I am sipping coffee and thinking over metaphors drawn from travels of various sorts. My Traveling Partner is preparing to embark on adventure with his son; a camping road trip. I’m eagerly staying behind on this one and enjoying some solo time at home – a first since before we bought the house we now live in. I’m quietly excited about it, although life is life, adulthood has requirements, and there’s shit to get done basically every day, all the time. Dishes. Laundry. Watering the lawn. Picking up the mail. All the routine details of an ordinary life simply are what they are. I’m even okay with that.

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That was around 07:00 this morning. It’s now almost 15:00. …3:00pm. Later. Hours later. The house is quiet. The morning passed quickly as my Traveling Partner and his son finished with last minute preparations and decision-making. Eventually, the time came and they hit the road, seeming quite eager to be on their way. I was eager, too. Eager for the quiet and solitude, even for a few hours.

…Funny thing… As soon as my partner was gone, I was missing him (at least a little bit), and checking the map for his location almost hourly. In between? I was mostly doing housekeeping. Tidying up here and there. Listening to my thoughts. Feeling the heat of the day develop outside through the sound of the air conditioning occasionally coming on, and that happening more frequently as the day progressed. I made a quick trip to the store, and wasn’t surprised to find myself reluctant to leave the peace and quiet of my home. It’s a pleasant environment that suits me well. I smile again each time I walk down the hallway, recently hung with paintings that had been selected for the purpose some time ago. My partner made a point of hanging them up quite recently. Days ago, now, and yet I’m still smiling every time I walk down the hallway. Seeing the paintings hung with such care and my partner’s studious eye for detail, I feel so loved. These paintings tell the story of my life [as an artist] and each one reminds me of something I thought I had forgotten, and does so with such regularity that I’m fairly certain I don’t at all forget these things. Weird, eh? It’s the sort of detail a human primate can really get hung up on, but which has very little importance, relevance, or substance. It’s just a detail. There are so many. 🙂

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I think about my Traveling Partner and pull up his most recent reported location on the map. It’s a cool spot to camp; we had scouted it last time we were camping up that way, and hoping to find a site just maybe a bit better than the one we had settled on for that trip (which was a bit too close to a cluster of managed sites, and thus rather… people-y). We spotted this other site a short drive down the forest road and down a very rough narrow “road” (more a jeep trail, really), a bit further on, and agreed it looked like a great one for the next time we were up that way. Tucked away from the road, distant from other sites, and spacious, with a nicely done fire ring out in a small clearing. I’m delighted to see his location right there. 😀

The quiet feels good, like soaking in a hot tub, or getting a massage, or going back to sleep on a lazy weekend morning. Luxurious and nurturing. I had music on for a little while. While I was tidying up. I’ve since turned it off. It’s a quiet I enjoy – the sound of feeling safe at home. I savor it. All the minutes, and these quiet hours. Life and love are busy with interactions and communication; stillness is luxury. I’m not even complaining, I’m just saying I enjoy this, and I’m shamelessly immersed in the cognitive and neurological feelings of it. Hell, I don’t even have words for how good this is for me, or fully understand why. I think those details matter less than the experience itself.

…That’s the thing I was thinking about this morning… on this journey, whether an experience is “a fence” limiting us or holding us back, or a crossroad at which we must choose, or a ledge we teeter on the edge of, with some urgent question in mind is mostly a matter of perspective. Individual definitions, filters, lenses through which we consider our experience are every bit as “important” as any detail grounded in “the facts of the matter”. I think about this a lot. It seems worth understanding. I sit with that awhile…

I catch myself sitting quietly here at my keyboard, not typing, not even “thinking” really, just being. It’s not a very productive sort of endeavor, though, and I remind myself of things I’d like to do and enjoy while I have this time. …Where’s that book I’m reading…? I look at the time, without really caring to much what time it may actually be right now. I know it’s time to begin again. 😀