I slept in. It was after 05:00 when I woke. The house was quiet. I got up, dressed, and left without rushing but as quietly as I could. I nonetheless managed to bang the bathroom door with my knee, but as I left the house still seemed quiet. It seemed likely my beloved may have slept through me leaving. Win.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
The morning is gray, cloudy and overcast, and the dry meadow has a different scent as my steps crunch down the trail. My thoughts are looking back on yesterday evening’s stress and conflict. His pain. My pain. The various different medications we each take, some that are unfortunately very sensitive to changes in timing or dosage, some that don’t combine easily with this or that other medication. His PTSD. My PTSD. His perspective. My perspective. Each of us having our own experience of the moment. Sometimes conflict develops out of any one of these – or out of some mismatch in assumptions, expectations, or values, or out of fatigue or pure human cussedness. It’s all so very human.
… It’s also seriously vexing…
Our evening ended decently well, in spite of his irritation with me…or was it mine, with him? I take a deep breath and release slowly, something like a sigh, something like letting it go. We’re very human. Sometimes human is hard.
It seems trite to say I am “a work in progress”, but it is true; we are each continuously becoming the person we will be in some future moment, on some future day. We make choices. We take actions. We demonstrate our current skills. We make decisions based on our understanding in the moment. We endure the consequences of who we are now. Along the way, we become… someone. Hopefully we become someone just a little bit more like the person we most want to be, each day. As goals go, it’s a pretty good one.
I look out over the summer meadow dotted with ponds. Soon enough, the rain will return, the ponds will swell and become small lakes, and the meadow will become marsh again. There is seasonality in love, too, though it’s less clear precisely when or why the seasons of love change; these changes don’t show up on my calendar. I sigh to myself. I love my Traveling Partner on this whole unnecessary potentially unhealthy deeply passionate level that doesn’t make any fucking sense at all. When he’s angry or frustrated with me, I feel such indescribable pain. It’s likely the same for him; I can feel how much he loves me, and I see it everywhere around our home.
… Passion and devotion don’t necessarily equate to “healthy”. I could do better, and I have much to learn. Maybe that’s the point of it all, anyway? To learn, to grow, to become…
Somewhere else in the world (27 miles away, at home) my beloved wakes and pings me a greeting and my heart takes flight, as though I’m a teenager with her first crush. Crazy to love like this. I mean that as it sounds, potentially a sign of (or coming from) mental illness. 😂 I mean, as mental illnesses go, I’ll take being in love over any other for sure, but I’m not entirely convinced it isn’t actually craziness.
I smile like an idiot at the little birds keeping me company, perched on this fence rail. I feel pretty good. I got enough rest. I am in love. For now that feels like enough. I remind myself to take my time, and to do my best. I remind myself to listen deeply and to communicate understanding, and to be present. It’s a lot, and I’ll keep practicing. We become what we practice.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. I let some minutes tick by, sitting here with my thoughts and a heart full of love. It’s already time to begin again…
Evening Light 