I “slept in” (for some values of sleeping in), and drove to the trailhead with the sun in my eyes. No traffic. Lovely quiet drive. No pressure, no stress. I walked down the trail eagerly, feeling rested and fit. I hear (and see) robins, jays, finches, sparrows, and swallows. I listen to their calls and songs as they flit about their business in the meadow. A smallish owl perched very still atop a fence post startles me when he opens his eyes and turns his head as I pass; I thought he was part of the fence post! When he takes off and flies past me I get a better sense of his size (not “small”!)
…I keep walking…
A favorite spot to linger in summertime.
I get to my “halfway point” and take a seat on a fallen branch in this copse of oaks. I feel “surrounded by nature” though I’m an easy walk back to the trailhead parking lot, and the adjacent highway. I love this spot for a brief getaway from “the world”. Sunshine, blue sky, birdsong, breezes, meadow flowers…it has everything I want on a summer morning, except my Traveling Partner’s good company and a good cup of coffee. There’s something to understand there about wanting, yearning, seeking, finding, and… sufficiency.
What is enough? Once upon a time, I felt as if every moment had to meet every need and fulfill every desire. That’s a pretty shitty and unsatisfying way to live; nothing can ever measure up to such feelings. Worse still, I wanted so much. I wanted “happily ever after”, and every waking moment felt like failure, regardless how much joy and delight might actually be available. I couldn’t feel the good in my life because I was mired in chronic disappointment. Things didn’t change much until I stopped chasing “happiness” and began to cultivate contentment. Contentment is so… achievable. Turned out to be a useful stepping stone to moments of profound happiness, too, and because I wasn’t chasing happiness, I could really enjoy it with my whole self when I happened upon it.
I sit with my quiet thoughts awhile, listening to the various birds singing their songs. Some I easily recognize, others I’m less sure of. Here too, a lesson; curiosity and wonder leave plenty of room for learning and growth, where “certainty” tends to close that door with a bang. It’s hard to learn when we think we know. “Don’t be too sure” seems like very good advice. I’ve learned to embrace uncertainty and joy. I grin at a little bird approaching me very closely. I don’t bother trying to get a picture, I just enjoy the moment, instead.
The sun is warm on my back. I feel wrapped in contentment and quiet joy. My Traveling Partner pings me a good morning. My heart feels light. I get to my feet to finish my walk, and begin again.
I’m sipping an iced coffee and readying myself for the day ahead. I’m also browsing the pictures in the “gallery” app on my phone, and enjoying pleasant recollections of my recent day trip to the coast. I am thinking about goals and intentions, and forward momentum, and how different an object on the horizon looks compared to what I may see up close when I arrive at that destination – and how easy it can be for something along the way to distract me as I travel.
The horizon, a distant smudge. How far away is that?
I sigh out loud and rub my neck. My headache was with me when I woke this morning. It’ll probably be with me all day. Doesn’t matter, really, and there’s not much I can do about it. I breathe, exhale, and relax, and let that go.
A destination, a goal, and idea – what does it take to get there?
It’ll be another hot summer day, today. I’m okay with that. I’m grateful for the air conditioning that makes that a comfortable idea, at all. I’m fortunate to have that luxury available to me, and I sit with my gratitude for some little while, thinking about other times and places when I was not so fortunate.
Where we thought we’d like to go may be less achievable than we anticpated, or require more of us to reach than we planned. It’s okay to change our path – or to work for our goal. The choice is ours.
I feel a little tired before the day even begins, which surprises me, until I realize that there is this subtle awareness in the background of my thoughts of a world in chaos: genocides, acts of war, terrible cruelty, lives lost, lives wasted, and terrible people doing terrible things. Is my fatigue simply the unavoidable awareness wearing me down, or a sign that I am fighting that awareness too much with too little positive result? I think about that awhile, too, and ponder the critical need for skillful self-care. What do I need from myself this morning to nurture this fragile vessel and this valiant heart?
When I take a closer look, I am sometimes surprised by what I find. Definitely look closer (it’s a metaphor).
…For starters, I would do well to drink more water than coffee on such a hot day, eh? (I remind myself to get some water when I finish this.)
…Maybe make a point of getting up from my desk every hour and stretch or walk around a bit rather than sit here hyper-focused on work that absolutely can wait on a wee break. (I put a couple break intervals on my work calendar and mark myself “busy” for those, and set reminders so I don’t forget.)
…My mental and emotional health will benefit from reconnecting with distant friends, and checking in with those dear to me who are nearer, too. (I smile and think of people I enjoy and who are dear to me. I’m grateful there are so many.)
I sip my coffee content to have a forward path and some idea what sorts of things will nurture me and lift me up, that also easily fit into a busy work day. It’s a start. More often than not, a beginning is enough to get me going – if nothing else, it’s where I begin (again). 😀 That’s enough. The clock is ticking… it’s time to get on with it.
Big or small, we choose what we put our attention on – and our choices matter.
It is the wee hours, and I’m awake. I haven’t yet fallen asleep, but I’ve enjoyed some lovely quiet time reading (re-reading a favorite classic, Siddhartha by Herman Hesse).
…I expected to fall asleep quickly.
An experience is very much what we make of it, and reality has no particular relationship to our expectations at all. I chuckle about it in the darkness. I’m unconcerned about having my device in front of my eyes right now, having dimmed the display to less than 25% and only “stopping by” while I drink some water and finish this cough drop to soothe my still irritated throat.
I was not wholly surprised to find myself wakeful. Different pain meds. Substantial changes in routine (to prepare for surgery), which included giving up supplements, and limiting or changing the timing of various medications and over-the-counter remedies. Of course I’m not asleep. I slept in this morning. I was drugged or unconscious much of the morning due to surgery. I slept for unmeasured hours after I was released to go home. Why would I even expect to actually be tired beyond the fatigue of injury itself? (Every healing surgery is also an experience of being injured, and systems interfered with!)
So. I’ve stirred myself enough to get some water. A cough drop. A change of position. (Picked another book, just in case sleeplessness persists.) I’ll meditate, then try sleep again and see where things stand when a new day dawns. That’ll be soon enough to begin again. First I need to take care of me (and brush aside these expectations cluttering things up my thinking, too, eh?).
Once upon a time there was a rose…
Morning of a new day. Why that picture? Because the damned deer ate my roses (again) and I was thinking about that during the night. I’d waited 4 years for that rose (Golden Opportunity) to bloom! I’m glad I got to see her. The deer only eat tender new growth… many roses bloom on new growth – you see the problem? Could be little cages for every rose next year except those that the deer don’t favor (I suspect they are either too thorny, or don’t taste good for some reason).
My cup of coffee is good this morning. Hot. Well and carefully made. Exactly as I like it. I’m grateful, but apparently I inconsiderately left the counter a mess (everything is just a bit more difficult with my left hand impaired, but that’s no excuse for not noticing that I had dripped coffee and grounds on the counter and failed to clean them up). So human. My Traveling Partner called it out with some annoyance; no one likes waking up to a mess. He was kind enough to clean it up as he made his own coffee. I’m annoyed with myself for leaving it, though. I hope our morning together is pleasant otherwise. I’m mostly myself this morning, but still recovering, and a little impaired. I remind myself to slow down and be patient with myself and alert to my surroundings.
I finally slept last night. I slept until I woke, much later than I generally would. My timing all feels off. It’ll pass. There’s no pressure; I’m off work today to recover. I take my time doing the budget and payday stuff; I’m typing with only 9 fingers, presently, and it feels awkward with the finger that is not available being an index finger. This will also pass. A lot of the details of our human experience are quite temporary. Too temporary for a lot of fuss and bother or agitation, generally. It’d be nice if that were an easier idea to hold onto in a stressful moment! It takes practice – and the practice is in the lived experiences; results will vary. I sip my coffee and think about that. We become what we practice – there is persistence implied, and continued repetition over time. Effort. Verbs. Will.
It’s pleasant to have a Greek yogurt drink (peach) with my coffee this morning. I didn’t enjoy having to go to “clear liquids” only, for the 24 hours before my surgery. lol It was more about the loss of the sensual delight in tasting something good, less about hunger or blood sugar – the Ozempic definitely did it’s job there. Turns out that, at least for me, the experience of food and meals and tasting things is one of life’s real joys, and the day felt stripped of something precious without it. It wasn’t actually a big deal, it’s just genuinely nice not having to go without, and I’m appreciating that. There is real value in taking a moment to appreciate something, to feel it, to enjoy it, to be in that moment, so I make it a point to do that. It has tended to result in an implicit experience of life as pleasant and positive, generally, instead of the bleakness and feeling of futility that once characterized how I experienced my life. A very good practice (for me) and a change I’m very glad I made.
Yesterday was quite nice, after the surgery. I mostly slept, but when I woke it was to an experience of being cared for. My Traveling Partner was wonderful, (going with me to my surgery, bringing me home and caring for me all day) and the Anxious Adventurer did his part as well (bringing me a very nice sorbet to soothe my throat on his way home from work and taking care of dishes and trash and housekeeping stuff), and it was so nice to chillax over silly videos and munch pizza together at dinner time. No idea what today holds, really, nothing complicated – I’m giving myself the best chance I can to heal well and thoroughly without complications. I use my hands a lot. I’m grateful to have the use of them.
I think things over another few minutes. I hear my partner call to me from the other room, checking on me. It’s time to begin again.
Have you ever thought about how few people leave any sort of lasting mark on the world, or the lives of others in an individual mortal lifetime? Humanity’s impact on the planet, other life forms, and each other, generally, is pretty obvious (and pretty reliably negative, which is unfortunate), but as individual human beings, by far the vast majority of us will pass through these mortal lives almost unnoticed, and leave no lasting legacy of the life we lived. Maybe, if we’ve worked hard and been quite fortunate, we’ll leave something of value behind, in cash or assets, that our heirs may or may not appreciate in the way that we hoped. Most of us will live, die, and be forgotten.
… That’s a huge downer, isn’t it? My own experiences of “existential dread” most commonly center on this awareness that it’s quite likely I’ll be forgotten once I’m gone…
The closest thing we human beings have that approximates immortality is to have some sort of lasting legacy that endures beyond our limited, all too brief, human lifetime. The written works of writers, philosophers, historians, and storytellers of all sorts may survive thousands of years. The paintings, drawings, and sculptures of visual artists working in durable media may survive many lifetimes beyond the death of the artist who made them. More modern art forms have yet to prove themselves, but recorded music, and film, endures – as long as the means to view them survives. Architects design buildings and crews of builders, engineers, and tradespeople work to bring them into being – where these survive, a name may survive with them, but only one (or few) of many.
I fret about what my own legacy may be, when this brief mortal life ends. Will my art survive? Will it be known, even to some few, or lost over time due to lack of appeal or discarded as lacking value? Will my small but thoughtfully selected porcelain collection become treasured by someone else, or be sold piecemeal as part of clearing out the clutter I left behind? What about my books? My written work? The contents of my email? Will the things that were important to me have lasting importance for anyone else? Will I be remembered? If I am, what will I be remembered for? That seems like an important question, although considering the likelihood that I’ll simply be among the vast forgotten multitudes as soon as I’m gone, the seeming importance of the question may be an illusion.
A sunny summer day, an oak grove, a meadow.
I walked down the trail this morning thinking about legacy and mortality, and meaning and purpose, and wondering again “what we’re here for”. How long after I’m gone will my beloved say my name with longing and love, before his memory begins to fade? Once he’s gone, what then? Who will continue to “say my name” and cling to their memories of me?
I’m not thinking about these things in a sorrowful way, just contemplating what it takes to leave behind an enduring legacy of love and high regard? I am asking myself what I hope to be remembered for? I have come to understand that it isn’t enough simply to be remembered. Some pretty terrible human beings are remembered through history, and I have no interest in being one of those. It’s more complicated than simply being remembered, isn’t it? Hitler is remembered. Andrew Jackson is remembered. Jack the Ripper is remembered. Saddam Hussein is remembered. No doubt Trump will be remembered. These people are not remembered for anything good they did. Their legacy is of trauma and crime, and how terrible human beings can treat other human beings. Their names evoke cautionary admonishments and document terrible deeds. There are worthier things to be known for.
What do you want to be known for? Are you even doing the things that have that potential?
One hot air balloon drifting across a blue summer sky.
I walked and thought. Later I’ll have coffee with a friend, run a couple errands, get the oil changed in my car, and return home to my Traveling Partner’s love. None of that holds any particular potential to leave a lasting “legacy”. These are moments in one human life. Perhaps it is enough to simply live authentically, and to love well, and treat people with kindness and consideration?
I watch the leaves of trees quaking gently in the morning breeze, and enjoy the feeling of sunshine on my back. It’s a lovely morning, and perhaps the best possible choice is to embrace this moment, savor it, and live my life as it is? Maybe it isn’t for us to decide what our legacy could, or may, be at all? I suppose it is eventually in the hands (minds) of others, regardless what we may do to influence or guide that outcome. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I keep walking. I can wonder, but I can’t know – funny to recognize and acknowledge that with such ease. The question of “legacy” now seems potentially an obstacle. A bit of misdirection. Perhaps it is far more important simply to become the person I most want to be, living well, loving deeply, and present, here, now?
I sigh and smile. I hear the clock ticking. I keep on walking. Regardless whether I am remembered or forgotten, I am enjoying this life, and savoring the many little joys in it. Each moment is uniquely its own experience, whether anyone else remembers or not; I’m here, now, living these moments. It’s enough, isn’t it? I think about it awhile longer. Soon, I’ll begin again, grateful for the chance, and the moments.
The ringing in my ears is loud this morning. I pay it no particular attention; it’s reliably always there and the only thing to do about it is to focus on other things. My hot coffee. The chill of the morning at the edge of a meadow surrounded by forest. The distant sound of traffic on the highway, faint but still audible. Voices. I sigh and lace up my boots. A walk after coffee sounds delightful.
… I slept poorly but it hasn’t caught up with me yet…
Light in the darkness.
I woke several times during the night to pee. I guess I’m adequately hydrated. 😆 Each time I stepped out into the darkness, I paused to gaze at the stars a little while. I could see the Milky Way. I would return, following the short path between my campsite and the restroom, guided by the merry string of colored lights that I hung around my tent, specifically to make it easier to find in the dark. The night didn’t begin to feel cold until shortly before daybreak and I was pretty comfortable, just not sleeping restfully.
… The night felt long…
My walk warmed me up more than my morning coffee did. It’s been mostly uphill, and I wound my way through the trees, stepping carefully where the trail was not well-maintained. I reached my goal; the day use area. It took me longer to get here than I expected, but I wasn’t going for speed, only solitude. Walking to leave the sound of voices behind me, and in this instance quite successfully. There’s no one else here right now. It’s lovely and quiet (except for the tinnitus, which no one else hears).
A new day.
My head aches and I am thinking about more coffee, though I certainly had my usual amount (more than). I look over the park map. This trail? That one? What about this other one? It looks new, since my last visit here (which was 2022, I think). It’s probably early enough to find parking at one of the trailheads for the BVT… I yawn and stretch. It isn’t nap time, yet.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. What is my purpose, here? Meditation. Self-reflection. Setting intentions for this next year of living. This, right now, it isn’t really any if those things in a useful way. The miles of trails do seem to connect me with my sense of purpose. I look out at the horizon and wonder how many miles to those hills? The map suggests that those are in the Tillamook State Forest, and about 16 miles away (as the crow flies). It would be more than an hour to drive there, and about 12 to walk it, according to Maps. I think about how often the thing we seek seems so near, but really isn’t near at all. That’s a useful bit of perspective.
The sun comes out from behind morning clouds and warms me. I remind myself to put my phone on the charger when I get back to camp, as I eye the trail heading back down the hill. I think about heading back, and take another look at the map. Time to begin again.
Evening Light 