It’s a quiet morning. The sky is clear and starry overhead. The air is still and cool. My steps are steady and even as I walk down the trail. It is a new day.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
I walk along, letting my steps follow the familiar path, while my mind wanders elsewhere. Work later. Errands. Pick up prescriptions from the pharmacy. I remind myself to save some energy for later, so I can help my Traveling Partner with a repair that may need three hands. I get to my halfway point and observe that I’ve been so much in my own head, the walk itself has left no impression on me. My body was merely a vehicle. My mind traveled a different path entirely.
I sigh to myself as I take a seat on a big rock for a few minutes. I look around in the dim twilight. Daybreak soon. The treeline blends in against the darkness of the night sky. No bunnies or birds at this quiet hour. I take a deep breath and exhale slowly.
The peace is ruptured by screaming. Angry screaming, incoherent words , the sounds of rage reach me from the apartments across the creek. My whole body tenses up, and my mind tries to block the sound or my awareness of it. It’s real, though, and I’m suddenly deeply anxious, alarmed, and on alert. There’s no legitimate threat to my safety from this painful human experience happening on the other side of the creek in some apartment, but the sounds of it definitely affect my peace. More yelling, then the sound of breaking glass, and silence.
… The silence feels ominous…
… I breathe, exhale, and relax (as best I can), and repeat, until I feel my heart rate slow down again, and stop hearing my heartbeat in my ears. Nothing over there is happening to me. I’m having my own experience – and I’m grateful it isn’t anything to do with angry screaming or breaking glass. I’ve got it pretty good these days.
Daybreak comes while I sit wondering about things. I’m grateful for this peaceful solitude. I’m grateful to have survived domestic violence (it’s part of my distant past). I’m a little surprised by how quickly the years between then and now melt away so quickly; I’m still trembling, my body still feeling “ready to run”, although no longer full on triggered. I take a deep healthy breath and exhale, and repeat that a few more times, feeling the slow steady breathing begin to calm my body. I think about my beloved Traveling Partner – I am grateful to know love like this.
Gratitude is a good beginning to a new day. I watch the sky lighten and silently list things I am grateful for, allowing myself a moment to savor each detail and really appreciate the qualities in my life that make it a good one. It’s a useful practice, in spite of sometimes feeling a little forced or silly; the results are reliably good.
…We become what we practice…
My beloved pings me a good morning greeting. I’m grateful to be so loved. I smile to myself, also grateful for the pack of tissues hastily stuffed into my pocket as I got out of the car. Tissues that happen to be available to me through the love of my partner, who remembered from my writing that I had run out (or soon would) and made a point of giving me the extras from his truck.
(Well timed, my Love. Thank you!)
The sunrise begins with an unimpressive smudgy orange along the horizon. I’m fine with it. I’m definitely not criticizing since I can’t create an actual sunrise myself, at all, and have no useful tips for making a better one. I sit watching, grateful to see another rising sun.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. Another day, another opportunity to be the person I most want to be. Another day to choose wisely. Another day to love and be loved. Another day to feel grateful and to be kind. Another chance to begin again.
Evening Light 