Daybreak is just a faint pale smudge along the horizon. The moon hangs low on the western sky as it slowly sets. There’s very little traffic, it’s a Saturday morning and I am parked at a trailhead waiting for sufficient daylight to walk a favorite trail, again. Aside from the interruption by an occasional passing car, my tinnitus is the loudest thing I hear. It’s quiet this morning, and peaceful.
…Another car pulls into the parking lot, pulls up to the closed gate, then slowly drives to one of the few parking spaces outside the gate and parks. They are waiting, too. As the days grow longer it becomes more likely to see another person here, even at this early hour.
I sit with my thoughts, enjoying the quiet and waiting. I think about my garden plans for the weekend. The new roses have arrived. I hope to get them planted. Three of these honor my recently deceased dear friend, and love and friendship generally. I think she would have enjoyed my selections. I hope my planned placement is as pleasing as I think it will be.
The sky continues to lighten slowly. Looks like blue skies today. The local forecast is for warm Spring weather. A promising beginning. I think ahead to the day and weekend. Yesterday I was too tired to be much help to my Traveling Partner, but today I plan to be available to assist in some work stuff, if he needs me.
My trip to the coast is just days away, now. I’m eager to enjoy the deeper more prolonged quiet time. No agenda,Ā though I may bring my paints along. IĀ haven’t yet decided the most desirable means of “refilling my fuel tank”, this time. Maybe I will simply read and nap and walk on the beach?
A new day dawning, another opportunity to be the person I most want to be.
The park gate clangs open. It’s time to begin again.
I very nearly started this out as a reflection on having “only” one lifetime, but… I don’t actually know that with certainty, any more than anyone else does. Maybe there’s more? Maybe not. Won’t know until I’m “on the other side”, I suppose. What I do know is that I’m here, now, living this life, right here. Each individual day made up of so many individual moments – some of those truly “unique” (or at least, unique in my own experience), although many of them are quite similar to each other, as days and moments go, built on habits and routines and rituals and celebrations and things noticed along the way. I sip my coffee and think about this one lifetime, and what sorts of things I’d like to experience and fill my time with.
Daybreak and dawn have come and gone. The sun is up, somewhere beyond the dense gray of an overcast day. My coffee is… fine. It’s fine. Not great. Not bad. Just… coffee. Mostly gone, which seems fitting for the hour of the morning in which I find myself. Pleasant enough morning, if not especially interesting or adventure-filled – I’m fine with having an ordinary morning. Quiet. Productive. Undisturbed. Busy without being frantic. Calm. I’m neither joyful this morning nor somber, neither aggravated nor merry. I’m just here, being. It’s enough, isn’t it, most mornings?
Yesterday was an odd one. All day I felt rather as if some small portion of my brain never really woke up when I rose for the day. That feeling lingered well into the evening, and when I finally went to bed, I crashed out hard, immediately, no reading or lingering wakefully waiting for sleep. I woke this morning to the lights on full brightness; my artificial sunrise didn’t actually wake me up until I just happened to open my eyes as I turned over, and realized the room was fully light. I sat up confused and groggy, but that feeling passed quickly, and soon I was on my way to the office. Traffic seemed quite a bit heavier than usual, but it was just a byproduct of my somewhat different timing, which amounted to a “late start” compared to most recent mornings. The commute, like my morning coffee, was… fine. “Nothing to see here.” Just a drive to the office in the pre-dawn gloom.
Today? A new day, a new opportunity, a new series of moments to live in this one life. What will I do with them? Nothing much – for me – just work, at least for the next few hours. It would feel like tedious drudgery, but I like the job and the team I work with, and the day will pass quickly and likely have some entertaining moments to reflect on later. I’m eager to be home; the moments I spend with my Traveling Partner are some of the best I have in this life, at least over the past several years (and, I hope, the many yet to come). I miss him when we’re apart, in spite of my yearning for solitude now and then. Even when I am most eager to embrace some solitary moment or experience, he’s part of my thoughts, in my heart, and a notable feature of my emotional landscape. “The love of my life” is not an exaggeration; I can’t imagine feeling more strongly, deeply, affectionately about any one other human being. Sitting here with my nearly finished coffee, thinking about how much I think about my Traveling Partner, and what a big part of my experience he has become, my heart fills with love and a smile develops on my face that doesn’t make any sense. “Too much smiling!!” I think to myself, almost laughing. Fuck that man fills my heart with joy, just by existing. It’s nice. š
I sit thinking about things I enjoy doing, or experiencing, and ways to spend more time on those things, and less on things I dislike, or don’t get anything out of. Choices. There are so many choices. Too often I find myself choosing to undertake things that seem to “need” to be done, without really examining how true that actually is. Other times, I dodge doing the needful, in favor of doing something that is neither necessary, nor what I might actually want to be doing… just a thing being done that gets me out from under doing something “worse”, but having the unintended consequence of putting something far more pleasant, desirable, or necessary even further out of reach. Humans are weird.
I laugh and yawn, and rub my eyes. I could do better. Choose my actions with greater wisdom and discernment. Be more present and aware, more willful and studious about my decisions. I could undertake a few more verbs, and a little less sitting around, perhaps. I sigh and glance at the clock – it’s already time to begin again. The clock never stops ticking…
No one person can possibly know “all the things” there are to know. No one person can even know all the things that have accumulated in the body of documented human knowledge – it’s just too much for one person to hold onto within the confines of a single mind, and one lifetime. We’re born knowing basically nothing, and with a characteristic curiosity that leads us to quickly begin learning, and continue (if we don’t halt the process) throughout our lives. Some people eagerly embrace learning, and consume new knowledge from a variety of sources. Some people have to be prodded into learning, once some basics are learned that get them by in life. Some people furiously resist new knowledge, if there’s any chance it may unsettle what they already think they know. We’re interesting creatures, and there’s quite a bit of variation in our interest in knowledge, what we’re capable of learning, and what we choose to care about.
Life is very much an open book test, after a fashion. We each have the chance to address our own ignorance live, in real-time, through an almost ludicrous assortment of means and resources. Don’t know the answer to some question? Don’t have a solution to some problem? More than ever the fix could be as simple as “looking it up” – somewhere – or asking someone who knows (or thinks they do). What an incredible luxury to have so much stored knowledge available more or less on demand.
…Remember encyclopedias? I remember…
…Remember vast shelves of hardbound books with fine print, spanning floor-to-ceiling, row after row, almost having a visible “vanishing point” or horizon in huge elegant libraries populated with quiet folks, head-down, reading things? (They still exist… when was the last time you went to a library?) I used to go to the library all the time…
I’m sipping my coffee thinking about libraries, books, and knowledge, and all the many resources that exist for answering unanswered questions. I’m thinking about “lifelong learning” and the power of learning to “keep us young” (cognitively). It’s only just now daybreak, and the sunrise is still in the future by some small amount. Another sip of my coffee, and I find myself considering how easily an encyclopedia becomes “out of date” compared to the living body of knowledge stored on servers, on “the cloud”, and archived digitally. There was a time when a good encyclopedia was about as “state of the art” as stored knowledge got – compressed into smaller pieces, widely available as resource in most any library, it was where so many of us found information on some topic, person, or place when we needed it.
Now? Just “google it”… “Google” even became a verb for that activity of searching for something using a search engine online. LOL In spite of how much knowledge is so easily available, somehow we still haven’t eliminated misinformation, nor have we “learned all there is to know”, nor have we even mastered who and what we are as creatures, nor fully understood the world we live in. Wild. All that knowledge and we’re still ignorant primates muddling along adding to our available knowledge without being able to consume it all.
…I sit with my coffee and my thoughts, watching the sky slowly shift from darkness to shades of gray with a hint of blue, to something bluer and less gray, as the clock ticks away the moments until the sun rises…
After talking over my self-care needs and “where I’m at” with my Traveling Partner, I planned some downtime and reserved a room on the coast at a favorite (and inexpensive) spot with good views and easy beach access. It’ll be good to get some quiet time for myself listening to the wind and the waves, and watching the tide come and go – and only a week away! š I’m getting better at this self-care thing…
I watch the traffic on the streets below making the trip around the park block below the office window. It’s rather like some peculiar merry-go-round of commuter traffic as cars turn left on these one-way streets, looking for a choice parking spot. The street car also goes around this block, as it doubles-back to return the way it came, but a block over. Humans being human, in the machines they’ve created. I finish my coffee, contemplating what it means to be human in this moment. I guess it’s a good one to begin again…
I woke ahead of the alarm, this morning. I got going and headed up the highway a bit earlier than usual, enjoying the lack of traffic. I’d love to say I drove mindfully, fully present in the moment, but… it wouldn’t be true. My head was still in the garden, after delightful weekend hours planting and planning, and putting to good use the seed starters my Traveling Partner had 3D printed for me, for such crops as will be planted later, in warmer weather.
2 of 4 seed starter sets (translucent covers not pictured), with re-usable inserts that separate into two sections for easy removal of tender seedlings for planting.
Much of the drive this morning was spent entirely in my own head, having imagined conversations with family and friends no longer available in life for such conversations, at all. I miss sharing the details of the garden and gardening with my Dad, with my Granny, with my dear friend… It’s okay, I guess, the conversations would be much the same as previous such conversations had been, and it’s easy enough to replay them in my head, and imagine sharing the new details of this garden, and this Spring. New roses. New herbs. New ideas. In a sense, it isn’t “new” at all, more part of a seasonal cycle that repeats each year, embraced by those that love it so.
New plants waiting to be planted.
I do share what’s going on in the garden with my Traveling Partner, and he’s a wealth of good ideas and insights, but whiling away endless hours talking about this variety versus that variety, or what specifically to plant in that corner over there isn’t really his thing, so much. lol I’m okay with that; we each have our own things to share and to do, and there’s always much to discuss about the things that interest us both equally. A passing conversation about the garden, a quick update, and a shared moment are quite satisfying, and I’m grateful to share them with him. I do miss the conversations with Granny about the various herbs, and the kitchen gardens and medicinal gardens of her youth. I miss the eager excited exchanges with my dear friend about garden plans and new roses, and her delight over pictures shared over the years. I miss my Dad’s amusement that what had been such drudgery for me as a kid has become something I truly love as a grown woman, and our conversations about the garden as a metaphor, and how we change and grow in life.
So, I drove into the city with my thoughts. It was a pleasant drive, and as I reached the city I found myself wondering what I need most to take care of this fragile vessel, right now? Do I need “down time” at home, in the garden, and more shared connected time with my Traveling Partner? I can easily make a strong case for that. Do I need “down time” in the form of a short getaway, a chance to fully immerse myself in my own thoughts, to read, to write, to paint, to enjoy the stillness of solitude? I feel that, too. I’m in a peculiar “in between place” with myself, and I’m not at all sure what will serve best to satisfy moments of restlessness or ease the internal chaos. I reflect on that and sip my coffee, as daybreak arrives, revealing a cloudy sky.
…Is it too soon for comfortable camping…?
…Can I get an affordable room on the coast and watch the tide come and go for a day or two…?
…Do I even want to be away from the comfort of home at all…?
…Every day away from home is a day away from my garden, and it’s Spring…
I sigh out loud, feeling mildly annoyed with myself. I’d email my dear friend and get her thoughts on it, but… she’s not replying to email, these days, and no longer answers texts. We are mortal creatures, and it’s damned inconvenient, sometimes. :-\
My thoughts bring me back to missing departed dear ones, far away friends, and fond memories of other times and places, other gardens. I sip my coffee as the dawn becomes day. I remind myself to bring up my “what to do about me?” questions with my Traveling Partner; he’s always got useful perspective and good ideas to share. I’m very fortunate to have a partner who supports me taking care of myself properly, and doesn’t grief me over needing time away, when I do. He sees me from a different perspective than I see myself, and I often find his thoughts quite useful for improving my perspective.
…I think of my Traveling Partner, hopefully still sleeping, and my heart fills with love. I’m very fortunate. I sip my coffee and finish this moment with gratitude and quiet joy, and thoughts of garden tasks yet to be completed. The work day stretches ahead of me, and the afternoon on the other side will be another chance to be in the garden for some little while. I smile, and get ready to begin again. š
I’m at a favorite trailhead waiting for the sun, or at least enough daylight to safely walk the trail on this foggy morning. I’m also waiting for the park gate to open, which should be any minute now. Another early walker shows up, and just sits idling at the gate, instead of parking and waiting. I don’t take that personally; not my vehicle, not my choice, not my business. I’m ready to walk but not feeling impatient about it.
Yesterday evening my Traveling Partner and I enjoyed a lovely somewhat romantic very connected evening listening to music together, but it ended on a sour note. I wrapped up my day with some quiet time reading, hoping to avoid aggravating him further. When I woke this morning my head was still full of hurt feelings and irritation. Pointless and not constructive, over a moment that was just a moment. So… I used the drive to the trailhead to sort of sift through my feelings, supporting my emotional needs by acknowledging my feelings and developing an understanding of why I still felt hurt, and whether that had to do with some legitimate concern needing some follow-up, or perhaps just me holding on to shit because that’s what human beings often do. Having decided it was more “just holding on to shit” than anything else, I proceeded to just let it go. Yes, there are verbs involved, but it’s quite doable to let small shit go.
It’s a new day. For me, a new day is a sort of “cheat code” for moving on from shit I’d like to let go of. It’s a nice moment that draws a sharp line between some moment and this new day unfolding ahead of me. Useful. I breathe, exhale, and relax. The foggy morning envelopes the car. I wait for day light.
My Traveling Partner greets me when he wakes. We briefly discuss errands, and my plan for the day begins to develop: a trip to the store, a stop by a local merchant on the way home, waffles for breakfast, and some time in the garden later, planting spinach starts and kitchen herbs. It sounds like a lovely day!
Foggy, but fine for walking.
… But first? A quiet walk along river and marsh on a foggy morning. Then, I’ll begin again, again. š
Evening Light 