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.
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.
My morning is off to a weird start. I woke to my alarm – rare, I’m usually up earlier. I had forgotten to lay out clothes for today, so had to pick something before I was quite awake (the result being that my earrings don’t seem right to me for the outfit I’m wearing). I left the house feeling rushed, but it had been raining through the wee hours and watering the lawn this morning was unnecessary, so my timing wasn’t off by more than minutes. Perspective and subjective lived experience continue to collide.
Rain clouds wrap the distant hills.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
I woke with a poignant love song in my head. It’s the sort of song that can haunt my thoughts for days. It carries so much more meaning and heartfelt understanding of love than some trash pop song. I walk hearing the refrain in my head, grateful to love and be loved.
There’s a strong breeze blowing. Feels like it’ll probably rain more. My bones ache everywhere that arthritis has settled in, and fuck you if you’re perceiving that complaint as a sign of aging. 😆 My arthritis developed in my spine before I ever saw my 30th birthday. It’s been more than thirty years of this shit. (It has worsened and spread with age, over the years though, that’s real.) I could definitely do without being able to predict a rainy day from the way my bones feel, in favor of less pain. Weather forecasting is not a worthy trade off, and not usefully accurate.
I walk on down the soggy path after standing a few minutes at my halfway point. Everything is soaked. No dry place to sit. I walk a bit. Stop. Write a few words. Walk on. It is a different perspective on a Spring morning. It is quite chilly, too. I’m grateful for the warmth of my birthday sweater. A good choice for a chilly rainy morning. I keep walking.
The rain starts and stops, as if uncertain what the day holds, like the pattern of my steps. I don’t know what the day holds either. 😆 Bits of blue sky show through the clouds here and there, and the breeze through the tops of the oaks sounds like ocean waves. The tree tops seem to wave good morning as I pass. For these mature giants to toss about in this effortless seeming fashion, though, implies a real world hazard – branches may break unexpectedly and fall. It happens enough to feel like an ordinary risk, there are downed branches on the trail here and there, but it would be pretty serious if one fell on me.
I happen upon a partially sheltered rock dry enough to sit on and stop for a few minutes. I still feel as if my timing for the day is off somehow. It isn’t, at all. Clear awareness that the feeling and the reality are not aligned makes my anxiety flare up briefly – until I remember how very subjective an individual experience of life and “reality” actually can be (and often are). It’s a nothing moment and my anxiety recedes, slinking away into the background as if ashamed of the half-assed effort.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. I take a few minutes for meditation, and to finish up my writing. I break out in a sneezing fit, because of course I do – can’t have a proper Spring morning without allergies, eh? I’m laughing at myself, because I really expected the rain to rinse all the pollen from the air. That’s what comes of holding on to expectations. I’m glad I stuffed a pack of tissues in my pocket. My last one – I pause to add them to my shopping list for my next trip to the store.
I get to my feet to finish this walk and get on with the day. It’s already time to begin again.
I woke early, but later than usual. I didn’t sleep deeply through the night, but I got the rest I need and I feel pretty good aside from a predictable amount of arthritis pain; I woke to a rainy Spring morning, no surprise. I reach the trailhead delighted that the rain is still a sprinkle that won’t slow me down.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
… What an excellent weekend…
My beloved gave me a couple more birthday gifts and I’m feeling so loved by this twist on a birthday celebration (instead of gifts all at once on the actual date that is my birthday, a gift every day of the 12 days leading up to it). It’s been lovely to receive some books, too – one replacing a book lost when I left an ex, one to instruct me on the basics of chess, others that I’ve been wanting very much to read. Books are an amazing gift for anyone who enjoys reading. I make a neat stack of the books I haven’t yet read. They’ll be properly shelved once they are read, one by one.
New software for my operating system. 😆
Seriously, I really like books. I read. I definitely find it more useful to read from bound books. Reading on digital platforms and devices doesn’t seem as effective for learning or comprehension, somehow, at least not for deep learning. It’s more a quick lookup resource suited to answering a question or finding information. From there, if I’m interested in a deeper dive, I go to bound books.
As I walked I reflected on the books that have meant most to me over the years. I have most of those, on one shelf or another. My books are among my most cherished possessions.
There’s more to life than what can be found between the pages of a book.
I get to my halfway point still smiling. The sprinkle of rain threatens to become more then gives up. It’s an ordinary enough Monday. I smile thinking about the weekend. I got in some lovely miles on beautiful trails. I enjoyed them so much I’m planning to make each of these my routine on the weekends for some little while, maybe through the summer.
… Variety and novelty keep things interesting…
The sun rises, shining golden through a gap in the clouds, and illuminating the oaks along this trail. Pulling my attention back to here, now, and this moment.
It’s a pretty good moment for a beginning.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. I enjoy a few minutes of meditation. I feel calm and capable, and ready for the day. I sigh contentedly, feeling a momentary (and entirely temporary) feeling that it never has to be more complicated than this. Feels good. It’s not a feeling that lasts, and I’m okay with that. Emotions are impermanent. As with moments, they are brief and often pass very quickly. Love is one of the few that tends to hang around, if made welcome. My heart fills with love and gratitude when I think of my beloved Traveling Partner. I feel fortunate to share so much of life’s journey with him.
Take it at your own pace. Incremental change over time adds up. We become what we practice, however slowly.
I sit awhile thinking about change and this personal journey that is one human life. There’s been much to learn – and somehow that never really changes. There’s always more. This adventure isn’t about mastery at all. It’s more to do with endurance and becoming something more over time than who we were at the start. This journey changes us. That’s the point. The journey is the destination. Where does your path lead? Is that where you want to go?
What you find along the way may depend a lot on what you’re looking for (or at).
I take a deep breath and exhale slowly, tasting the hint of rain on the Spring air. It’s time I got going. The clock is ticking and this path isn’t going to walk itself. 😆 I stretch and get to my feet. My next steps are waiting.
Yesterday was beautiful at the outset, but slid sideways into hurt feelings and aggravation later. Pretty sure it was mostly me: poor communication and unsuccessful pain management – but even if it weren’t me at all, I’m only going to be able to work on the me portions effectively, ever. So… that’s on my mind this morning.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
…I almost returned to Basket Slough this morning, it was that lovely, yesterday.
A beautiful place for self-reflection.
Instead, this morning I head to Spring Valley, another lovely spot with a pleasant trail.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. Yesterday’s sunny (and also rainy) afternoon has become a memory. This peaceful morning begins with a new moment on a less frequented trail. As I get my gear together, a truck pulls into the parking lot and a burly outdoors type climbs out and gathers his gear. Backpack, waders, net, fishing rod, cooler… Definitely looking like he’s here with a purpose. The river is very nearby. It flows past still and silent. He doesn’t bother with this spot right here by the parking; he heads purposefully down the trail. I give him time to get well ahead of me; I have no interest in conversation with strangers this morning.
The Willamette River on a Spring morning.
I head down the trail with my thoughts. I consider yesterday’s walks. I recall seeing a medium-large gopher snake on the Basket Slough trail leading up into the oak savannah to the viewpoint. He was too quick for my camera, sliding away into the grasses alongside the trail and quickly disappearing. As I walk this morning, I happily spot a family of rabbits playing at the edge of the meadow, and they see me approaching and dart away into the brush before I can get pictures. Life is like that (love is too); opportunity is not enough. We’ve also got to make the effort required, and even so we may be met with failure instead of what we think of as success.
… That’s frustrating (and disappointing)…
Doesn’t much matter that there are no “do overs” (there aren’t, not really, what’s done is done) – we can, and must, begin again. We can learn and grow and do better next time (or do something altogether different). It’s a journey.
A wild rose along yesterday’s path.
I think about the rose I did photograph… And the lady bug I didn’t photograph. There are choices we make in every moment. It’s not always clear whether or how our choices will be significant. They often are, though, and it may be for the best to make all our choices with care. Moments are finite and fleeting and we don’t know when the journey will end or when travelers may part company. Ideally we each do our legitimate best every moment, every choice, every relationship, every day… It’s a lot to keep up with. Failures happen. Stupid catches up with all of us eventually (at least a few times). Sooner or later, we all take a turn at hurting someone’s feelings, or of being hurt ourselves. It’s a very human experience.
…Do your best. Make your effort count…
I don’t write any of this from a perspective of finding the journey easy or the path ahead clear. I’m writing from the perspective of being very human and, regrettably, sometimes a complete asshole. I’m sitting here contemplating how thoroughly (and frequently) I manage to fuck up some of the simplest seeming things, like basic communication. I sigh to myself. I’m not making any excuses. I could do better. I’m also not giving myself much grace or consideration at the moment, I’m pretty vexed with myself even after a night of rest. Part of me says I did my best, and wants me to learn and grow from that. Part of me says I fuck this shit up way too often and I can (and need to) do better. I guess both positions are true.
Does matter where the path leads if we don’t make the choice to walk and take the steps to make the journey?
I take a breath of the cool Spring air at the edge of this meadow. I listen to the sounds of the birds all around me. In one direction, the trail curves away around the meadow. In the other direction, it also curves away around the meadow. 😆 From this vantage point there’s no obvious difference – but the distance in miles may differ, and the outcome may differ. What I find along the way may be different, too. What matters most is to choose – without knowing the outcome – and to begin. The journey is the destination. That has to be enough. There is nothing else.
I sigh and walk on. This rock isn’t very comfortable anyway, and I “think better on my feet”. This morning I am a little preoccupied with self-interrogation of how I can more skillfully listen deeply, and avoid talking over people (particularly my partner), and how to make things right with my beloved after hurting his feelings and being an insufferable ass. Another sigh, this one a bit impatient and frustrated with myself, but realistically this is “the vehicle” I have for this trip. I’ll have to make it work.
It’s a new day, and there are new opportunities to be the woman I most want to be, and to be a better lover and partner than I was yesterday. There are choices involved, and effort, and verbs – and still more opportunities to begin again… but the clock is ticking. Time is finite and we are mortal creatures. It’s time to begin again.
