I’m waiting for the sun. Waiting for the gate to the park to open. Waiting to get a walk in, before the many hours of driving ahead of me today. I have a headache, but I wouldn’t have missed the moment by choice; the luminous full moon hung over the marsh, lighting the mists that clung to the ground and the lakes. I sat on the hood of my car in the morning chill, listening to the peeping frogs somewhere in the grass, and smelling the scents of Spring approaching.
One beautiful quiet moment.
The gate opened, and I moved the car and got my boots on and got going. Walking with my thoughts is a practice I know soothes my heart and calms me. Yesterday’s tears become today’s resolve.
Later, I’ll head to the store and do things to ensure my Traveling Partner is comfortable while I am away and mostly able to see to his own needs for a couple days, then I’ll hit the road. It’s not a ridiculously long drive; a few hours, about the length of a work day. I’ll take breaks and put no pressure on myself to manage any particular timing. I’ll just drive, get there, and deal with the circumstances with as much grace and love as I am able to bring to it.
… Saying goodbye can be so painful…
I plan to return as I departed, patiently, with care, and cutting myself some slack on time and timing. I’ll get home and resume living life, and doing all the little things that are part of that experience. I’ll hold my partner tightly and make a point to show him how much I love him. Time is short and we are mortal creatures.
I am so grateful that I have my Traveling Partner to come home to. The thought anchors me and gives me a feeling of safety and wholeness.
Knowing that each ending is also a new beginning doesn’t make saying goodbye any easier. But… I’ll go. I’ll say goodbye. I’ll return home… Then I’ll begin again.
I jot down some thoughts for later, before I hit the trail. I’m killing a bit of time waiting for a passing rain shower to move on from here to elsewhere before I start down the trail. I’ve got my boots on and my rain jacket. I’m ready. I’m thinking about how much small changes over time have added up to big differences in quality of life, health, fitness, and my relationships. I put those thoughts aside, and head down the trail.
I take the short trail up to a view point, just to grab this picture. There’s nothing extraordinary about it, I just wanted to.
I walk along noticing signs of Spring, although it seems quite early for it. There are trees already leafing out, and flowers beginning to bloom. Seasonal ponds reflect the sky and the surrounding trees from the calm surface of murky water. The ducks don’t mind the muck, quite the contrary, they seem to enjoy it greatly.
A pair of ducks enjoys a quiet breakfast together. Will there be ducklings soon? I wonder but don’t go looking for a nest.
Yesterday, I had the park entirely to myself, although it was a Sunday. Today, in spite of it being a Monday morning, there are quiet a few others enjoying the trail, and though I’ve done my best to give them (and myself) considerable distance, I find myself pausing along the edge of the pond, waiting for someone to walk on past. They don’t stop at the pond; they see me and quickly walk on past. At this early hour, the majority of the folks on the trail are seeking solitude. This is not the “family hour” of the morning. lol
I walk and enjoy the Spring air, fresh from the rain during the night. I tread carefully on the slick muddy path, and silently thank myself for choosing to walk with my cane this morning; it prevents me from losing my footing a handful of times as I walk. I reach my goal, a particular riverside viewpoint, and sensing the approach of another rain shower, turn back up the trail.
Spring flowers and young leaves are plentiful, already.
As I walk, I find myself thinking again about small changes. I’ve not once hit the trail for the first time in Spring and comfortably stepped along at my best pace for multiple miles, then returned home feeling energized and ready for more. If I’ve been off the trail for a few weeks, I start again a bit slower, and tackle shorter distances of level well-maintained (or even paved) trails and build up to the distances and quicker pace. If I haven’t been writing awhile, I generally start with fewer words, and build a practice of regular writing, before I seek to drop lengthy missives on an unsuspecting recipient of my correspondence. If I’m committing myself to a new fitness strategy, I don’t hit the mat (or the gym) with aggressive energy, seeking to max out my weight, reps, or duration – I start light, and build up to my goal. Lots of things seem to work best with small changes and incremental changes over time.
Small changes are on my mind. New doctors, new images, new results, all of these tend to mean new treatment plans, new strategies, and a different way of viewing (and caring for) this fragile vessel and the limitations it has. Improving on my present wellness and fitness isn’t an over-night single-change solution at all. There’s more to it than that, and even with great care and small changes, my results will vary along the way. It’s a journey. Steps on a path.
So… I walk and think, about miles and fitness and pain (and pain management) and what it takes to get the most (and the most joy) out of this fragile vessel in this one mortal lifetime. Walking is my most reliable form of exercise day-to-day – and I want to go further, faster. I picked up a soft elastic ankle “brace” (more of a stretchy sleeve that offers some compression and support than a proper brace), understanding that the biggest limiting factor for my walking is currently my ankle. So, okay. Small change, and incremental improvement over time – it’s a place to start. 😀 New lab results and images make it clear that much of my pain is due to chronic conditions (and in some cases degenerative), and the “penalty weight” I carry (being considerably more than any estimate of “ideal weight” for my size and age) definitely adds additional wear to my body, and it’s a lot to have to carry for this fucked up ankle, and a lot to support for this fucked up back (and neck)… so I give thought to things like nutritional density, calorie restriction, and small changes that could add up to – over time – less weight to carry around. I can’t say I’m super eager to embrace these changes, but lying to myself about the necessity doesn’t get me anywhere I’d want to go. So, I walk and I think, and I consider and I plan. I’ve already started adding some supplements that may improve my general well-being, bone health, energy… I’ve got a good doctor, and so far her recommendations have been skillful. My Traveling Partner is working on his health and fitness, too; being injured has hit him hard, and he’s taking his health quite seriously. (I don’t feel like I’m making this journey alone, which is also helpful.)
I arrive home still feeling encouraged, hopeful, and eager to continue to make small changes. I sip a cup of tea, a new favorite, and think about the Spring garden. Earlier this weekend, I got out into the garden (in a bit of a drizzle) and cut down the last dead bits of the previous year, and pruned Baby Love (a rose that doesn’t know the meaning of winter, apparently). This morning, I thought about early plantings and decided to make time to plant peas, carrots, radishes, and early greens. It’s time, if the calendar and temperature can be relied upon. 😀 I make a plan and get out the seeds.
…My Traveling Partner sticks his head in the door of the studio to tell me my phone is misbehaving. I offer to reboot the silly thing…
Another lovely day unfolds ahead of me. There are things to do, and in the doing there is healing and potentially improved wellness. I hope to be around for many more years to come, gardening, painting, hiking – and beginning again. 😀
I “slept in” this morning, still waking well before sunrise. My Traveling Partner was already up, and we enjoyed a cup of coffee together before I left for my morning walk. It was a pleasant moment together.
One perspective on the morning.
I arrived at the trailhead before the gate opened. There was a drizzly rain falling, but by the time the gate into the park opened the rain had stopped. Convenient.
I hit the trail happily, and watched mumurations of birds rising from the marshy lowlands, and flocks of geese moving on to their next stopping point on their journey. I listened to peeping frogs, unseen in the weeds at the water’s edge. I felt the morning breezes on my face along with an occasional raindrop. It’s a lovely gray cloudy morning with mists clinging here and there, looking rather mysterious. I walked along in solitude, content to be alone with my thoughts, still reflecting upon the dreams that had filled my sleep, and seem somehow relevant and worthy of further consideration.
When I got back to the car, it was still very much the start of a new day. I’ve got a short list of things to pick up at the store and a plan to go to the local nursery for some gardening items and inspiration. (It’s already time to think about Spring!) I feel an extra bit of relaxed delight with the day; it’s a three day weekend and I am in no hurry.
I sat for a moment after changing back to sneakers from hiking boots, just thinking my thoughts. The misty rain began to fall again, as if that pause in the rain had been just for me, to get my walk without being soaked. lol I enjoy the happy coincidence with a helping of whimsy before I begin again.
Sometimes all it takes to change my perspective is a difference in timing. I woke a bit later than usual and immediately headed out to get a walk in, first thing on this windy gray Saturday morning. The weather is blustery and chilly, but not particularly cold, and between the later start time and the slow seasonal change to the timing of the sunrise, it’s already daybreak, just barely, when I get to the trailhead. The park gate hasn’t yet opened, and I wait with quiet eagerness.
Yesterday was fun and encouraging. My Traveling Partner got his first work day since he got hurt handled and it went well. Together, later, we assembled an inversion table (hopefully it’s a helpful piece of gear for his continued recovery), without any cross words at all, in spite of my fatigue at the end of the day. It was fun.
Today kicks off a long weekend, but I didn’t make any particular plans. Housekeeping, and caring for my partner will likely take up much of my time. I could possibly get going on the taxes. Maybe I will get out into the garden? (That sounds lovely…)
The wind rocks the car and howls past me, whipping the trees back and forth. Occasional raindrops spatter the windshield as I wait for the clang of the gate opening.
I have no idea what the weekend holds, but I have this trail ahead of me, and this lovely morning, and I am ready to begin again.
I’m waiting, again, at a trailhead. Daybreak is here and the gate to the nature preserve will open shortly. It’s a new day.
The view from a parking space, looking towards the highway.
I breathe, exhale, relax… and listen through the ringing in my ears for the clang of the gate opening.
Yesterday, in my impatience to get going, I walked in the pre-dawn twilight just at daybreak on a very cloudy morning. I started out with my headlamp on, and needed it. I find the walking both less satisfying and also riskier at that hour, and this morning I am taking a more patient approach.
… Strangely, it’s definitely “dawn” now and the visibility is quite good, but the gate has not yet opened. Quite odd. I find myself wondering if the sensor is broken, and whether I will be waiting a long while for a park ranger to come by to open it…? Curious, I check the website, which still says the trails are open “dawn to dusk”. The gate across the driveway up to the main parking area and year-round trailhead disagrees. Most peculiar.
I sigh quietly and work on managing my frustration and disappointment. There are other trails nearby. I could choose differently and don’t have to wait… I sit with that thought awhile. What to do?
… I hear the clang. It’s time to begin again.
Later. The morning air along the edge of the marsh smelled rather like aquarium water. The migratory birds gathered in groups here and there were waking for the day and beginning to take flight. The sky lightened to shades of blue and pale gray. A soft misty rain began to fall. I walked on, smiling.
