Archives for category: gratitude

Monday has arrived. Here it is, a new week. The rainy foggy morning has enough chill in the air to remind me it’s autumn, already October and there are holidays ahead to plan. I lace up my boots wondering where I’ll find the energy for all of it. One foot after the other, eh? Every walk, every morning, serving as a living metaphor of persistence and momentum.

I sigh to myself, have another drink of this coffee that will be waiting for me on the other side of my walk through the rain and fog and darkness. I grab my cane, tuck my handbag out of sight, and save the beginning of my writing (I’ll finish it later). I stand, stretch, and set off down the trail, visible only within the circle of light provided by my headlamp. Another metaphor, I guess, and I walk on thinking my thoughts.

I get to my halfway point glad to be wearing long sleeves under a favorite heavy baggy sweater. I’m not cold, though my hands feel the chill in the air. I turn off my headlamp when I sit down on a convenient bench, and see hints of imminent daybreak in spite of the fog. My back aches with the arthritis pain that vexes me most during colder wetter weather. I mostly succeed in ignoring it. It’s not as if I can do much of anything about it that I don’t already do.

I breathe, exhale, and relax, taking a few minutes of stillness in the morning quiet. I’ve got a busy day ahead of me, and I need this quiet time for reflection and meditation to face it and somehow manage to get it all done.

I sit with my thoughts awhile. I’ve got some shit on my mind. I try to avoid minimizing it, or wishing it away. The way out is through. I consider the questions, the doubts, the unhealed hurts, and the stressors that complicate everything else. I try to avoid complicating things by conflating circumstances with the feelings about the circumstances. It’s an easy mistake to make.

… Life might be easier if I weren’t the sort of person who so very much truly wants things very specifically to be “easy”. lol It seems healthier than not to be able to laugh about that…

The fog becomes more dense as the sky lightens. I sit with my perception and wonder if it is an illusion. I sigh and let my mind wander on. There are surely more important things to think about. I find myself feeling regretful that it is so hard to find time alone. Going on 5 years in this little house I love so well, and I’ve still never spent a night home alone (or even more than a few hours, really). The Anxious Adventurer only moved in in July, and has already spent more hours alone there (taken as a total) than I have. My Traveling Partner has spent by far the most time home alone in our house (and doesn’t want or need all that, it’s just a byproduct of circumstances). Frustrating (for me).

I really miss the luxurious solitude that comes of living alone, sometimes. I don’t regret living with my Traveling Partner, it’s one of those things I wish I could have both in equal measure; the delight of his companionship and good company, and also my solitude. I don’t know how to make that work out aside from taking occasional getaways to camp or paint, and those clearly don’t happen at home. Before his injury, my partner’s work kept him home. Since his injury, it’s been the realities of injury, surgery, recovery, and day-to-day limitations (for now). It is what it is. It’s not intentional or in any way intended to limit my experience or prevent me meeting that need. It’s purely an unfortunate coincidence that the person in the household with the greatest need for solitude has the least opportunity to meet that need. It’s not personal, it’s just life.

I sigh. I would definitely not trade my beloved or one moment of the joy we share for lasting solitude. It’s true that I have to put some thought and effort into meeting this need. That’s just adulthood. I laugh silently and chastise myself – something about building character.

I sit wrapped in dense fog awhile longer. I amuse myself with imagining that I must create the day ahead from pure will and see it emerge from the fog as I do. A useful notion that encourages effort and discipline. It’s something to start with – and it’s time to begin again (already?). I take another look at these words, hit “save”, and “publish” and head back to the car to face the day.

The truck has a different kind of comfort and offers a different point of view – new perspective on a familiar scene. I sit waiting for the sun, but it’s a choice; I’ve been getting my walks in early with my headlamp. It’s fine. I don’t prefer it, but I still enjoy the walk and the time with my thoughts in the pre-dawn quiet.

This morning a full moon lights the way.

I slept deeply through the night and woke from my dreams with some difficulty. I dragged myself groggily through my morning routine, and made coffee for my Traveling Partner before I quietly left the house. The entire time I kept reminding myself to take the truck, instead of my Mazda. lol I’m due to take the truck in to have the new roof rack installed; all the parts are finally in. This morning I’ll begin the work day from the lobby of the dealership service department. lol I don’t mind, it’s just another difference.

It’s Friday. I’m so glad – I’m really tired. It’s been, somehow, a crazy week. I feel fortunate and grateful, though; the coordinated efforts of my Traveling Partner and the Anxious Adventurer have given me a break from the continuous grind of caring for family, hearth, and home. It’s a relief to have help. Dinner was especially good last night, and I didn’t have to plan it, cook it, or clean up. I even managed to spend some time tidying up my personal space, reducing the clutter that had begun to accumulate over recent weeks (which had likely been contributing to my background stress).

I gaze at the moon awhile, lost in my thoughts. My partner pings me a good morning greeting. I feel very loved.

There are no great insights to be found in this post. No painful moment of drama or chaos being sorted out. No guidance being offered. It’s a different sort of morning, and I am savoring the moment, content with it as it is. This sort of lovely moment is the payoff of all the practicing. lol Definitely worth taking time to simply be, and to enjoy it as it is.

Daybreak will come soon, and when it does, I’ll begin again.

I had some trouble sleeping again, last night. My anxiety flared up in the background, too. I managed to get enough rest, and eventually slept the rest of the night. What’s up with me, I wonder? Could be nothing. It’s a very human sort of experience.

I sit with my thoughts. It’s early. A new day unfolds ahead of me. Stuff to do. I sigh quietly. I’m having to manage more pain with greater attention (and medication), now that fall has come. Rainy chilly days reliably mean more pain. It is… routine. My morning alarm goes off. Time for meds. Another sigh, then a big breathe and slow exhale.

My head aches. I try to ignore it and think about how lovely yesterday evening was, in spite of my fatigue. I watch the traffic rolling by from my vantage point at the parking lot by the trailhead. I’ve got time to get a short walk before work, though I’ll be on my way to the office before the sun rises.

I sigh and stretch and finish lacing up my boots. It’s enough to begin again. I’m fortunate that I have that chance.

It is raining at this trailhead. Just a sprinkle, really, and not enough to deter me this morning; I am restless and tired and I feel a need to “walk it off”. I slept poorly. My Traveling Partner was up late with the Anxious Adventurer, clearly enjoying each other’s company. I retired for the night a little later than usual, and every time I started to doze off, a bit of loud conversation or the bark of unexpected laughter would wake me. This went on until well past eleven, though I stopped checking the time at that point, resigned to the serious likelihood that I just wasn’t going to get the rest I need.

… I’m honestly still annoyed about it…

I woke sometime around 02:30, wakened again by some human sound. My Traveling Partner was awake. I felt a moment of sympathy; I wasn’t sleeping well, either. Headache-y and sound sensitive, I got up to pee, had a drink of water, and went back to bed. I woke groggy and stupid when my silent alarm reached full brightness, cross to be facing a new day already. My dreams were full of work (actual manual labor). I woke still tired, eyes scratchy, head aching, squinting at what seemed to be the overly harsh reality of another work day ahead.

…Fuck, I’m tired and irritable…

I breathe, exhale, and relax. Dinner was really good last night. The evening was pleasant and genial. Fun. Time well-spent, although listening to Tool turned up loud for the last hour of my day (sort of) didn’t do my fucking headache any favors. I almost laughed when my Traveling Partner asked me “Have you heard this one?” (Was he kidding, I wondered? I endured 14 years of Tool in the relationship prior to ours. lol. Yep. Heard that. All of that. All the time. Every day for 14 years. I even like some of it… but the anger got old and I got bored with it. I sit thinking about that; it’s a little sad when great art becomes boring. Trite? Overplayed.) I return my attention to yesterday’s pleasantness. It was a delightful day worthy of savoring for a time – so I do.

I’m sitting at the halfway point of my walk, enjoying the sprinkling of raindrops on my face in the darkness. It feels refreshing and my mood improves sitting here quietly, listening to the sound of distant traffic and a soft breeze stirring the meadow grass. My back and neck ache ferociously. There’s still an entire work day ahead. Still, I’m okay – for most values of okay. I’m just tired. I feel less cross, understanding there was no ill will in my crappy night’s lack of rest. The Anxious Adventurer lacks awareness of how his voice carries. My Traveling Partner was enjoying his son’s company. Their conversation wasn’t unpleasant or burdened with negative emotion, and perhaps on a different night I’d have slept through it easily. I let it go. There are more important things in the world to be mad about.

The rain begins to come down harder, making it difficult to write. I get to my feet and stretch, looking back down the trail in the direction I came. Yep. Another day ahead. There are verbs involved and some real effort to be made. I’m already tired. Doesn’t matter much, it’s still time to begin again.

“Are you even a good person?”

I sip my coffee, listening to the rain fall, thinking about goodness, character, doing and being good, and what any of that really means in the world we actually live in, where nations hold themselves up as righteous while committing genocide, and human beings individually lay claims to being “good people” while espousing hate, and “othering” human beings who have never harmed them at all.

Are you even a good person? If you answer “yes”, the follow-up question has to be “what does that mean to you?” How will you answer that? How do you defend your less than ideally good thoughts or behaviors? You know the ones I mean – and we’ve all got some. We’re human. Our brief mortal lives don’t lend themselves well to aspirations of goodness.

… But are you at least trying, though? Are you making the attempt to be a good human being, a good person? Putting real thought and effort into it? Working day after day to be a better version of yourself than you were yesterday?

This is on my mind this morning because of a brief interaction with strangers waiting in line ahead of me at the pharmacy yesterday evening. I was tired, and irritable. Hungry. They were making conversation to kill time in the long, slow, line (and blocking the aisle, forcing other shoppers to detour around them). They were mostly shit-talking younger generations. One of them was a woman somewhat older than I, the other about my age. The details are pretty irrelevant, aside from admitting they sounded pretty ignorant to me, and more than a little offensive. One of them caught my eye and probably picked up on a microexpression of some critical sort. She laughed somewhat uncomfortably and said, as if in protest of my judgement, “But I’m a good person!”

… Sometimes my mouth has a life of its own…

I held the stranger’s gaze and and replied rather cynically “Are you?” I said nothing more, and she turned away uncomfortably. There was a brief pause in their conversation, before they resumed, quietly, seeming more aware of other listeners. The line continued to move slowly.

Since then, I keep coming back to this idea of viewing one’s self as a “good person”, while simultaneously doing, saying, or thinking things that completely undermine any potential truth to that statement. It wants thinking about.

Are you a good person? I’m not judging or accusing you. I likely don’t know you, and even if I do, how could I truly know the content of your character sufficiently well to judge you? But… Are you, though? Are you at least trying?

Am I a “good person”? Hell, I don’t know. I want to be a good person. I value the idea of goodness. I aspire to goodness. I recognize and appreciate goodness when I see it. I seek to practice goodness as I understand it in all of my relationships. But – and it’s a big but – I am human, I am mortal, I have been traumatized, I was raised and influenced by human beings of poor moral character, and have participated in systems that could not ever be described as “good” – for nothing loftier than a fucking paycheck. At best, I guess I can say I’m generally at least trying to be a good person. My results vary. My efforts are often more aspirational than practical. I’ve still got a lot to learn and I still need an entire lifetime of practice.

I guess my point is… be humble about what a good person you are. You probably aren’t all that g’damned “good”, if you’re truly honest about actions no one observed, lies no one ever caught you out on, or thoughts you’ve never admitted to another person. Definitely keep working at it – the journey is the destination. The world has a serious shortage of goodness, and maybe nothing keeps us from the darkness besides our own will to fight for what is truly good and right. The effort to be the best version of ourselves is worth making, every day, in every interaction. We’re going to fail a lot, all of us, so let’s also be kind to each other about how difficult it is, while encouraging each other and also keeping things real when we see it all going very wrong. “See something, say something” is a useful strategy. Make corrections, not excuses – but for goodness sake, turn that critical eye toward your mirror, first, last, and often!

… Funny that this is where my thoughts are this morning, but I definitely need to reflect on these things as much as anyone…

I could do better. I’ll keep practicing.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. The rain continues to fall. I sip my coffee waiting for daybreak and wondering whether the rain will let up enough for a walk before work. I think thoughts about art, about love, and fill my heart with gratitude. I’m fortunate to live where I do, when I do. This particular “here and now” is pretty good. I can comfortably afford to spend time reflecting on whether I am a good person, instead of worrying about drones, bombs, or whether there will be food or drinking water for my family.

I sit quietly with my thoughts for awhile. What defines a “good person”? I watch the traffic roll by like the seconds hand of a strange clock. Isn’t it time to begin again?