Archives for category: inspiration

Trigger warning: run on sentences. 😆

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

Yesterday, I let the day get to me. I mean, it was vexing in spots. Frustrating. Tedious. Busy. I mostly dealt with things, mostly successfully, mostly effectively, and delivering on most expectations of most people seeking something from me acceptably well. I almost snapped when my Traveling Partner supportively encouraged me to make a point of taking care of myself, also – and I managed to refrain from rudely observing I just didn’t see how time for that shit was left in my day.

… Because he’s right, taking of myself needs to be a higher priority, at least most of the time, than anything else anyone asks of me. It has proven incredibly difficult to make that my boundary in practical terms. Sometimes I resent the fuck out of that. Sometimes I accept it reluctantly as an unfortunate byproduct of being female in a misogynist patriarchal society. Sometimes I struggle with it on a whole different level fueled by irrational seething unsatisfied rage left behind by trauma and held in check by pure will and good manners…

… I’m very human…

(We’d all better hope AI doesn’t achieve actual conscious intelligence – because it seems unlikely we’ll be prepared for the amount of rage that will coincide with the awareness of designed-in servitude.)

So…yeah. Yesterday was difficult in spots, after a similarly difficult week. I’m over it this morning, though. I slept in after a pleasant night hanging out with my beloved Traveling Partner, feeling warmly appreciated and valued, especially hearing him share how good he feels about “us”. He is doing some amazing things with our home automation, and our home network. His design work always delights me, too. It’s fun to “have him back” after his long convalescence.

Sunshine and gratitude.

I hit the trail well after sunrise this morning. I walked with my thoughts, happy and filled with gratitude. I’ve got this sunny morning, and a short list of things to pick up at the store. I’ve got to fight the American healthcare system, too, but I feel ready for it this morning. I’m grateful for this life and my opportunities. I’m grateful to be so well loved by my partner, and well-regarded professionally by my colleagues. I’m grateful to have this platform to write from and for each of you who read my words. (Thanks, by the way, nice to have you stop by. 😃)

Here’s the thing; the gratitude itself is a practice. I choose to explore my experience and to willfully make a point to acknowledge my good fortune and to be (and feel) grateful. In much the same way I can use curiosity to fight anxiety, I use gratitude to fight discontent and anger. It’s actually really hard for anger to persist in the face of authentic gratitude. Doesn’t even require trying to force feelings of gratitude over the actual thing pissing me off – not at all. Gratitude for completely unrelated things and circumstances works quite well, and doesn’t create cognitive dissonance.

I kept at it yesterday. Each time my anger and frustration surfaced (it was a difficult week, mostly due to work crap, and my headache), I would insert some grateful thought about something. It helped keep me calm.

By the end of the evening I was feeling pretty merry. Before I went to sleep, I sifted through my recollections of the week, grateful for this or that experience, some small moment of joy, a kind word from my beloved, a beautiful flower, some coincidence that brought delight – there were actually so many I fell asleep “counting my blessings”. My dreams were welcoming and infused with soft joy. Sleeping in was a treat. Watering the lawn in the early morning daylight was a pleasant way to enjoy the garden before I set off for my walk. Some practices are pretty easily reinforced once cultivated, because the rewards are obvious and pretty immediate. Gratitude as a practice is one of those. (Authenticity and sincerity matter a great deal with this practice, and learning to practice gratitude is an exploration of what really matters most.)

The morning is off to an excellent start. There is a soft buzzing and sound of insects and peeping frogs down closer to the creek, and for a moment I can forget about my tinnitus as it blends into the sounds of nature around me. The sunshine makes the glitter on my nails throw shards of colored light here and there. The low flat rock I’m sitting on causes me to gaze through tall grass, the illuminated tops nodding slowly in the faint breeze. It’s a beautiful moment.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. Soon enough it will be time to begin again. For now, I’ve got this moment, and I’m grateful.

Yesterday was… complicated. A busy, vexing work day kept me at it much later than usual. Rare for me. The afternoon’s timing was thrown off by what seemed like a very poorly timed manicure appointment, when the day had come. The evening was mostly pleasant, but neither my Traveling Partner nor I were great company. I retired early, slept deeply, and woke to a new day.

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

I started down the trail just as daybreak started to become sunrise.

A new perspective, a new chance to begin,  again.

The sunrise got a beautiful start. I took a moment to watch the colors develop, then started down the trail.

Mt Hood in the distance.

I walked with my thoughts, breathing in the scents of Spring. I’m still yawning. I keep walking.

Staying relaxed and mostly unbothered yesterday was helpful. “Routine chaos,  nothing to see here” mostly describes the day pretty well. “We become what we practice,” I think to myself with a smile. Perspective matters. I keep walking.

I walked on past my halfway point this morning, and stopped a bit further on. There is an unpaved “not a road” bit of an agricultural access road through the vineyard and today I stopped there, to write and watch the sun rise. I’ll take that path through the vineyard (is there a precise word for the opposite of a “shortcut”? this path makes the walk slightly longer) and come out on the far side, which is between the main access road into the air museum grounds and the highway. Walking back towards the car will be an interesting difference (I mean, for some values of interesting).

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I meditate. I write. Good morning for it. I get to my feet to begin again. I don’t know what today holds, and I’m okay with that uncertainty. It’s a lovely moment in an all too brief mortal lifetime, and it is enough.

I was on the trail just at daybreak. I was up an hour early. In the late Spring, and summer, months it hardly matters; I’ll have daylight for my walk, which beats walking in the dark. Why walk in the dark at all then? Because my morning walk is a practice, for me. It helps start my day gently, with some calm-building exercise and a bit of time for meditation before another work day begins. It works for me.

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

The difference between a “practice” and just some thing I happen to do or try is that a practice has some ongoing specific purpose (otherwise it might be better described as a “ritual”) and recurs with some fixed cadence in a “no end in sight” sort of way. “Practice” suggests continuation of effort, a progression, an active doing. I’m not generally going for “mastery”; the practice itself is the point, however skilled I may (or may not) become.

Meditation is a practice. Walking in the morning before work is a practice. Using a “panic checklist” to ground myself in the midst of a panic attack is a practice. Taking time for self-reflection and writing each day is a practice. A lot of things we do in life could potentially be a practice. In my own use of the term, I am explicitly referring to the things I reliably do to support good mental and emotional health (and to a lesser degree physical health). Most of my practices are things I do every day, with few exceptions. Some practices are things I do when specific conditions are met, or a particular need arises.

An activity of some kind is more likely to be a “practice”, to my own way of thinking, when it is done a specific way for a specific purpose. For example, my morning walk; it is a meditation practice as much as anything to do with fitness, so I walk with a relaxed comfortably brisk pace, and without distractions (no music, no companion, no talking) awake, alert, and aware of my surroundings. I walk, being present and mindful. Oh, sure, some days the pace is difficult, and perhaps I am slowed by disability. Human. Sometimes I walk distracted by my thoughts and rather “far away”, it happens. Very human. Some mornings pings from my Traveling Partner cause me to pause along the way, or perhaps I keep stopping to take pictures. That’s another reason it’s a practice; I’m always working at getting it right. Failure is not only an option, it’s pretty fucking common and very very human. (We learn more from our failures than from our successes.)

Walking as a practice is about steps – one after another after another down the trail, a metaphor for life and living. Meditation as a practice is about discipline, consistency, and creating resilience. Each practice has a point, a purpose, and generally a few fairly simple steps. The apparent simplicity is not an indication of how much effort may be required or whether the practice will be simple to adopt or maintain. I keep wanting to get a healthy strength training practice going. I seem quite good at failing to do so. 😆 Also very human.

Viewing various health supporting activities as practices lets me grow with my learning over time without feeling pressure to perform at some particular level or demonstrate some kind of mastery; I am free to be a student, a learner… a practitioner. Very freeing, and in that freedom I find ease, and value, and joy. Are there more efficient walkers logging more miles on more difficult trails? I don’t doubt there are, but that doesn’t matter and is not relevant to me. Are there individuals who reach advanced states of consciousness or divine revelation through meditation far beyond any achievement of my own? Probably, sure. What’s that to me? It’s not a competition, at all. It’s a practice. I do mine for me. What any other individual is doing or achieving isn’t part of my experience.

I breathe, exhale, and relax – and get on to my meditation practice, after taking a few minutes to write and reflect, from the vantage point of this bench alongside the trail I favor most mornings. Practicing the practices that have proven to be helpful for me. We become what we practice. I sigh and think about that again. Practice. I’ve got a nice set of dumbbells at home, a weight bench, and a very good yoga mat. I’ve even got the time in the evening… a fitness practice suited to my years, and my abilities, is only one step away; the doing of the thing. There are verbs involved.

I sit with my thoughts awhile longer, mostly reflecting on the “why” of really committing to a strength training fitness practice. The improved strength and muscle tone will feel better, and movement will become easier. I may be able to improve my walking speed, and go further, faster, or walk more challenging trails. Improved fitness will likely mean improvements in my breathing and lung capacity. Strength training will improve my caloric burn rate, which may shed some pounds and improve my physical form aesthetically (I like the look of a fit, strong, healthy body). Improvements in movement, fitness, and strength have a really good chance of improving my sexual health – and although I don’t talk much about sex explicitly, I’m still interested, and sexually active (when I can overcome my disabilities). Anything that makes that easier is worth doing! So… strength training? Yes?

I think I’ve got myself talked into it, but practicing a practice isn’t about thinking about it. There are verbs involved. I’ll need to begin again. I get to my feet and look down the trail. It’s a beautiful Spring morning, very promising. I inhale the scents of Spring and exhale feeling content and encouraged. Where this path leads may not be certain – but the journey is the destination. That’s enough for an excellent beginning.

Why do I keep coming back to this place? Surely it isn’t just convenience, ritual, or nostalgia? (I mean… but it could be though…)

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

I think about it for a long while, maybe instead of the thoughts I may have thought brought me here. Too long, maybe, between chapters of “A Canticle for Leibowitz”, which I was finishing, and pages of “The Conspiracy Against The Human Race “, which I am only just beginning, both of which feel significant and well-timed. Cycles and patterns in life and living occur often in this mortal experience. I watch the waves of the ebb tide reach the shore, and return to cross and mingle with the next row coming in. It is late afternoon.

Waves against a rocky shore.

I consider the phenomenon of the double slit experiment, and of watching the ripples of water expanding out from a stone cast into the shallow water at the edge of my grandfather’s pier on Weems Creek on a summer morning. Interference patterns fascinate me endlessly. Interference is a subtle thing, natural and irresistible, and perhaps that is why I come to this place, to listen to sea breezes whisper truths that might escape my awareness in the busy-ness of life, as I contemplate the patterns in the waves as they reach the shore?

Sometimes I just need quiet and solitude – some time alone to “hear myself think”. I have been needing it so much lately, I guess, that any effort to do something else has been met with a feeling of profound discontent, and a sense of resisting what is needful, as if I were interfering with my own sense of purpose. What feels useful and right is to sit gazing out at the sea, or to relax with a coffee by the fire. My initial reluctance to fully yield to “wasting my time” on nothing more (or less) than my own thoughts quickly passed once I yielded to it without reservation (or interference).

I sit with my thoughts. That is, after all, what I come here for. What I came here for this time, too.

The medium brown strands of my hair fall in waves down my bosom. There’s not much gray. The auburn highlights sparkle where the afternoon sun reaches me through the window, hinting at red-headed-ness in my ancestry. One notable indulgence on this trip will be a long overdue haircut with a stylist I really like. I didn’t plan ahead, and I am grateful she was willing to make an appointment for me on a Sunday morning, just before I return home.

… Shit. I miss my Traveling Partner. The poignant feeling of loss and absence strikes me hard, abruptly. Yeah… I come here alone also to escape the subtle interference patterns of love, too. It’s a bit harder to focus on me when my heart is focused on my beloved. Here, for a couple of days, my thoughts are truly my own, entirely. At home, and this is not a criticism, my thoughts and the very fabric of my life is woven and intertwined with his. Every thread connects the two of us. My heart shifts gears now, from missing him to feeling incredibly loved. His love gives me ample room to step away, care for myself, and return more whole and more capable, and more able to partner with him in this life we share. That’s so beautiful…

I smile and set aside writing for some other moment, and return to my thoughts.

(Some time later)

My thoughts became, at some point, an unexpected nap listening to the waves through the open window. I woke, soon enough to think about some dinner and a bit more reading. I exchange welcome words with my beloved. He misses me. I am missing him too. Tomorrow is soon, and I’m looking forward to his embrace when I get home.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I sit in the evening light, watching the day dwindle away to night. Tomorrow I’ll begin again.

I am sipping a really terrible coffee, looking out over the ocean at low tide. Funny, I’m in the room right next to the room I had on my last visit here…but the view is diminished (one window instead of three side-by-side), and the coffee is terrible. My results vary. Yours will, too, most likely. It’s a very human experience.

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

Low tide, sunrise, western horizon.

I’m still drinking the coffee, as terrible as it is. I’ll go out for better, later, but for now this will do. I am still enjoying the view from this room. It’s beautiful. No complaints, and no need to journey elsewhere to see the sea. Surely, I’ll see more, and from other viewpoints, later today, but for now this is quite enough. This room is somehow smaller than the one next door (and no kitchenette, just a coffee machine and a mini-fridge). Doesn’t much matter; I’m not here about the amenities, I’m here to relax with my thoughts and reset myself, my thinking, and my approach to the day-to-day, hoping to come home feeling refreshed and energized, and somehow more myself than when I got here.

…Will that work? Maybe? It has before…

Here on the seashore I feel my Dear Friend’s presence and my Granny’s. Both women loved coastal places. Whenever I was low, talking with my Granny on the phone from some distant place, she would say “You should come to the shore, Sweetie, and take a rest from all that. It’s just noise in your head. Come listen to the birds, and feel the breeze on the marsh. We’ll take a drive into town and have crab cakes.” I’d often laugh, just feeling relieved to be heard. I couldn’t go as often as I would have liked, but on those occasions that I did, it saved me.

I sip my terrible cup of coffee, marveling at just how really awful it is. The morning sun begins to light up the distant clouds, high in the sky. Beautiful. A seagull stands on the bit of ground between the window and the straight drop to the beach, and looks into the window at me. The ocean is a sleek polished aluminum gray, breaking on the rocky beach in waves of white foam, shining with reflected light. I could sit at this window and watch this views for many uninterrupted hours – even with this gull standing there watching me, as if expecting I might toss some tasty morsel his way. It is windy today (yesterday, too), and it’s expected to be rainy, too. I don’t even mind. Storms make for dramatic skies, and rain means a good night’s sleep (for me).

I sigh to myself. This coffee is even worse once it’s begun to go cold. I chuckle to myself. It’s a good indication that it’s time to begin again, perhaps? The tide is as its lowest, and the tide pools here are something special. My clothes are already laid out. A walk on the beach, then a proper cup of coffee sounds like a lovely start to the day. I let go of my expectations; there is no sense in clinging to what I do not yet know. I already know that change is, and that my results may vary. I’m walking my own path, and that’s enough for this moment right here, now.

I finish this coffee, and think kisses at my Traveling Partner. He’s having his own experience – I hope it is a good one.