It rained during the night. The trail is wet, puddles frequent. The sky is dark and the clouds obscure the coming dawn. No moon to light my way this morning. I am dependent on my headlamp. Neither the darkness nor the occasional sprinkles of rain stop me, though. I have this path to walk.
I slept decently well, and woke feeling sufficiently rested to enjoy the day, in spite of my restless night. Some noise or other prevented me sleeping for some little while, and I woke during the night sometime later, though I never figured out why. Given the opportunity, I could maybe go right back to bed and sleep away the morning… although it’s probably wishful thinking, and anyway, it’s a work day.
This morning, my back aches fiercely. I remind myself it’s “only” arthritis pain – I’m rarely without it anymore, but it could be so much worse. I sit on this picnic table, rain poncho spread beneath me to make a dry place to sit. The night sky is beginning to lighten. My mind wanders to other autumn mornings, other points in my life. Other moments. I yawn, watching a mist begin to gather, here, close to the creek. I breathe, exhale, and relax, and take time for meditation as the mist becomes thicker, obscuring the “view” in the darkness.
I think about the new earrings my Traveling Partner made for me. I smile, feeling wrapped in love. He made enough for me to share with friends, of several kinds, and one cute pair of hearts, just for me. I feel visible and understood. I feel grateful, and appreciated. I definitely feel loved.
Love takes many forms.
I hear footsteps approaching slowly. A doe is walking down the trail towards me. She sees me, pauses, and veers off the trail in a different direction, heading into the trees and disappearing from view. The silhouettes of trees are now distinctly separate from the dark gray of the sky. Daybreak approaches, and I see the very first headlights of a farm worker arriving for work on the far side of the vineyard. The clock is ticking. It is a new day.
I yawn and sigh, sitting here in the quiet pleasant stillness before dawn on a Friday morning. It is enough simply to be…at least for now. lol This is a very human experience, filled with moments of all sorts. I get to my feet with an audible groan. Fuck this “aging” bullshit! 😆 I stretch and contemplate the day ahead. I could really use a cup of coffee… and it’s time to begin again.
It isn’t personal. Even when it feels personal, and pretty much whatever it is, it isn’t actually personal.
That car that cut you off in traffic, or “brake-checked” you on the highway? Not personal. That other driver is having their own experience.
The rude barista, check out person, or frosty receptionist? It’s not personal. They’re having their own experience.
Random moments of unpleasantness and stress day-to-day are so incredibly unlikely to be “about” us in any way. Even the targeted attacks of bullies have more to do with their poor character and mental health than anything to do with their victims. We make shit personal in our own heads. We “take” shit personally – and there are choices and verbs involved. We could choose to practice non-attachment and refrain from centering ourself in someone else’s experience. One of the hardest things for me to learn has been how very little of what is going on, even in my own relationships, has anything to do with me, personally, at all. It’s actually a disturbingly impersonal world.
An autumn morning at daybreak, a new day.
I sit at the halfway point on my morning walk, perched on a bench under a cloudy sky that hides a full moon. Feels like it might rain… but the air doesn’t have that scent. The air smells of autumn, fallen leaves, the persistent dampness left behind in shady places by last week’s rain. It smells, too, of distant wildfires, and nearby chimneys. I’m cozy in a new cardigan, chosen for fit, price, and appearance, that turns out to also be quite comfy and warm. “Unbothered”, I think to myself when I seek to define my feelings this morning.
My night seemed brief and restless. My Traveling Partner had a difficult night struggling with some sort of unwellness. I woke from a deep sleep at his vexed exclamation, and for the next four and a half hours snatched whatever brief naps I could between his bouts of illness and physical difficulty. Was he “keeping me awake”? Not exactly. Partly, sure, and not through any intention – noise is noise. That surely wasn’t personal. The rest was me; half awake, alert to hear him if he called out to me, concerned, wanting to be available and ready if he needed me.
I woke minutes ahead of my alarm. I thought I’d turned that off to get some little bit more sleep? Apparently not. Didn’t matter, I woke early anyway. I was groggy and stupid, but also more concerned about slipping away quietly and letting my beloved get the rest he needed.
My thoughts wander back to a couple nights ago when he angrily chastised me for clearing my throat in an adjacent room and preventing him from sleeping. That also wasn’t personal – just irritating; I had “swallowed wrong” and was choking a bit on saliva that had gone down my trachea instead of my esophagus, making me cough and clear my throat several times, in a few short minutes. I had expected some amount of concern or sympathy, and feel a bit hurt looking back on that, as I compared circumstances. It wasn’t at all personal, though. We are each individuals having their own experience. Things aren’t always “about” us, even when we’ve centered ourself in our own experience, or lack understanding of some other. It feels a little unfair, but it’s not about that either.
I hear my Dad’s voice in my memory, “life isn’t fair,” he often said, not bemoaning the fact, just pointing it out. I guess that’s true… but “fair” is a helpful goal and “perspective” is a useful tool.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. Self-care is going to matter sooo much today. I’m starting the day tired, and the day ahead will be a busy one. I struggle to recall any tasks or errands I may have committed to beyond the work day. I feel certain there was something… but it evades my recollection. Fatigue reliably impairs my cognitive function before it really shows. I remind myself to slow down and be patient with myself, and to set clear, firm boundaries, and use expectation setting to support my practical limitations.
… I wish I didn’t have to work, but wishing is not an effective practice…
None of it is personal. Humans being human. Circumstances. Choices. Time and timing. I take another deep cold breath of the autumn air as daybreak creeps up on me. Chilly fingers yearn to find warmth and comfort in deeper pockets than these… and even the stupidity of tiny pockets on women’s clothing is an impersonal vexation. I let it go. I chuckle to myself; I let a lot of things go. I’m generally happier for it. Non-attachment is a powerful practice.
I sigh and watch the clouds overhead, shifting and roiling across the sky. It’s already time to begin again. I’ll do my best.
It is evening. Just at the moment, I am finding myself in a very “why do I even bother?”, and also a very “you know what, just fuck all of this nonsense” kind of place. I know it will pass. I’m not in a good place in this moment, but change is, and moments don’t last. I’m rarely this coldly angry about anything, it’s not my way to let stuff get that bad without doing something about it, so when it does happen, I’m sometimes taken by surprise and not equipped to handle it. Not this moment. I saw potential for it in a change to my medication. Things have been okay for most values of okay, but I’ve been predictably moody, and a bit blue. I’m irritable and struggling to be kind or approachable. I’m also dealing with it, and I’ve done pretty well with that. I’m just right on the absolute edge of my last nerve.
It’ll pass.
I finish getting ready for bed. It’s not late, but I’d like to begin again, with a whole new day. I move things around and set up a cozy meditation space. I breathe, exhale, and relax… We become what we practice. My results vary. I guess I need more practice…no surprise there, really, that’s the whole point of viewing things through a lens of practical practices in the first place; it’s never finished work, and there is room to do better over time.
A full moon, a new day ahead.
I woke ahead of the alarm. Some noise, undefined, unrecognized, but enough to rouse me, pulled me from a sound restful sleep. I dress and head out and reach the trailhead early enough to see the full moon, a lovely pearl against the velvet of the night sky. I try to get a picture, but it’s a wasted effort. Even with a better camera, no picture I would take could equal the haunting beauty of the full moon on an autumn morning. I enjoy the sight while I lace up my boots and put on my headlamp.
… Yesterday’s moodiness seems to be behind me, now…
The work day ahead is… just a work day. My new normal. It’s fine. I’m prepared (although I did try to leave the house this morning without my laptop! 😆) I take a moment to appreciate that I didn’t actually forget it, or have to turn back for it in any significant way. I noticed just as I was leaving the house. Win. It’s a small thing, but still worth appreciating.
As I walk a fox darts across the trail ahead. I stop, astonished. I don’t recall that a fox would be any sort of threat, it’s just unusual to see one, here. It was definitely not a coyote or a dog. I walk on, to my halfway point and sit writing. Chilly morning. Beautiful moon. A new day, and another chance to be my best self. I failed on that endeavor yesterday, but not my worst, either. It was okay for most values of okay, and that’ll have to be enough. I can do better today.
I take time for meditation. I watch the moon setting slowly. I get ready to begin again.
I reached the trail before daybreak. I walked down the path in the darkness, the bobbing half circle of light cast by my headlamp lighting the way ahead of me, but obscuring anything I might have seen beyond that bit of light. I consider that metaphorically for some distance, until my thoughts wander on.
Daybreak, and a new day.
By the time I get to my halfway point on the trail, I am thinking about the many “versions” of “myself” I have been over a lifetime. Each of the many jobs, addresses, relationships, traumas, and triumphs, have left their mark on the woman I am today. Steps on a path. A journey that is its own destination. I find myself asking some questions as I reflect on my life and the changing context(s) in which I have lived it. I think about the “here and now”, and the changes that brought me to this point.
In what version of myself have I been happiest, most often?
In what version did I most respect myself?
In what version did I enjoy the greatest sense of consistency between my values and my actions?
In what version did I seem to be most likeable?
In what version was I most likely to compromise my values for personal gain?
In what version was I villain, hero, or “NPC” in my life?
Are there versions of me that I regret so thoroughly that I am ashamed of the person I was?
How do I hold on to the best bits of all of the many versions of the woman in the mirror, and discard the worst, to become truly the woman I most want to be? (And is that version truly worthy of the effort required?)
I find self-reflection a worthwhile practice. I sit with my thoughts, listening to the sounds of an autumn morning between marsh ponds and meadow, breathing the chilly air carrying the scents of fall flowers and some hint of…mildew? It is a gray morning. The sky lightens slowly revealing a cloudy sky. The threat of rain exists in the scents on the mild breeze, and also in my arthritis pain.
The pain is annoying. I think (and write) about it too much, probably. It sometimes feels inescapable.
My Traveling Partner and I both deal with chronic pain. I do my best to manage my pain. When we’re hanging out, in pain, we each do what we can to take care of ourselves and each other. Our efforts are not reliably successful. Last night was difficult. I’d find some position in which my pain was lessened, and hold myself rigidly trying to hold on to that bit of improved comfort. He perceived it as “tension”, which I guess it was, in a sense. My tension is uncomfortable to be around, for him. He wants to help if he can (but he can’t really, it’s not that sort of thing).
His experience of pain had him squirming in my periphery, trying to get more comfortable, which I find uncomfortable to be around. I’d very much like to help, if I could (but I can’t really, it’s not that sort of thing). We do our best to be kind to each other, compassionate, empathetic without fusing with the experience of our beloved partner. It’s difficult. Pain “shrinks our world” and we’re sometimes terse with each other, when it’s actually the pain itself that is annoying us.
We ultimately ended the evening early, withdrawing to separate spaces to seek some kind of relief, if only from dealing with each other’s pain on top of our own. Seems a harsh and rather isolating approach to take, but it’s probably better than hurting each other’s feelings or taking out our discomfort on the person we love most.
I didn’t sleep well. Pain, again. I struggled with falling asleep, and once I had, I was awakened multiple times by one noise or another, or light, or the sound of angry voices, but each time I woke, the room was dark, and the house was quiet. It was weird. I woke abruptly, around 02:00, feeling a sense that “something wasn’t right”, but again all was apparently well and quiet. I returned to sleep and dreamt that I was awake… really thought I was, until my artificial sunrise woke me from a deep sleep. I had forgotten to turn it off for the weekend. I was still feeling groggy and a bit out of sorts even as I began my trek down the trail, some time later.
Saturday. No hurry, and there’s certainly ample time for self-reflection, and this is as good an opportunity than any – better than most. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I let my awareness of my pain recede into the background (for as long as I can). Daybreak becomes dawn, then daylight. I watch from my seat on this fence rail. A soft sprinkling of rain falls briefly.
I sigh to myself, suddenly missing old friends far away, and yearning to sit down over coffee and conversation. I’m momentarily overcome with a poignant feeling of nostalgia… Annapolis… Killeen… Monterey… Augsburg… Fresno… Times and people, long ago and far away. My eyes tear up a bit. The moment passes. My thoughts move on.
It begins to rain softly. I look down the path toward other places and new experiences. I admit to myself with some reluctance that it must be time to begin again… and I get to my feet, and walk on.
I am staring at this blank page. Have been for a few minutes, since I reached my halfway point on the trail this morning. Words are not coming easily this morning. Too much that I could write about, very little that I want to write about.
I could write about difficult conversations… We all have them now and then, and… I’m already not really feeling like saying more. I mean, having the hard conversations really matters, and having them from a kind and well-intentioned perspective is generally a good approach. What else is there to say?
I could write about how convincingly complex scams can be, and encourage you to protect yourself. This too, in spite of how much it could matter, isn’t anything I really feel like throwing more words at this morning.
I could write about the critical importance of good manners, kindness, and consideration, even within our most intimate relationships… But it seems a little obvious. Too obvious to be said, again.
I could write about work, life, art, gardening – I could use some recent moment as an example or as a metaphor. I just don’t feel like it, just now. My mind wanders and I am more inclined to simply enjoy this moment, here. On the horizon, in the distance, hot air balloons rise as shadowy shapes against the pale peach and tangerine hues of the morning sky.
Oaks along the trail
I breathe, exhale, and relax. The morning is a chilly one. I am comfortably warm in a favorite heavy sweater. A mist is rising from the lowlands of the marsh as the sun rises on the eastern horizon. This morning this moment is my entire world – at least for now. It’s enough. I sit quietly watching the sunrise.
My tinnitus fills my awareness. I breathe, exhale, and let that go, turning my attention willfully to other sounds. “Pay no attention to the sounds that aren’t there.” I remind myself. A crow lands on the fence rail next to me, fairly close. He steps back and forth, looking me over before loudly exclaiming something in a language I don’t understand and then taking flight. The clouds over head take on mother of pearl hues, baby blue, seashell pink, it’s quite beautiful, but I don’t manage to get a picture that shows what my eyes see. So much color! I sigh to myself and give up trying, and instead just enjoy the sight. That’s enough.
My eyelids feel heavy. My back aches. I think I could happily curl up in a soft blanket and nap for awhile… but this is neither the time nor the place for napping. My body and mind seem to plead with me to get some fucking rest, for real. I think about the things that must be done today… most of that could be done tomorrow with no great ill effects.
I sigh again as the sunrise becomes the start of a new day. I still don’t have much to say. I still want a nap. No idea what I’ll do with the day… But I know I’ll begin again, on the other end of this trail.
Evening Light 