I have some quiet time in the middle of this lovely Saturday. It’s pleasant. The day looks likely to be a hot one, and there’s the air show… Any time now, the background experience will become so so noisy. I’m not looking forward to it. My Traveling Partner sleeps, for now. That won’t last. I sigh quietly. There’s pleasant music playing quietly in the background. Quite a lovely moment for reflection.
I think over the tasks on my list of things to get done this weekend, all of it on top of the everyday effort to be the person I most want to be, moment-by-moment. That’s sometimes like a whole extra job. LOL I give myself a moment to acknowledge that although it sometimes feels as if it’s truly an uphill climb to make progress some days, progress does get made. It’s a journey, and the journey itself is the destination. It’s about being, and it’s about becoming. There is always more to do. There is effort involved, and practice, and my results vary. I’m very human.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. This is a pleasant morning. I’ve finished most of the basic household stuff I’d planned to do. I’ve done the trip to the store, and figured out what to do, later, about dinner. Now I’ve got some time for me. Paint? Nap? I don’t know. This headache may make the decision for me, and I’ll be honest that I resent the fuck out of that. lol
…Still…perhaps it will be easier to begin again on the other side of this stupid headache, anyway…
I’m sitting quietly with my coffee, reflecting on recent days, resilience, self-care, love, and the sometimes limited success of “doing my best”. My results definitely vary. Very human. I keep practicing.
A new day, a new beginning.
I reached the trailhead before daybreak, and it began to rain (again) just as the sky lightened enough to walk it safely. So… I wait for a break in the rain. I don’t mind; it’s lovely quiet time to write, meditate, and reflect on recent successes and joy. Time well-spent on a self-care practice that matters more than it seems it should, for such a small thing. I definitely need this quiet solitary time in order to truly thrive.
Yesterday was peculiarly difficult until my Traveling Partner realized he had made an error with his medication that affected his experience in a negative way. He asked me to resume helping him by setting up his medications for him. He still needs my help for now, and I am happy to provide it. Taking a careful, considerate, and collaborative approach, he told me what he needs, I got it together and set up for the night and first thing this morning. Later today I’ll set it up for the afternoon and evening. So far, this feels like a good approach, appropriate to where he is with his recovery.
The evening was a quiet one. I went to bed early enough to get a good night of rest, and even slept through the night (rare for me). I woke feeling rested and comfortable in my skin. It’s a pleasant feeling and a good start to the day. My pain is not a big deal for the moment, even my headache is only about a 2 out of 10, this morning. I sit with that awareness for a while, just enjoying it. Enjoying – savoring – these good moments, however small, is a profoundly powerful tool for building emotional resilience.
This morning I plan to give my Traveling Partner some quiet time for rest. I’ll start work a little later, maybe run some errands before then (after my walk). The cloudy sky revealed by the dawn promises more rain to come, but for the moment it has stopped raining. I grab my boots and my cane. Time for that walk. I smile, enjoying the lush hues of green of the trees and blackberry thickets along the edge of the meadow beyond this parking lot and think about painting the scene in pastels. Maybe this weekend? I sigh contentedly to myself. It looks like a good time to begin again.
I’m waiting for the sun. This feels almost like fall. The gate at the trailhead is still closed and the sky is dark, not quite daybreak. Beyond the scattered trees silhouetted darkly against a cloudy sky, illuminated faintly by the glow of suburbia beneath, the lights of commuter traffic twinkle as they pass, like a string of sparkling gemstones. The air is mild, and almost warm. Aside from the passing cars and my tinnitus, it’s quiet.
Beginning again.
Yesterday was a good day, followed by a pleasant evening spent as a family. Time well-spent, in good company. My Traveling Partner is seeming “more himself” as he heals, and I feel encouraged and reassured by this. His kindness and geniality are returning as he heals and it’s good to see. I can’t truly know how hard he has struggled to hold on to his sense of self throughout this injured time, but I do know it hasn’t been easy, and he has suffered greatly.
As for the Anxious Adventurer, he’s walking a difficult path himself, for different reasons. Embracing change is hard, and comes with challenges of its own. New environment. New expectations. New rules. Pretty much every detail of his day-to-day thrown into chaos, however briefly in the bigger picture of an entire lifetime, but nonetheless a lot to learn and to change. It hasn’t been easy to adapt, that much is clear to any bystander.
Me? Yeah, me too. This period of adjustment has been hard. Complicated by the very things that made it desirable to make these changes at all. Being human is sometimes very complicated. I don’t particularly prefer cohabitation, which I discovered rather late in life, and that is my challenge and also my opportunity for growth. Challenge accepted? I so greatly love and enjoy my Traveling Partner that I am fairly willing to make changes to deepen our bond and enjoy our mortal lifetime together, in spite of my nature. Funny creatures, we human beings. We’ll do so much for love.
… Things got ridiculously tense and unpleasant for several days and I have been unhappy with the state of things…
I took time to write down what I really need to comfortably cohabitate and thrive, at my Traveling Partner’s request. He looked it over and agreed that my “house rules” looked like a healthy way to live together as a family, if everyone “buys in” and does their part. We shared the rules with the Anxious Adventurer, who gave them serious thought. We discussed them all together, before everyone explicitly agreed that this looks like a good approach and that we’re each willing to do our part. The discussion was a beautiful “proof of concept”, itself. I’m still coasting on the resulting feeling of shared commitment and understanding. Nice moment. I feel heard and supported.
Humans are still human. We’re each working our asses off to be better human beings than we were yesterday. We’ll become what we practice. We can count on incremental change over time. This feels like a very pleasant place to be standing in life. It’s still work, and no doubt our results may vary.
Daybreak comes. I hit the trail feeling light-hearted and contented. Another nice moment. I smile as I walk. No fancy colorful sunrise this morning; the sky is gray and cloudy, threatening rain. I’m fine with it. It’s not raining right now. The air is sweet with the scent of wildflowers and meadow grasses. I’ve got the trail to myself this morning. On the other side of my walk, a stop at the store on my way home. Life being lived.
I walk on, grateful to be walking, still. I breathe, grateful for the breath of life. My heart is filled with love and the thought of my partner, and I am grateful for the opportunity to love and be loved in return. I walk and keep on walking. Once I reach the end of the trail, I’ll begin again.
He said, almost as an afterthought, “I forget about your brain damage sometimes, because you generally handle things so well.” I don’t recall where that conversation went, now, but the remark itself lingers. A compliment? I think so…? It’s complicated, like finding the right balance between just living life and reminding people now and then that there is brain damage, and that it is very much a part of my day-to-day experience.
… I continue to think about my Traveling Partner’s loving words. Those. Others. 14 years together. We’ve been through some things. This bit of chaos, here, now? Part of the journey. Opportunities to grow, to do better, to become better partners, are plentiful right now. I hope to take advantage of many of them. I see my partner embracing those opportunities, too. We’re both very human, and this is a very human journey.
New beginnings, new perspective.
I started my walk just before sunrise, at first light. My pace is improving, my strength, too. Staying on top of my self-care requires diligence and focus. Sometimes I feel like I’d rather just… sleep. Yesterday evening, I chose (with my partner’s encouragement) to go to bed early and get a proper night’s sleep. I woke feeling rested and started the day feeling pretty good. Yesterday I also tried a capsaicin patch for a particular pain that seems caused by my neck, and is intensely distracting at its worst. I’m surprised, but it actually did really help. (Please don’t tell me if this is a placebo effect! I’d rather have the relief.)
At some point yesterday, it was difficult to dismiss my partner’s assertion that I was “holding my breath” in response to my pain. I clearly was. I caught myself several times. Annoying. It’s not at all helpful to stop fucking breathing! As I walked this morning I focused on “staying with my breath”. It seems irritating and silly to have to practice breathing for fucks sake, but here I am. Then I laugh out loud; skillful, practiced breath work is part of so many things! Why do I even fuss about it? I sleep with a CPAP machine, because I frequently stop breathing while I sleep. Why would I expect that this concern would somehow just not be a thing simply because I am awake?
A momentary traveling companion along the way.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. My anxiety isn’t bad this morning. My recent “11” is a more manageable “2”, today. Win. I finish my walk, and prepare to begin again.
I take a quick gulp of my iced coffee and lace up my boots to get a quick walk in, before the work day begins. My thoughts are with my Traveling Partner. I am already dealing with feelings of guilt and regret for agreeing to come into the office today. I hope to make it a fairly short day, which causes me some anxiety. No reason for that (the anxiety), really, my boss and my work team have been very supportive of the time I have needed to take to support my partner, first while injured, and now following his surgery.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. I remind myself that anxiety is a liar. I remind myself that my Traveling Partner was okay with me going into the office today, and that he’s been making great progress on his recovery, and even that he won’t be alone all day because he has a friend coming around to visit a little later. I still feel distracted by the distance from my partner, concerned for his well-being, and worried in an abstract persistent way. Perhaps this is a predictable bit of the slow return to normalcy? I sigh and grab my cane; I no longer take walks without it.
Every journey begins somewhere.
I get back to the car, fleece unzipped, warmed through from walking briskly, and pleased to have covered a good distance in half my usual time. Sunrise is just getting going. Daybreak comes much later than a few weeks ago. My back aches this morning and my tinnitus is loud in my ears, but my headache isn’t particularly bad, and that feels like a win. It’s enough to build the day on. I sit for a moment watching the clouds hustle across the morning sky, shades of gray with hints of blue. I sip my coffee and breathe the meadow-sweet air. This is a pleasant moment. I don’t rush it, instead I linger here long enough to really feel it.
Last week is a blur; too much too fast, too tense, too emotional, and too little sleep. I’m glad it’s behind me; it may have been one of the most emotionally difficult weeks of my life. It sure feels that way from this vantage point, but it’s still very “fresh”, and no doubt my perspective is skewed. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I let it go (at least for now; there’s more to learn from that experience).
Hints of pink in the clouds skittering by remind me to check the time. I finish swapping back from boots to shoes. I take my morning meds with a swallow of coffee and silently complain about the pain I’m in, before thinking about the pain my partner still experiences as he heals and the many months of more severe pain he had to endure to get to this point. Perspective. (In spite of the many tense moments between us recently, I miss him dreadfully right now, although I am only 20 miles away, and only for a couple hours at this point.)
I sigh and admit to myself the inevitable; it’s time to begin again.
Like it or not, you’ve got to walk your own mile.
[Some time about 2 hours later]
It sometimes feels as if “life” and “change” are entirely interchangeable words. On my way between my walk and the office, my Traveling Partner phoned. He needed my help, and it really highlighted the necessity. Non-negotiable; I need to be there. I turned the car around immediately and headed back. It’s one thing to be away an hour, maybe two, but all day? I can’t. I really can’t. Not yet. Fuck.
I reach out to my work team and reset expectations. No problem there; everyone’s good with it. I reach out to the Anxious Adventurer; can he be there sooner, and be immediately helpful while I’m on my way back? He can. I feel relieved, and alert my Traveling Partner that help is on the way – and I am, too. Change is.
It’s later. My partner is resting. I’m settled into work. “Nothing to see here.” It’s a Tuesday. I’ve got this cup of coffee, and this day plan in front of me. Routine? Hardly. It is what it is… And what it is, is time to begin again. Again.
Evening Light 