Each year, I choose a particular word to solidify a goal, or a theme, for the coming 12 months. Most of the time, it comes from a "should" that has its genesis somewhere external, and —like those resolutions that also come from societal pressures or guilty living — I forget all about it by the time we hit double-digit January.
This time, though, it's very different. One day last week, my Word of the Year hit me like a brisk breeze out of nowhere. I was trying to juggle too many things at once, with my limping brain struggling to keep up.
"I just can't do this," I said aloud.
"STREAMLINE" immediately rose to the surface of my mind. And I knew.
In the past, I've chosen "Simplify," but despite its nod to my beloved Henry David Thoreau, it was a bit too vague, with little direction. "Streamline" is more specific, more evocative. It brings to mind cutting out in order to move better, to be more efficient, and to feel less friction. It's about removing what gets in the way.
For those new to this blog, I have two invisible disabilities: post-concussion syndrome, from a history of serious brain injuries, with the most recent occurring in September 2023; and moderate-to-severe rheumatoid arthritis, which so far affects my hands, feet, and eyes. (Yes, eyes. RA is an autoimmune disease, so it is systemic. The "arthritis" is a bit of a misnomer because the disease can affect more than just the joints.)
The daily impact of two conditions is stressful, and both disabilities worsen with stress. Without careful management of the factors within my control (medication, schedule, and rest, primarily), it's easy to fall into a feedback loop.
When I'm having a "bad brain day", I get stressed and frustrated — often feeling like I'm disappointing my friends and loved ones because I have to cancel plans — which makes the RA worse. The pain and diminished function of the worsening RA interferes with what I'm trying to accomplish, and that clogs up the brain even further. And so it goes, spiralling down until I'm in a pit of non-functioning, self-loathing misery.
Recovering from the latest Big Brain Bang has been slow, and I have to be realistic. If this is what my level of "brain spoons" will be for a while (perhaps even permanently), then all that I currently have going on just isn't sustainable. My life is overstuffed. I'm carrying too much, metaphorically speaking.
I need to decide what's important, what's beneficial, what's a drain, and what is absolutely necessary. And then I need to start removing things. Anything that takes my attention is using brain energy, and I need to accept the fact that it's a limited resource. Even if it's something I want to do, it still drains the cranial battery. And I'm stubborn. I want to do what I want to do.
But it's time to get real.
I need to streamline in order to move forward. Or I'm not going to be able to move at all.
Each morning I write at least one page in an A5 Itoya Profolio Oasis Notebook. This is my version of Julia Cameron's recommended practice of writing three pages by hand first thing each morning. I commit to doing at least one page each day, depending on how my hands are doing.
Morning Pages are meant to be a brain-dumping, a clearing of the writing machinery, to get the gunk out of the way so the "real stuff" can start flowing. And, in their own way, Morning Pages become a genre of "real stuff", too. They provide an unedited, stream-of-consciousness, snapshot of what you are semi-consciously thinking, before the world gets ahold of you for the day. Morning Pages aren't meant to be re-read (I tend to flip back through my archive of completed notebooks), and they are never supposed to be shared.
I'm breaking that last rule with you today. What tumbled out of my brain and hand this morning was clearly meant to be a blog post. So here it is, word-for-word, and paragraph by paragraph, the way it came out: Continue reading
unleashing joy from
a single red raspberry
lolling on my tongue
a single red raspberry
lolling on my tongue
