Bitch, Moan, Transcend. Repeat.

Greetings and salutations, fellow travelers. I appear to be in the throes of a patchy, rough spot. The terrain is craggy with discontent and a few emotional sinkholes. Lately—well, at least at this particular moment—my thoughts have been spinning in what some might label the “wrong” or negative direction. It's like my mind woke up, strapped on combat boots, and decided to stomp through every single inconvenient truth and perceived irritation it could find..

This morning, I considered removing all friends, weeds, trees, newsfeeds, and minor deities that seem to drive me mad with the urge to fix, correct, avoid, or cancel them. I fantasized about a massive mute button. A cosmic unsubscribe. But alas, I'm not the editor of the universe.'
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I’m seriously pissed at the weeds in my garden and the damage the deer have done—again. And don't even get me started on the eye doctor, who just smiled with a suspicious sparkle the entire time I ranted about having to finally cave and wear physical glasses full-time. His silent grin seemed to say, “Welcome to the inevitable, sweetheart.” Life sucks compared to my seriously perfectionistic perspective. And then, of course, I’ll die. Rant, rant, rant… let it flow and go, right?

Except it doesn’t just go. It lingers, festers, pokes. I’ve been clinging to the exhausting belief that if I could just remove all the negative things out there, I could finally have peace. But removing what I perceive as negative out in the world? Yeah, no. Certifiably impossible. Deer will continue to munch, doctors will continue to sparkle smugly, and weeds—those relentless bastards—will always find their way back.

And so, with a massive sigh and irritation still bristling on my skin, I move onward and upward. Or sideways. Or somewhere. Because the only terrain I have even a smidge of influence over is the landscape inside my own head. And let me tell you, even that smidge feels pretty dull and lazy today. Still, here I am. Letting the negative vibes flow, trusting (or at least hoping) they will go eventually.

Just yesterday, I was fully immersed in the concept of responsibility. Not the heavy, guilt-ridden kind—but the internal kind. The kind that asks me to set aside any and all thoughts that feel unkind, blaming, avoiding, victimy, performative, right-fighty, or just plain mean. I was even trying not to say them out loud, which is a spiritual bootcamp in and of itself.

And the weird thing is—I can tell the difference now. I can feel it. I can sniff out a negative vibe before it fully takes hold. Not always, but more often than I could before. Which makes it even more annoying when the shitty thoughts land anyway. It’s like my brain goes, “Oh look! We know this is useless and unkind… let’s dive in anyway!”

Honestly, just the idea that it’s even possible to experience a space with zero negative vibes is kind of sensational. Like, whoa! I wonder what that would feel like? Is it quiet? Buoyant? Purple and floaty? (Insert blissy daydream sequence here…)

I’m now wondering if this barrage of inner grump and outer judgment is a kind of backlash. A cosmic boomerang slamming back in response to yesterday’s noble attempts at peace. Maybe this is part of the process—maybe as I learn to deal with the backlash, the intensity will fade? Kind of like emotional detox. Like peeling off a scab only to find another layer of healing underneath, still pink and tender, but somehow a bit less inflamed.

There are a couple of people who show up in my thoughts regularly, without invitation or clear reason. No trigger, no recent contact—just an ongoing presence, like emotional wallpaper I never picked out. They’re clueless, as far as I know. I’ve never brought it up, and I don’t need to. I know it’s all in my head. I’m the one choosing to rehearse resentments, recycle vapor-like judgments, and quietly wish they’d behave differently. Lately, I’ve been experimenting with a new internal reply—just one line: “I send you love.” That’s it. No drama, no fixing. And weirdly, it seems to work. The loop softens, the replay fades. Small, boring, barely-noticeable progress. But real.

For now, I’m letting it all be here. Every bristly, bitchy, triggered piece of it. I’m making a mental list of everything that still annoys me—things I have yet to "manage," meaning things that still challenge my expectations, poke my perspectives, or expose my most cherished illusions and delusions. The weeds. The deer. The inner critic. The sacred cows and old beliefs that refuse to die quietly.

I imagine reading this little slice of honesty five years from now and thinking, Wowsers. Look how far I’ve come. That alone makes me want to keep writing it all down. Not just the polished moments, but the unfiltered ones too. The not-so-spiritual rants. The tantrums disguised as insights. The humanity of it all.
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So I return to the practice. Again. Letting go—whatever it is. Dropping the story. Loosening the grip. Observing the tension instead of feeding it. Asking, as Dr. Hawkins put it, “How long do I want to go on suffering? When am I willing to give it up? When is enough enough?”
Very, very good question, Dr. Hawkins. I’ll get back to you on that.

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