stretching in front of them was packed with cars, tail lights blazing angry red. They were entering a traffic jam—with no exit for several miles.

Eden cursed and hit the steering wheel with the palm of her hand. “We were already running late—now we’re just going to miss the whole wedding!” She blared the horn.

“Maybe it will clear up quick,” said Jessie.

“It doesn’t look like it’s moving at all!”

“There must have been a wreck. Once they get a lane open, we’ll start moving.”

Eden grunted. “It’d better.” She slumped in her seat, radiating anger and frustration.

Jessie flicked through her maps app, seeing if it contained any helpful traffic information or possible detours, but she wasn’t finding anything.

Suddenly Eden looked at Jessie with narrowed eyes and said, “You told me to take the interstate.”

Jessie looked back blankly, confused. Of course she had indicated for Eden to take the interstate. It was the most sensible route.

“I should have known something like this would happen!” Eden shouted, pounding the steering wheel again. Then she pointed at Jessie’s phone. “How far’s the next exit? I could drive up the shoulder.”

Jessie shook her head, keeping her eyes on her phone to hide how frightened she suddenly felt. “Not for three miles.”

“Maybe I could back up to the last one…” Eden looked behind them, calculating.

“No. Don’t do that. It’s too far—and too risky.” Jessie’s throat felt tight with anxiety. She thought to herself that if Eden insisted on doing that, she would have to somehow revoke her permission for Eden to drive her car.

But thankfully, Eden capitulated, slumping in her seat and grunting in frustration. Jessie kept poking around on her phone, looking for information about the jam.

“I can’t believe you got us into this traffic jam,” Eden said after a minute. “You didn’t even want to go to the wedding, did you? So you saw the jam on your phone and let me drive right into it.”

Jessie stared at Eden. She could feel her cheeks flush as fear bolted through her. “What? No! Of course not!”

Eden just shook her head, her face pinched with anger.

“I swear I didn’t know, and of course I want to go to the wedding!” Jessie sputtered. “I’ll try to find where to call for traffic info.” She began frantically searching on her phone, but she kept clicking the wrong things accidentally. Her mind was blurred by the fear coursing through her.

Finally she found a number to call, and she called it. The operator listened to her timid request for information and then replied that yes, there had been an accident, and they expected to have a lane opened within ten minutes.

Jessie turned to Eden, who had heard it all, since Jessie had used speakerphone. She said, “I bet we won’t be the only ones who are late because of this. I’ll text Nicole and let her know the situation.”

Eden sighed heavily and raked her fingers through some locks of hair that had fallen out of her makeshift bun. “Okay.” She sighed heavily.

They sat in silence while Jessie texted Nicole, the friend whose wedding they were headed to. Then there was nothing to do but wait for the traffic to start moving.

Jessie sat frozen, with her gaze ahead but toward Eden’s general vicinity. She didn’t want to do or say anything to possibly reignite Eden’s anger. Maybe if she stayed just like this—quiet but available, almost apologetic in her demeanor, even—Eden would calm down and they could have a friendly ride again.

It was hard to maintain this state of high alert, though, as the minutes went by and Eden still silently fumed beside her. Jessie began to feel some anger of her own bleeding through the cracks in her clenched pose. This was not how you were supposed to be treated by a friend!

Always in the past she had stuck by Eden, helping to calm her and make peace when her temper rose. But maybe she was getting tired of this.

She moved her gaze away from Eden, looking out her window at the tractor trailer beside them. She wondered what would happen if she stopped being so forgiving of Eden’s short temper. Would their friendship even survive?

Eden had maybe sensed Jessie’s shift, because she blew out a loud sigh and said, “I’m sorry, Jessie. I know this wasn’t your fault. It just…sucks.” Then she ground her teeth in a fresh burst of aggravation as she peered at the cars ahead of them.

“Thanks,” Jessie said, smiling at her friend. “Yeah, it does.”

Then she looked back out the window. Relief had washed over her with Eden’s apology…but there was still a small part of her that wasn’t okay yet.

A tear started to roll down Jessie’s cheek--thankfully on the side Eden couldn’t see—as she looked out the window. Part of her wanted to break down and sob with the feelings of fear she’d been holding in, but she squelched them back down again. It wasn’t really safe yet.

Safe. Had she really just thought that? She didn’t feel safe with Eden. The thought struck her with lightning-flash clarity. After all these years of friendship—or so-called friendship—she finally saw what, before, she’d been too removed from her own feelings to see.

“Thank fucking Christ,” Eden muttered, and shifted the car back into drive. The traffic ahead of them was starting to move.

“Yeah,” Jessie said, to mask her silent revolution.

As they finally started to move again, Jessie put her hand in her pocket and felt the flier for Yarn and Yarns. She clutched onto it, like a map to a new beginning.

My to-do list is not:
   a promise
   a contract
   a slave master
   an assignment for a grade
   or a god.

My to-do list is just:
   a memory aid
   of things I want 
   and need to do
   when I can.

My to-do list is like:
   a wishlist for Santa
   a bingo card
   a handful of tossed wildflower seeds
   or lottery numbers to play.

Life doesn't care
   about my plans;
I'll get what I get today--
   that's all.

But I can care
   about my wellbeing
and do what I can today--
   that's all.

In the notebook

                    I   try   to   be   
       strong   like   a   great   oak
           but  the   winds   of   life
  (the   work   to   do,   the   mouths   
      to   feed,   need    after    need,
 and   everywhere   so    much   suffering)
       would    push    and    pull    me
                     till    I    break   
                          unless 
                          I  stay
                        connected 
                          tightly
                          to   the 
                          unseen
                      underground
                           center 
                    of my lifeforce--
my real experience in each present moment,
                       my  feelings,    
               thoughts,  and   needs,    
             as   they    are,   not   as  
               I    wish    them   to   be,      
         relating  to  them  with  kindness--     
        for    what's    underground   is   what     
      matters    most--   what   keeps   me    
standing    strong,    whatever   winds   come.

In the notebook

I think my “authentic self,” my natural state, is one of being pretty constantly immersed in thoughts—thinking, writing, reading, reflecting, and processing.

Interacting with people and other aspects of the real-time world around me interrupts my flow of thoughts, and thus it feels like it interrupts me—like I am put on hold until I can be alone again. (And then I’ll probably need recovery time first, too.)

This is a daily, chronic experience of life for me, that I’m guessing is a feature of my autism—and specifically my “sensory avoiding” profile.

It’s very hard to hold onto a sense of myself—how I feel, what I think, what I’m interested in, what I need—in the midst of external activity.

(It’s so hard that I lived the first half of my life with approximately zero sense of what I felt, wanted, and needed. I just did what I was supposed to do, as I understood it, however hard it was.)

When I have enough mental energy, I can keep a separate track going in my mind while in the midst of others: I can keep hold of things I’ve been thinking about or working on (such as a poem) and seize moments to jot things down in my notebook.

In these times, I also feel more truly present with the people around me (such as my kids)—more regulated, fulfilled, and joyful—and I think I literally am more present, because my sense of “me” is close, instead of banished to a waiting room.

But I can’t often do that…the overstimulation is usually too much.

I am actively trying various ways of helping my sensory-avoiding nervous system stay calm, grounded, and close to myself. I’ve found many things that can help, including:

• speaking as little as possible

• squinting my eyes to block out distractions and help me focus on what I’m trying to do

• wearing noise-cancelling headphones, with music or audiobook playing

• wearing sunglasses

• carrying around a notebook & pen or a book

• using a small fidget toy that I can keep in my hand (it really does help me stay grounded)

• take as many breaks as I can, for getting back in touch with myself

• say no to whatever external things I can

• allowing my body to move how it wants to (at least at home), which can result in odd-seeming things, like my putting my hands over my eyes or ears involuntarily. (So far this has a lovely effect of transparency with my family: they can easily see and understand what I’m feeling without my having to wrangle it into words, and they don’t take it personally; they know it’s not about them.)

• snuggling with dogs/pets as much as possible :-)

I aim to keep availing myself of these helps and whatever others I can find.

Each of us has our own journey of discovering our needs and growing in self-actualization. Thank you for witnessing this part of my path. I cheer you on with your own journey of learning to stay close to yourself. 🌻

What my mind
thinks it will find
is what it will look for--

and what it seeks
is what it will see,
confirming more and more

a sense of doom 
or sense of boon,
depending on my gaze.

Please may I learn 
to steer and turn
my mind in healthful ways.

In the notebook

I’m sitting in the car line at my kids’ school. Taylor Swift’s “All Too Well” (the 10-minute version, of course) is playing in my headphones, which feels perfect, because I just saw a yellow leaf fall across my windshield.

“Autumn leaves falling down like pieces into place

and I can picture it after all these days.”

It’s an exciting sight, since we’re still in the blazing end of summer and all eager for autumn.

I am feeling privileged, to be able go to work and then come pick up my children at their school…

🍁

(end of moment for writing)

(next day)

❌

Well, today [my youngest] refused to go to preschool. ☹️ She’s upstairs at my office now. We’ll see what happens…

I already knew that I felt and functioned best when I had some kind of writing going on in my head (especially poems—with rhyme and meter!—on things I’m feeling and thinking about; hence my “Serenity Splash” poems). But recently this concept expanded into something bigger.

When we were on our vacation to Kure Beach a few weeks ago, my daughter (“Twin 2”) and I had a little debate going about which of two similar condo buildings was bigger. We finally counted the windows of each one and solved the question—and I noticed my brain felt a little sad, then, to not have that question to keep working on.

That was when I first began thinking about “mind quests.”

Later that evening, we ate out at a restaurant that she (Twin 2) didn’t particularly like, so I was trying to think of a way to help her get through it, and I remembered the “mind quest” idea. I asked her to help me make a list of all the different shades of blue we could think of. We made a long list while we waited for our food—even my husband joined in—and that helped us pass the time very enjoyably!

Then, on our way back home, I realized my husband had already figured out about “mind quests” (and surely was why I’d even thought to use the word “quest”): since we’d arrived at Kure Beach, he’d been playing a car game with them of giving them “quests” to find two beach houses of certain colors side by side (like “pink and blue”). They all loved it!

Also, throughout our trip, I had been noticing that having physical fidget toys in my hand helped me through tense moments, and having “mental fidgets”—such as a poem to work on—was the best of all.

I actually started writing my recent S.S. poem “toy” when we were there, on a day trip to Wilmington, NC, because I needed a poem to be working on and I was thinking about this concept (and watching my four-year-old keep her pocket-toy close):

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I'm forty, and I'm thinking
  that my four-year-old has it right:
she's always got a little toy
  in her hand, clutched tight,
or in her pocket, where she knows
  she has a piece of joy,
safe and close. She's teaching me
  to carry my own "toy." 

❤️

With all those pieces put together, I felt I suddenly understood that we really need “mind quests”—things to think about and play with—as a coping strategy for dealing with life in an often-overwhelming world.

Since then—back home—I have been finding that literally carrying around a notebook (and pen), when I can, is excellent for my mental health/self-regulation. (The runner up is to carry around a book, followed by carrying around knitting.)

I’m excited to keep exploring this idea of mind quests, and I’m grateful to my kids and husband for helping me learn the power of keeping special-interest items and “mind quests” close and at-the-ready. ❤️

River Roundup

Section posts from the past week

📚Book Beach

bookish euphoria!!

🪷Serenity Splashes

on understanding myself in this world

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My car may be muddy;
  my house may be messy;
I may be forgetful,
  tardy, and busy;

despite all my reading,
  I can be naiive;
and I get overwhelmed,
  for my heart's on my sleeve--

but it is full of love--
  that I can say--
and I'm doing my best
in this strange world each day.

reflections on unmasking, mindfulness, and letting go of people-pleasing

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"On it!" was my default mode--
   perform, appease, endure, 
      somehow.
May I just be "in it"--
   in the acuteness
      of my experience right now.

on the disaster in Nepal

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I sit here in my office,
with my notebook and some tea,
working, tired, busy--
but across the globe from me,

lives have just been shattered.
Yet here I sit, so safe,
with only my heart breaking.
This world's a baffling place.

ego thinking vs. creature experiencing

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My little mind thinks
  it's the manager of life,
like my cat thinks
  he's my king.

We're both just creatures,
  having feelings
and chasing
  bits of string.

for my cycle-breaking friends

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published

Sweet acorn, you fell from a twisted oak,
  and now you're growing tall--
but you worry you're not doing it well enough;
  you fret over every flaw.

Yet here you are, standing on your own,
  growing ring by ring,
and sheltering little creatures--
  you look magical to me.

☔️ ~New section: Neurosparkly Nest

Sweet acorn, you fell from a twisted oak,
  and now you're growing tall--
but you worry you're not doing it well enough;
  you fret over every flaw.

Yet here you are, standing on your own,
  growing ring by ring,
and sheltering little creatures--
  you look magical to me.

In the notebook

My little mind thinks
  it's the manager of life,
like my cat thinks
  he's my king.

We're both just creatures,
  having feelings
and chasing
  bits of string.

In the notebook

I sit here in my office,
with my notebook and some tea,
working, tired, busy--
but across the globe from me,

lives have just been shattered.
Yet here I sit, so safe,
with only my heart breaking.
This world's a baffling place.

In the notebook

I'm forty, and I'm thinking
  that my four-year-old has it right:
she's always got a little toy
  in her hand, clutched tight,
or in her pocket, where she knows
  she has a piece of joy,
safe and close. She's teaching me
  to carry my own "toy."

In the notebook

(There’s a lot more I have to say about this than I have time to right now, but this is a start, at least!)

I’ve been rather excited about these two hefty volumes I got recently from Taylor Books, the historic independent bookstore in Charleston, WV.

I went there on purpose to buy Thinking, Fast and Slow by Daniel Kahneman—because I’d been listening to it as an audiobook (via the Libby app through my library), and I wanted a hard copy to underline and refer back to—and while I was in Taylor Books, I found this gorgeous edition of Jane Eyre. I walked out of there feeling like I had just received priceless treasures!

feelings

Ever since, I’ve been savoring each chance I get to read them!

…Sometimes that feeling of enjoyment comes out like the wholesome delight of fresh air and sunrise. Ahhhhh.

Other times, it comes out like jubilantly boogey-dancing my personal variation on Sir Mix-a-lot: “I like big BOOKS and I cannot lie!” 😆

blooper

Below, I’ve included some quotes (with accompanying photos) from the books…but first, a blooper photo from my books’ photo shoot! 😆

quotes

From Thinking, Fast and Slow:

“Intuitive impressions of the diagnosticity of evidence are often exaggerated. The combination of WYSIATI [what you see is all there is] and associative coherence tends to make us believe in the stories we spin for ourselves.”

Meaning: the explanations our minds come up with on their own have a high likelihood of being factually incorrect!

From Jane Eyre:

“…and then my courage sank. My habitual mood of humiliation, self-doubt, forlorn depression, fell damp on the embers of my decaying ire.”

This absolutely slays me with its beauty, perceptiveness, and tragedy. 💔

Thanks for sharing in my bookish joy!

The books are My Life with ADHD and My Life with Autism, both written by Mari Schuh and illustrated by Isabel Muñoz. They are picture books told in the first-person voice of a child with ADHD (Annabelle) and a child with autism (Zen). They’re lively, straightforward, and informative without being patronizing.

True to their titles, they have a feel of sharing an actual person’s life, rather than delivering a set of abstract characteristics. In fact, according to the backs of the books, they are based on actual children called Annabelle and Zen! I think this is a great way to write books meant to teach about special needs.

One of my daughters especially resonated with My Life with ADHD because of how very similar the details of Annabelle’s life are to hers.

There are apparently other books in this series, too:

I love that books like this exist--and I love that these particular books exist--so I wanted to share that gladness. We need all the joys we can get in these troubling times!

Thanks for reading. Wishing you books that make you feel sparkly! ✨