A Path Worth Maintaining
Show up for yourself. Or, ya know...don't.
You know when someone does something that immediately makes you feel stupid for not thinking of it? Well, that happened to me today at a coffee shop while I watched a person settle into a table with their dog.
At first I was amused—the pup looked to be some sort of pittie mix with white fur, wearing a very fashionable, multi-colored sweater. And by my best guess, it’d actually been a human sweater once upon a time. From my spot against the back wall, I watched as the pair got comfy at the table in front of mine, facing the window.
Good view for the dog.
Smart.
This person seemed completely unhurried; but also, kind of like they were on a mission. They were focused, but nonchalant about it. After setting down their bag and wrapping the dog’s leash around the feet of the table, they went to get coffee. The dog surveyed the rest of us with a glance, but didn’t budge. When they came back, they took out their laptop and turned to hand a Kong stuffed with treats to the chill floof on the floor in the multi-colored sweater.
I think my jaw actually fell open.
Damn...what a pro.
They were aware of their environment, but not like how I am... they showed up and confidently set their own conditions. Even though I tell myself I do that, too, I immediately recognized the difference: I show up ready to respond, and that’s not the same thing.
It was a hard realization to wrestle with. Especially since I’ve spent years working on it. Beyond just trying to be more aware of how I show up and they ways I can respond, managing my neurodivergence and my mental health has involved medication on and off for over a decade now. At a routine doctor’s visit recently, I’d taken the opportunity to ask a question that’s been gnawing at me—what would it be like to taper-off? Like, could I get to a point of no more meds at all?
My doctor had looked at me with inquisitive eyes when I’d floated that idea into the space between us. Sitting against the wall in one of those blue plastic chairs, I’d wobbled my head left and right while considering what he’d asked me in return.
“I don’t really know” I’d told him.
His face broke into a subtle grin before he’d continued. “Well, you told me what the people in your life think... but I want to know what you think.”
It was a good question.
I’d managed to pull my eyes away from the framed photo of trees on the wall, but when I’d started to speak, I ended up coughing to clear my throat before I was actually able to say anything coherent.
“I’ve been doing well for so long now, that sometimes...
*sigh*
...I worry it’s the meds and not me.”
At first, his eyes widened when I’d said that. Then he’d sat back to gather himself a bit before leaning forward again and saying “that’s not really how they work—at least, not the type you’ve been on.”
I’d perked up at that, but quickly clarified, “I’m confident in my ability to self-regulate—you know, manage the moving parts of my life... What I guess I was wondering was whether the meds keep me in the middle too much? Like, from feeling too strongly or sliding too far toward either end of the spectrum—between joy and despair?”
He’d seemed more at ease by that point, unclasping his hands and leaning his elbow on that weird kitchen counter thing that exam rooms in doctor’s offices have. That’d actually felt pretty reassuring.
“Nope, not with your medication” he’d said again, smiling.
Wow, ok.
After taking a deep breath, I’d looked up just as he’d started to speak. “Maybe we keep an eye on things and come back to it in the spring?”
I’d felt relieved at that.
I’ve long been working to hone my awareness, sifting through all of the personal growth practices that come with it. Which means I know it’s most effective when there’s some discipline involved—rather than just always giving yourself a break.
The difference between those things always makes me think of a winter camping trip I went on in 2013. We were backcountry skiing in Wyoming’s Absaroka mountains and it never got above 0°F for the entirety of our almost three-week adventure. I’d learned the hard way that I’d brought the wrong sleeping bag... one meant for much warmer weather.
I remember one night, I’d been wearing almost every piece of dry clothing I had, plus a buff and a beanie, but I’d still woken up with full-body shakes. Trying desperately to will myself back to sleep, I’d keep rolling over—you know, like you do when pretending you don’t have to get up to pee but you really, really, really do.
Eventually, I’d clicked on my headlamp and begrudgingly pulled on my shells and jacket. After forcing my feet into frozen boots, I’d crawled out of the snow ramp of our quigloo and shimmied on my stomach through the frozen snowbank above. I’d been shocked to find it wasn’t snowing. And in the middle of the night, still shivering, I’d started doing jumping-jacks under the wind-whipped stars to warm up. My breath instantly froze against my eyelashes in the negative temperatures, but it’d worked.
Even so, that’s being able to respond. For one thing, bringing the right sleeping bag would’ve given me a better starting point.
The person at the coffee shop who’d brought the Kong for their dog had set their own conditions. I’m sure they’d be able to respond, too, but they clearly were trying to stack the deck in their favor first so they could get some work done. I admire the hell out of that.
Showing up for yourself isn’t always glamorous. It doesn’t look or feel particularly sparkly, either. But if you won’t show up for yourself to help stack the deck in your own favor, just know that nobody else will do it for you. And I don’t mean that in some platitude-laden, pick yourself up by your bootstraps kind of way… you don’t need to be a project (unless you want to be).
You can find plenty of things to fix if you go looking for them. There’s a time and a place for that, sure… but the best stuff in life seems to come from routinely doing a few very important things well, rather than from trying to fix everything you can find. That means both setting your own conditions, and responding to the ones you can’t control.
As far as I can tell, that’s how you create a path worth maintaining.
onward.
If you enjoy reading my writing, I publish short reflections like this each day as part of my daily column, Kickturn.
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This was a good honest piece. I am also neurodivergent and am learning care for myself. It is turning onto somewhat of an overhaul but it works so much better than what I am doing. Care is so important. I am finding out how much the rules don't apply.