Damn, mortality is a massive buzz kill, sometimes. I heard at work yesterday that Gloria Steinem had died. I sat with that awhile, then. I’ve been thinking about it this morning.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
She was an important figure in the feminist movement, sure. She was an important figure in a lot of the progress women have made in the past 6 decades. That’s a lot of influence in the lives of women.
Gloria Steinem was all that and probably more. I never met her, but she was important to me on a more personal level than purely as an icon. In 1995, sometime shortly before I left my violent first marriage (finally), I read Moving Beyond Words. I read it again, my first solitary weekend in my new apartment after I left that marriage (and after my Granny had returned home from helping me move out – and move on). This book got my attention and really moved me. It reignited something inside me that had been collecting dust a long time.
I wrote Gloria a letter. It wasn’t a fan girl missive, so much as a quick and vulnerable thank you note. She replied, eventually, and I was surprised and grateful. She wrote telling me it might be hard, this journey that is one woman’s life, and to honor myself and trust in my worth. I’ve continued to treasure that letter, in the years since. Taking it from its envelope gently now and then, and reading it again. Gloria knew that the clock is always ticking.
… I know it, too ..
I was saddened to hear that Gloria Steinem had died.
The weekend is ahead. I very much want to spend it painting. There’s also housekeeping chores to be done. Grocery shopping. Errands. The new SDR my beloved Traveling Partner got for me calls to me for my attention. My RC car wants to play. Life and love want my attention, too. The clock keeps ticking. Everything is a distraction from something else. Choose wisely.
I sit by the side of this rainy trail at daybreak. The changing colors of the morning sky, cloudy and gray mostly, distract me from the night as it passes, too.
… And I still want to paint…
What are you going to do about it?
I sit with my thoughts awhile. I breathe, exhale, and relax. Rain spatters my rain poncho. The clock ticks on. This is a finite mortal lifetime, and choices are necessary to narrow down the options some little bit. So what’ll it be? I sigh to myself. I rub my aching hands.
I’m making plans for an autumn trip to the coast, to paint and celebrate the equinox. Remembering that intention stops me from fretting about the weekend at all. I like to plan ahead. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I notice the time and get to my feet. I’ve been sitting here for a little while and it’s time to begin – again. There’s a whole new day ahead. What will I do with it?
I arrive at the trailhead in darkness. In one direction, fog in the low places, a bright waning moon overhead. In the opposite direction, a clear starry sky, a “Starlink train” of (probably) recently launched satellites still very much visible to the naked eye. I count seven, and watch them wink out of sight as they pass into the Earth’s shadow one by one.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
A moon with a view; the kind of thing more suited to canvas than to camera.
I make my way down the trail in the moonlight. If it weren’t for this fog, the moonlight would be enough to light the way. The fog obscures my vision and I’m grateful for my headlamp. The air is crisp and cool, and the scents of Spring are gone. Already, the scents of summer have begun to yield to those of autumn. A smattering of scattered leaves on the trail (clearly not left from last year) tell me that the change of seasons is coming. I walk on. I’m okay with the seasons. Change is.
Yesterday was a pleasant day. Uneventful. Simple. Uncomplicated. I enjoyed that. I savor the recollection as I walk, and give those pleasant moments as much attention as I might give some stressful moment. It is a practice that gently improves my implicit experience of my life and reinforces the good in it. This is an important practice for anyone trapped in feelings that life is “always” miserable in some fashion. Life is not “always” anything at all. Nor is life “never” something, aside from death itself, I suppose. There’s simply too much variety of experience.
Subjectively, my experience of chronic pain tempts me into thinking I am “always” hurting at the maximum possible amount of pain I ever experience, when I look back during some especially pain filled day. It’s not accurate. My pain level varies, some moments worse than others, and some rare days almost pain free. Failing to really pause and appreciate moments and days with less pain slowly results in my implicit recollection of pain becoming “always”, and leaving no room to enjoy other experiences.
Where are you right now? What is the experience like? Savor the moment, it won’t be repeated.
I get to my halfway point shortly after daybreak. As my view of the meadow and oak savannah become clearer, I see other people on the trail at distant points. Even from here, I see the cameras. Photographers, probably birdwatchers hoping for a great shot of some particular bird. It’s a good time for migratory shore birds and song birds, and the herons that visit look grand and mysterious standing in a shallow pond wreathed in mist. I’m still reliably surprised when there’s anyone here this early besides me. 😆
Later this morning, I’ll make the drive to enjoy coffee with the Chaotic Comic. She’s been struggling with some health difficulties and it has kept us from meeting up. It will be good to catch up, although it also serves to remind me of other friendships I have neglected that are deserving of my attention. I miss the Author, the Writer, and the Elephant Keeper, and other friends around whom my days revolved in the 90s. It seems a long while ago, and a lifetime away from here and now. I miss those friendships and the sweltering summer nights in the Tower District, prowling the local cafes for entertaining conversation until closing time.
I sigh and pull myself back to this moment betwixt meadow and hillside, looking out over the marsh ponds, quite small in the dry summer months. The sky is a pale autumn blue, dotted with cottony gray clouds. It’s a pleasant moment, uncomplicated and quietly joyful. I sit with it, grateful for the peace and solitude for some little while, and still managing to miss my Traveling Partner.
I take my GMRS radio out of the pocket of my fleece and request a radio check for the hell of it. I get a reply from someone in Dayton, between here and home. Not bad. I feel somehow safer from encroaching chaos and disorder, though it may be an illusion. I shrug and put my radio back into my pocket. Cellular service is not reliable here, and that’s true of many places I walk. It’s nice knowing I could get an emergency communication to someone with my radio, if I fell and were injured.
… I breathe, exhale, and relax…
I watch the sunrise. For no clear reason, I hear “Vincent” by Don McLean in my head. I softly sing the words out loud to myself, surprised that I remember them. Unexpected tears slide down my face. I don’t do anything about that. I sit with my feelings. They aren’t my enemy, they are telling me something, and I pause to listen.
We’re all human in this thing. Generally doing our best, or some version of that. Sometimes failing (sometimes badly). There are no “do overs”, from the perspective of the crumpled paper lesson, so the stakes are pretty high in any valued relationship.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
On the other hand, people aren’t made from paper and we’re resilient and capable of healing and growing…
Yesterday I was in pain when I woke and it worsened as the day progressed. Aside from one choice win, early in the day, everything seemed calculated to vex me, frustrate me, or slow me down. Timing ended up being critical, forcing me onto a high risk route in dense traffic. I made it to my last appointment gritting my teeth with barely managed stress, more than a little aggravated, white knuckling the steering wheel as I pulled into the parking lot.
… I hadn’t eaten since a protein bar around 10:00 am, and I didn’t have “extra” (or stronger) pain relief with me. I faced repeated frustrations and had to carefully and very strictly manage my temper all day. I got home quite late, drenched in sweat, head pounding, impaired mobility, and omg so grateful to be home! These details are important context for what comes later. My Traveling Partner had a similarly difficult day, and expressed similar gratitude that the day was over and that he had been eagerly waiting for me.
…Then I fucked that all up, completely…
My beloved asked me a question, the scope of which I misunderstood. I sat down to give him an answer, and when he expressed his irritation that I had missed his point, low blood sugar and bad temper finally bested me and I exploded. Raised my voice (on this whole utterly unacceptable level). Door slamming. Saying terrible mean things. He returned that anger with his own. More yelling. More angry words. I started to storm off – my go-to argument-ending move once my PTSD is in the driver’s seat (I managed, with effort, to fight off the need to flee). Within the hour, I was hysterical with insane terror and rage, and not myself. (G’damn, I fucking hope that’s not myself!) Only…it also is very much myself, and I am responsible and accountable for the consequences of my actions, in spite of pain, low blood sugar, PTSD, and whatever else.
… I could have chosen differently…
That’s not to say I’d have deliberately chosen that mess with my eyes open and my wits about me, nonetheless, my choices were assuredly involved. “We become what we practice” becomes a terrifying reminder that failing to manage strong emotions properly, and failing to perform basic self care can too easily become “who I am” – a lesson I learned awhile ago, but find myself facing cruel reminders, too often. (What is “too often”? Honestly, in this case, ever; I love my partner too much to see him faced with my worst behavior.)
Sitting through a bit of rain.
We are not perfect people, my Traveling Partner and I. We’re human. As human as anyone else. We live and love, and fail and fuck up, and learn – and ideally get back to the living and loving on this strange journey. There’s no one else I want to spend it with.
…When I woke this was all still at the forefront of my consciousness. I dressed and headed out. The air smelled of rain. I filled the gas tank on my way, and noticed that the pavement appeared damp. As I left town, a soft mist became a steady rain. It makes more sense why we were both in so much pain yesterday. Nothing about that excuses the behavior, it’s just a footnote to an incredibly difficult day.
Bad days happen. People behave badly sometimes, and reduce themselves to their worst behavior. We find ourselves standing knee deep in our chaos and damage wondering how we got there and lashing out at any unfortunate soul nearby. Fuck, this shit is hard sometimes.
Storms pass.
The rain stops, reminding me “this too will pass”, and the minutes of our mortal lives are precious and few. It matters to be willing to admit our mistakes, and to make amends and repair damage with the same “enthusiasm” with which we lost our temper.
I adore my Traveling Partner with my whole heart, and mingling love and madness has notoriously been… problematic. I sigh to myself at the halfway point of my walk. There’s a full moon over head. G’damn we’re hard on each other sometimes. A young squirrel approaches me hesitantly. I absent mindedly pull the handful of acorns I’d gathered as I walked, and gently toss them a short distance away for the squirrel.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. Apologies don’t always feel like enough, and really, an apology is only words. Really making amends is about changing behavior. Difficult, but not impossible. Another breath. I consider each small error that snowballed. I exhale. I consider what I could do to reliably achieve better outcomes and more agreeably demonstrate my love and abiding affection for my Traveling Partner, even in difficult moments. Another breath, another thought. I dissect the failures one by one without doing myself personal harm. Self-flagellation isn’t necessary (or useful), growth and change are.
An oak savannah under a stormy sky.
A new day dawns on the oak savannah. I sit with my thoughts watching squirrels play. I contemplate being and becoming, and making things right with the human being most dear to me. G’damn loving me must be fucking hard sometimes. I watch the storm clouds overhead begin to break into pieces and disperse. There’s a lot yet to contemplate, and to learn from. I sigh to myself; I’d very much like to paint (it serves to “unclutter my soul”).
The sky is clear and starry this morning. I sit with my thoughts beside this trail, at more or less the midway point of this morning’s walk. I reflect on the weekend, the high points and the occasional “wrong notes” in life’s symphony. Generally speaking, it was a good weekend.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
Yesterday my beloved Traveling Partner was dealing with a lot of physical pain, which sucked for him far more than it affected me, because he did a masterful job of regulating his emotions and kept his communication comfortably emotionally neutral most of the day, even when frustrated. It was a powerful demonstration of how much work and discipline go into that effort, and why it is worth it. I felt relieved this morning to read a message sent during the night, letting me know he had gotten some relief after a most unpleasant day of pain, because I hate seeing him suffer and want only the best for him. I am hoping he has a better day today.
… I’m seriously impressed with how skillfully he prevented his difficult experience from becoming personal, and how much work he put into not lashing out at me over being in pain. His emotions got the better of him once or twice, and I certainly can’t criticize; under similar circumstances, I think I’d have struggled more and done less well…
…We become what we practice.
This morning begins a new day, and a new week. Monday. I can’t say I’m particularly enthused about work, this morning. My tinnitus is buzzing, chiming, and whining in my ears. My head aches. My back aches. My feet ache when I walk or stand on them. G’damn, fuck aging. 😆 I sigh to myself and admit silently that aging may have some unpleasant moments, but it still beats currently available alternatives.
The predawn gloom begins to lighten a bit. Standing nearby is a small herd of deer. Two does and three fawns nibble grass and choice green leaves in the tangle of drying weeds and wildflowers at the edge of the path. They seem aware of me, but unconcerned. I shift my position, trying to escape the arthritis pain in my spine. The deer move along down the path. The sky continues to lighten. Daybreak soon.
I begin the week with a persistent feeling that I’m forgetting something. The feeling is no indicator of truth, it’s just a feeling (an annoying one, for real). I breathe, exhale, and relax, and let that feeling go. It’s common on a Monday, and I suspect it has to do with the unstated difficulty of “getting back to work”, each week. I exhale, and let it go again. It’s not even time to start the work day.
I take a deep breath of the cool summer air. I’m grateful that the wind is carrying the wildfire smoke another direction. We’re basically surrounded on three sides by wildfires this summer, and the clear sky and fresh air are 100% reliant on wind direction.
I sit quietly with this pleasant moment, savoring the solitude and the peace. I feel fortunate to have this experience at all. I feel fortunate to be able to write about it. Fortunate to have you here reading it. The world is in a sorry state these days… I think about what I can do, myself, to make it just a little better, if only in my tiny corner. (I’ll definitely be voting, when the time comes.)
The sun begins to rise. An orange wash along the eastern horizon spreads out, silhouetting the trees along the bank of the South Yamhill River, beyond the vineyard. I watch, feeling calm and unbothered. It’s a new day, suitable for beginning again.
I slept in this morning (for some values of sleeping in), beginning the morning in the usual way, otherwise. I woke with a plan and a measure of real excitement. My knee has been bothering me, and my Traveling Partner suggested I give it a rest, and skip my walk (cane or no cane, 1-3 miles on it is a lot of demand when it’s clearly recovering from injury). So…
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
…I planned a different sort of morning, one that took advantage of temporary injury for other sorts of fun, and I packed up my RC car and added to that my GMRS radio , and my bag of fun was waiting for me in the morning, as I left the house. I picked up a coffee on my way up to the location I had in mind, and entertained myself with learning the features of the radio, and monitoring local channels. There’s a lot to learn – and a lot of “lost knowledge” to regain. It’s fun.
A little later I drove to a nearby town that has an RC car racetrack thinking I’d check it out. I got as far as the parking lot. 😆 The closest parking was still going to require a bit of a walk, partly down a steepish slope, on a barked path. I decide to stick with giving my knee a break and head back to my previous location, which has a big spacious parking lot that is empty on a Sunday. I drive my RC car awhile, enjoying myself immensely, practicing useful skills that make driving the car more fun.
…Even things like basic steering take practice, which I recall being the case when I was learning to drive a full size car for the first time, too…
Painting? Maybe later. I’ve got pastel-ready cardstock coming, and pastel “pencils” (they aren’t really pencils, but crafted such that they are more suited to lines than to shading), but it may be a couple weeks before they arrive. I smile, feeling fortunate and wrapped in contentment. There’s housework to get done, too. I keep postponing properly finishing moving back into my studio and outfitting my wee library as a functional space for quiet reflection and meditation. I shrug it off and go on with racing my RC car back and forth the length of this huge open space, zipping between and around the planted islands and working to improve the precision of my turns.
A sprinkle of rain prompts me to take this break, and I sit happily writing, and monitoring a local repeater on my radio. My beloved and I are both dealing with pain this morning. I’m not rushing back (certainly not any time soon), though I enjoy his company. I’m enjoying the morning on my own terms, racing my RC car and getting refamiliarized with radio procedures. The static reminds me how I most likely came by much of my tinnitus, and I feel a strange, warm nostalgia for a long gone chapter of my life that was mostly pure hell – but I was also serving my country, and still proud to be doing so. Funny how complicated our emotions can be.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. The sprinkling has stopped. The pavement isn’t even damp. I probably could have kept driving, but didn’t want to risk damage to my car – it’s still new and I’m careful with it. I happily set the car onto the pavement again. I’ve got plenty of battery life left. I switch from my regular glasses to my shades to improve my distance vision as the brightness of the morning increases.
An older woman walking a dog and a child approaches and I bring the car back to me, stopping it at my feet (so I wouldn’t be tempting the dog to chase it. We exchange a greeting. She asks about the car as the kid squats down to get a better look. How hard are they to drive? Are they safe for kids? How much do they cost? Is there someplace local that has them? The kid has only two questions: how fast will it go and can they drive my car?
After a bit of conversation, and making certain the dog is well controlled, I run the car down the length of the parking lot at max speed and circle back, managing to drift beautifully on the turn (and totally fronting like that shit was deliberate and enjoying the excited squeals of the kid watching). I stop the car at my feet and give the kid, a chill youngster of 8 by the name of Ash, a turn driving after securing a promise to drive gently and to stay in this section of parking lot. Her grandmother takes down some notes about where the hobby shop is. She suggests to Ash that if her parents are okay with it she’ll take her there next weekend. She grins at me excitedly and hands back the controller, and they walk on.
… Sometimes people are okay…
I wave as they walk away, and turn my attention back to my car… can I get that drift in the turn down as a reliable skill? So much to learn… Time to begin. Again.
Evening Light 