Archives for category: forgiveness

I slept last night. I woke this morning feeling pretty good, in spite of my headache, and my arthritis (which are becoming generally non-negotiable elements of my day-to-day experience). I moved through my morning routine pretty efficiently and quietly. I took my morning medications on time without a mishap, and the rain stopped just as I got to the trailhead. Seems like a pretty good morning so far.

Yesterday wasn’t all that bad, once I got past the morning, though I had considerable difficulty staying focused on work after my Traveling Partner pinged me good morning. I would have preferred to spend the day idly conversing with him, intimate and connected. The evening, after work, was relaxed and genial. We talked and shared the time contentedly. Dinner wasn’t fancy, pretty low effort but still a tasty home-cooked hot meal. I got some basic housekeeping chores handled. We communicated easily with each other, no stress, no drama, in spite of my fatigue. It was a great time all around.

I sit with my coffee and a smile in the pre-dawn darkness, a small circle of light cast by my headlamp, set to my side on this bench, to reduce the glare while I write and reflect. I turn it off to meditate, enjoying the diffuse light of town and street lights reflected back by the cloudy sky. It’s dark, for many values of darkness, but my eyes adjust quickly and I could probably walk the trail in the dimness without my headlamp if I chose to. It’s just easier with a bit of light. I smile at the implied metaphor and let my thoughts move on.

My Traveling Partner admitted yesterday that he hasn’t been reading my blog for awhile, caught up in his own experience. I didn’t feel hurt by that, and I even understand. It does tend to explain how misaligned we’ve sometimes felt, though; he has lacked a ton of explicit knowledge of my day-to-day experience, because rather than “repeat myself”, I’ve left things unsaid that I wrote about. That was a poor choice on my part, and we’ve paid for it in frequent misunderstandings and miscommunication. Well, shit. Now I know. I’m not even annoyed; the fault is mine. I made an assumption and didn’t check in on that. Ideally, I’d have been “using my words” and trusting my beloved to alert me if he was already aware of some detail.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. It’s a good morning so far. I hope the day ahead is as pleasant. I’ve got work, and a couple things to get done to care for my partner and our home. I’m looking forward to working from home today and enjoying lunch together. I feel… good. It’s nice. It’s enough.

I look at the sky. Daybreak hasn’t come yet. It will, though, and the clock is ticking. It’s time to begin again.

Becoming aware that a particular old fear or point of insecurity no longer has any power over me is a peculiar moment, simultaneously “powerful” and somehow… relaxing? Like a weight lifted from the baggage I’m dragging through life. It’s a profoundly positive feeling, without being specifically joyful or happy. An achievement unlocked. A new “special move” in life’s game obtained. I sit with the awareness awhile, feeling something, and lacking the words.

I sip my coffee contemplating life and love, feeling this strange new feeling of security and comfortable self-reliance. We’re all in this together. We’re each having our own experience. We are mortal creatures, sometimes sharing the journey, sometimes not. We’re all travelers on this journey that is itself the destination – and there is no map. It’s helpful to avoid becoming attached to a particular outcome.

No one really has any fucking idea what they’re doing, and chances are, the more an individual clings to how right they are, the more potential there is that they’ve overlooked something and are very wrong indeed (about something). Be humble about the potential limits of your knowledge. I mean, that just seems smart. It’s hard to know what we don’t know.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. The threat that a relationship may be ended over some moment of discontent or drama has no power over me these days. Why should it? I’m not here by force, I’m here by choice. If a partner, friend, or associate feels unsafe or that their mental health is at risk, why should they stay? Walk on, I say. Take care of yourself. I’ll be okay. I feel pretty safe with myself, even in my loneliest moments, and I don’t think anyone should feel obligated to continue in a relationship that lacks value – or worse, is painful or damaging. We’ve all got options.

There’s no need to force ourselves to stay where we feel unwanted, ever. Change can be scary and difficult, but damn, it’s never helpful to cling to something that may be tearing you down. There’s no point using the end of a relationship as any sort of threat or leverage with me, though. I’ll help you pack. It’s not personal; if you don’t want to be here, don’t want to share this journey with me, go. Your choice. I certainly won’t try to force you to stay.

… Funny thing, I feel as if the work of processing grief and loss “got me here”; we are mortal creatures, and these cherished relationships between each other are so fleeting. It doesn’t make sense to waste precious mortal hours in a terrible relationship. Walk on. Begin again. Respect yourself and show yourself some consideration.

My dreams last night were full of fire and rage and heartbreak. Inescapable anguish chased me down corridors without doors. I woke angry, seething, ahead of my alarm, and got up to start the day drenched in sweat and feeling as if I had literally been running. My head ached with the effort, and it aches still. My arthritis pain is a serious annoyance. It’s a rainy chilly day, no surprise that I’m in more pain than usual. My feet crunched the leaves and gravel along the trail to my halfway point and back; short walk today. Early meetings. I feel purposeful and resolute. I’m okay right now, and my anger receded into the background as I walked.

By the time I got back to the car, I felt mostly pretty good. Demons slain. Attitude adjusted. Heart filled with gratitude. It’s a good life, generally. I’m grateful for my Traveling Partner and hoping he has a good day.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I’m here because I want to be. I’ve got options. When shit vexes me, I can walk it off, and begin again.

It’s a rainy Saturday morning. Autumn. The rain isn’t a surprise, the very mild almost warm temperature is. This morning I’m overdressed, with too many layers, anticipating a colder morning on the trail.

Waiting for the sun, and a break in the rain.

My Traveling Partner was explicitly clear he wanted time enough to sleep-in undisturbed this morning, so I’ll take my time on the trail, maybe go farther, and go to the store on my way home. Maybe I’ll stop for a coffee and sit watching passersby passing by, for a little while? The morning is my own to enjoy at my leisure and I’m very much okay with that after a very busy work week that left me feeling thoroughly overwhelmed by cognitive fatigue and quite fragile by the end of it.

When I arrived home last night, I didn’t even make an attempt to mask my excessive fatigue, I just stated rather matter-of-factly that I was going to “go meditate and cry awhile” before hanging out. My partner was careful, considerate, and kind to me. We enjoyed a pleasant evening with the Anxious Adventurer, listening to music and watching videos, after I’d provided myself with the necessary self-care.

New day, new challenges – only, generally speaking, they’re mostly the same challenges I tend to have: physical limitations that need to accounted for, pain that must be managed, emotions to experience and process, and these finite mortal hours. Today my headache is an absolute motherfucker, but I do my best to avoid letting it become my whole world. So far so good. I’m facing more than expected fatigue on less than hoped for rest. All things considered, it’s a pretty ordinary rainy autumn Saturday. My coffee is good. Right now that’s enough. I sit listening to the rain fall and thinking about “the distance between”…

…The distance between “then” and “now”, and how very different life is, than I once expected it to be.

… The distance between what I thought I wanted out of life before I’d lived enough of to know what I might want, and what I want out of life now.

… The distance between moments, how short that really is, and how far it can sometimes seem to be.

…The distance between loving hearts that sometimes develops, though love endures, and what it takes to get closer.

…The distance between two strangers, however close they stand together.

… The distance between now and the fucking election, which I’d very much like to be over with, already.

… The distance between the money and resources available and the things I want to do with those.

… The distance between where I am, and where I’d like to be.

…The distance between where I find myself on this ball of rock and mud and sorrow, and where my dearest friends are.

…The distance between where I am sitting, on this quiet trailhead, and where the bombs are falling instead of raindrops.

I sip my coffee and think my thoughts, listening to the rain fall, and waiting for the sun. There won’t be much of a sunrise this morning, but I’ve got this quiet moment, this good cup of coffee, and there are no bombs falling, here. I let my mind wander, grateful for the life I am fortunate to live, and the love I am fortunate to experience. I sit grateful for a partnership that supports my wellness and gives me freedom to enjoy quiet solitary hours. I’ve got a lot to be grateful for.  I sit with that thought, until it’s time to begin again.

I’m sitting with my thoughts, quietly (aside from the ringing in my ears). It is a foggy autumn morning, and a heavy mist clings moodily to the low places and along the creeks and rivers. The morning is a cold one, the coldest so far this season. I am mildly annoyed with myself; I am not dressed for the weather. I laid out my clothes last night based on assumptions of milder temperatures without checking the weather forecast, which was foolish.

… Reality does not care what we believe…

I’m sort of “all up in my head” this morning. By itself, absent any context, this isn’t necessarily a bad thing, and I am fortunate to enjoy my own company. In this quiet early morning time, I often find myself in this mental place, blending introspection and self reflection.

Words, defined.

I sit considering those definitions for some minutes. I’m not sure I agree 100% with attempting to sort them out as “internal” vs “external”. They’re both processes of the mind, which seems to me makes them both very much internal processes. Meaning matters. I wonder for a little while whether it’s worth making the attempt to define them more clearly, before realizing it’s a distraction from my actual thoughts.

Rumination is very different from either introspection or self-reflection, and it’s a difference that matters quite a lot. Rumination is getting mired in negative thinking and negative self-talk. It’s a problem to be avoided as much as possible. Rumination is a poor practice.

Having sorted all that out rather pointlessly, I let my thoughts move on. I’m mostly sitting here on this rock at my halfway point thinking about what a long and sometimes tedious journey it’s been to get to this place, over time. The ongoing fight to build, achieve, and sustain good mental health has been (often still is)…hard. I’m not sure I’d call my results wholly successful, some days.

My Traveling Partner pings me. He’s concerned about a birthday gift I purchased for him potentially having been a poor choice of vendor. He shares the reviews. I see his point and agree to cancel the order in favor of a more reputable vendor. My thoughts are completely scattered now, like autumn leaves. I’m frustrated by that. I’m frustrated by the recurring feeling that I don’t get “first dibs” on my own consciousness – or so it often seems. I sigh and save my writing for another time, and finish my walk in the predawn autumn darkness.

… I can begin again, later…

I woke up feeling mostly okay-ish, but by the time I was in the car and heading towards another work day I was feeling pretty crabby. I found myself feeling rather foolishly resentful, not about anything specific, just the expected basics of a typical adult life weighing me down.

The whole “working for a living” thing is actually a serious buzz kill most days, not gonna lie. Don’t misunderstand me, I’m grateful; I’ve got a good job, it pays for what we need, and I like the work I do – but I sure wouldn’t be bored to be able to live on my own terms, and I definitely don’t mind not working. I actually quite like having my time be my own.

… There are so many books yet to read, so many moments of inspiration to paint, trails to hike, conversations to have with interesting people, and so much love to enjoy…

I sigh quietly. I’m mostly resigned to it at this point (I have yearned for retirement since I was 18, but lacked the tools, knowledge, and foresight to make that a reality at the time, and here I am). Still gets to me some mornings, on my way to work.

I get to the trailhead. It’s dark, but I’m walking anyway. I lace up my boots and exchange a few messages with my Traveling Partner, surprised that he’s already up. I’m glad he exists in my world.  To be clear, none of my resentment about working is directed toward him, or about him at all; it’s 100% about the culture and the weird expectations of what counts as “productive” in our society. I frankly have better shit to do with my finite mortal lifetime and my conscious waking hours than putting them in servitude to someone else’s profit, but here we are, eh? If I want those drab green squares of paper and positive numbers on my balance sheet, I’ve got to sell my life an hour at a time.

I shrug off my annoyance. It’s a spooky foggy autumn morning. The fog clings to the marsh. It’s chilly – definitely autumn – and I’m grateful for this warm fleece. I pull my scarf and gloves out of my gear box in the back of the car. They smell vaguely of summer. I wrap the scarf around my neck grateful for the extra warmth and that I am so well prepared. I grab my cane and my headlamp and hit “save”. It’s time to get going. This trail isn’t going to walk itself. I’m fortunate to have this time to enjoy, walking with my thoughts on an autumn morning.

… When I get back to the car, I’ll begin again.