I breathe, exhale, and relax, and set aside everything else but this view and this moment for one minute. Just one minute of pure beautiful stillness, listening to the wind and the waves. How about it? Can you… not?
Taking just one minute.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
One minute can feel unexpectedly long without any distractions. Why race through life’s finite precious moments at the speed of doom scrolling? Take a minute. Breathe. Slow down. Savor the moment. This one. The next. Each moment is unique and fleeting. Unrepeatable.
… Being present slows that ticking clock…
Another breath, another moment, another beginning. I reread the last few pages of the book I brought with me; I had fallen asleep reading last night, and I felt certain I’d missed something. I wasn’t wrong. 😆
I finish one last cup of coffee as I lay out my work space on the small table in this room. Spending a day painting nurtures something within myself that I can’t satisfy any other way, but there’s no need to rush. I can take all the time I need.
An easel and a view.
I sigh contentedly and take a minute to listen to the wind and the waves, and to gaze quietly out the window before I begin again.
Wind and waves and shades of blue.
I pause my painting to consider lunch. I settle for a cup of tea and a multivitamin, and return to my easel. The ocean has taken on a cloudy gray appearance and the shades of blue shift towards a troubled gray green. The gulls seem to like it, and they drift across my view surfing the invisible waves and currents in the air. It pleases me greatly to stare out at the changing view with my pastels in front of me. I add a hue to my palette. I remove others. I feel relaxed and unbothered and in my element.
… Given the time and resources, I might spend every day at my easel…
I sigh to myself happily, stretching and working the kinks out of my neck and back before I return to creative work. This fragile vessel needs a certain amount of care and maintenance if it is expected to endure hours at my easel, however delightfully those hours may pass. 😆
I breathe, exhale, and relax. I tape a fresh piece of pastelbord to my easel, and begin again.
Some of the most useful “tools” in my self-care/mental health “toolbox” seem to be those to do with pain management, or which serve some other purpose, but also make it maybe a bit easier to manage pain. This seems odd to me any time I’m not in pain, but when I wake twisted with arthritis pain early on some morning, I’m grateful.
The view I woke to is no less beautiful because of pain.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
I woke in pain to a cooler morning. The sunrise isn’t visible from here, but I see it reflected in the pink hues of the dawn sky over the western horizon. A distant bank of stormy looking clouds hangs above the horizon, a dark gray beneath fluffy white. The ocean reflects back silver gray like brushed aluminum, each wave reaching the shore crested in a curl of white. The ebb tide seems to sound different to me than the flood tide that will come later today, sometime in the afternoon.
…If the beach were just a little bit easier to get to from here, I’d already be headed down there to check out the tide pools before the day warms up, and while the beach is deserted. I hurt too much for that right now, and I want to paint later, so I sip my coffee and avoid exhausting myself…
Gulls fly by the window, calling to each other. A crow flies by. The morning sky continues to evolve. I sip my coffee letting the dawn sky and the beach scene beyond the window entice me with inspiration. Swallows swoop and dive just beyond the window. There are so many! The textured gray of the ocean holds my attention for a while, working out just how to capture that in pastels. Breakfast crosses my mind, and more coffee.
A beautiful view is sometimes enough distraction.
One of the most powerful pain management tools I’ve got doesn’t come in a pill. It’s distraction. Simply that; distracting myself from focusing on my pain prevents it from dominating my experience in the moment and frees my attention for other things. By itself, it may not reliably be enough to manage my pain, but it is useful, and it really does help to focus on other things, most particularly things that may evoke wonder, curiosity, awe, joy, or delight. I’m grateful for this beautiful view.
…I’m grateful for this solitary time…
I stretch and sigh to myself. Practices being what they are, there are things yet to do this morning to begin the day. Meditation. A walk (yes, even in this amount of pain, I just have to go to a beach access point that doesn’t involve endless stairs down a cliff to get to the beach) – my morning never feels quite right if I don’t get a walk in more or less first thing. lol My bones feel less stiff, and I know a hot shower will help more. I think about the day ahead as the view continues to evolve.
It is a new day. My birthday is behind me, and a new year waits ahead of me.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
A robin greets the day as I water the garden.
I get to the more distant trailhead for the marsh trail that travels past the Tualatin River. Yesterday was the trail at Spring Valley. Tomorrow the trail at Basket Slough. After that, a couple days of painting on the coast. What an extraordinary birthday celebration. I love how much it has been more about presence and experiences than presents. I didn’t go without gifts, happily, and I’ve got quite a delightful stack of new books to read.
Software upgrades for a human primate.
63 was a good year, generally speaking. I wonder what awaits me in the year ahead?
Finally learning to play chess.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. It’s a beautiful morning. The clock is ticking. It’s time to begin again.
The morning mist caught me by surprise. No reason it should, I suppose; the temperature warmed in the wee hours after several cool Spring days, and today is expected to be hot (27C/80F). Tomorrow is forecast to be even hotter, and there is an extreme heat advisory.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
The sunrise began with a ferocious heat-threatening diffuse orange. Pretty, although I’m not looking forward to the heat or increased wildfire risk. I remind myself to drink plenty of water.
Beautiful sunrise, hot day ahead.
The mist clings to the low places, gathering in near the rivers and creeks mostly. It envelopes me as the trail turns to wrap around the vineyard, leading me down closer to the creek that runs adjacent to the trail. As I walk I wonder if maybe I should have worn a fleece or my cardigan? It’s not hot yet. 😆 I’m chilly, in spite of walking.
I get to my halfway point and stop to write and reflect. It is Thursday. (Already?) Tomorrow is my birthday, 63. (Already?) I’m taking a few days off, an entire week. My Traveling Partner is in the middle of an important work project. He encouraged me to consider fucking off for a couple days, and I make plans for a couple nights on the coast. It’s nice to have that kind of freedom. I feel very loved. So far this is an extraordinary birthday celebration. Yesterday he gave me another book – and I’m thoroughly delighted – Barbara Walters “How to Talk With Practically Anybody About Practically Anything”, which I’ve wanted for a long time. It was a surprise that it is also a first edition in excellent condition.
There is so much more to find within the pages of a book than mere words on pages.
… I’ve got a lovely stack of books to read…
…63?
I don’t “feel my age”. I’m not sure I gave much thought to what being 63 would feel like, though. I feel more or less as I’ve always felt. The feeling of age or aging only hits me when I notice my capacity for manual labor is less than in my twenties, or I happen to take a longer look at my hands. “Aches and pains” don’t signal age for me; I’ve lived with serious chronic pain since my twenties. There’s some gray in my hair. Arthritis that was limited to my damaged spine for a lot of years turns up in my joints now, too. But, generally speaking, 63 feels like any other year. I will probably enjoy it every bit as much as I’ve enjoyed 62. 😆 The clock is ticking, but mostly I don’t notice.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. Pretty morning for meditation. The morning sun lights the trees along the trail. The mist begins to thin and fade away. There’s a whole new day ahead, then my birthday.
I happily contemplate a couple days on the coast as the weekend wanes… I’ll set off early, after I water the lawn in the morning. I’ll pack light, maybe bring my pastels, and load the car the night before. I’ll be gone just as the sun rises, probably, and I know my Traveling Partner will miss me – that’s part of the point. Having that chance to miss each other prevents us taking each other for granted, over time. I anticipate the joy of walking miles of beach in the cool morning breeze, and enjoying an iced coffee at some choice spot to sit and listen to the waves caress the shore, and the gulls calling to each other overhead. There’s a fantastic bagel shop near a beach I like, and I look forward to a fantastic bagel on the beach. It’s the kind of small delight that I savor. They add up to an immense quantity of joy, over time.
I smile contentedly. The best part about a couple days of solitary time away is returning home to a cozy life filled with love. I’ll never be wealthy but I feel rich; I have love.
I take a deep breath of the cool morning air and taste the scent of flowers. Summer is coming. I look down the trail amazed by how far this journey has taken me. 16 years ago I could not imagine being actually happy, like, at all, ever. I figured settling for surviving my life would be the best I could do. I’m grateful to have given myself a chance to continue on. I would not trade this life as it is for any other. My first real glimpses of happiness left me more confused than appreciative; I was ignorant of real lasting love, and certainly had no skill at being happy when happy moments turned up. It took practice just to accept the possibility of happiness. There was still so much chaos and damage to sort out. So much to learn about love and loving. There’s still more to learn even now. I’m okay with that. The journey is the destination and I’m traveling in very good company.
I glance at the time and the clear blue sky. It’s time to walk on. It’s time to begin again.
I don’t have all the answers. Some days, I’m fairly certain I don’t have any “answers”. At least, not to the questions I’m asking. This morning there’s this, though, which seeks to answer a whole lot of the “hard questions”, and offers a different path humanity could follow.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
This morning i feel hopeful, but also more than a little cynical; human beings (particularly wealthy ones) don’t like plans that require those with much to give anything up for those with little. We’re sick like that. Still, I read an article aboutthe report (a report prepared by knowledgeable experts in the relevant fields and based on a metric fuck-ton of data over decades) and it certainly sounds promising. I track down the link to the report for later. I definitely want to read the whole thing.
Human beings, being human. Most of the people who will be arguing about this report and its recommendations won’t actually read the report. They’ll read an article in the Guardian or the NYT or the Washington Post, and blurt out redigested opinions they don’t actually hold based on any depth of knowledge or real commitment, and behave as if they had a thought. That’ll be supremely irritating but it may be an unavoidable byproduct of our desire to “sound smart” – style over substance. I sigh to myself; I’m not immune. I’m human, too. I’m definitely going to read the actual report though; I enjoy feeling hopeful.
I walk down the trail on this chilly morning. Peculiarly, it feels more like autumn than Spring. I’m glad I wore a fleece over my sweater. The sky overhead is a cozy comforter of puffy gray clouds. There’s a strip of open sky on the western horizon and the blue gray hills in the distance are enhanced by layers of far off clouds that mimic still more hills, as if even taller mountains are beyond those hills I always see. It’s a visually appealing illusion. I find myself tempted to return to the car and drive to those faraway hills.
…It is a work day, an ordinary Thursday, and not the day for adventure…
I yawn as I walk. Still waking up. The morning is a festival of green hues. The dark greens of the oaks and pines, the bright strips of green that are the young vines in the vineyard create a lovely scene. The yellower and bluer greens of this or that flower or shrub keep things interesting. It’s a beautiful morning. The feeling is deepened and enhanced by this fragile feeling of hope. It’s a nice beginning to a new day.
As I walk, a realization hits me; I never saw my Traveling Partner stumble even once last night! I’m given yet another moment to feel hopeful and encouraged in life and I feast on it. I’m not starved from joy these days, I definitely get an ample portion, but little gives me more joy in the moment than my beloved’s continued recovery from injury. It’s the very best “birthday present” I can imagine.
As I walk, I notice that I feel physically less “weighed down by life”, less burdened, and I marvel at how much my emotional experience determines my physical experience. I’ve noticed it before, too; when I feel sad, pain seems worsened along with my mood. When I feel merry, my pain often lessens, too – or seems less bothersome, however bad it is. I’d say “that’s funny”, meaning strange, but I don’t want the observation confused for amusement. It’s useful. We not only become what we practice, we inhabit an experience colored by our emotions. That seems like an important detail.
I get to my halfway point almost unexpectedly. I have been lost in my thoughts. I sit awhile listening to the creek beyond the trees chortling as if amused by my human foolishness. I watch the illusion of mountains on the horizon begin to curl and shift and take on a pink color from the sunrise. They definitely look more like clouds than mountains, now.
… Change is…
I breathe, exhale, and relax, grateful for my warm sweater and cozy fleece. I meditate awhile, feeling fortunate to have these quiet minutes to enjoy before a busy work day, aware that this is a choice. This? Here, now? It’s a familiar path, even metaphorically, but that doesn’t diminish the value in the path, the metaphor, or the lessons I can take from walking it. It’s a nice change to feel so hopeful.
I watch the clouds shifting and the changing light and shadows as the sun rises. I savor this hopeful feeling, grateful for the moment. I get ready to begin, again.
Evening Light 