Archives for category: inspiration

Here it is, the morning of All Saints Day, the Day of the Dead in some traditions. The wind blows fiercely, wuthering and howling past the car, and rocking it as it blows past. Autumn leaves fall, blown sideways they gather in drifts against curbs and embankments. The sturdy oaks sway stiffly in the wind. Even in the predawn darkness, I see their shapes tossing to and fro against the backdrop of the pale stormy sky illuminated from below.

I stepped out of the car at the trailhead, and was almost knocked off my feet by the wind. The everyday challenges of life seem far away and insignificant right now; there’s this wind to deal with first. My hair is lifted, tossed, and tangled by the wind. It pushes me to the side of the trail, as if each new gust seeks to push me into the marsh, or off the edge of the bank into the lake. The wind howls through the trees, insistent. Then it begins to rain. First a sprinkle, then a downpour.

I’m nearer to the photographer’s blind than I am to my usual halfway point. I’m grateful to find it unlocked. The trailhead parking is farther on, and I’d have been soaked to the skin trying to make it back up the trail, blinded by the wind-driven rain. Inside the blind I’m sheltered. It’s quite noisy. The blind is a small box-shape constructed of wood. Some effort to camouflage it has also served to make it mostly safe from the rain. There’s no floor, but a small crate serves as a seat. The view of the marsh and the small lake and ponds that dot it is very good, with views of east and west. No windows, really, just openings covered by hinged drop down panels that can be propped open, for a photographer’s convenience. With the wind blowing the rain about so wildly, I open only one, and only about halfway, letting the rain drip off of it. Very little rain makes it into the blind, although the dirt floor manages to be soft and a little muddy, anyway.

I sigh contentedly. I enjoy the sound of the rain on the wood roof of the photographer’s blind. Daybreak soon. I listen for a break in the rain, without being stressed over time or progress. It’s quite early and I have no reason to hurry. After my walk, my Saturday routine will take me to the grocery store, and I’ll run any other errands on the way home, after that. Very ordinary, “nothing to see here”, and I smile to myself. I have lived through some exciting times. I’ll take ordinary, and embrace and enjoy it. There is plenty of joy and satisfaction to be found in life’s ordinary moments. I’m not chasing adventure. It’s not any lack of enthusiasm for new experiences or fear of the unknown, I just personally think excitement, generally, is overvalued. I’m rarely bored as an individual, and any time I might seem to be facing boredom, I quickly move on to… something. There’s always something. It’s a big world and the menu in The Strange Diner is vast and full of options.

Daybreak comes. The rain falls as a dense misty curtain, obscuring the view of the marsh. I see the trees more clearly, tossing wildly in the wind. Stormy morning. I sigh, resigned to a very rainy walk back to the trailhead. Not yet, though.

A fluffy mass tucked against the corner of a narrow “shelf”, created by the exposed interior 2 x 4s which the blind is built from, shifts as if alive, and I see that I’m not alone here. Some small mammal has built its nest inside the blind. Field mice maybe? I scooch back a bit and watch without making any move to disturb the nest. The sky outside is now a dirty looking gray. “Sunrise” has come, colorless and subtle, revealed only by the view taking on more detail. It barely counts as “daylight”.

… Stormy weather…

The rain slows to a sprinkle. I’m not expecting that to last and quickly plan my exit and the shortest route to the parking, and get to my feet as I exit the blind. It’s clearly time to get out of the marsh. The path is partly covered in rainwater – or is this the lake beginning to rise beyond the bank? In either case, it’s time to begin again.

As I cross the marsh, I think I see someone else on the trail, in spite of the rain… but I quickly lose sight of them, and find myself wondering if they were ever even there… It is, after all, the Day of the Dead, and life is full of mysteries.

I’m feeling better. I wake up ahead of my alarm, but a glance at the time and I realize I’ve also slept in, having left my alarm reset for a later time from yesterday. Win? I enjoy waking up without an alarm. I also enjoy sleeping in. It’s a small thing, but a nice start to the day.

I don’t bother looking at the news. I can easily manage the day without alarmist bullshit (that hasn’t factually changed in days) generated by the media outrage machinery (now with AI slop). Not now. Not this morning. Not today. I think I’ll begin the weekend without that.

I set off down the trail in the predawn darkness, feeling merry.

Every journey begins somewhere. Sometimes we take our first step on a new path in the dark.

My steps crunch along the paved section of the trail as I trod the fallen leaves. The path is dry this morning. The darkness is chilly. A cold autumn morning, this morning; I’m grateful for my heavy sweater and my fleece over that. It’s about time to consider pulling my gloves, scarf, and knitted hat from my gear bin in the back of the car. I grin to myself feeling the satisfaction of being prepared. Life doesn’t always make being prepared particularly convenient or easy, but at least I can be ready for the weather.

I take a seat at my halfway point. The bench is cold beneath me. I begin to feel the chill straight away. Winter is coming.

I think about recent conversations with my Traveling Partner about what is within our control as individuals, and perspective for managing stress. He makes it clear how deeply he cares for me; it truly matters to my beloved that I have every possible tool to manage my anxiety and PTSD readily at hand. I feel grateful for this partnership and very fortunate to be so loved.

My first husband wanted to possess me, like a trinket or a Barbie doll. My next significant long-term relationship was different; he wanted to control me, as though I were a puppet or a sex doll. A third (and my shortest) long-term partner only wanted to use me and take what I had. My Traveling Partner loves me, and wants to enjoy me as a person, as a woman, a friend, and a partner. It feels very different. I sit with my love and gratitude for some little while. Feeling my breath, in… out…, in… out…, The moment feels splendidly indefinite. I prolong my joy simply by savoring the feeling itself. Nothing complicated. I hold my focus on this quiet joy and feeling of being loved, and sit with it awhile. It is a pleasant start to this Friday morning.

I think about friends, both near and far away. I’m fortunate to have a handful of really good friends of the sort I could count on if things were dire. I’ve got quite a few more that I wouldn’t want to impose upon, but can count on for a great time together most any occasion. I think about dear friends awhile longer. I don’t see them enough. I think about what it takes to change that.

My Traveling Partner pings me a good morning greeting, and my plan for the day shifts to account for things he also needs out of the day. I look at the time and get to my feet. It’s already time to begin again.

… This just in from The Department of The Map Is Not The World, and endorsed by The Society for Unnecessary Complications, I find myself waiting for the university library to open, working from my laptop, in the parking lot, instead of working from home. Not sure it’s tale-worthy at all, just saying, may as well go ahead and embrace impermanence and get started practicing non-attachment. Our plans don’t always work out. Our results may vary. Now it’s definitely time to begin again, again, and work on salvaging the day. It’s fine, I’ve just got to be adaptable and resilient. I practice all the time, and we do become what we practice.

Each day as I begin the work day, I make a short list of my highest priorities. It’s generally a combination of items from the team’s project board, and items I have tagged for later from emailed requests and things communicated over messaging apps. Easy. My list is intended to help me focus. I follow a similar practice on weekend days, and on vacations. I make a list. I get things done. I check them off the list. This is a practice intended to limit distractions, and keep me focused on the things I want most to accomplish on a given day. Seems simple enough, and over a lifetime of practice (with making lists), it has generally served me well…only… there are some exceptions.

… When the list is too long, I sometimes find myself stalled, feeling overwhelmed. I don’t end up getting much done, at all.

… When the items on the list are poorly chosen in some way, I sometimes feel as if I’ve “gotten nothing done” that needed doing, in spite of possibly having worked down the list quite efficiently. I may have gotten things done, but the things I got done weren’t what most needed my attention that day.

… When I become distracted in the moment by some conversation or task that seems more interesting, I sometimes find that I’ve entirely failed to get the things I had identified as important completed at all. Maybe I still get things done, but likely not the things I intended to focus on.

I guess my point is that making a list isn’t enough. There’s a measure of discipline involved in staying focused on priorities identified in advance. There’s a matter of will (even just to keep going at all some days). Then, too, there’s the matter of boundary setting and preserving capacity to do the things that most want doing, and limiting distractions by maintaining strict focus on the task(s) at hand. There’s just more to it than a list.

Yesterday, my day quickly skittered sideways. This morning, my plan as I begin the day is quite precisely what it also was yesterday, because yesterday the items on my list sat untouched and unnoticed all g’damned day. I’m more than a little irritated with myself. I breathe, exhale, and relax. Wasting time being annoyed by a moment in the past that can not be changed in the present is pretty silly and pointless. I made choices. Like it or not, that was in my hands, entirely. This morning, I have a new day ahead of me, and a new opportunity to work down yesterday’s list – all of which is now ever so slightly higher priority even than it was yesterday. lol I sigh to myself and look over my plan for the day. I’ve got this – if I stay focused, and work with purpose.

…Discipline is a practice…

Funny thing, the discipline I bring to simply working down a list of projects and tasks on a work day is the same discipline I may need to fall back on in some moment of chaos. Practicing that discipline is multipurpose: it gets work done today, in the moment, and also builds both resilience and further discipline for those moments ahead when I may earnestly need (and value, and benefit from) that long-practiced discipline. Handy. Here’s the thing, though, we become what we practice. If I fail to continue to practice that small amount of discipline it takes to stay focused on a selected priority on a given day, over time my ability to be disciplined, at all, ever, will diminish, until I find that I lack the discipline to follow a list, to stick with a commitment, to complete a project that needs to be finished but isn’t very interesting, to run errands purposefully without detours, or even to answer a simple question with a simple answer. Fuck. Being human is complicated sometimes.

…Have you noticed that you have less discipline, yourself, since you began using a smart phone, or relying on Alexa, or using an LLM like ChatGPT, or spending hours on one feed or another that pumps mindless repetitive slop into your staring eyes? I’m asking because it definitely seems like a common complaint these days, and I feel it myself. I personally don’t have the attention span to waste. I have so much to do, and so much life to live. I’m thinking about it this morning, because I’d like to avoid repeating yesterday’s reduced productivity, today, and that list of shit to do? It’s only going to get longer if I fall behind. Another common complaint is that it’s a busy world, but a considerable portion of what we think we’re busy with is entirely a waste of precious mortal moments. (That is something worth thinking about – are you spending your time the way you want to?)

That’s an entirely different question. I put it aside for another morning.

I’m not even sure, right now, what it is I do want to be doing. Probably not working. I’d like to take off for a few days on the coast to watch the king tides from the balcony of a beachside hotel, or pick a highway and drive for days until the view is so substantially altered it feels truly new. I’m not so deeply fatigued as I have been (it helped to take it easy for a couple days over the weekend), but I yearn for… something. Something new? Something different? Something… effortless? Something distracting. I laugh to myself; human primates reliably make a lot of their own problems, and then seem to complicate those problems quite deliberately. So weird.

I sip my iced coffee and think my thoughts. Making my plan for today was pretty easy; I copied it from yesterday, and then set myself an alarm. When that alarm goes off, I will get to work. One task, one project, one experience at a time, until the list is completed, and the day is at an end. It’s not fancy. There’s nothing mind-blowing about this approach. No novel buzzwords to market it with, it is what it is; discipline, and it requires practice. I sigh again in this quiet space. No distractions or interruptions to be found here. I think that makes it a good time to begin again. 😀

Metaphorically or in life, sometimes it is going to rain. Pretty much a certainty, actually, that at some point we’re going to get rained on as we journey life’s path. lol This morning the rain is quite literal. The weather forecast suggests it will lighten up enough to enjoy my walk sometime very soon, so I take a few minutes to write, and wait.

…I won’t be writing on the trail this morning, too wet…

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I slept well, and took yesterday pretty easy. I’m glad I did, and I am grateful to have had my Traveling Partner’s encouragement. I feel more rested, and my body feels more recovered from the previous week. It’s quite nice to take the weekend off for real, instead of swapping one sort of work for another.

Don’t forget to take breaks! Make that time for yourself even when life feels “too busy”. This fragile vessel needs that care from us, even while we’re caring for others. These finite mortal lives deserve our attention. The payoff is worth it.

I sigh contentedly, listening to the rain and watching daybreak come. I even slept in this morning. Feels good. I feel good. Another day of luxurious rest, and I’ll definitely be ready to begin again. 😀 I hear the raindrops slow down, and stop… I’m ready.

Sometimes life feels easy. Mostly life does not feel easy, at all (for me). Stress comes and goes. Uncertainty. Doubt. Worry over this or that new challenge. Circumstances that are a poor fit for the life we want to live. It’s not always a money thing. Sometimes it is. It’s not always about trauma, chaos, and damage. Sometimes it is. One thing I’m pretty clear on, these days; we’re each having our own experience, colored by our expectations and assumptions, filtered through our experiences, and understood using an internal dictionary it is highly likely no one else really shares. We bitch about left and right, about right and wrong, ignoring the likelihood that whoever is listening means something a bit different by those terms than we do, ourselves. We default to speaking in sound bites and slogans, even when we know how empty those may be. Human primates are weird. We treat each other poorly, even though our relationships with each other are the single most important thing about our individual experiences.

I sigh to myself. I’m in the co-work space getting settled in to begin the work day. The commute into the office was easy to the point of being surreal; I hit all the traffic signals along the way green, and there was never a car ahead of me going slower than I was, nor anyone creeping up on me from behind wanting to go faster. I hope the entire day feels like that. Seems unlikely; I slept poorly, and I’m already feeling signs of fatigue (or, perhaps, not quite fully awake, yet).

If someone asked me, right now, how I’m doing, I would say “not bad”, and the realization that such a conversation would go that way makes me roll my eyes and sigh softly with some measure of impatience and frustration. That sort of negative turn of phrase suits me, creatively, but isn’t ideal for communication. It was one of the first things my Traveling Partner ever asked me to consider changing, when we were getting to know each other. Hilariously, I misunderstood that request so thoroughly, I proceeded down a path of personal growth that wasn’t the intention, and became someone far more positive in general than I’d ever been previously. I have no comment whether this is – or was – a change for the better. I suppose, probably, and I am more content and joyful in life, but I don’t know that there is a causal relationship between that change and this experience. It’s just an interesting, mildly amusing recollection, as I start my day.

…I’m tired, and my mind wanders…

No walk this morning. Maybe later? It is a lovely autumn morning, and daybreak is just beginning. I smile and stretch, and think about recent other walks, and other mornings.

The colors of fall inspire me, and I think about paintings I have not yet painted.

I think about walking my path, as a metaphor for progress, growth, and forward momentum – changes over time, step by step, along a journey without a map. This life thing has so many options, choices, and “side quests”, it is sometimes difficult to imagine it as a single path. It twists, turns, and detours through experiences I hadn’t considered, or even imagined. The menu in The Strange Diner is vast.

I enjoy the routine of walking a familiar path, but change is often waiting for me somewhere along the way.

I find myself missing the library desk from which I most often work, these days. My “happy place” is not some fixed point of geography. It is my office & studio at home. It is in my garden. It is on the trail at dawn, watching the sun rise. It is in a quiet moment with my Traveling Partner. It is in a library, perhaps most of all. The library was one of the first places where I felt truly safe, surrounded by stacks of books, and rows of shelves, the air still and quiet and smelling of… history? Smelling of stories and narratives and the printed word, and seeming almost infinitely grand and somehow limitless. I love libraries. Small libraries in modest homes, big university libraries, legendary libraries that have stood the test of time over actual centuries – they each have that “library quality”.

How can someone be bored, in a library, when every shelf holds unexplored knowledge and infinite adventure?

I let my mind wander awhile longer. I’m okay for most values of “okay”. It’s an ordinary work day, in a fairly ordinary life – and that’s entirely fine. It’s enough. I glance at the clock, and notice the time. I breathe, exhale, and relax, before I begin again.