Getting Out of the Grumps

Mondays in Blogland have sometimes been devoted to griping about minor problems -- peeves. Interestingly, a friend of mine who is about to launch his own blog (I'll link him when he says he's ready) noted that too many blogs seem devoted to kvetcherie or snidery or controversy, and too few offer up insight into fun, happy things.

Ultraviolet, with her cupcakes and kittehs, has certainly demonstrated the inverse of that, as did PJ, back when she had her Place. I've seen blogs where the authors can get themselves into knots of negativity, but they often recognize the trend and pulls themselves back up out of the grumps by visiting their happy places: music, food, their kids.

I haven't blogged much.

I haven't blogged much because I've been too mired in the mopes. When I think of a blog topic, it's inevitably a kvetch, a whine, a 'plaint. Issues that feel like bilious clouds of negativity keep rising around me and I'd rather stay away from obsessing over those -- rumors of bloodbath layoffs and doomesque prognostications for my company, a friend with breast cancer, financial difficulties and things in my house that are breaking down pretty much all at once. Too easy to get into the grumps.

My friend, -- the one with breast cancer -- said something that reminded me of other times in my life when I was wandering in the dark. She's been doing self-hypnosis as part of her therapy to help her cope with her cancer and her therapist has had her create a "safe place." She described it to a group of us, and then asked us about our own safe places.

That's when I remembered my little safe place, my happy place that I would use to help me ride through grumpy times in the past. It helped because it was pleasant and served as a way to stop dwelling on the bad things in life, and it helped, too, because it formed a sort of vague goal. A hope, if you will. It was sort of a "one day, with luck, I'll get to have this, and go here."

My safe place: a remote spot in a northern desert landscape where temperatures are warm, but not blazingly hot. My place is high on a hill where I could see all about me -- a craggy, rocky sort of hill with a winding road coming up 'round it. My house is nestled amid the boulders on this hill. It's a small house built of stone and wood and glass. Inside it is cozy -- austere furnishings, yet opulent with rich wood or stone floors, wood trim and beams, and broad, shaded windows that open to catch breezes, or close against storms. A spacious veranda, with a swinging hammock, and stacks and stacks of books complete this picture.

What or where is your safe place?