Archives for category: Oregon Trails

I’m sipping a hot cup of black coffee this morning, the first hot one this year, I think. It was a choice based on preference and chilly weather. It’s a foggy morning and the autumn chill made the thought of iced coffee less appealing. I’m grateful to have the choice, the freedom to make that choice, and the agency with which to act upon my preference by doing so.

A whole lot of years ago, (about 47 or so years ago) I made a choice based on preference that I stood firm on with few regrets, no hesitation, and only rare moments of poignant wonder about what a different choice might be like; I chose to be childless. I chose not to parent. I chose to avoid motherhood. I made this choice at a pretty young age, before ever having a moment of therapy, and before having to face the necessity of terminating a pregnancy. I made this choice based on my preferences, my understanding of myself, and my perspective on life, and the world. It was less that I knew what I wanted, and more that I knew what I didn’t want. I did not want to become little more than a vessel for other life, and it sure seemed to me at that time that such was the lot in life of most women with children. So I chose. I was free to do so. I had the agency to enact and stand firm on the choice I made, though I had to fight for it time and again.

…It was a smart choice, for me, all things considered, and I remain glad that it is the choice I made for myself…

How you vote in this election may determine whether your daughters and future generations of women are free to choose to be childless, if that is the choice they wish to make for themselves. It’s an important election, and there really are people in the world who would like to force women to breed for some nebulous greater good, or as punishment for their fundamental humanity, regardless of the risk, regardless of whether the woman is suited to motherhood… regardless of her choice. Pretty terrifyingly grotesque, frankly. I don’t understand such people. That’s the stuff horror movies are made of.

Anyway. Vote. Your freedom of choice and even your personhood and agency may depend on the outcome. Yours, and a lot of other people’s besides.

I’m sipping this excellent cup of coffee daydreaming about love. I enjoyed a lovely evening with my Traveling Partner yesterday, after a difficult (but short) workday fighting off a nasty headache. It’s not so bad today, and I’m grateful. I face the day ahead relaxed and at ease. I slept decently well and I feel rested. I want to paint, but it’s not time for that and I laugh at my foolishly inopportune inspiration. Maybe later? I’ve committed to taking some photographs for my partner later, but perhaps after that?

I sit quietly on this rock at my halfway point on my morning walk. Shorter walk today, but no less appreciated. I can see the traffic going by on the highway, a stream of lights through the fog. I finish my coffee and my thoughts. I look over my writing before I head back up the trail to the car, and on to the office. My heart is filled with love and I am enjoying this strangely tender, grateful moment. I’m so glad I’ve gotten to live this life I chose. It’s a worthy journey. There’s more ahead, and further to travel on this mortal path.

It’s time to begin again…

I’m sitting at the trailhead listening to the rain drumming on the moon roof of the car. I can see clear skies here and there in spite of the rain and the predawn darkness, so I’m expecting this to be a passing shower and hope to wait it out before I hit the trail. I enjoy the sound of it, and for the moment I can imagine life without my tinnitus.

The drive this morning was delightful. There was no traffic. I don’t mean to say there were very few cars on the road, which is generally quite pleasant. It was better than that. I had the highway entirely to myself, aside from one car going in the opposite direction. The soaking rain storms in the night left the highway glistening. Autumn leaves clung damply where they fell. A sliver of moon peeked from between pearly puffs of clouds scattered across the night sky. It was quite wonderful. Still is, as I sit here waiting for a break in the rain and enough light to safely walk the trail. Even now, there’s very little traffic passing by on the nearby highway, and no one else here in the parking lot of the nature park. Lovely quiet solitary moment, and I sit within it, joyful and at ease.

… For a few joyful moments my background stress recedes to nothing and I am truly content, joyful, and calm…

I haven’t been sleeping well. Last night was unexceptional in that regard. It’s a combination of work stress (very busy time), life stress (my Traveling Partner is going through a lot and it requires much from me to support everything he needs), and election stress. I admit it, I’m really struggling with that last one. I so earnestly want to believe that we’re smart enough and have learned enough, not to put a treasonous, dishonest, mentally impaired, lying, misogynist, rapist, fraudster back into the oval office, and that surely – if nothing else – Americans don’t hate women enough to put us through that? But I honestly don’t know. Is misogyny still so prevalent that we’ll use any excuse to avoid electing a highly competent woman – even if it means putting the nation in the hands of an old man so clearly in the throes of serious mental decline? Scary. So very very scary. It’s actually wrecking my sleep, I am that worried about it.

I sigh. I’m so grateful for this quiet moment of real joy dropped unexpectedly into this stressful time. I really need all the joy I can find right now. The smallest moment of delight is worthy of my attention.

I sit with my thoughts. I am thinking about love, and how much it matters to me. I am thinking about my Traveling Partner, frustrated by the slow progress of his recovery, and wondering how I can be more encouraging, a better partner, and what other things I could do to be helpful. Recovering from an injury and surgery is hard, and demands a lot. I sometimes worry I’m failing to do my part to foster a hope-filled and uplifting environment in which recovery feels inevitable. I’d definitely like him to have that feeling. Caregiving is complicated and I still have so much to learn.

… I find so much joy in this relationship. I’m glad we’re “sharing the journey”…

The rain stops, then starts. It’s still quite early. I smile to myself. I’m okay right now. This is a delightful moment. I accept it as it is, and savor the experience. It’s enough, at least for now. Later, I’ll walk the trail, and run some errands on my way home… And begin again.

It’s a rainy Saturday morning. Autumn. The rain isn’t a surprise, the very mild almost warm temperature is. This morning I’m overdressed, with too many layers, anticipating a colder morning on the trail.

Waiting for the sun, and a break in the rain.

My Traveling Partner was explicitly clear he wanted time enough to sleep-in undisturbed this morning, so I’ll take my time on the trail, maybe go farther, and go to the store on my way home. Maybe I’ll stop for a coffee and sit watching passersby passing by, for a little while? The morning is my own to enjoy at my leisure and I’m very much okay with that after a very busy work week that left me feeling thoroughly overwhelmed by cognitive fatigue and quite fragile by the end of it.

When I arrived home last night, I didn’t even make an attempt to mask my excessive fatigue, I just stated rather matter-of-factly that I was going to “go meditate and cry awhile” before hanging out. My partner was careful, considerate, and kind to me. We enjoyed a pleasant evening with the Anxious Adventurer, listening to music and watching videos, after I’d provided myself with the necessary self-care.

New day, new challenges – only, generally speaking, they’re mostly the same challenges I tend to have: physical limitations that need to accounted for, pain that must be managed, emotions to experience and process, and these finite mortal hours. Today my headache is an absolute motherfucker, but I do my best to avoid letting it become my whole world. So far so good. I’m facing more than expected fatigue on less than hoped for rest. All things considered, it’s a pretty ordinary rainy autumn Saturday. My coffee is good. Right now that’s enough. I sit listening to the rain fall and thinking about “the distance between”…

…The distance between “then” and “now”, and how very different life is, than I once expected it to be.

… The distance between what I thought I wanted out of life before I’d lived enough of to know what I might want, and what I want out of life now.

… The distance between moments, how short that really is, and how far it can sometimes seem to be.

…The distance between loving hearts that sometimes develops, though love endures, and what it takes to get closer.

…The distance between two strangers, however close they stand together.

… The distance between now and the fucking election, which I’d very much like to be over with, already.

… The distance between the money and resources available and the things I want to do with those.

… The distance between where I am, and where I’d like to be.

…The distance between where I find myself on this ball of rock and mud and sorrow, and where my dearest friends are.

…The distance between where I am sitting, on this quiet trailhead, and where the bombs are falling instead of raindrops.

I sip my coffee and think my thoughts, listening to the rain fall, and waiting for the sun. There won’t be much of a sunrise this morning, but I’ve got this quiet moment, this good cup of coffee, and there are no bombs falling, here. I let my mind wander, grateful for the life I am fortunate to live, and the love I am fortunate to experience. I sit grateful for a partnership that supports my wellness and gives me freedom to enjoy quiet solitary hours. I’ve got a lot to be grateful for.  I sit with that thought, until it’s time to begin again.

I woke up feeling mostly okay-ish, but by the time I was in the car and heading towards another work day I was feeling pretty crabby. I found myself feeling rather foolishly resentful, not about anything specific, just the expected basics of a typical adult life weighing me down.

The whole “working for a living” thing is actually a serious buzz kill most days, not gonna lie. Don’t misunderstand me, I’m grateful; I’ve got a good job, it pays for what we need, and I like the work I do – but I sure wouldn’t be bored to be able to live on my own terms, and I definitely don’t mind not working. I actually quite like having my time be my own.

… There are so many books yet to read, so many moments of inspiration to paint, trails to hike, conversations to have with interesting people, and so much love to enjoy…

I sigh quietly. I’m mostly resigned to it at this point (I have yearned for retirement since I was 18, but lacked the tools, knowledge, and foresight to make that a reality at the time, and here I am). Still gets to me some mornings, on my way to work.

I get to the trailhead. It’s dark, but I’m walking anyway. I lace up my boots and exchange a few messages with my Traveling Partner, surprised that he’s already up. I’m glad he exists in my world.  To be clear, none of my resentment about working is directed toward him, or about him at all; it’s 100% about the culture and the weird expectations of what counts as “productive” in our society. I frankly have better shit to do with my finite mortal lifetime and my conscious waking hours than putting them in servitude to someone else’s profit, but here we are, eh? If I want those drab green squares of paper and positive numbers on my balance sheet, I’ve got to sell my life an hour at a time.

I shrug off my annoyance. It’s a spooky foggy autumn morning. The fog clings to the marsh. It’s chilly – definitely autumn – and I’m grateful for this warm fleece. I pull my scarf and gloves out of my gear box in the back of the car. They smell vaguely of summer. I wrap the scarf around my neck grateful for the extra warmth and that I am so well prepared. I grab my cane and my headlamp and hit “save”. It’s time to get going. This trail isn’t going to walk itself. I’m fortunate to have this time to enjoy, walking with my thoughts on an autumn morning.

… When I get back to the car, I’ll begin again.

Sometimes we have to choose. It’s not always possible to have or do everything. Maybe it’s a choice between two things we enjoy, or a choice between something we love and something that’s good for us. Sometimes it’s a choice forced on us by timing or limited resources. Sometimes we choose because there are simply only so many hours in a day, or only so much cash on hand. Choices – and limitations – are part of living life, and the choices we make define us. Our choices tell the world who we are.

Today I have to choose… writing or walking? There isn’t enough time to do both. Not really. I enjoy both. Both are important self-care practices for me… but today, time, and timing being what they are, I’ll have to choose. It’s already time to begin again.