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Perspectives

June 5, 2024 //
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My walk this morning was early, quiet, solitary, and thoughtful. Pleasant. Nice way to begin a new day.

When I started down the trail, a glance at the sky in one direction revealed dense dark storm clouds, homogenous and gray. Looking the opposite direction the sky was bright with promised sunshine later, and shades of peach and gold. Between these, fingers of clouds stretched across from one perspective to the other, feathering away to nothing into the clear skies from the stormier view. I walked along thinking about perspective.

This morning I am missing my Dear Friend who died earlier this Spring. There is so much I would share and talk over with her. There’s a particular feeling of rather acute loneliness that turns up within me each time I remember, again, that there’s no point in writing an email to share some particular moment with her, to get her perspective, or to share my own. She was always first to see new paintings (after my Traveling Partner, who is right here), and first to read new writing. Now… funny; I haven’t painted anything at all since she’s been gone. I take fewer pictures and rarely share them. I walk on with my thoughts, feeling the solitude from a different perspective.

…I have an appointment with my therapist later this month, but it’s nothing like talking and sharing with a Dear Friend…

I’m 61 this year. In about 7 days actually… I feel strange that there are so few around anymore who will care about that at all, or even know about it, if I don’t mention it. 61 doesn’t “feel old”, from this lived perspective, but I’ve lost (or lost touch with) many friends and family members who might once have been celebrating my birthday. It’s a strange feeling. I walk on.

I find myself feeling a bit blue as I walk. I wonder whether it may be some lingering effect from tinkering with my medication in order to do the requested diagnostic test. Seems possible, but I don’t really know. I keep walking.

By the time I am back to the car, I feel rather as if I’ve experienced an entire day’s worth of emotion and shifts in perspective, simply walking along with my solitary thoughts. I’m okay, and I am okay with having emotions (and thoughts about those), but it still feels strange and somewhat empty this lack of my Dear Friend to share some of this with. It’s not as if she were my only friend, nor even the only friend I regularly email… but it’s her perspective I am missing so painfully. I’m very aware of that, this morning.

…Every time I think I might like to paint, or feel inspired, or feel that inner tug to return to the studio, my heart seems to answer “why bother?”. This is an unexpected outcome of my grief over this particular loss…

I relied on this Dear Friend’s perspective as counterpoint or reinforcement of my own for some 25 years. I guess I am not surprised that I miss that. I know I am not surprised that I miss her.

Tears fall as I sit with my unexpected moment of grief. My grief expands as my tears fall. I cry over the loss of my Mother, although we never forged a close adult relationship, and were rarely closer than “pleasantly civil”. I grieve that lack of intimacy and connection. My tears fall for my Granny,  too; she did much to raise me and prepare me to find my own way as an adult and she was more mother to me than my Mother was. I’m not criticizing; we expect too much of women, and motherhood isn’t a good fit for all of us.

…I guess I am just feeling kind of alone with the years this morning, as I approach 61. Strange that it hits so hard on this quiet morning, 7 days from my birthday. Stranger still to feel this way when I am truly not “alone” in life. I have a loving partnership, and a handful of good friends (though some are distant), and the fond regard and esteem of many others…

Feelings are not facts. The map is not the world. The forecast is not the weather. I sit with my emotions and breathe. This will pass. I will begin again. I’m okay for most values of okay.

I give myself a moment for gratitude and reflection. I take time to consider more immediate worries than my lingering grief over lost dear ones. My Traveling Partner’s health is top of mind, often, lately and I find myself wondering if the weight of my worry over that may have provoked my thoughts to turn elsewhere for something that feels more “manageable”? Interesting perspective…

…My Traveling Partner pings me a greeting. He’s awake. It’s time to head home, and begin again.

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, Art, art and the artist, Brain Injury, breathe, gratitude, grief, health, inspiration, loneliness, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Spring, women

New Day, New Experience

May 9, 2024 //
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This morning I woke gently, but confused. It took me a minute to sort out what day it is, and that my plan is quite different from my usual Thursday. I struggled to wake up thoroughly, and had to trek back down the hall twice for things I forgot.

The drive to this nature park I enjoy walking in was strange, too. So little traffic it was quite a surreal (and also relaxed) drive along a route that is generally part of my commute. What little traffic there was, was peculiarly professional, civil, and safe, moving along with purposeful efficiency, and no aggression. Maybe there is hope for humanity?

As I crested a hill, going around a particular curve, the view of Mt Hood spread before me briefly, silhouetted gray-blue against a smudgey peach-colored sunrise. Beautiful. I considered stopping… I always do. Consider it, I mean. I haven’t ever actually stopped at that spot; there’s no shoulder there, really, just a private driveway and traffic is moving pretty fast for those kind of shenanigans. Still, I feel fortunate to have seen that view, those colors, and gotten to enjoy the moment as I passed on by.

Lovely morning to begin again. Even a familiar path can present a new perspective.

I walked as the sun rose, watching the sky change from peach to gold to blue. There are mists clinging to the ground in low spots along the river and marsh. I can hear the highway traffic beyond the park, and the sounds of little birds in the trees and grasses along the trail. A small herd of deer cross the path ahead of me, fearlessly curious at that distance. The morning sunlight reaches the trees and the leaves become luminous, seeming to glow. It’s a lovely morning.

I walked along grateful for new beginnings and new days. Today is, so far, much better than yesterday. I still have no idea what the hell was biting my ass yesterday, but g’damn I was in an ugly mood. I spent the evening after work willfully fighting off my inner unpleasantness and making the effort needed to enjoy my Traveling Partner’s good company. It was, for the most part, a successful attempt to fight off my shitty mood. At one point, he “caught me” in my own head, distracted by my thoughts, and asked me what I was thinking about. Rather oddly, I was considering the complex pattern of a particular rug, rather randomly. Strange. Inconsequential. Probably not very satisfying as an answer to the question “what are you thinking about “. Honestly, it was just another way of distracting myself from my shit mood, which was characterized mostly by a distinct sense of just “not wanting to have to deal with people” at all.

…I’m glad I find myself in a more pleasant place today…

I’m frankly not the most social of creatures. My brain injury results in a certain lack of ability to shut the fuck up, often, and I tend to be a bit of a chatterbox as a result. If there are people around, I have no problem interacting with them. (My challenges are more to do with controlling my speech, recognizing social cues, and listening considerately.) I cherish my solitude, and I enjoy it (and truly need it). It’s hard on me when circumstances give me no time alone. (I sigh contentedly,  sitting here by the river in the morning sunshine, writing these words… thoroughly alone, and happy to be.) Lately, and in spite of occasional getaways, I feel “encroached upon” and crowded by people and commitments and the awareness that there’s precious little time for “everything “. There’s a sense that the clock is ticking – and always has been – and I’m struggling to give myself the space I need to truly thrive.

…Maybe I need to spend time in the studio, painting?

I glance at my watch… it’s time to head back to the car. I’ve got an appointment to get to, and errands to run. I’ve got a partner to care for, and dishes to do. It’s time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, art and the artist, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being, The Big 5

Quiet Time

March 30, 2024 //
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Daybreak is just a faint pale smudge along the horizon. The moon hangs low on the western sky as it slowly sets. There’s very little traffic,  it’s a Saturday morning and I am parked at a trailhead waiting for sufficient daylight to walk a favorite trail, again. Aside from the interruption by an occasional passing car,  my tinnitus is the loudest thing I hear. It’s quiet this morning, and peaceful.

…Another car pulls into the parking lot, pulls up to the closed gate, then slowly drives to one of the few parking spaces outside the gate and parks. They are waiting, too. As the days grow longer it becomes more likely to see another person here, even at this early hour.

I sit with my thoughts, enjoying the quiet and waiting. I think about my garden plans for the weekend. The new roses have arrived. I hope to get them planted. Three of these honor my recently deceased dear friend, and love and friendship generally. I think she would have enjoyed my selections. I hope my planned placement is as pleasing as I think it will be.

The sky continues to lighten slowly. Looks like blue skies today. The local forecast is for warm Spring weather. A promising beginning. I think ahead to the day and weekend. Yesterday I was too tired to be much help to my Traveling Partner,  but today I plan to be available to assist in some work stuff, if he needs me.

My trip to the coast is just days away, now. I’m eager to enjoy the deeper more prolonged quiet time. No agenda,  though I may bring my paints along. I  haven’t yet decided the most desirable means of “refilling my fuel tank”, this time. Maybe I will simply read and nap and walk on the beach?

A new day dawning, another opportunity to be the person I most want to be.

The park gate clangs open. It’s time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, art and the artist, breathe, Free Will, gardening, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being

Love & Memory

March 12, 2024 //
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I had a restless night of interrupted sleep. No bad dreams, just periodically waking up for no obvious reason, before settling into sleep once again. It wasn’t unpleasant, but the night seemed unreasonably long and I got up well ahead of my usual time, dressed, and left for work early. The commute was effortless, because at that hour there was no traffic on the road. Now, I’m sitting at my desk, looking out at the dark pre-dawn cityscape, sipping my coffee. It’s a Tuesday, and my calendar is pretty full, but all that begins quite a bit later, and I have some time to sit with my thoughts.

A cherished handmade gift from a dear friend.

Last night as I was tidying up a quiet room that is mostly decorated with books, I found this small handmade paper journal sort of just set aside, waiting for some moment. It was a gift from my recently deceased dear friend, celebrating my 60th birthday. It was intended to accompany me on a camping trip with my Traveling Partner, and as I recall now, I elected to keep it safe from harm by not taking it out into the wilds where dirt, wind, or rain might wreck it, knowing I’d find some similarly meaningful use for it some other time and place.

It even came with instructions. 😀

I sat for a moment with this cherished gift in my hands, gently unfolding the letter that is still tucked into a pocket inside the cover. I reread the letter, my heart filled with love and fond memories, a soft sad smile on my face. I miss my friend, but how delightful to have this memento of our friendship to remember her by!

Each page decorated by hand, each page unique, bringing to mind the illuminated manuscripts of another age.

I turn the pages, one by one, each one different, each one ready for some thought, or poem, or random handful of words to be written there. I felt so inspired, just to hold it in my hands! I examined each page, reconnecting with so many memories of the friendship we had shared. I delighted in the recollection of her enthusiasm for small handmade gifts, and how extraordinary and special each such gift to me remains to this day. I smiled thinking about her best friend bringing a similar cherished gift to the hospital while I was there visiting, to share that precious memory. What a beautiful human being my dear friend was! She was – is – so well loved by those who knew her. Missed.

“Friendship is a gift that lasts.” – It is indeed.

I turn to a page with a pocket from which a string dangles, and a note attached to the pocket reads “Pull the white string up”, and so I do – and as if speaking to me from “the beyond”, a tag appears that reads “friendship is a gift that lasts”. My eyes fill with tears that don’t fall, and the smile on my face becomes a bit brittle, a little fragile, with this reminder that I was also dear to my dear friend. I feel loved. I feel grateful to have shared this amazing friendship. My smile deepens as I sit with my memories for a moment. I’m okay. Grief is a process, and there is no escaping it; “the way out is through”. Fucking hell, what a first rate friend she truly was.

The last page. A bookmark. A reminder.

I turn page after page of this small handmade journal, and imagine writing in it, at long last. What would I write in such a precious space? What words fit in this slim fragile volume? I imagine for a moment that whatever I wrote here might be something she could read, from wherever her spirit rests. Fanciful, but comforting. The bookmark tucked into the pocket on the last page says only, in large letters, “Roses”. I smile and think about the roses I recently purchased to add to the garden with her – and the memories of our friendship – in mind. I allow myself the fancy of imagining she somehow knew. (Certainly, she knew I love roses.)

What a beautiful little moment! It lingers with me now, and I woke this morning to see the wee journal resting on a cushion, next to my neatly folded clothes, waiting for the new day. Where will this journey take me? What is ahead on this path? I sip my coffee and think happy thoughts of trails to hike, and roses to plant, and long summer days in the garden. I think about the wee journal, and my dear friend, and what words might fill these pages.

My mind wanders to other cherished friendships. I could be a better friend; I make a commitment to reach out to friends I haven’t spoken to recently. I think fondly of my Traveling Partner – our deeply loving relationship is also built on a firm foundation of a cherished friendship. We were friends long before we were ever lovers. I’m grateful for that friendship, it has carried us through some tough times with considerable affection and grace. Whatever else goes on in life, friends are such a huge part of life being worth living in the first place. I sip my coffee and think about how fortunate I am to have the rich friendships I do. The value isn’t in numbers of friends, either, it’s in the quality of enduring friendships, and the love and laughter they bring to this very human experience, that can sometimes feel so lonely otherwise.

I look up as I finish my coffee. The morning sky is hues of blue and shades of gray where clouds crowd the horizon. Daybreak has passed. Sunrise is moments away, although I doubt it will be anything exceptional to see, this morning. Regardless, here it is a new day – and already time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, art and the artist, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, grief, Healthy Living, inspiration, loneliness, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Practices, Relationships, Roses, Sleepless Nights, Spring, The Art of Being, The Big 5

Being and Yearning

March 8, 2024 //
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As I came around the last bend in the road before I reached the city, the sunrise greeted me with a messy smudge of coral and orange, like badly applied lipstick. I so earnestly wished to make a right turn and chase that sunrise to wherever the day might take me…

The yearning hit me hard. I don’t find myself wanting to chase things like a bigger house, a more exotic car, Birkin bags, or Louboutin shoes. Sufficiency is generally quite enough for me, and I’m content with the occasional excesses of more modest scale, like garden seeds, or art supplies, or a new keyboard…but… I sometimes find myself faced with a very peculiar moment of yearning and discontent that is very much part of “who I am” (and has been for as much of my life as I can recall)… I sometimes earnestly and deeply want to be free of everything that defines my life – however it is presently defined. As though the constraints of habit and routine, and requirements and expectations, just get to be too much, and something within me spills out and I just want to… go. Somewhere. Somewhere else than wherever I am. I want to “chase that sunrise”. I want to sleep in and when I wake wander to some previously unvisited delightful breakfast spot and linger into the day over my coffee. I want to wander a beach or a forest trail, listening to the birds and the breezes. I want to be… untethered. I doubt this experience is unique to me, and it seems generally very human.

This morning, once my commute carried me to the city, and the car was parked in the usual place, and I frowned at the thermostat in the office on my way past it, as I often do, and made a cup of coffee (that has already gone cold), I sat down and did the payday stuff and the budgeting, like a proper grownup. No tears or terror, no stress, just regular adult shit that has to get done regardless of how lovely the sunrise may be. I’m okay with it. I don’t really need to drop everything and escape my existence, I’ve got a pretty comfortable life that I enjoy very much, and I’m fortunate to share it with a partner I love deeply, and who loves me back so wonderfully. Life is pretty good right now. I’m not objecting to that, or craving change – just acknowledging my restless nature, and maybe wishing it were already “camping season” (too chilly yet for me, personally). lol Funny creatures, human primates – give them everything they want and need in life, and still they find their way to discontentedness, wanting either more, or less. LOL

I sip my tepid coffee, unbothered by any detail of the morning, thus far. I’m okay. I breathe. Exhale. Relax. (Mutter something cranky about the broken heat in this office.) I stretch, and check my calendar. Set up my work day. Email the budget details to my Traveling Partner. There’s no particular stress to the day, so far. Hell, I’m not even in much pain; it seems very manageable so far. The sun continues to rise, and the buildings beyond the office reflect the golden glow and hints of orange and pink. Beautiful. I take a minute to enjoy it, before I sit down to write a few words.

It’s a Friday. I find myself missing my Traveling Partner greatly this morning, and wishing perhaps that I’d worked from home, but we’d discussed that yesterday evening, and he expressed a desire to make the day a quiet one, healing and resting, and to support that endeavor, I committed to the commute and the day in the office. Maybe a short one? I’d love to get the weekend started and get out in the garden again, or try a trail I’ve never walked before, or just… drive somewhere far. lol That restless nature nagging at me in the background almost makes me giggle – I’d be satisfied to spend the day in my studio, on an artistic journey, and as that thought crosses my mind, I realize that this is what I’m yearning for – some creative time in my own head, whether writing, or painting, or in the garden. Well, the weekend is here, and that’s easily done. I just have to begin again. 😀

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Categories Allegories, art and the artist, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gardening, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, inspiration, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Roses, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being, turning 60, weight loss secrets, winter
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