Archives for category: solo hiking

It’s nice to find a moment of beauty in trying times. I took a picture of a lovely sunrise moment the other day. Yesterday? The day before? It does nothing to capture the context, an empty fallow field, not suited to sports or play, uneven and treacherous to walk, with a well-used “fitness trail” wrapping around it like a muddy ribbon. In full daylight, it’s not an especially beautiful or enticing location. This picture though? A beautiful sunrise, captured to inspire me far longer than standing there in person in some other moment could.

Is it a beautiful sunrise, or an unkempt empty lot?

Reality is what it is, but what we each understand reality to be is very much a completely other thing, mostly made up in our heads. We’re each having our own experience. We understand the world filtered through the lens of our own experience and whatever useful perspective we may have adopted (or been trained upon) over a lifetime. Human primates appear to be creatures capable of reason, and great depth of understanding…but we’re also shortsighted, emotional, and prone to self-delusion. We use words carelessly (and sometimes aggressively) and we walk away from a great many interactions with a very different understanding of what was said than others involved.

I had a powerful reminder of how easily human communication goes quite wrong in spite of good intentions. I recently asked the Anxious Adventurer to share his “move out plan” with us, hoping to have a better idea of his hoped for timing, target dates for various commonplace milestones in any move, and knowledge of his general plan and how far along he is with all of it. This felt very routine to me; we’re looking at an April move, most likely, and that puts things in the upcoming 90 days.

… Communication is complicated…

The Anxious Adventurer misunderstood me to mean “get the fuck out as soon as possible and tell me how you are going to do that”, although I don’t think my words or tone suggested that. I can only imagine the stress that caused him! I didn’t notice how my request hit him. My Traveling Partner spotted something amiss, but it wasn’t clear what. The Anxious Adventurer, a “millennial” by generation, kept his feelings to himself, and struggled alone without asking any clarifying questions. Obviously less than ideal all around. Hopefully an educational experience for each of us.

Once the miscommunication was revealed, we sorted it out and talked over the basic plan. I guess the short lesson is use your words with care and clarity, ask questions, and make a point of defining terms and assessing the quality of a shared understanding. Like that picture of a lovely sunrise looking out across an unkempt empty field strewn with obstacles and litter, what we think we understand may not be all there is to know – or even accurate to circumstances. Fact checking, testing assumptions, and asking clarifying questions are basic communication. As I said, communication – good communication – can be complicated. Certainly it requires practice.

…It does tend to begin with speaking the fuck up when clarity and shared understanding are lost…

(Sometimes we just don’t know we didn’t understand, or failed to communicate clearly.)

I sigh to myself, sitting at my halfway point on a local trail shortly before daybreak. I enjoy writing in the stillness and quiet before the day begins. A new day feels filled with promise and hope. I savor this quiet moment before a new work day gets going. I sit with my thoughts awhile. The work day will come soon enough. This moment here, now, is mine.

I breathe, exhale, and relax, watching the waning moon slowly setting. I’ll begin again a little later.

My tinnitus and an HVAC system somewhere nearby are the only sounds I distinguish in the predawn quiet. Even the nearby highway seems quite silent, although it is Monday, just past 06:00. The morning is foggy and mild and the winter weather that is pounding the east and midwest with blizzards and drifting snow is something I read in the news. We haven’t had much winter weather here.

The trail is wet with recent rain. A dense fog wraps me and obscures the details as I walk. It is chilly, but not really cold, and I’m feeling (mostly) over the cold that slowed me down last week. Colleagues who traveled last week are reporting in with reports of illness, and taking the day to recover. I guess I’m glad I didn’t go. I certainly enjoyed the time at home. My Traveling Partner has been doing pretty well lately, and we’ve been able to enjoy ourselves and each other more.

Today? Just a Monday. Half day of work, then the afternoon at the VA for my annual visit. I shrug as if I were saying it aloud. Sitting here at my halfway point with no view, before sunrise, just the fog and my tinnitus, I find myself quite unexpectedly deeply contented. This moment is mine. It’s not fancy, but neither is it noisy, troubled, nor complicated. I sit with my contentment, appreciating it as it is.

I sigh to myself, looking down the trail, as it disappears into the fog. Useful metaphor, I think. The wind changes direction, and the fog begins to dissipate. I smile, and stretch as I stand. Seems like a good time to begin again.

Seen and unseen, in the predawn darkness. (Different camera settings would have revealed more. Feels like there’s a metaphor there.)

I get to my halfway point on this favorite trail before daybreak. Most of the walk thus far was in the gloom of nautical twilight, and it is a foggy misty morning on the marsh. There was a full moon visible when I started, but it was quickly swallowed by the clouds.

We don’t always walk a well lit path.

I walked with my headlamp on until the faint predawn light became enough to make out the path, then switched it off and let my eyes adjust. A dumb idea on an unfamiliar or poorly maintained trail, but this trail is very familiar, kept well, and free of debris or obstacles, generally. My steps crunched along in the dim light. The moon broke free from her cloud prison briefly and in the meadow I saw a herd of deer standing. They disappear into the fog as the moonlight is obscured by clouds again. I kept walking.

By the time I reach my halfway point, I’m wondering again if I may be coming down with another cold or something? I feel like I’ve worked hard to get so far. There is no opportunity to shorten my walk now – it’ll be the same whether I walk on, or turn back. I recall waking during the night, drenched in sweat, somehow still feeling cold, feeling chilled and woozy as I got up to pee. The covers were clammy as I wrapped myself in them again, never really waking up completely. I feel mostly okay, just sort of low energy with a little sinus congestion, which mostly passes as my morning allergy meds kick in. I sigh to myself, sitting on this fence rail at the edge of one of the marsh ponds, swinging my feet like a kid. A passing raccoon gives me a sideways glance, but doesn’t take any real interest, going her own way.

I sit quietly with my thoughts for some while before I pull off my gloves and begin to write. Just sitting here in the stillness before sunrise, I feel my “batteries recharging”.

I breathe, exhale, and relax and wonder what it might be like to feel recharged and energized through companionship and community. Life must feel very different for people who crave the company of others, even needing it profoundly to enjoy life at all. Although I do recognize the interconnectedness and social nature of human beings as creatures, my awareness of connectedness and dependency doesn’t seem to change my need for solitude. This is rarely a problem for me, these days; I have accepted who I am in this regard, and it does nothing to diminish my affection for those dear to me, nor reduce their importance to me. I just also have to take care to nurture myself, and make a point to get enough time alone. Without it my mental health quickly begins to suffer and I have more difficulty managing my PTSD, and my emotions.

I like walking as a metaphor for making a journey, or progress, or growth, or forward momentum in life. I like walking. Giving it some thought, I am aware that I’ve used “going for a walk” as a source of needed solitude for as much of my life as I can remember. It can be g’damned difficult to find solitude in a world of social creatures. I find a solitary walk exceptionally reliable for finding a moment or two utterly alone.

A new day dawns.

Daybreak comes. The fog on the marsh fills the low places. I stretch and sit awhile longer. Soon enough I will have to return to the world and begin again.

I woke earlier than I had hoped. It is a colder morning than forecast. My Traveling Partner is awake, coughing in the living room. I blow him a kiss as I leave the house, realizing moments later I could have actually kissed him. He sends me his love in the form of cute “stickers” in a message as I pull out of the coffee stand with a hot cup of coffee, ready to head up the highway. I reply with a couple cute stickers back, and find myself hopeful that he may be able to get a little more sleep.

Daybreak on the horizon.

It’s 22°F (-5.5°C)  as daybreak touches the horizon. Cold. Properly wintry. I sit in the warm car, with my coffee and my thoughts, waiting for the sun. I feel fairly certain the sunrise will bring the temperature up. It’ll still be a cold walk, and I’m already looking forward to a warming luxurious hot shower after I return home, but it’ll be better than walking in the dark on such an icy morning.

I saw a shooting star as I drove up the highway this morning. Yes, I made a wish on it. No, I don’t think making wishes on stars is actually something that works. lol What did I wish for? You’d laugh if I told you.

…What a weird scary world we’ve created…

I sigh to myself and turn my gaze back to the western horizon, now a streak of dirty orange with some blue-ish sky above it. The outline of Mt Hood becomes visible. The oaks that dot the meadow begin to take shape. There is comfort in real things in this real lived moment. I take refuge from my anxiety in this gentle “now”. Nothing much going on right here; a woman in a car at a trailhead, watching the sun rise. Pretty peaceful calm stuff. I have high hopes for a pleasant day ahead.

My head aches ferociously this morning. I take some medication and hope for relief. The cold hasn’t yet had its opportunity to seep into my bones, and my arthritis is not yet vexing me. That’s something, anyway. It’s enough and I’m grateful. My pain may be less manageable by the end of the day, but for now, I’m feeling pretty fortunate. Other than the cold, it’s a lovely morning to walk the trail here.

…I think about maybe getting my nails done before I head to San Francisco this week for work. It’s a definite maybe. 😂 I mean, I’d like to, but I’m reluctant to spend the money. It seems pretty frivolous… Choices.

Dawn comes.

The gate into the main parking area opens with a screech. I move the car closer to the access point for the year-round trail. I add my scarf, hat, and oversized fleece to my layers and put my gloves and cane handily within reach. I won’t want to stop long this morning, so I finish this now, before I set off down the trail. The colorful sunrise is a beautiful backdrop to the oaks.

I take my time enjoying the sunrise.

As the first light of day begins to touch the treetops, the frosted meadow grass sparkles. The hint of white suggests snow from a distance, but there’s been none of that. I’m selfishly grateful, but dismayed when I also think about summer ahead, crops, and the possibility of wild fires. Being good stewards of this one planet that is our home has not been easy for human primates; we tend towards self-serving greed and shortsightedness. We could do better.

Daylight. Across the highway I can see the lowland farm fields that in previous years have reliably become a shallow seasonal lake favored by migrating birds each winter. This morning it is a grassy field, mown short, covered in frost. G’damn I hope the planet recovers from the damage we have done (with or without us). I’d like to be around to see that.

Walking my own mile. Where does this path lead?

I sigh to myself, and begin again.

I slept in. I reached the trailhead as the sun cleared the horizon, and after enjoying some lovely views of Mt Hood at sunrise on my way up the highway. It is a clear cold morning, frosty and breezy.

Dawn, and the mountain in the distance.

I thought to make my way around the nature park from the less frequented trailhead tucked out of the way along the west side of the park, nearer to the river. I’d forgotten that the trail on that side is part of the seasonal route; closed until Spring. I grab a shot of the sunrise and head to the main trailhead. As late as it is, this morning, there are only a couple cars in the parking lot. It’s too cold for most walkers, though it is now a few degrees above freezing. Photographers and dedicated bird watchers still show up – and me.

I reach my halfway point, grateful for the added warmth of my gloves, scarf, and hat. I sit awhile, watching small birds hopping among the bare branches of nearby oaks. Busy morning for small birds, apparently.

Which is the distraction, the many small birds, or the tangle of branches against the blue sky?

I sit with my thoughts awhile. “Other people’s drama”, mostly, pulling my focus from what I need for and from myself most. The amount of emotional energy any one of us has to put into supporting, avoiding, addressing, healing, resolving, soothing, or staying out of such things is sometimes pretty fucking ridiculous (and draining). We inflict it on ourselves through social media, we find it forced upon us in our relationships, we create it in some moment of frustration, disappointment, or misunderstanding. It’s all very messy and annoying. We could do better. Unfortunately, emotional intelligence, critical thinking, conflict resolution, and healthy communication practices are rarely explicitly taught as part of mainstream curriculum (definitely not in the US), and many of us only notice the lack in our own life and development when we finally breakdown to the point of getting (and accepting) real help. Most of us just get by on a DIY approach, changing problematic behavior only after it destroys some important relationship, or after our life “falls apart” as a consequence of our shitty behavior or lack of emotional control.

“Feel what you’re feeling, do what is right,” a monster used to say to me. (I didn’t realize then that through other eyes I might be viewed as a monster, myself. PTSD is a relentless adversary, and hurt people do hurt people.) I can’t say I learned many good lessons in that relationship – and I’m lucky to have escaped with my life. This phrase has continued to stick in my memory. It’s an important idea about choice and values and free will and could have been really useful guidance if I’d had more understanding of my emotional experience in the first place, or if I’d had a more clear understanding of what I thought was “right”, and where I stood in relation to my values. It is more useful now, however regrettable the source.

Human beings, being human. It’s complicated. Sometimes some pretty important basics elude us until we’ve made a mess of our lives completely. Sometimes we just don’t accept guidance we’re offered. People are complicated. We’re each having our own experience, but often behaving as though we have shared perspective, values, and understanding of circumstances – even though we barely manage to communicate clearly. Often we aren’t even listening to the Other, we’re just wary, defensive, and waiting to talk. We could definitely do better.

Who do you most want to be? How will you be remembered by those who matter to you most?

I sit listening to the wind blow. It’s a different experience with the hearing aids in. I ask myself what steps I would take to improve a valued but contentious relationship if it were critical to preserve and deepen that relationship? What would I tell a friend if asked? I think I’d begin with utterly basic practices, starting with the Four Agreements. (Nevermind mind the “woo”, these are really effective basic practices.) I might also suggest:

  1. Be sincerely curious – ask questions from a place of goodwill.
  2. Listen deeply.
  3. Assume positive intent.
  4. Remind yourself why this person and relationship matter to you.
  5. Behave with kindness.
  6. Do not escalate.

I know. Not the easiest list of practical suggestions. Feasible with practice, but so many verbs and opportunities for failure. It can be really hard to pause in some moment of temper and say in an honest and vulnerable way “hold on, I want a do-over on this conversation, this is not how I mean to behave.” Practice will result in incremental changes over time. No guarantees that people dear to you will stick around while you struggle to become the person you most want to be. Use your words. Do your best.

… You’ll definitely have to do the work involved in being a better version of yourself, all on your own…

…Yes, it’s real work, and a lot of it.

I guess I’m just saying, things are sometimes challenging in these human relationships. It can seem so unreasonable to have to work so hard at them. It can be so worth it! Do your best – and when you fail (and you will), take a breath, apologize sincerely for the harm you may have done, and begin again.

… Good luck! This shit is hard sometimes…