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Like a Countdown

September 23, 2024 //
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I’m sitting quietly, waiting for the sun. It’s a Monday. It is also 10 days until my upcoming coastal getaway. I’m not really counting down the days, although I am eager to enjoy the time painting and savoring my own company. I’m here, now. This isn’t a bad place or time to be. I even got some painting done yesterday. Amusingly, one of the two pieces is a recollection of a foggy sort of misty morning at the very location I plan to stay.

I had originally planned to camp and even try a new spot, but I needed to change the dates to fit my Traveling Partner’s care needs and PT schedule, and the new timeframe has less pleasant weather in the forecast, and I’m not even actually up to the amount of manual labor solo tent camping would require – and it would be a huge struggle to paint outdoors on rainy days. With all that in mind I finally yielded to the obvious and booked a room with an ocean view. Good enough. Better than that, actually, and I am excited.

..I’m also here, now…

My getaway is coming up. I’m pretty much always ready. I’m not emotionally attached to the outcome, because it could be that my partner won’t be enough recovered to really get by adequately without my care. If that’s the case, I’ll cancel with regret, get over my moment of disappointment, and move on. Priorities.

This morning I briefly went over all that in my head, again, and moved on. Again.

My dreams the last several days have been full of war and images of the planet burning. Grim. I avoid taking them personally, or blowing them up into more than what they are – only dreams. Almost unavoidably, the images turn up in my art anyway. My dreams sometimes fuel my inspiration. Modern warfare (any warfare, really) is pretty fucking terrifying. The cost is high. The price of victory excessive in a reality where there are no real “winners”. War makes everyone a loser. Death and destruction and chaos and trauma…no good outcomes in war. The other painting I painted over the weekend comes directly from my nightmares.

Drone warfare and it’s far reaching consequences, reaching even into my art, and my dreams.

Still, painting feels good, and it helps to paint. There was nothing on fire in my dreams last night, although my sleep was restless and interrupted. It’s been pretty bad lately, actually, and I’m not certain why. Maybe physical pain? Background anxiety over distant world events I can’t control? Concern over the upcoming election? (Did you also feel it as a direct threat to your personhood when you read or heard that Trump said “women won’t have to think about abortion anymore” if he is reelected?) It’s a scary world sometimes. I’m glad painting gives me a voice for things I don’t know how to say with words.

Huh. This morning started out fairly cheerful. I find myself wondering if that was a bit forced, or whether I’ve simply managed to make a “wrong turn” somewhere along the way. I give myself time with my thoughts. I’ve got shit on my mind, clearly, and the way out is, reliably, through. I feel that aching need to be heard. To be “visible”. To be understood and validated. Tears well up and spill over. I miss my Dear Friend who died shortly before Spring. There are very few people I feel emotionally safe unburdening myself to, specifically regarding war and trauma and misogyny, and the lingering wounds of ancient personal horrors that follow me still. She was one. Gone now. My Traveling Partner has long been another (but for now I’m in the role of caregiver and must be sparing and deeply considerate about burdening him while he heals). I guess practical wisdom suggests I make an appointment with my damned therapist. That’d be pretty grown up of me.

For now, I breathe, exhale, and relax – and let the tears fall. It’ll pass. That’s predictable and reliable, and there is no shame in honest tears, and there’s rather a lot going on in the world worth crying over.

I look to the sky for any hint of daybreak. Soon. I’ll get a lovely walk in, along a favorite trail, then head home to begin an ordinary enough Monday. My tears will dry, and I’ll begin again.

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, Art, art and the artist, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, grief, inspiration, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Sleepless Nights, solo hiking, The Art of Being, War and News of War

Prose and Comms

September 14, 2024 //
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I woke gently after a restful night. I made coffee for my still-sleeping Traveling Partner, and slipped away quietly into the pre-dawn darkness, headed to the trailhead and another walk at sunrise.

Not quite daybreak, still a new day.

My Traveling Partner wakes before dawn, and pings me a question. This is two mornings in a row that abrupt communication without any sort of greeting or preamble have interrupted my only reliable opportunity to take a little quiet time for myself that doesn’t require me to take that time away from some other purpose or person. I’m momentarily irritated that I’m not important enough in the moment to at least rate a greeting or a “good morning” before questions and complaints. I’m feeling moody over the lack of consideration for this precious self-care time and puzzled by the lack of awareness that I need this for me. None of my partner’s questions or concerns seem so urgent that they couldn’t have waited until after my walk. I sit quietly after the conversation ends, wondering whether to bring it up, and how I could do so without making drama. Is it worth the potential discord? I could have chosen to ignore the pings until later… seems rude to do that when I know he’s home recovering from surgery and could need help. I feel a bit trapped between circumstances and manners.

…He sets boundaries so easily. Why is it so hard for me…?

I breathe, exhale, and relax, and work on getting back to me, after our conversation ends. This quiet time, meditating, reflecting, writing, and walking, is very much part of how I care for myself and maintain my emotional wellness, and build resilience. It has become comfortably routine, and almost “non-negotiable”. Yesterday’s lack of a walk ended up being something I felt all day.

Daybreak comes, and an opportunity to begin again.

I sigh to myself as I lace up my boots. No colorful sunrise this morning, I guess. The sky is cloudy, and hues of blue and gray. The air is mild and scented with meadow grasses and wildflowers, a very particular fragrance both spicy and sweetly floral. I enjoy it. It reminds me of Oregon, which doesn’t surprise me; that’s where I am.

… I head down the trail, intending to finish this at the halfway point…

I get to a nice spot to sit for a little while. It’s a quiet morning and I have the trail all to myself – a pleasant luxury, and rare on a Saturday, even so early. My neck aches ferociously, and my headache is an 11 on a 1-10 scale this morning. I am grateful to have an appointment with a skilled practitioner later this morning. I’d like to enjoy the day without being in this much pain. It’s very distracting. It pulls my focus away from these words and this world again and again. Most unpleasant.

I thought I had something of more substance to write about this morning. It had begun to take shape as I drove to this place, but distractions and conversation with my Traveling Partner caused my thoughts to unravel too quickly to capture even a loose idea of what was on my mind at the time. No matter; I began again. I tend to “write where I am”. Whether that perspective is geographical, metaphysical, or emotional isn’t all that important. In any case, it is the moment I find myself in.

I sit awhile with my thoughts, not writing, and without any particular direction or theme. Pain sucks. I have difficulty recalling a time when I was living pain free more days than not… How long ago…?  I think I would have to measure in decades. The arthritis in my spine set in sometime in my mid-twenties. It’s been with me awhile – much longer than my headache. I distractedly rub my irritated neck. 9 or 10 years for the neck, I think… Fuck pain. G’damn there’s too much of that in the world. I snarl quietly to myself and yield to the demands of my pain, and take an Rx pain reliever earlier than I usually do. I glare at the cloudy sky thinking it’s likely the weather making the pain worse somehow. I laugh at the thought; it sounds stupidly primitive and superstitious, and not very rational. What do I know about it? I’m just a fucking human primate trying to cope with my pain any way I safely can.

I hear voices up the trail. By the time I get back to the car, it’ll be time to head to the city for my appointment. I think about my Traveling Partner, and remind myself to stop by the pharmacy for his prescriptions on my way home. I feel like I am forgetting something, but I don’t know what. I’d love to spend the day painting, but I don’t see that happening today… I hurt, and I’d just as soon go back to bed.  “Fuck pain.” I say out loud to myself. I don’t want to give in to it. There’s so much I’d like to do.

I get to my feet, and stretch, and rest my weight on my cane for a moment, making certain I’ve “got my feet under me” before I head back up the trail. It’s already time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, anger, art and the artist, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, Love, meditation, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, The Art of Being, The Big 5, Words

Practicing

September 11, 2024 //
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There was a misty rain falling when I got to the trailhead before daybreak. I don’t mind that. It had rained rather heavily at several points during the night, too, and I didn’t mind that either. My sleep was restless and unsatisfying, and I didn’t get enough of it. The household seemed noisy until almost midnight. I struggled to return to sleep each time I woke. I feel fine this morning. Eager to get a walk in along the damp marsh-side trail. It’s a short drive to the office from this nature park, and that’s where I’ll be working today. In general, the day is off to a good start, though seeing it through that lens is largely a matter of practice over time. (It wasn’t all that long ago that a restless night followed by a drizzly morning would likely have found me exceedingly irritated with life and wholly unpleasant to be around.)

…I keep practicing…

A rainy dawn, a new day.

Daybreak comes and I swap my shoes for boots, and grab my cane. I finish off my iced coffee and double check that I have my water bottle ready. I breathe the rain-fresh air and sigh contentedly, stretching before I head down the trail.

Practices come in all sizes. Changing the things I practice in life has done a lot to change my quality of life, my thinking, and my perspective. I’m more resilient. I am calmer. I bounce back from stress more easily and more quickly. I still have challenges. I still have to deal with my own bullshit and baggage. I’m very human. Trauma has changed me over the course of a lifetime and there’s no knowing who I might have been without it. There’s no “going back” – but it hardly matters when I remember that all my choices are ahead of me when I am present in this moment, awake, aware, and ready to begin again any time I fail myself or fall short of living my values. Failures are part of life.

I smile at the cloudy gray sky thinking about how best to capture those hues in pastel. This is a worthy moment to be here, now, and I embrace it. I breathe, exhale, relax, and begin again.

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Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, art and the artist, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Sleepless Nights, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being

Enjoying the W

September 9, 2024 //
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I try to make a point of taking the wins where they come. Was my Traveling Partner sometimes cross with me, or with circumstances today? Sure. That’s even reasonable, considering the circumstances, and after all – he is having his own experience. But, the day was lovely, the appointment went well (for most values of going well) and it was a pleasant day for a drive together.

Later, after we got home, I settled down to paint, which was wholly satisfying and joyful. My Traveling Partner and the Anxious Adventurer sat down together with a project that lasted the day. It looked like they were having a great time. I smile as I think about it.

A short while after I cleaned up my work area at the dining table, I started feeling pretty seriously “under the weather”. What the hell? Oh. Right. Sunday I got my flu, COVID, and shingles vaccinations. I’m paying for it now, but grateful for the medical technology that will likely keep me well. Certainly reduces my risk a lot. I soothed my aching body with OTC remedies, drank plenty of water, and crashed. I slept deeply until…well, until I woke.

The house is quiet and dark. The world seems to sleep. I sit up for a few lovely quiet moments of gratitude. Worth taking the time. Soon I’ll go back to sleep. Tomorrow, I can begin again.

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Categories Allegories, art and the artist, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, Love, meditation, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Practices, Relationships, The Art of Being

It Builds Character

September 8, 2024 //
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I drove to the trailhead this morning thinking about Stoicism and (secular) Buddhism, and assorted other philosophies and schools of thought that seek to promote becoming “a good person” or living “a good life” through specific thinking and practices. My thinking is inspired, in part, by a video I watched last night on the topic of Stoicism and the problematic way it has been co-opted by “the manosphere” and silicon valley tech bros for profit and personal gain – not unlike the way secular Buddhism and mindfulness practices have been co-opted for profit and personal gain by a broad variety of influencers, brands, and e-commerce sites. It’s certainly disappointing when a powerful message, system of thought, or practice is distorted or diluted in this way for nothing more valuable than cash. Human greed is honestly pretty gross. (In my own opinion, one of humanity’s ugliest and most destructive traits.)

Beyond all that, which is certainly worth reflecting on, I find myself thinking of words I heard often as a kid, and rarely hear in discourse anymore; “it builds character”. I don’t think I actually understood, as a kid. I only knew it was something I was likely to hear from one elder or role model or another if I was heard complaining about some task or activity I didn’t want to be doing, but somehow found myself obligated to. “It builds character”, someone would say, sometimes dismissively. I don’t think I had any clue then what exactly “character” actually was, nor why I would want to build it.

…Thinking about it this morning, I don’t think it’s any surprise that so much of the prevailing civil and political discourse seems wholly lacking in ethics and “good character”. There doesn’t seem to be any particular emphasis on these things in our culture or society, presently. Consider, specifically, our politicians and pundits – how many of these would you say are truly people of “good character”?

What defines good character? This seems to me to be a very important question. I sit quietly reflecting on this question, and wondering why my elders would have expected me to become a person of good character through actions described as “building character”, if I had no idea what “good character” actually is. Did they have any idea themselves, or were they merely silencing the complaints of a child with words that had once been used to silence them? I think we both know the likely answer, eh?

… What will we do about it..?

The pre-dawn darkness lingers and I sit with my thoughts awhile longer. Worthy thoughts for a Sunday morning. I find myself considering re-reading Marcus Aurelius and Zeno, and also Thomas Aquinas, Augustine, and Ignatius of Loyola. Flawed human beings all, I don’t doubt, but aren’t we all? I’m just saying there is more to learn about what makes a good person, and very little of it is to be found on Instagram, Tik Tok, or an influencer’s merch site. Some of the answers we human beings seek, again and again, have already been found, if only we’ll shut up a minute, read a fucking book, listen to wiser voices, and actually put into practice that wisdom in an honest and humble way. None of this shit is easy. None of this shit is found in an expensive subscription or online course. Spending money on shortcuts doesn’t actually provide an actual shortcut; it remains necessary to do the fucking work. lol It builds character. 😉

A new day, and and chance to begin again, and to be the person you most want to be.

Yesterday I took time to paint. It was satisfying soul-nourishing time well-spent. I’m considering another afternoon of painting, between loads of laundry. I flipped through recent photographs in the evening for inspiration and found much to be inspired by. Perhaps I will find my way to making a couple hours of painting a regular practice each week? I like the idea of treating myself so well.

Inspired by a recent sunrise view at a favorite trailhead.

Daybreak comes. A new sunrise begins and with it a new day full of opportunities for reflection, practice, and… building character. I probably need a better understanding of what that really means to me, and how best to put it into practice. We become what we practice (good or bad). It makes sense to choose wisely.

It’s time to begin again. This path isn’t going to walk itself!

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Categories Allegories, Art, art and the artist, autumn, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, Logic & Reason, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, The Big 5, Words
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