The Willamette River flows past quietly. The air smells of summer flowers and grassy breezes. I hear a variety of birds singing and calling from unseen locations in the trees along the bank. A woodpecker taps out a story of summer mornings and a squirrel nearby chirps her annoyance; I am too close, though I don’t see her.
Here comes the sun, new day, new perspective.
This morning my walk is along a trail I have not walked before. I found it earlier in the Spring, when the trees were bare, and the ground was muddy. Pretty spot, I thought then, meaning to return. It’s taken me awhile, but I am here and the moment does not disappoint.
A bunny on the trail ahead, an obstacle, an observation, or a fellow traveler; it depends on one’s point of view.
There are big thickets of thimbleberries out here. Lots of familiar wildflowers (they would be weeds if they were to turn up in my garden). Perspective.
The trail winds through the trees along the river, and around a planted meadow of clover, covered in purple flowers. In the center of the meadow there are several bee hives. Seeing that reminds me I’m allergic to bees (an allergy I acquired as an adult in my 30s, working in construction in California’s Central Valley). I double back, and grab my bee sting kit from my backpack, in the car, and begin again.
A trail walk on a summer morning.
The sun rises while I walk. I catch golden glimpses as I pass through the trees. The trail does a sort of figure eight, looping around and crossing over at the trailhead. One side is a short loop not quite a mile through the trees. The other side is also short, longer, a little less than two miles if I walk the little side loops, too. All of it quite pretty. I don’t hear any traffic at all. No agricultural noise either, though I’m surrounded by farmland, here. It’s Saturday and still quite early. A man walking two very excited well cared for Irish Setters overtakes me and passes by with a friendly greeting and assurances that his dogs are friendly. I walk on, until I find a convenient rock to sit on for awhile, watching the river flow past and listening to the buzz of insects.
Reflections and a quiet moment.
I don’t need more out of this moment than it offers. I’ll definitely be back – maybe tomorrow? Maybe some other day.
I expected this place might be quite crowded, when I was here in springtime, but I was misunderstanding the paved bit down to the river as a boat ramp, it isn’t at all, that was just how high the water level was at the time. No boat ramp here, just a steep drop off at the end of the sloping trail, and an even steeper eroded “trail” of a sort, for those bold enough to attempt it, leading down to a small sliver of sandy “beach” at the waters edge. I don’t go that far; I’m not confident I could get back up to the trail from there.
… I find it helpful to know my limits. I sometimes find it challenging to distinguish between legitimate limits and those self-imposed by fear or doubt…
Clouds gather overhead, obscuring the blue summer sky, and I feel a chill bit of air coming up from the river. I sigh and stretch and smile. Lovely trail. Lovely morning. Moments are temporary, no point getting attached to this one, and anyway, there’s further to go. Feels like time to begin again.
I’m sipping my coffee and self-soothing an unexpected surge in anxiety through grounding myself in this moment, right here, now. I’m not sure why I woke feeling so anxious – most likely it was to do with waking up half an hour later than my planned wake-up, groggy, blurry-eyed, and feeling like every detail of the day was somehow thrown off over a small matter of timing. (It isn’t actually thrown off at all, in any practical sense.) I watered the lawn, headed to the office, and began the day in quite the usual way, without any stress, other than this unpleasant and unnecessary surge in my anxiety. I breathe, exhale, and relax, and working on letting that go. “Nothing to see here.”
Yesterday was a nice break from having a “crowded house” (for some values of “crowded” lol). My Traveling Partner and I enjoyed leisure moments talking about what we want to accomplish. It feels nice to connect more deeply, and to talk about what matters most to us, together. I admitted that I miss my wee library and my studio. We talked about the lack of opportunity for intimacy and individual solitude. It wasn’t a difficult or contentious conversation, just one that felt a bit overdue perhaps, and we welcomed the discussion (or so it appeared to me). We talked next steps and planning. We hung out together in comfortable intimacy, long-time friends, cherished lovers, partners.
“Baby Love” blooming in the heat, a memento of love.
I think ahead to my planned camping trip the first week of August. I’ll head out to the Clackamas River and camp solo, taking some “me time” to “get my head right”, hiking and meditating, writing, taking pictures, and maybe painting. I need this time for myself, most especially lacking any opportunity to be at home alone, like, ever. I feel a certain bit of irritation every time I realize, again, that the Anxious Adventurer has been alone in my home more hours (days) than I have myself – and I’ve been there five years to his one year. Circumstances have a lot to do with it, and I’m not begrudging anyone their alone time, just wishing I had a bit more, myself, without having to take off for the coast or the forest. I sigh to myself; resentment is an obstacle on the path. I exhale and let that go. I’m very much looking forward to my camping trip, and I’ll gear up for a bit of glamping, taking the solar generator, the camp fridge, and the cot (and extra padding for real comfort).
…It’s more about the solitude and opportunity for self-reflection than anything else…
I find myself thinking about the challenges the Anxious Adventurer found himself having with gear he wasn’t familiar with (the generator, solar panels, and fridge, which he took with him camping this week), and wonder if he understands the role his own resistance to learning plays in his experience day-to-day? I had listened as my Traveling Partner attempted, more than once, to explain how to connect the equipment, what to expect, how to use it skillfully, and some basic best practices for getting the most out of the gear – and I had watched as the Anxious Adventurer persistently got in his own way, reluctant to listen, distracted, and taking a foolhardy (and in other circumstances quite dangerous) “performative” approach to demonstrating mastery instead of being vulnerable and open to new information. I mean, I get it; that was once me. (Sometimes still is; changing myself takes practice.) Vulnerability didn’t feel “safe” for much of my early adult life.
It was my Traveling Partner who pointed out how my need to demonstrate “mastery” (even of things I didn’t actually have much knowledge of) amounted to self-sabotage, and helped me get past this thing that (for me) amounted to a critical character flaw. A book called “Succeed: How We Can Reach Our Goals” by Heidi Grant Halvorson was important for helping me really understand what he was communicating, more deeply. (I’m fortunate that I am able to learn quite a lot from reading, and that I am open to new knowledge and willing to practice things I want to become skilled at.) I’m grateful for the part my partner has played in being where I am these days. His willingness to be honest with me, to encourage me, to hear me out and offer guidance based on his own experiences has been incredibly useful – and profoundly loving. I dislike criticism (who doesn’t?), and it can be hard to hear things that sound critical, however well intended, but it is so important to be open to new perspectives, and willing to “see the world through other eyes”. I’m grateful for the shared journey. It is a reciprocal experience; he has learned from me along the way, too.
Where this really started, back in 2010, and a moment of gratitude for the love of the man who shared it with me, then, and remains with me, still.
We each have to make our journey ourselves, as it happens. No friendly guidance can take the steps on the path for us. We’re walking our own path more or less alone, and our choices and actions are our own. Are you getting in your own way? You don’t have to. You’re making choices.
It’s a journey with a lot of stairs to climb…
I’m not saying any of this from the perspective of some perfect higher truth or from the perspective of knowing or certainty. I’m a flawed human being, and I’m looking ahead to a future I can’t see. I make mistakes. I’m just one human being, willing to share what I’m learning – while I’m still practicing and still seeking to become the person I most want to be. I’m not telling you what to do, how to live, or being critical of your choices – those are your own, along with any consequences, and I wish you well. Sincerely. It’s already hard enough to succeed and thrive in this limited mortal lifetime without having to dig out from the piled on cruelty and criticism of the world strangers on the internet – I do want to share some few little things I learn as I travel my path. Maybe you find them helpful, maybe not.
We become what we practice. It’ll be much easier to practice being the person you most want to be, if you have some sense of who that is.
What do you value? What is your idea of “good character”? Where does your path lead? What are you practicing – and will it get you where you hope to go? These things are all connected, and they are important questions to ask, and to try to answer (even though the answers may change over time). I sip my coffee and think my thoughts, enjoying this moment of self-reflection before I begin this new day in earnest. This few minutes of contemplation has put my anxiety to rest, and my sense of timing is back on track. The sun is up. It’s time to begin again.
I get so much peace and clarity out on the trail. Any trail, really, whether new or familiar, it’s more about the walking, the seeing, and the thinking. Moments spent on self-reflection and contemplation are precious and often useful for finding (or creating) depth and breadth in my perspective.
… I keep walking…
A clear blue summer sky.
The tangerine sunrise gave the morning a lovely golden color, and as I drove to the trailhead I watched it develop, stretching over the horizon. The sun took me by surprise, briefly blinding me, seeming to pop up from behind distant hills without warning, a fiery orange. I arrived at the nature park, surprised by the dense mist clinging in the low places; it didn’t seem to have gotten cool enough for that, but there it was.
I walked with my thoughts until I reached a pleasant spot to linger, watching the Tualatin River flowing by. I don’t generally stop at this viewpoint, it’s often “crowded” (for some values of crowded, it’s a popular spot). I’ve got it to myself this morning, and I’m grateful for the shaded little bench. Comfortable. Protected from the heat of the day that hasn’t yet arrived. I remind myself not to linger too long – I plan to make banana bread before it gets too hot to have the oven on.
The world is a mess right now. People with power or vast sums of money are pretty commonly quite terrible and working aggressively to increase their power, clout, standing, or hoarded wealth as quickly as they can pry resources away from people who already have too little. Grim. America keeping immigrants and refugees in cages. Israel planning concentration camps for Palestinians who have (so far) survived genocide. Russia willing to slaughter every Ukrainian to the last standing in order to expand their real estate holdings. Chaos and bloodshed everywhere, and every single time there is some profit making endeavor involved. It’s grotesque. We could do so much better as human beings.
… I think about small ways I can do better, myself, to be the person I most want to be…
Who are you? Where does your path lead? Are you living a life that requires a ton of excuse making and rationalization? Are you defiant when someone knows more than you do? Are you smug when they know less? Are you kind, pleasant, and approachable? Are you building bridges or destroying them? Are you even paying enough attention in your own life to know who you are and why? These are questions worth answering – or at least asking and giving some thought to. You tell the world what your values are with your actions, wouldn’t it be wise to have some understanding of what you may be saying?
Are you being an unpleasant dick because you can’t be bothered to take a moment for human decency and basic consideration? (You’re not alone, if you are, but it’s a choice with consequences, and also likely to degrade the quality of your relationships.)
What are you doing to become the person you most want to be? Who is that? Have you figured that out?
The future is unwritten.
The sunshine of a new day stretches across the meadow. I look down the path ahead of me and consider the steps along this path. The journey won’t make itself. I have choices. My results will vary – but it’s my journey, my path, and my choices. Every step and every moment is a chance to begin again and to do better. I breathe, exhale, and relax. It’s time to walk on. Time to begin again. I smile to myself and tell the woman in the mirror to go take a hike. The clock is ticking.
I’m thinking about moments. So many moments make up a lifetime, eh? Opportunities. Chances. Choices. Sometimes I stumble down life’s path, sometimes I stride down the path feeling confident that I am heading in the “right” direction. Wherever the journey takes me, it is my own.
Stuck in summer construction traffic, I take in the view.
I watch the mostly full moon setting as I lace up my boots. I’m at the trailhead. I remember that I have an appointment this morning, and that timing matters. I add things to my shopping list; that matters, too. Small details. Steps on a path.
Trying to capture the full moon as I head out this morning, a mostly unsuccessful endeavor; it’s the wrong camera for this shot.
Sirens in the distance remind me that life is fleeting, and moments pass quickly. My tinnitus is loud in my ears. In an instant, I am aware of my mortality, and the passage of time. These precious mortal moments so often pass by unnoticed, uncelebrated, and unshared. “Is there anyone even out there?” I wonder to myself. I think about bots, algorithms, and attempts to create artificial intelligence…to what actual purpose? “Efficiency?” Profit? I don’t think these things are actually meaningful or worthy, really, and it is so human to get that shit so very wrong.
I keep walking.
How long does it take for the moon to set on a summer morning?
I sit at my halfway point thinking my thoughts and considering my path, “in real life” and as a metaphor. I breathe, exhale, and relax, enjoying this moment, right here, now. It’s a fleeting fragile thing, a moment. It exists, and then it is gone, leaving behind only a memory (and sometimes not even that).
I watch little birds for awhile. Swallows so swift in the air, and little reddish birds on the fence rail chirping merrily. I wonder if they are aware of moments? I sit with my thoughts and my breath, on the edge of this path, between moments.
Soon enough it will be time to begin again, in some other moment…
I missed a day of writing, yesterday. I think. Did I? I did.
Yesterday’s sunrise
I went walking on a familiar local path, yesterday, enjoying the mild summer air, thoughts on other things, and returned home to work. The work day was busy, routine, and relaxed. When I finished with work, I played a video game for a little while, enjoying that with undivided attention; the Anxious Adventurer would make dinner, as is the practice on Tuesdays. A pleasant day that passed quickly without much to say. It was a good day.
This morning I slept a little later, and hit the trail at a similar time, noticing that already the sunrise comes a little later and the days are a little shorter, as is the way with changing seasons.
A new day
As I walk, I realize I don’t recall the details of the sunrise, this morning, though I am certain I saw it. I chuckle to myself. It’s not as if my mind is on weighty matters this morning, I’m just walking and thinking, and listening to birdcalls. The weeds along the edge of the meadow are quite tall in spots left unmown. They are peculiarly dry and brown in places where herbicides have been applied, near the edge of the vineyard.
I get to a convenient picnic table, not quite halfway, and I sit down to write, which is when I notice that I didn’t write yesterday. It’s fine. It’s not like I write because I am required to do so. It’s reasonable to skip it when I’ve nothing to say, or, as was the case yesterday, I’m simply too caught up in living life, present in the moment.
I’m trying to avoid looking at the news. It’s a shit show of human cruelty, these days, and I just don’t need the stress and anxiety that comes with being immersed in endless repetitions of the same reports of people being horrible to each other, and the wealthy and powerful continuing to profit from the misery created by the current administration. It’s all pretty grotesque and I just don’t need to fill my awareness with that crap in every moment. So… I don’t.
A small squirrel approaches me hesitantly as I sit, still and quiet, meditating. It approaches close enough to place a tiny unfelt hand on my pant leg, looking into my face as I look back, before darting away. I laugh out loud with real delight. My morning is made in this one brief moment.
I hear voices, loud but distant. Farm workers in the vineyard, calling conversation or instructions to each other in Spanish. I am unavoidably reminded of the current trauma and day-to-day anxiety being experienced by America’s immigrants and migrant workforce due to constant threats of raids and fears of deportation. Sometimes I think the wealthy really deserve to experience the sudden loss of available day laborers and domestic staff that would certainly be one direct outcome of these horrible attacks on humanity, but realistically I know the amount of suffering that would be inflicted would devastate those of lesser means, who would also be affected. I smile grimly to myself, although it isn’t funny, as I wonder just who exactly these rich fuckwits think is going to take these jobs (that often pay very poorly for hard work in poor conditions) if we cut ourselves off from the immigrants and migrant workers who fill them now? Are folks ready to pay citizen workers what Americans demand (and require for a living wage) for their labor? I sure don’t think so.
… One might almost think the very wealthy want slave labor, and might not even pay minimum wage if there were no legal requirement to do so. Human greed is some ugly shit…
I sigh and watch the morning sunlight through the leaves of the oaks along the path. Human beings can be pretty terrible, and it’s quite disappointing that we haven’t yet risen above our worst characteristics as beings, though we’ve had hundreds of years to do so. Very disappointing. I frown as an off-leash dog runs past, in this “dogs must be on a leash” area. I’m sure the owner has found some crappy excuse for this, a way to justify exempting themself from the rules. This. This is why we can’t have nice things. It’s a small thing, but the small things add up until we become terrible people.
I sit thinking about that. It’s not an “other people” thing… I think about my driving. I could do better. Every day, there’s something I could be doing to be more the person I most want to be. To be a better person today than I was yesterday. The clock is always ticking on this journey of discovery, healing, and growth.
Our choices have consequences. The journey is the destination.
… It’s already time to begin again. I can do better – can’t you? Small changes over time can make big differences. Maybe we can change the world?
Evening Light 