A new day is dawning. The morning is cold and misty. The trail is slick with lingering dampness from rain. No frost, but the winter chill reminds me how quickly conditions could become icy.
My eyes see shades of gray, the camera shows me blue hues. The oaks stand silent on the question of colors.
A mist develops, and begins to thicken and spread. Daybreak arrives with the fog. The day begins here, now. What will I do with it? One thing I won’t do with it is sit here for long minutes reflecting on life and watching the sun rise. First; it’s a foggy gray morning, and there won’t be much to see sunrise-wise. Second; it’s cold! I don’t prefer it for lingering outside, still and quiet. I’m already feeling the cold in my hands and in my bones. It’s a good morning to keep moving.
…I do like the walk through the fog, though. It brings mystery to the mundane and wonder to the familiar.
I breathe, exhale, and relax, as I stand and stretch. It’s as good a time as any to begin again. I look down the path into the fog. Where does this path lead? I’ll know when I get there, I suppose. The clock is ticking.
I woke up feeling restless and strange. Nothing specifically “wrong”, just feeling vaguely troubled by dreams already disappearing from my recollection, and starting the day in more pain than usual.
I dressed and slipped away into the darkness as quietly as I could, which wasn’t very quiet this morning. I dropped my phone, my key fob, snagged my handbag on a door knob causing my keys to jingle… It’s been that kind of morning; intention and effort rewarded by clatter and chaos.
I considered taking a seat at the local Big Coffee Chain cafe, but I seriously just don’t want to deal with people, at all. It’s pretty cold for walking (37F/2.8C). I vascillate as I drive… coffee? Walk? Back and forth, even as I pull through the drive thru and get coffee, before heading to the trailhead. I still haven’t started drinking it. I get to the trailhead before daybreak and reflect on how much I have appreciated recent later start times to my days, wondering again what woke me this morning? I sigh to myself, and prepare to start down the trail…
…It begins to rain. Steadily, and hard enough to chill me to the bone quite quickly, I rethink walking. Having lost interest in a cold rainy walk in the predawn darkness, I sit in the warmth of my Traveling Partner’s pickup, feeling loved. I’m grateful to have the use of it while my car is still at the body shop. The comfort and features have even changed my thinking about what vehicle will replace my car when it has reached the end of its serviceable lifespan. I’m not a huge fan of brand loyalty generally, any more than I think mindless partisan voting is a smart strategy. Smart for whom? Only for the brand or party, not for the voter or consumer. I shrug and let it go; it’ll be awhile before I buy a new car. Now is not that time.
The city beyond the horizon illuminates the cloudy sky above.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. The morning quiet here is well-suited to meditation. I feel calm and centered, ready for a new day. It looks likely to be an ordinary work day. My Traveling Partner invited me to work from home today, and his welcoming encouragement had me seriously considering it when I went to bed last night, but here in the darkness with my pain and somewhat antisocial feelings, I’m inclined to head to the university library once it opens and take a seat in one of the quiet study cubicles in the back. I’ll be close to home if anything urgent arises, and my beloved will be unbothered by my bullshit. Lest it seem I’m being overly considerate, this is quite a self-serving decision; I will be more easily able to focus on work without having to juggle consideration of my partner’s needs, too. Generally easier on both of us.
I sit with my thoughts, avoiding the news. The rain continues to fall. I don’t need to scroll through the news feed to know the world is a messy terrifying place right now. Genocide and violence are ongoing. American democracy is at risk, with key positions in government filled by grifters, and wholly unqualified unethical assclowns. Big tech companies are continuing to go about the business of making shareholders and CEOs rich at the expense of the sanity, health, and resources of everyone else. Human primates continue to be vicious, petty, greedy, and unkind to one another. It can be a pretty awful place, this peculiar mudball hurtling through space.
…but…
There is beauty here, too, in every sunrise and sunset, and every smile. I focus on that, this morning, as much as I can. I owe this to myself! The choice where to put my attention is my own. Drowning my consciousness in global misery does not make me more effective at making useful changes, or speaking my mind with clarity. We all need a break now and then, a chance at rest and opportunities for joy. I breathe in, filling my lungs with rain-fresh winter air. I exhale slowly, thoroughly, letting go of anxiety and concern and worry over things I can’t control here, now.
Daybreak comes. The rain slows to a dense drizzle. I still don’t feel like walking, this morning, too much pain for walking in the rain. I sigh contentedly; the solitude is enough. A few more minutes, and then I’ll begin again.
I reached the trailhead at daybreak. The days are getting longer, and dawn comes a little earlier. I also slept a little later, and got a later start. It all makes sense.
The tangle of oak branches against the gray winter sky manages to look a little eery, and the marsh trail is quiet. I have it to myself this morning. It is a Wednesday. I took off from work for a appointment later; I would have had trouble focusing on anything else. It’s to do with a fraud someone attempted to perpetrate against us back in the fall. It was massively stressful, and without my Traveling Partner’s calm support, I’d have probably lost my mind. It helped that there were clear steps to take to protect myself, my property, and safeguard my family, but it was also costly and vexing. I’m glad it is over.
… Human beings can be such bastards…
Taking time for this moment, now.
I get to my halfway point, and stop awhile to write and reflect. (This is me, now, doing that.) It’s a cold morning. Properly cold, at 31F (0.5C). After my walk, coffee with a friend (who is also a colleague), and on into the city for my appointment. It feels like a busy day, but it’s more that the events on my calendar are significant or important in some way, than truly being busy. I think about that awhile; how subjective our sense of time really is.
An enormous flock of geese takes to the sky from the marsh. It fills the sky overhead as it passes. There is a thin layer of ice over the marsh ponds. The meadow grass sparkles with frost. However long or short the moments feel, in a practical sense there’s really only “now” to work with.
I think about my Traveling Partner, hoping he is getting the rest he needs and that I managed to slip away without disturbing him. We’ve had a couple of difficult days together, which sucks, particularly considering how much we’re both obviously putting into having a better experience than we are. Shit gets real sometimes. We’re both going through some health stuff that complicates our shared experience. We’ll get past these challenges. We’ve gotten through worse.
I yawn and stretch. My fingers are getting cold. I look down the trail – “steps on a path”, I think to myself. Time to begin again.
The rain made a peculiar sound as it hit the pavement, this morning, as I left the house. Like plastic pellets being dropped on the ground, more than raindrops. Sleet? Freezing rain? I started the truck and got a better look as once-snowflakes splatted against the glass making patterns and sliding away quickly. Not quite snow, not quite rain, and 35F (1.6C), which amounts to a relatively ordinary rainy winter morning in the Pacific Northwest, in February. Could be worse, but at this altitude it’s not likely to be much worse nor for very long.
I drive to the local trailhead to get a walk in, if there’s a break in the rain, and let my Traveling Partner sleep awhile longer.
I walked briskly with my thoughts, down the slick trail, past the lights and pavement, around the bend and past the bench at my halfway point. Lost in my thoughts, hands jammed into my pockets for warmth, I didn’t stop to write. I make it back to the truck with time to spare before the work day must begin. The gray sky doesn’t really look like snow. The temperature rises a degree with the sunrise. Doesn’t matter. I’ve got the truck today, I could get home even in a blizzard.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. I’m grateful for the mild weather. I make time for meditation, before I begin again.
I started down the trail just as my Traveling Partner pinged me a good morning greeting. I slept in this morning (third day in a row) and it was daylight when I left the house. I definitely prefer walking in daylight.
One perspective on a new day.
It is a gray mild morning that barely looks like winter and feels more like Spring. The grass between the vineyard rows is quite green. The distant hills are shades of blue and gray-green, fluffy white clouds nestled in valleys, obscuring the horizon. There are little birds flitting here and there in the grass beside the trail and among the bare tree branches. The adjacent construction site is busy and noisy; I’m unlikely to see deer this morning.
I walked with my thoughts to my halfway point and took a seat. Here I sit with my thoughts, and this sweet solitary moment. Damn, I wish I weren’t in so much pain, though! I sigh to myself. It’s “just” my arthritis this morning, so far. Manageable, for the moment.
I contemplate two clinicians in my life presently. One, my GP, the other my therapist. I am thinking over their very different points of view on digital tools and what that means to me. My GP regularly promotes one app or another for tracking this or that health concern, sometimes dismissing my ability or willingness to track those details without an invasive digital crutch. My therapist, on the other hand, relatively consistently emphasizes the importance of real-world interactions, presence, and analog tools – like pen and paper. (CBT practices definitely have to be practiced in the real world to be effective.)
In a recent conversation, my therapist asked me about creative and contemplative outlets, and when I referenced this writing, he gently reminded me that however authentic and true to my experience, it hardly serves as an outlet for my most private thoughts. He’s not wrong about that. When I later mentioned it to my Traveling Partner he nodded in that affirming way that suggests “well, obviously…” For a woman who once wrote perhaps three times as much, daily, putting personal reflections on page after page, filling blank book after blank book, it is perhaps not enough to limit my writing to this blog and…work.
Choices
I got some really cool stickers at Giftmas time, and for Valentine’s Day my beloved got me more delightful stickers of favorite characters (Bubu and Dudu). I carefully shopped for a blank book with specific characteristics I like for writing: size B5, bound so that it opens flat without breaking the binding, a cover that appeals to a certain something within me that feels relevant to the journey, and a type of paper that feels good to write on. No compromises; I shopped for many weeks until I found what I was looking for. Even the ballpoint pens were carefully chosen to meet my needs and suit my preferences and writing style.
… Stickers and penmanship…
It’s been rather a long while since I wrote my thoughts on actual paper. Doing so serves a different function and meets different needs. I fussed silently over matters of perfection when I contemplated the first page, and of course I immediately made a small mistake (messy handwriting) and crossed it out. Then placed a sticker ever so slightly crooked on the page, enough to annoy me, simultaneously confirming the quality of the adhesive – I can’t remove it to place it straight on the page. I laughed when I saw it this morning. I hope I always laugh when I see it. I’m very human. It is an unimportant detail in the grander scheme of things, and a good lesson.
I didn’t actually write anything yesterday evening, just put a few words on the title page with some meaningful stickers. That was enough.
I think about AI slop and platform decay. I think about how easily practical skills (like handwriting) erode when we don’t use them regularly. AI isn’t helpful for most people; it undermines their cognitive abilities while giving a false sense of achievement. Sure, it’s definitely going to take longer to learn to draw, paint, and animate images using analog tools in the real world, but once we have, we’ve really learned something. Practical real-world skills using actual tools and materials with our own hands is powerful.
Read a real book. Make something real, in the real world. Plant a garden (or a pot of herbs). Sing a song. Walk a trail. Cook a meal. Advance human knowledge. Dosomething. It’s not about working productively or “gainful employment”, or shareholder profits. It is about living life. An LLM can’t do that for you.
… Your results may vary…
I sigh to myself. Lovely morning. I think about the day ahead. I think about the blank pages of this blank book. It’s a useful metaphor. What will I write on these pages? It is my journey, my story, and I will write each word by hand, myself. There’s a lot of potential and a lot of freedom in that… What will I do with it?
…the new year is a blank page…
The clock is ticking. I have another opportunity to begin again. What about you? What will you write on your blank page? (It’s a metaphor.)
Evening Light 