Well, shit. Every now and then, just when I start feeling like maybe I’m “well” and whole, and not beat down by bullshit and baggage, and perhaps just maybe there’s something like a “happily ever after” potentially lurking around the next bend in the path… I have a day like today. It’s been a wild ride…
I spilled my Traveling Partner’s coffee early in the morning, mere minutes before we needed to leave for an appointment we could not risk being late for. It didn’t take long to clean up, but it disrupted my calm rather a lot.
The drive into the city got going pretty nicely, except for some reason my Traveling Partner’s phone wasn’t pairing, and once it did, it seemed all his personalized settings for the truck were gone. Annoying. Negative emotions carry a certain unfortunate contagion, too. It was less than ideal.
Traffic was routine, but the route the GPS selected, while familiar, was the most likely to be congested, and it was pretty annoying to drive past a turn that could have taken me down pleasant country roads. That’s on me though, eh? I know GPS is not “AI” – no intelligence, no understanding, no context to the decision-making. I could have chosen differently, but decided against it. My reasoning was poor, and I paid for that.
We got to the appointment in plenty of time, but in the process of getting the truck parked…well…I… Let me start by pointing out that a) I never measured the height of the truck with the tire on the roof rack, and also b) the height wasn’t noted anywhere obvious as I pulled in. Yep. I entered the parking garage, and as I turned around the bend to the next level up…I scraped the roof rack, tire and all, right off the top of the truck. 😦 Well, shit. Fuck.
…Not my best moment, not my best day…
…It could have been ever so much worse, and both the truck and I are entirely fine. The roof rack? Not so much.
My Traveling Partner got to his appointment. We managed to also get safely home, mostly in pretty good spirits. I went on with the day, dropping pill containers (shit!), knocking over books, bottles, objects… it’s just been that sort of day. Also… it’s been hot. Like seriously fucking hot, and I am grateful that the day was such that I got to spend most of it indoors, in A/C. Like I said, could have been so much worse.
Yeah. Fucking rough. Some days are. My pain is pretty well managed. Things have calmed down. It’s evening. The house is comfortable, and quiet. I’m fine, for most values of fine… and it’s enough. Tomorrow? Yeah, of course, obviously – I’ll begin again. (Again.)
It’s late. Or, it’s early. I suppose it’s a matter of perspective – and expectations. I expected to be asleep right now. From my perspective, it’s quite late. Too early to be awake, by far. It’s just a bit after midnight. I could be sleeping right now… I expected to be sleeping right now… I am not sleeping.
The guest in the room next door (or perhaps directly above me, it’s hard to tell) has left the fan on in their bathroom for what now seems an unreasonable amount of very noisy time. It surprises me that anyone could be sleeping through this ridiculously noisy fan. I’m certainly not. I’m quite wide awake.
I breathe, exhale, relax… and try to “get used to” the noise so I can maybe go back to sleep… (Am I even actually still tired, after “sleeping in” yesterday, and multiple delightful naps today?) I’m not adding annoyance or any particular amount of stress to being wakeful over the noise of a bathroom fan that is not mine, so… I could potentially go back to sleep at any point, once I’ve managed to get past being wakened by this noise. By itself, the noise could be super aggravating (once upon a time definitely would have been). For now, it’s just… well, I’m awake. That’s it. lol I’m awake, and I expected to be asleep.
I sip on a bottle of icy cold water. It’s refreshing. Eventually, I’ll go back to sleep. A couple more hours of sleep, and I’ll wake, shower, have coffee, have breakfast, and get packing to return home. I miss my Traveling Partner. I’m eager to be home. I feel rested and recharged, and were it not for this rather annoyingly timed bit of human misadventure, my away time has been quite nearly perfect (from my perspective). Fucking hell, I do wish someone would turn that fan off, though. LOL I keep sipping on this bottle of water; it is both too late and too early for more coffee.
I stepped outside on the balcony for some air, and it was delightful. I could see the stars – so many stars – and even the Milky Way. Wow. I stood there quietly, breathing in the cool ocean air, listening to the waves.
…Why is there always some asshole leaving a bathroom fan on in a hotel room??…
I sigh, and let go of my expectations. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I’m here. Now. Yeah, there’s a fan going, and that’s not ideal, but it will, eventually, pass. Probably. Maybe. Or I’ll get used to it vibrating noisily in the background. I laugh to myself, and put on my noise canceling headphones for a while. I could probably sleep in these, they’re pretty comfortable…
I’m sitting with my first coffee of the morning. I came prepared, and although it is instant, it’s a good quality instant, and a good cup of coffee. It’s hot, clean tasting on my tongue, and satisfying.
A rainy coastal Monday.
My first sight upon waking, was the rainy day beyond the balcony of my “ocean view” hotel room (which lacks any hint of ocean view, by virtue of being on the first floor, but offers a lovely view of Siletz Bay). The second thing I noticed was a couple of young… sea otters? Seals? They were relaxing on this side of the bay, quite nearby. I went to grab my camera to get a shot of this not-all-that-common sight (usually they’re on the other side of the bay, too far away to get a good picture with my lens). Returning to the balcony, I see that a man walking his dog has also spotted them. Does he stay well back to let them be? Oh, hell no, he’s American; he quickly moves forward to take his fucking dog closer. Jackass. The sea otters (I think, based on how they moved) slipped back into the water as he closed in on them with his (thankfully leashed) dog. I got a couple of truly pointless shots of the larger pod they are clearly part of, as individuals bobbed above the water, and the pod moved on down the bay. Still – what a fun sight. I take a moment to enjoy that, and I forget about the man and his dog.
I woke early enough that the beach was empty (on a rainy morning), and slept in (for real) late enough to wake well past daybreak, dawn, or even sunrise (although there is no sunrise to see on this gray rainy morning, only a homogenous gray sky). I feel rested. I leave the balcony door wide open to let in the sea breeze and the cool fresh air. I sip my coffee, contentedly. I’m here with my pastels, and I can paint as easily from reference photos and from my imagination, as I can from the actual view, so the rain is nothing to me, and doesn’t change my plans, or upset me in any way. It was lovely to sleep so deeply, and to wake so rested. If that were all I got from this trip away, it would be very much worth it.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. My back aches ferociously. The damp climate of a cool rainy summer day on the coast is hard on my arthritis pain, and for a moment I am “feeling my years”, until I think to recall that I’ve had this arthritis since I was 24 or 25 years old – so for almost 40 years – and it’s nothing at all to do with age or aging. I shrug it off as an annoyance of no consequence, and get on with things anyway. It still amounts to an irritating distraction, but little more than that, so far. My tinnitus is not quite silenced by the wind and the waves – it’s a combination of sounds that sort of “drowns it out” when I’m on the coast, close enough to hear the ocean. It’s a nice break from the aggravation of my tinnitus at full volume. I take a minute to enjoy it with my full attention.
It’s not yet late enough for the hotel breakfast, but I rarely find their strange grab-and-go assorted things for “breakfast” to be satisfying, nourishing, or even particularly “breakfast-y”. Just a cheap convenience, and this trip I am more prepared to take care of this fragile vessel. I’ve got salad greens, blueberries, cashews, and hard-boiled eggs in the room fridge, and I make a simple breakfast salad. My stomach isn’t yet particularly interested in food (it’s a bit soon after waking), but it’ll be lovely to have a “real breakfast” once I’m ready to eat something.
These are such mundane details of such an ordinary life – why bother writing any of this down? I dunno, because maybe someone, somewhere, reading this hasn’t sorted it all out yet? Hasn’t “solved for X” in some of life’s math, perhaps, and simply reflecting on the things that work – or don’t – and what matters most (at least now, to me) may be helpful perspective in some way? In 2013, for example, I don’t think it would have occurred to me how much my own choices in life – simple practical decision-making – were responsible for the vast majority of my personal misery. I don’t know that simply saying “you’re doing this to yourself” would have gotten through to me, but perhaps someone simply reflecting on the things that are working well – small, sustainable, simple choices – might have guided me (or at least made me think)? Besides… I just write. It’s a thing I do. (I’m grateful that you are reading. Thank you.) It’s also “for me”; I often go back and read my writing from other days, other circumstances, with new eyes, or seeking new inspiration, or a reminder that “this too will pass”, or that I’ve “been here before”. (One of the lasting consequences of my TBI is simply that I have some memory-related challenges, and some oddities about how I perceive (or don’t) novelty – sometimes I just don’t recognize that I’ve “been through this before”. Helps to have a reminder.)
…I sit awhile, reflecting on how far this journey has taken me over the past 11 years, from being deeply negative, traumatized, mired in despair, and looking for “an exit strategy”, to where I am now – mostly pretty positive, generally contented, often joyful, enjoying life and love (and even enjoying work), and feeling a deep sense of… joie de vivre. It’s lovely. Each sunrise is worth seeing. Each day has something new to offer. Not only is the journey the actual destination…it’s a journey I find worth taking. That’s a long way to come from those dark days standing on the precipice, ready to decide whether to make a permanent end to my pain. I’m grateful that I made the appointment with the therapist who helped me find my way to a better path. (If you’re in despair, please reach out to someone for help. You matter.)
I stand, stretch, and begin to dress. I haven’t yet gone for a walk on the beach (or taken any walk at all yet, this morning). Seems a pleasant morning for it. The rain has stopped, the sand is firm, and although the tide is coming in, it won’t be a very high tide – plenty of beach to walk. The morning feels oddly “out of order”, with coffee and breakfast ahead of my walk. I chuckle to myself. This is the sort of healthy variation from a routine that serves to keep my brain flexible and young. I go with it. No complaints. Rigidity of thinking does not serve a human primate well. I breathe in the fresh ocean air deeply, and exhale, imaging blowing my pain out with my exhaled breath. I’m not sure it’s an effective strategy, but doing so amuses me and diminishes the power my pain has over my mind. I stand in the open doorway, watching the gulls and crows down on the beach. Somewhere nearby I hear a woodpecker. Now dressed, the day feels that it has more truly begun. I nibble at my salad, and finish my first coffee. There’s more hot water ready, so making a second cup is an obvious next step; there’s no hurry. This is my life. This is my time. This is my experience. Every step on this path is my “next step” – mine to choose, mine to walk, mine to reflect upon at the end of the day. Although our lives are intertwined and we are interdependent social creatures, we’re also each having our own experience. It matters to be and to choose – and to experience this life that I have chosen. I breathe, exhale, and relax.
…The day stretches ahead of me, unplanned, unconstrained, not yet filled with my choices and the verbs required by those choices. I am my own cartographer. The journey is the destination. It’s time to begin again.
Another chilly morning, as I hit the trail to walk, think, and watch the sun rise. There’s a mist clinging in the low places along the marsh, almost as dense as fog this morning.
Flowers, trees, mist, and morning.
My tinnitus is ridiculously loud in my ears. My neck aches ferociously. I am grateful that my next stop will be an appointment for some myofascial release work that reliably helps…at least for a little while.
It’s a busy day ahead. Errands. Housekeeping tasks intended to keep life easy for my Traveling Partner and the Anxious Adventurer while I am away for a few days. I’m no expert on caregiving (at all), but the Anxious Adventurer has still less experience, and anything I can do to set him up for success while I am away is a win for me (and for my Traveling Partner, his father). So I’ve got a list of things to get done before I go, and a plan to leave early tomorrow – maybe even do my morning walk along the beach, or in the forest, on a trail I’ve never walked, somewhere along the way to the coast. I’m eager to have a break, with a real reduction in stress (because my Traveling Partner won’t be home alone trying to do things for himself he presently struggles to do).
I face the day calmly and with a sense of purpose. There’s quite a lot to do, but I did some of it yesterday, and I’ve made a point not to leave it all for the last minute. Helpful. Practical.
The sun rises golden against a shell-pink sky streaked with delicate lavender clouds. Pretty. The air smells of summer flowers. A doe with two fawns stands very still and quiet as I walk past (so still I didn’t see her there until I was almost next to her). Around the next bend in the trail, the buck stood watching me intently, before walking slowly back up the trail towards his mate. At the edge of the river, nutria enjoy a playful moment. I walk on. Every now and then my thoughts stray in the direction of more stressful concerns. I observe the thoughts and let them go. This is not the time for any of that. I bring my attention back to this moment, here, now. I watch the delicate lacy flowers that stand above the tops of the meadow grass. They wave just a bit in a breeze I don’t really feel.
Breathe. Exhale. Relax. Walk on.
I love these quiet solitary moments. I fill my soul on this feeling of peace and contentment, savoring small joys and wonder for later moments. My residual anger and frustrations with life and circumstances melts away and I feel a sense of being “my best self”. Pain doesn’t matter so much in this timeless now.
Breathe. Exhale. Relax. Walk on.
Like a lot of things, building emotional resilience is a practice. Creating an implicit sense of living life that is skewed towards the positive requires practice. One step at a time. One walk at a time. One moment of gratitude at a time. Savoring small joys and deliberately bringing my focus to what is working, what is pleasant, all of life’s little successes…it adds up. Incremental change over time works; we become what we practice. Practice is ongoing. It’s not a competition, there is no “finish line”, and the journey is the destination.
I breathe deeply, and keep on walking. It’s a lovely morning to begin again.
Not much of a countdown left; day after tomorrow I head out for a couple days break from the stress and workload of caregiving, to spend a little quality time in my own head, taking care of me for a couple days. 3. Three days of downtime. I find myself eager and also a little bit anxious.
Before dawn.
I woke a little early. I got to the trailhead before daybreak. I wait for the sun, sitting quietly, writing. It’s a bit chilly this morning and I am grateful for the cozy warm sweatshirt I am wearing. Sunrise is coming later already. The days are definitely shorter than a month ago.
Yesterday was weird and difficult, but for me that was mostly “second dart suffering”, fatigue, and the chemistry of human emotion. It passed, and the conversations that came out of that were needful and handled with love and consideration. I don’t actually recall the end of the evening with much detail, beyond the lingering awareness that it was quite pleasant.
The morning begins well. I’m hopeful about the day ahead. I watch as daybreak shifts the hue of the sky from its darkest blue to lighter blues and a subtle hint of something not quite green and not quite yellow on the horizon. Sunrise soon. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I think of my Traveling Partner, and hope that he is sleeping deeply at home, getting rest that he needs so much. I lace up my boots. There’s enough light now to see the trail…
Evening Light 