Archives for category: Mindfulness
« Older Entries
Newer Entries »

In My Own Good Company

April 5, 2024 //
0

What a day this has been. Spent mostly in solitary contemplation, reading, walking the beach here at Siletz Bay, I’ve enjoyed the quiet geniality of my own good company. It’s been lovely.

I sat for a long while on the beach listening to the waves breaking against the shore. It seemed as if I had no tinnitus at all, for a time. Oh, it’s still there, and if I pay it any attention, I hear it, but here on the shore I can let it recede into the background for awhile, more so than I ever can elsewhere. It’s a different kind of quiet, and these moments are precious. Restful.

Some of the people who have been most dear to me in this mortal lifetime have had strong connections to the sea, and this keeps me coming back to the seashore again and again. My Granny loved the sea and the shore so much that she and my Grandfather bought a sail boat and retired to the waterfront. When they moved to the West Coast, later, she regularly yearned aloud for the days of sailing the Chesapeake, and the feeling of freedom she felt being on the water. As a child, she took me to places like Cape May in New Jersey, Rehoboth Beach in Delaware, and Myrtle Beach in South Carolina. Later on, she also took me to Ocean City and to Assateague Island in Maryland, and Gold Beach in Oregon. When she lived on the Eastern Shore, her home was a refuge for me at a time when I needed it most, after I’d returned home from wartime deployment.

My recently departed dear friend loved the sea. She saw the ocean as our cosmic Mother, the wellspring of all life. Our one and only beach trip together was to the ocean beach nearest to Arcata, California, shortly after she had moved there, when she was still easily able to get around. We took a picnic lunch, and ended up eating it in the car, to avoid the strong wind blowing that day, and the aggressive gulls seeking snacks. lol

Even my Traveling Partner has a connection to the sea. He’s a Navy veteran, a submariner. His experiences of the sea are his own, and I know very little about them – but I know they exist in his experience and his memories. He took us on an anniversary trip a couple years ago, and we enjoyed the Oregon coast. Our hotel was a lovely spot along Nye Beach. It was a delightful time together, restful and playful.

I’ve spent many happy hours at beaches. As a child I found fossilized sharks teeth at Calvert Cliffs, in Maryland, and as a young soldier I partied at Padre Island in Texas. I walked the beach in Carmel California and the dunes near Fort Ord, as a deeply unhappy woman with a lot on her mind. I’ve restlessly walked along the beach and explored the tide pools at Cannon Beach Oregon, and sat with a quiet coffee on the beach near Brush Creek, Oregon, thinking my solitary thoughts. The beaches of Lincoln City have been fond favorites of mine for 4 years now; they’re very near by, and an easy getaway for a day or a weekend and I return to them often.

…Funny thing about me, and the seashore… I don’t even swim. lol Maybe that’s not the point at all, I just think it’s a bit comical. I rarely swim even when I have the opportunity, and when I do find myself tempted into the water, it’s generally a swimming pool, and I mostly just enjoy being in the water without actually doing any swimming. I’m honestly not much of a swimmer, although the Army makes a point of ensuring soldiers are “drown proofed” (handy skills, not the same as being able to swim). I dog paddle a bit, if I must, but mostly… if I’m honest… I don’t actually swim. lol I’m certainly not ever going to venture into deep enough ocean water to need to swim. Ever.

At some point, this morning, on my way to the beach, I decided to grab a coffee. I had something rather specific in mind and ordered it with some anticipation. I was eager for the taste – a rare treat – and I ordered it anticipating the experience. By the time the line moved around and I was able to receive my coffee, it had mixed and settled in the cup, and wasn’t at all what I was going for (which was a rather fancy layered drink that looks beautiful in the cup). I was… disappointed. Then I felt like a shithead – because it was thoroughly delicious, it just wasn’t what I wanted. lol It reminded me that there is no guarantee on the experiences we seek; reality will be what it is, and there’s no arguing with that. I sipped that coffee and reflected on the foolishness of being disappointed by what was actually quite a pleasant experience – if only I’d enjoyed it in that moment, precisely as it was, instead of weighing it down with baggage and bullshit to do with my expectations. A moment with a lesson.

Eventually, I became chilled as I sat on the beach with my coffee and my thoughts. The raindrops that spattered me hinted at the potential for a real rain shower, and the storms on the horizon suggested it might be time to return to the hotel for a time. I sat awhile longer, watching the waves break on the shore, flinging sea spray into the air as they did. I breathed the ocean air and enjoyed the breezes and the sounds of the shore birds, gulls, and crows. I finished my coffee, and returned to the car, and eventually to the hotel.

Later on in the day, as I stood on the balcony watching the tide change, I watched the gulls sailing on the breezes. I noticed them as individuals – one for each departed dear one no longer traveling life’s journey: family members, friends, lovers… the fallen ones that are now beyond any words of affection reaching them. No more time for “thank you”, “I love you” or “I’m sorry”. They exist now as memories. I stood with my thoughts, my memories, and my love for a long while, just watching the gulls soaring past, again and again.

I don’t know that the seashore is “my happy place”… it’s certainly a happy place, and a place that I turn to for solitude, when I need to step aside and allow some measure of time to pass me by, in a sense, while I gather my thoughts. I feel connected to the seashore because the sea meant so much to so many that I have held dear to me. Fond memories. Shared moments. So here I am, enjoying my own good company, in the company of my thoughts and memories, finding my path.

Maybe this isn’t “inner peace”, but it’s a handy facsimile and it serves my humble purpose. This is what I need for now – soon enough, I’ll begin again.

Tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Categories Allegories, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, gratitude, grief, inspiration, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being

The Quiet and The Rain

April 5, 2024 //
0

The balcony door is flung wide to let the sounds of the sea and the wind and the gulls fill the room. The smell of a doused bonfire on the beach sneaks in with them. A drenching misty rain began to fall shortly after sunrise; I had watched the clouds roll in bringing the rain along with them, as I sipped my coffee. I’m still sitting around sipping coffee, without a care, after “doing the needful” regarding payday details (because truly the clock never stops ticking, and some shit just needs to be done). The sky is a peculiar milky gray that obscures details that are relatively nearby, and which I can usually see quite clearly – it’s just that drenching mist of a rain adding a gray wash over everything, like a careless watercolorist.

Looking from the balcony toward Schooner Creek, through the misty rain.

I crashed ridiculously early last night, after a walk on the beach in the late afternoon, and a bite of dinner. I think it was barely 7:00 pm. I expected I’d probably end up wakeful and restless during the night, but I slept right through, waking only briefly to pee during the night, and the morning caught me by surprise; it was past daybreak when I finally woke. My sleep tracker suggests I slept quite deeply more than half the hours I slept, which is rare for me these days. I needed that rest.

A picture before bed time.

The water along the shoreline is quite clear this morning, and from my third floor hotel room I can see into the water, to the sandy bottom, and even see an occasional small crab moving along, sideways, no doubt hoping to avoid an eager gull or other shorebird looking for a tasty snack. The tide turned before I woke, and I enjoy watching the sea rise, wave after wave, gulls enjoying the air currents, or picking at bits of things in the shallow water. A bit further from shore, the clear water appears as a blue-green-gray, and I can’t see into it deeply at all; it’s deeper there. There is a channel there that never quite empties, even at the lowest tide, and occasionally shallow draft fishing boats travel this channel, fishing or moving to the next good fishing spot, rarely staying long. It’s an odd little spot, this Siletz Bay. The view changes so much with every change of the tide. I love this spot. It’s interesting seeing some of the massive logs carried down the river to the sea, they move so far on relatively little water (quite a lot of this bay is very shallow). The driftwood log upon which I sat for some time yesterday evening may not even be there by the end of the day, today.

Bay view this morning, shortly before the rain arrived.

The room is chilly, now, from leaving the door open to the balcony all damned morning (since I woke). I put on a sweater rather than shut out the sea breeze, and stop writing long enough to wrap my hands around a hot cup of coffee while I watch a short video my Traveling Partner shared with me. He misses me already, I know. It’s tempting to immediately return home to comfort him and hang out together… but I know I actually really need (and benefit from) this short break from “all the peopling” and busy-ness of life. Self-care only works when we do the things we need to do to care for ourselves. I breathe in the cold sea air, and sign contentedly. The rain is still falling, but the clouds are moving away, and it seems likely I’ll be comfortably walking along the beach shortly, enjoying the advantage of the low tide to walk along further than I might at high tide. My coffee has grown as cold as my hands.

…I would enjoy a better cup of coffee than what the hotel provides. Perhaps it is time to begin again…?

Tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Categories Allegories, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, inspiration, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being

Waiting Time

April 4, 2024 //
0

I’m waiting. It’s quite early, before daybreak. I’m parked at a local trail near home. I’m waiting for enough daylight to walk. I’m waiting for the grocery store to open. I’m waiting for my Traveling Partner to wake and start his day. I’m waiting to begin my long weekend and short trip to the coast. It’s not a bad time for waiting. The world seems quiet and peaceful, and although that’s an illusion (the “peaceful” bit is very local), it’s a pleasant moment with which to begin the day.

My head aches ferociously. My neck, too, aches horribly. It’s more likely than not a byproduct of yesterday’s physical therapy, which isn’t unusual but is usually less intense. Progress? Hell, I don’t know.

Subjectively, I feel as if my range of motion is improving. The symptoms of occipital neuralgia seem reduced in frequency and intensity. Those are promising changes, but g’damn the pain persists, it’s just located differently. lol Learning to deal with pain emotionally has been as important as anything I’ve done to attempt to reduce it. I fully expect pain to continue to be a thing that is part of my day-to-day experience, and it’s no good letting it call the shots (anytime I have a choice to do otherwise). My results vary.

The ringing in my ears is… loud. I’m looking forward to being by the ocean. The sound of ocean waves and seaside breezes is one of the very few things that drowns out my tinnitus almost entirely. It’s a delightful break from the maddening din that no one else hears. For a couple days it’ll be rather as if there’s no tinnitus at all. This experience is one of the reasons I go to the coast when I need some time to myself, the chance to escape the noise of my tinnitus for a short time. Another is the feeling that being oceanside connects me more closely to my Granny and my recently departed dear friend,  both of whom felt a strong connection to the sea.

It won’t be long now until mountain and forest places are warm enough for camping and hiking, too. I enjoy the forest most of all,  myself, and that’s a lifelong love. I enjoy the seaside places. I enjoy the broad plains and vast expanses of high desert skies. I love the forest. My reluctance to camp in early Spring is to do with physical comfort, only. My arthritis makes sleeping on the ground in chilly weather uncomfortable, and the more frequent Spring rains make hiking muddy and more treacherous, so I just don’t. Choices.

…I sit quietly for some moments, feeling grateful to have the luxury and privilege of choices…

Daybreak comes. The morning sky stays pretty dark, and streaks of blue hint at daylight to come, through stormy clouds. It’s not raining though, and it looks like a good morning for a walk. I remind myself to check my paint box for blues and grays and colors I might use for stormy skies…

Soon there will be enough light to walk the trail. I grab my boots to make the change from sneakers, and get ready to head down the trail. It’s already time to begin again.

Walking my own path, I start where I am.
Tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Categories Allegories, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being

Anxiety in the Passenger’s Seat

April 1, 2024 //
0

I woke more or less “on time” this morning, a few minutes ahead of my planned time. I got up, quietly went through my morning routine and headed out… well… after I remembered my lunch and stepped back from the front door to grab that. Then, also remembered my “computer glasses”, and went back for those. It’s been that sort of morning, so far.

The morning sunrise is painted across dark gray clouds on the horizon, streaks of bold pink, magenta, and orange contrast sharply with the gray of the clouds. The sky above is hinting at the bright blue of the day to come. I sip my morning coffee and think about my anxiety. I woke with it, although I hadn’t yet recognized my “companion” quite yet. The awareness hit me in the car, as I turned a corner and felt it surge as if from nowhere. My thoughts were quite suddenly filled with scenarios of doom, disaster, and unmanageable hardship. The feelings (both the physical sensations of anxiety, and the emotional experience) weren’t tied to anything real in my environment in the moment. I explored my thoughts gingerly – was I actually this anxious about getting the taxes done? That seemed unlikely; it’s never really stressed me out, ever, and has always been a rather routine bit of tedium that just happens to have a deadline. Could I be anxious about taking a couple days away, for myself? I mean, maybe, sure, but… this kind of anxiety, over that? I take a mental inventory of possible stressors and as I consider each, it’s clear that that isn’t “the thing”… so what is?

As I drove, poking at my anxiety mentally, I let my thoughts carry me back to the very first clear recollection I have of feeling “anxious”… I was, as I recall now, about 8? Maybe 9? (Honestly, I’ve very few memories earlier than 10 or so, so I could be way off here.) I had come downstairs to tell my parents I “didn’t feel well” and described the feeling in the pit of my stomach, the sense of pressure around my chest, the difficulty breathing, the feelings of… panic and dread. I didn’t understand why I was feeling this way. My father rather sternly asked me what I had “done wrong”, and flatly asserted that it sounded like I felt guilty about something. I immediately learned to associate anxiety with guilt, and to question my actions, thoughts, and sense of right and wrong, any time I felt this combination of feelings and sensations. It’s rather a shame my parents didn’t simply teach me about anxiety and how to manage it at that time, but it’s quite possible they did not know, themselves. It’s generally best to use the correct tool for a purpose. Conflating anxiety with guilt created considerable difficulty for me with regard to managing my anxiety later in life; I spent a lot of wasted time trying to figure out what I had “done wrong” that would cause me to feel such panic and uncontrollable dread. It became progressively more commonplace and intense over time, and more so still when my PTSD worsened.

I sighed quietly to myself, as my thoughts played out with the morning commute. One of the most profound changes I made later in life was simply to learn to recognize my anxiety for what it is, and to uncouple it from any requirement or expectation that it must be “because of…” something. It often isn’t “because of” anything at all; it’s a biochemical experience that can be triggered (rather easily) by an unfortunate number of sometimes completely unrelated (and under other circumstances, untroubling) experiences. Sure, it seems helpful generally to have some sense of “why” something feels the way it does, but insisting on certainty with regard to “why” can seriously fuck with how quickly anxiety can be resolved – at least in my own experience, this has proven to be the case. So. I allow room for the uncertainty, and acceptance that the experience of anxiety is, quite often, it’s own thing – and nothing more.

I’ve got a doctor’s appointment later today. We’ll be talking about weight management, my blood sugar, my blood pressure, my anxiety, my fitness… and… we’ll be talking about Ozempic. The recollection that I do have this appointment immediately sets off my anxiety on an entirely other order of magnitude. Fuck – is that it? I’m stressed about the appointment? Okay. Well. It’s just a fucking doctor’s appointment. But… now I get what’s got my anxiety going; my deep inner fear that “nothing is actually going to help” where my weight is concerned, combined with the steady drumbeat of concern about the costs of medical care (and the high price of prescription medications)(definitely real world worries in the US). I most definitely do not want to “get stuck on” an Rx that’s going to cost me $1k a month for the rest of my life! (What if for some reason I lose my good healthcare through employment!) Holy shit, yep, that’s it. That’s “the thing”, at least this morning… so… Okay, sometimes there is “a thing”. lol

I breathe. Exhale. Relax. I take a minute to acknowledge that these are legitimate concerns. I make room for the awareness that addressing chronic long-term wellness concerns – particularly those that are holding me back from making more profound gains in good health – really do matter. (I’d like to be around to enjoy my Traveling Partner and my pleasant life for a good long time to come.) I’ve got a good doctor, these days, and she’s not going to make recommendations that could put my health at risk (and fears about that are “old baggage”). I feel my anxiety begin to dissipate as I provide myself a moment of my own time and attention, allowing myself to “feel heard” about the things that make me feel potentially reluctant to “try something new/different”. The panic recedes and begins to fade into the background. The anxiety slowly fades. There’s no “disaster” looming, here, it’s just some nerves about taking a medication I’ve no experience with – which does reliably make me a tad uncomfortable, every time it comes up.

…Now, the morning feels pleasant and promising and filled with potential. Yes, I’ve still got the taxes to wrap up, and my Spring allergies are still flaring up (with trees in bloom all around), and I’m just days away from taking a couple days for downtime on the coast (which means getting through the week’s workload in just 3 days)(why does excitement have to feel so similar to anxiety? what a cruel prank) … but… isn’t that all pretty routine basic adulting stuff? “Nothing to see here.” I sip my coffee, feeling more at ease and comfortable with myself, and the day ahead. No, I don’t know where this path leads, and the future is unwritten… but I’m here, now, and I can begin again.

…I take a moment for the sunrise, watching the colors slowly fade as the dawn becomes day. I sip my coffee, and stretch. I breathe. Take a few minutes for meditation. I reflect on the wonderful weekend I shared with my Traveling Partner, and the satisfaction I felt planting 4 new roses in the garden, and seeing seedlings sprouting on my windowsill for the next plants that will go into the veggie bed (bush beans, Bok choy, melons, and sweet peppers) when the weather is just a bit warmer. I reflect on the frustration (and fun) of trying a new video game for the first time, and the challenge of learning the new interface – difficult for me, but really healthy and worthwhile to do so. It was a splendid weekend.

I sip my coffee and yawn. I catch myself fussing with my fingertips, moments aware from tearing at my cuticles – but I stop myself and reach for some hand lotion instead. It’s likely to be an entire day of new beginnings, do-overs, restarts, and opportunities to begin again. I guess it’s time to get going on that. 😀

Tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Categories Allegories, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gardening, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Roses, Sleepless Nights, Spring, The Art of Being, turning 60

Waffles

March 31, 2024 //
0

The blues and grays of daybreak are smeared messily across the sky, clouds gathered low on the horizon. There is a bus idling at the bus stop on the highway, near the parking lot, where I am sitting  waiting for the sunrise. No one gets on or off at this relatively remote stop at this very early hour. Eventually the bus pulls away,  leaving behind only the quiet of morning.

I finally made waffles in the new waffle iron yesterday. They were… good? Not great. A new waffle iron means learning how to make waffles all over again. It’s definitely a better waffle iron and I plan to make waffles again this morning, to take advantage of what I learned yesterday and “get the process down”. Yummy yummy learning. lol

Yesterday was a beautiful Spring day. I got into the garden, weeded a flower bed, planted four new roses, and tidied up the lawn in preparation for it to be mowed later in the day (picking up sticks, cleaning up any cat poop, and digging up a dandelion or two before they could go to seed).

Both processes serve well as living metaphors and useful practices. Metaphors because they stand so well as analogies for other experiences in life, and practices because the things I learn from each of these experiences is incredibly useful in more than the obvious ways – but also require persistence and repetition to extract all that can be learned.

I sit with my thoughts about waffles and gardening for awhile, watching daybreak becoming a new day. The great vast flock of Canada geese on the marsh begin to take flight, rising up from the delicate mist that is cringing to the marsh and meadow. They pass noisily overhead. The sky is bluer now,  and the clouds on the horizon seem much darker. Still waiting for the park gate to open, I step out of the car, stretching and breathing the chilly fresh morning air deeply before changing from sneakers to hiking boots. It won’t be long now, and it looks like I’ll have the trail to myself this morning. The thought delights me.

…The park gate opens with a quiet clang. I move the car and hit the trail…

Wherever I am standing is a good place to begin.

I return to the car feeling the morning chill. Hands cold in spite of mostly being in my pockets, I chuckle to myself; I’ve got gloves in the car and could have worn them.  i didn’t. Cold fingers struggle with boot laces. It’s chillier this morning than most recent mornings have been. I start the car and warm up a bit. I take time to finish this bit of writing. I’m eager to head home and make waffles, but there’s no rush. I haven’t yet heard from my Traveling Partner, and he’s likely still sleeping. These quiet early morning moments I so thoroughly enjoy are also a way of giving my partner a chance to get more rest without me clattering about the house clumsily, so there’s definitely no rush, and I consider the short walk across the parking lot to the marsh viewpoint,  a favorite spot for getting pictures of nesting birds, and playful nutria. I’ve still got the park all to myself, too…

I think about the new roses in my garden. One new rose yet to arrive, a celebration of love and a reminder of the deep connection I share with my Traveling Partner; “Bolero“. I am excited to add this one to the garden. It’s entirely new to me, and celebrates a strange drive home from camping last year; I had a piece of music stuck in my head that later turned out to be music my partner was actually listening to, unbeknownst to me, in that very moment. I am still a bit astonished by the depth of connection the experience represents, and this is why Bolero has ended up in the garden.

…I’m so excited to see all the roses in bloom…

Love and memories. Practices and metaphors. It’s a good morning to be present and to enjoy this quiet moment of reflection. Soon it’ll be time to begin again,  with waffles and with love. It’s a good day for beginnings.

Tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Categories Allegories, breathe, Free Will, gardening, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Practices, Relationships, Roses, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being
« Older Entries
Newer Entries »