Another new day, and I’m feeling good about it. It’s a Friday, my calendar is pretty light, and it’s payday – all practical details that are a suitable foundation to a pleasant morning. It’s early, not yet daybreak. The office is very quiet, and I’m working with the lights out, letting me see the nuances of the sunrise, when it comes. I’m sipping my coffee and thinking of moments, and of people. I’ve got a song stuck in my head, which I woke with. It’s one that my Traveling Partner plays for me, and hearing it fills me with warm affection and a sense of romantic connection. My inbox is full of email from friends, replies to recent emails I sent to them. I’m eager to take time to reply to each one, but that moment is not now.
…Nice start to the day…
I sip my coffee, and consider the day, the moment, the upcoming weekend, the things that matter most to me, and dear friends (most of whom are quite far away, these days, others who are nearer… well… we all behave as though we’re far away, anyway, welcome to the 21st century).
I drove into the city wrapped in a soft misty rain. I smile thinking about it; it’s the sort of rain a garden full of tender sprouts and seedlings really loves. The thought carries me to my garden, and I think about the rose that has arrived, and is ready to plant, and I think about which seeds can now be sown (is it time to plant beans?) and reminding myself to get out there and weed the flower beds before the friend who cuts my lawn undertakes the task (being helpful) – he isn’t reliably good at telling the seedlings of young flowers from the seedlings of weeds (me either, sometimes, but I do know where I’ve put seeds). I grin at my eagerness to do this bit of manual labor; as a kid at home, it was one of my absolute least preferred chores to find assigned to me on a weekend day! Funny how we grow to embrace some of the things we hated growing up. Time in the garden as a kid was just a lot of unpleasant toiling with no value to me personally (that I could understand at the time). Now, time in my garden is my time, well-spent, appreciated, and thoroughly enjoyed – and not in spite of the work involved, but often because of it. My garden, my time, reflecting my thinking and choices, and done with love to be shared with my Traveling Partner (who isn’t so into it, but loves it along with me, because I love it so much).
…My thoughts about the garden carry me back to my thoughts about love, and friendship, and the moments we choose to share with those dear to us. I put the song that’s stuck in my head at the top of my playlist and hit “play”; it’s time to begin again.
My head aches ferociously this morning, some annoying combination headache that grips the base of my skull and holds on, dull and distracting. My tinnitus is loud, and also very annoying. Ah, but this cup of coffee is hot, and properly made, and soothes the part of my brain that very much wishes I were not awake right now at all. A new day begins, and so far… it’s mostly annoying. lol Yes, I’m also mostly laughing it off – because honestly what the hell else can I do with it that might get me somewhere better than this situation right here, right now? I’m just saying, I could choose to be angry about it and mired in my aggravation, but I’m doing my best to not do that.
I was awakened too early; my Traveling Partner was having trouble sleeping because he was congested and having trouble breathing easily, which is most definitely a crappy experience to be having. I woke from a deep sound sleep, cross and alarmed, and concerned that I’d likely not be easily able to get back to sleep (and might also be at risk of escalating the situation into some sort of argument) because of where my head was at when I woke. I chose to get up, dress, and head into the city (so so early) – I knew I could nap on the couch in the lounge for a couple hours before my day typically begins (there wouldn’t be anyone there to be disturbed or inconvenienced). The drive into the city was pleasant, uneventful, and calm; there was no traffic, and I only saw a couple cars passing in the other direction on the entire drive. Once I arrived, I had no difficulty getting more or less comfortable (for most values of “comfortable”) on the couch, and I managed to nap for a couple hours, although the city version of “quiet” is rather noisy for my liking.
I sip my coffee and recognize that some portion of my headache may be the result of the less-than-ideal pillow I was resting my head on, or the position I was in, generally. Still… I did rest, and it is a new day…anyway, I think I had this headache when I woke up earlier. Today I have my appointment with my massage therapist, and that will likely give me considerable relief from this headache.
…Pretty good cup of coffee, too…
Fairly typical of cities, this one seems “flooded with light”, even during the wee empty hours of the night. When I woke, this space seemed “brightly lit”, although there were no lights on. It was just the ambient light of the city itself, and my eyes had adjusted while I dozed. I woke somewhat disoriented (so I know I definitely slept, possibly fairly deeply), confused by the illuminated surroundings, which clashed with my expectation of darkness. Finding my way to the coffee machine in the “darkness” was easy, and the hot cup of coffee was so welcome.
…So here it is a new day…
I sigh and stretch, and rub my aching neck, and sip my coffee. I wonder if my Traveling Partner finally got back to sleep, himself? I hope he did. Being short on sleep sucks.
My mind wanders. I drink my coffee. The pre-dawn sky is still quite dark, and daybreak is still minutes away, and it’ll be more than half an hour after that before the sun rise. For now, I can’t even see whether the sky is cloudy – those details are still obscured by the city lights. Still, it’s interesting enough to simply watch the cars go by on the streets below, and listen to the crows announcing their plans for the morning, while I drink this coffee.
Day breaks, and the crows take flight as a noisy group. Soon enough it’ll be time for coffee #2… and time to begin again.
I had a restless night of interrupted sleep. No bad dreams, just periodically waking up for no obvious reason, before settling into sleep once again. It wasn’t unpleasant, but the night seemed unreasonably long and I got up well ahead of my usual time, dressed, and left for work early. The commute was effortless, because at that hour there was no traffic on the road. Now, I’m sitting at my desk, looking out at the dark pre-dawn cityscape, sipping my coffee. It’s a Tuesday, and my calendar is pretty full, but all that begins quite a bit later, and I have some time to sit with my thoughts.
A cherished handmade gift from a dear friend.
Last night as I was tidying up a quiet room that is mostly decorated with books, I found this small handmade paper journal sort of just set aside, waiting for some moment. It was a gift from my recently deceased dear friend, celebrating my 60th birthday. It was intended to accompany me on a camping trip with my Traveling Partner, and as I recall now, I elected to keep it safe from harm by not taking it out into the wilds where dirt, wind, or rain might wreck it, knowing I’d find some similarly meaningful use for it some other time and place.
It even came with instructions. 😀
I sat for a moment with this cherished gift in my hands, gently unfolding the letter that is still tucked into a pocket inside the cover. I reread the letter, my heart filled with love and fond memories, a soft sad smile on my face. I miss my friend, but how delightful to have this memento of our friendship to remember her by!
Each page decorated by hand, each page unique, bringing to mind the illuminated manuscripts of another age.
I turn the pages, one by one, each one different, each one ready for some thought, or poem, or random handful of words to be written there. I felt so inspired, just to hold it in my hands! I examined each page, reconnecting with so many memories of the friendship we had shared. I delighted in the recollection of her enthusiasm for small handmade gifts, and how extraordinary and special each such gift to me remains to this day. I smiled thinking about her best friend bringing a similar cherished gift to the hospital while I was there visiting, to share that precious memory. What a beautiful human being my dear friend was! She was – is – so well loved by those who knew her. Missed.
“Friendship is a gift that lasts.” – It is indeed.
I turn to a page with a pocket from which a string dangles, and a note attached to the pocket reads “Pull the white string up”, and so I do – and as if speaking to me from “the beyond”, a tag appears that reads “friendship is a gift that lasts”. My eyes fill with tears that don’t fall, and the smile on my face becomes a bit brittle, a little fragile, with this reminder that I was also dear to my dear friend. I feel loved. I feel grateful to have shared this amazing friendship. My smile deepens as I sit with my memories for a moment. I’m okay. Grief is a process, and there is no escaping it; “the way out is through”. Fucking hell, what a first rate friend she truly was.
The last page. A bookmark. A reminder.
I turn page after page of this small handmade journal, and imagine writing in it, at long last. What would I write in such a precious space? What words fit in this slim fragile volume? I imagine for a moment that whatever I wrote here might be something she could read, from wherever her spirit rests. Fanciful, but comforting. The bookmark tucked into the pocket on the last page says only, in large letters, “Roses”. I smile and think about the roses I recently purchased to add to the garden with her – and the memories of our friendship – in mind. I allow myself the fancy of imagining she somehow knew. (Certainly, she knew I love roses.)
What a beautiful little moment! It lingers with me now, and I woke this morning to see the wee journal resting on a cushion, next to my neatly folded clothes, waiting for the new day. Where will this journey take me? What is ahead on this path? I sip my coffee and think happy thoughts of trails to hike, and roses to plant, and long summer days in the garden. I think about the wee journal, and my dear friend, and what words might fill these pages.
My mind wanders to other cherished friendships. I could be a better friend; I make a commitment to reach out to friends I haven’t spoken to recently. I think fondly of my Traveling Partner – our deeply loving relationship is also built on a firm foundation of a cherished friendship. We were friends long before we were ever lovers. I’m grateful for that friendship, it has carried us through some tough times with considerable affection and grace. Whatever else goes on in life, friends are such a huge part of life being worth living in the first place. I sip my coffee and think about how fortunate I am to have the rich friendships I do. The value isn’t in numbers of friends, either, it’s in the quality of enduring friendships, and the love and laughter they bring to this very human experience, that can sometimes feel so lonely otherwise.
I look up as I finish my coffee. The morning sky is hues of blue and shades of gray where clouds crowd the horizon. Daybreak has passed. Sunrise is moments away, although I doubt it will be anything exceptional to see, this morning. Regardless, here it is a new day – and already time to begin again.
I’m groggy. I slept less than ideally well. The commute into the office was… fine. Traffic was heavy, and seemed peculiarly fast. I felt like I was running late (I wasn’t) and my timing even now feels a bit “off”. It’s less than ideal, just generally. I feel mostly comfortable in my skin, although I’m having to work to manage the pain I’m in this morning. It’s okay. It could be worse. My Traveling Partner woke me around 2:00 a.m., annoyed to be awake and letting me know that. I admit it, I was aggravated about being awakened (particularly since I wasn’t having the best night as it was, myself), but he was a super sweetheart 100% after that moment of annoyance, and it was lovely to see him before I left for work. The annoying moment and being awakened at 2:00 a.m. was less than ideal… but… in the grander scheme of things, it doesn’t amount to much.
…It’s just that kind of day…
Life is a funny mix of ups and downs, trauma and achievement, healing and hurting, convenience and inconvenience, ease and difficulty… and a day or moment that is “less than ideal” may still be pretty fucking fantastic in most regards, and surely isn’t “bad”. It’s pretty easy to overlook where “less than ideal” actually fits on a curve… think about it. “Less than ideal” is basically everything that isn’t “ideal” a characteristic that can be applied to damned few things. “Ideal” is perhaps not quite “perfect” (and nothing actually is, although some things may seem to get close)…so… “less than ideal”? Yeah, very little of that is going to actually be “bad”. Mostly it’ll end up being pretty fine, and generally okay. Something to think about. Perspective is funny that way.
…I’m still super groggy…
I sip my coffee sort of dragging myself through the morning. I look at my to-do list for today, and I’m surprised that I’ve knocked off easily a third of what I had planned for today, and I’ve only been at it a couple hours. The plan is not the experience. The map is not the world. The “less than ideal” sense of things is not an indication of success or failure – it’s just a feeling. 😀
I guess I’ll make another cup of coffee and begin again.
Once upon a time, perhaps I’d have just been getting home… Tonight I am unexpectedly awake in the wee hours restlessly not falling asleep after waking up a bit earlier to pee.
The lotus votive glows softly in the corner.
There’s a soft glow in the room, given off by the 3D printed votive holder my Traveling Partner made for me over the holidays. It’s a lovely reminder that I am loved, and although I am awake I am relaxed, calm, and content with meditating for a few minutes, writing a few words, and giving sleep another try.
The house is quiet. My partner sleeps. I am safe and comfortable.
Evening Light 