Stormy clouds to the west, and to the north. The rising sun illuminates the oaks and the meadow grass. Morning. I slept well and deeply and somehow still woke feeling so sleepy… Even now, I feel pretty sure I could just go back to bed.
A new day
I yawn and walk down the trail, as much out of habit as from any particular interest. I’d rather be napping. lol How am I so tired?
The stormy looking clouds get darker and stormier looking. I yawn. I’ve got an appointment later. I’m grateful; it’s the one treatment that really helps my headache. I want to be looking forward to that, but I’m pretty stuck on the awareness of fatigue and sleepiness. I yawn so hard my eyes water and the tears roll down my cheeks. I get to my halfway point, eventually, wishing I could just lay down and sleep for a few minutes.
No idea why I am so sleepy… I didn’t set an alarm. I woke when I woke, even slept in almost an hour, and went to bed pretty early. Another yawn. I sit staring numbly at the stormy sky. Nothing to do about it. I watch the clouds. Write a bit. Yawn again.
Eventually I’ll get to my feet and trudge back up the trail to the car, and head to my appointment. Eventually, I’ll begin again. Some days it’s harder than others. Some days I’m tired and walking feels like real work. Very human. I’m not even complaining, not really, just a little vexed and a bit mystified. And tired. So tired. That’s okay; it’ll pass.
I get to my feet, and walk on in spite of my fatigue.
A piece of trim fell off my everyday glasses a couple days ago, and I haven’t found it. I’m working in the office, instead of from home as I had planned. The coffee drive-through I like to frequent on a workday didn’t open this morning. I poked myself in the eye by mistake. I forgot the midday snack I’d meant to bring for later. I stubbed my toe on my way into the office and dropped my computer bag on my foot.
All of these are minor aggravations barely worth a moment of my attention. There are no bombs dropping here – a useful observation for some perspective. There was a time when any one of these things would have had me angry enough, frustrated enough, to really mess up my day. I’m grateful to practice other practices, these days, than uncontrolled anger and frustration*. Anger and frustration not only wreck my own mood, but they are “contagious” to be around, and tend to degrade the quality of any shared experience. It helps to put these things into context, to frame them differently, and to understand them in a broader perspective (which is a choice I can make).
…So I do that…
I’ve got another pair of glasses with the correct prescription in them (I feel both grateful and fortunate). I have the convenient option to work in the office or from home any day; it’s my choice either way (and I am fortunate to have that choice and appreciate it greatly). There’s decent quality local coldbrew on tap in the office that is provided at no (direct) cost (and I’m grateful to have it). Poking myself in the eye did no lasting damage, and already doesn’t hurt at all (only minutes later). I forgot my snack, but I remembered my lunch, so it doesn’t actually matter. My foot aches a bit but I’ve got my cane handy anyway, and it is a minor aggravation that lacks meaning (even as pain) in the context of the everyday experience of chronic pain – it could be worse. Hell, I’m grateful to be able to walk.
…Better…
So, I breathe, exhale, and relax, and sip my icy cold brew. It’s not a great cup of coffee and the morning has not been a great experience, but it’s only a moment out of a day, and it will pass. I find the experience of anger fairly toxic – my own anger, within myself, specifically. I don’t care for the experience of feeling angry, or having someone in my vicinity dealing with their own experience of anger. It is, for me, wholly unpleasant. It is also reported to be unhealthy to squelch it entirely and take no action to resolve whatever has brought it to the surface in the first place. There’s a balance to strike with regard to anger. Venting doesn’t work to resolve anger – it just tends to become a practice of being angry. Not a great state of being (or practice), in my opinion, and I like to choose (and cultivate) other more positive ways to approach circumstances*. Gratitude certainly feels better than anger…
I have a lot to be grateful for. I sip my coffee contentedly and prepare to begin again.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
*And I do have to actually choose and actually practice! Anger management is a skill that needs to be cultivated and practiced and worked at and… I’m very human. My results vary. lol I’m ever so much better at keeping my anger in check in a healthy way and communicating my feelings with care these days than I was years ago, but it has taken years of practice. Be patient with yourself, if you struggle with anger. Keep practicing. Incremental change over time will win… in time. 😀
It’s a lovely morning on the trail. The sun is up, shining golden and filling the tree tops with light. The air is cool and hints at fall ahead. Summer scents of mown meadows and blooming flowers fill the still air. The distant hills are hazy; it’s wildfire season. I pause to sit and meditate as the morning becomes a new day. It is a lovely practice.
Sunlight and oak trees
“Nothing to see here.” I have the trail to myself, this morning. I enjoy that as the pleasant luxury that it is. I don’t own this land. I don’t have any claim on this place at this time. It is a public trail available for anyone who chooses to use it. It’s nice to have it to myself, and quite rare this time of year.
There’s a work day ahead, but it’s not yet time for that. This is time for me. Pleasant solitary minutes for walking and reflecting, for thinking and for meditating, and for snapping the occasional photograph of sunlight in the trees, or wildflowers, small birds, or the rising sun.
The sunrise, as I arrived.
I watch small yellow birds land on weedy stems alongside the path. They chirp together, nibbling at the seeds drying there after the flowers have faded and fallen.
A small yellow bird holds still for a picture.
Lovely moment. Lovely morning. I’ll work from home today, a nice break from commuting to the office. I am grateful to have the choice. I sit watching the little birds flutter among the weeds. There are several now. They ignore me and go about the business of the day.
…Each moment is so precious…
What are you cultivating? What are you working towards as a human being? Are you the person you most want to be? What steps are you taking to get there? What practices are you practicing? We become what we practice, so those choices really matter. Choose wisely.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. The morning chill contrasts with the warmth of the sunshine on my bare arms. I sigh contentedly. It’s a great beginning to a new day, for me, here, now. Your results may vary. You’re having your own experience – make the choices that will make it a good one, if you can. It’s worth making that effort.
… The journey is the destination…
I get to my feet to head back. It’s already time to begin again.
G’damn I am so tired. I’m in pain, and I’m tired. I feel like I’m running in place and expecting to catch-up. I’m laughing over it, for now (mostly), because like it or not it’s largely my own doing. Self-care is hard. It requires choices and clear expectation-setting. Everyone around me seems to want something (and it is often completely expected and normal – as with paid employment for example), and I keep bumping my own needs lower and lower on my list of shit to do until… I don’t. Or can’t.
A new day, a new opportunity to begin again.
When I take a minute and put things into perspective, I know that going off my Ozempic for a few days, then abruptly back on at the dose I’d been taking (no ramp down, no ramp up), it likely fucked with my emotional stability and mood management and “sense of things” – and I may still be dealing with that. I also know that enduring pain without prescribed pain management measures can be very physically fatiguing. So, I guess I’m not surprised by feeling sort of chronically overwhelmed and on the edge of exhaustion in spite of feeling that “things seem pretty normal, though”. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I set reminders for healthy breaks. I double check that I have my medication for the day with me (I forgot it yesterday and had to rely on back ups that I keep in the office, most of which I clumsily tossed into the toilet by mistake – it was that sort of day, honestly). I make a point of taking it on time. I take my walk, but it is shortened by the pain I’m in, in spite of level pavement and having my cane. I feel like I’m working damned hard for very little result.
…The thought brings tears to my eyes, which is a level of emotionality that is unusual for me, these days…
I’m suddenly swamped by a feeling of being wholly inadequate and “not good enough”, like, at all. This is an entirely subjective emotional experience not connected to any real world event or interactions, most likely brought on by fatigue and abnormally high self-imposed expectations. Circumstances being what they are, and “good enough” being very subjective, and me being – in general – “fine” for most values of “fine”, I’m fairly certain that this feeling of inadequacy is nothing more than some rando inner demon having its moment, attacking me from within – that’s what demons do. lol I sip my coffee. It’s also “fine”. Not great. Not bad. Just… coffee. I’m okay with it. I reflect on that for perspective. This cup of coffee doesn’t have to be better than it is to achieve it’s purpose successfully, it just has to be available for me. It is that and that is enough.
In spite of the deer eating the tops of all my tomato plants, I’ll have a few tomatoes. Enough.
…”Enough” can be a tricky concept to hold on to, sometimes…
Getting caught up in chasing more, better, or other than whatever is can be tiring and distracting. Finding balance sometimes means making a point to practice a sense of sufficiency in a purposeful focused way, in spite of the to-do list, the goals, the aspirations and ambitions… all of that is immediately irrelevant once the sands in the hour glass run out, eh? The whole of the experience, the journey itself, isn’t characterized by any one achievement or detail, and exhausting myself chasing the details is probably a pretty poor choice. I remind myself to slow down and take care of this fragile vessel. Sometimes that takes more effort, or more time, or more care – or more saying “no”, in spite of wanting very much to say “yes”. I sigh to myself. It annoys me to need both more rest and also more exercise.
…”Finding balance” is largely a matter of cultivating and practicing balance… (I’m not saying that’s easy. Honestly, it’s fucking annoying.)
“Baltimore Belle” blooming in my garden.
I try to lift my spirits with thoughts of flowers in my garden. Far away friends. Upcoming camping trips. It’s not really helping much; I just feel run down. My tinnitus is crazy loud in my ears and I wonder (again) how fatiguing it may be that I make attempts to distract myself or diminish my awareness of it, somehow? (It takes real effort, actual work, to present an appearance, regardless how effective the results may be – and my need for self-care increases with my fatigue.)
…Too much bitching…
Not enough time spent looking at flowers in the garden.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. I take some time to meditate before beginning the day’s work. What next? Self-care. Seems obvious, but I’m sometimes fairly crappy at following through on it when I most need to. There are verbs involved. Practices. Consistency. Effort. Will. It’s necessary to do the things, not just hold awareness that they are needful, and not just talk about the relative importance. I sigh, again, feeling frustrated and impatient with myself. It feels like too much, and I put my head down on my desk and let the tears come. It’ll pass. It’s not important, really, it’s just a moment.
The bananas and strawberries? Just fruits. I’ve got some very ripe banana in the freezer for making banana bread when things cool off enough to bake – and when I’ve got the energy for it – and I recently enjoyed some delightful genuinely local (picked that morning) strawberries from a farmer acquaintance (which was nice, since the birds got most of mine this year). I suppose I’d meant to say something more or different about them when I sat down to write, but the moment took me a different direction. Very human.
I sigh again, feeling too human to get enough done. I look at the clock. Still ticking. It’s time to begin again. Again.
I got my walk in this morning, around the neighborhood where the office is located. It’s a pretty middleclass neighborhood, with few sidewalks and lots of lovely landscaping. The summer air was still and smelled of flowers, exotic and vaguely tropical. Very summery. The sun was up and the morning beginning to hint at the heat of the day to come by the time I got back to the office.
…The entire time I was walking, I had a favorite “big beat” track in my head, Fatboy Slim’s “Weapon of Choice“…
It was less about the music, this morning, than the words. I kept turning the phrase over in my head, “weapon of choice”… I’d always heard that as meaning “preferred choice of weapon”. This morning it hit me that it also means… choice, as a weapon (or tool). Huh. Words are fun.
We have a ton of choices in life. The menu of the Strange Diner is – in a practical sense – almost unlimited. (Limits we observe are often self-imposed.) Choice is an important tool in our toolbox, whoever we are, regardless of our circumstances. Volumes are written about choice and choosing and how to make choices. What are you choosing? Are your choices taking you where you want to go? Do they make you more the person you most want to be? Are you trapping yourself with foolish choices? Do the choices you choose to make tend to make the world a better place, generally, or… not? I don’t need the answers to these questions (from you) – but maybe you do? (I know what my own answers are, and I ask myself these questions often.)
…Are you even making your own choices, yourself, or are you following some talking head on the internet, or an app, or an “AI”? Are you aware that it matters?…
I sip my coffee thoughtfully. I think my thoughts, grateful for another day to make choices and to practice practices. Grateful that I was finally able to get my Ozempic refilled, and my “sense of things” feels quite ordinary once again; I’ve clearly grown used to the changes it makes in my headspace (the increased impulse control demonstrably extends even to my ability to manage my temper, as it turns out). I breathe, exhale, and relax, feeling filled with contentment and a certain feeling of internal comfort that only seems to come from feeling very “at home in my own skin”. No anxiety, and for the moment no physical pain (which is a pleasant change). No headache. No allergies. Just a pleasant summer morning and a good cup of iced coffee, and this lovely quiet moment that is all mine.
…I am momentarily distracted by the awareness that a lot of my life is captured in words: emails, fragments of unfinished manuscripts, a rare bit of surviving journaling here or there, letters written in the days of snail mail as the only option, and this blog. I find myself wondering if I should be giving thought to preserving any portion of that (the internet may not actually be “forever”, considering current world events, generally)…
I sigh to myself, and my thoughts move on. Who am I? Who was I “then“? What relationship does she have to me, now? Memory is a thin thread that connects our past selves with our present self, and a bit unreliable at times. Does it even matter? Strange thoughts on an ordinary summer workday morning. There’s value in self-reflection, though, and asking the worthy questions is worthwhile whether I answer them or not. They demonstrate thoughtful curiosity and a regard for the unknown. They light the path ahead in some way I can’t easily describe or explain. They hint at what I don’t know, even about myself. Hell, sometimes they stave off the existential dread and doubt that sometimes accompanies awareness of how precious and limited this mortal lifetime is. I hear that metaphorical clock ticking.
The weekend is coming. What will I do with it? I’ve got a camping trip planned for a couple weeks from now. What will I do with that? I’ve got choices. So do you. What will you choose?
Every choice is a new beginning – even if you choose to stand still and do nothing.
One day I will not wake to begin again… It’s how mortality works. There is much to savor in each waking moment, and less to struggle with than I sometimes choose.
Evening Light 