Archives for category: solo hiking
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Waiting Time

April 4, 2024 //
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I’m waiting. It’s quite early, before daybreak. I’m parked at a local trail near home. I’m waiting for enough daylight to walk. I’m waiting for the grocery store to open. I’m waiting for my Traveling Partner to wake and start his day. I’m waiting to begin my long weekend and short trip to the coast. It’s not a bad time for waiting. The world seems quiet and peaceful, and although that’s an illusion (the “peaceful” bit is very local), it’s a pleasant moment with which to begin the day.

My head aches ferociously. My neck, too, aches horribly. It’s more likely than not a byproduct of yesterday’s physical therapy, which isn’t unusual but is usually less intense. Progress? Hell, I don’t know.

Subjectively, I feel as if my range of motion is improving. The symptoms of occipital neuralgia seem reduced in frequency and intensity. Those are promising changes, but g’damn the pain persists, it’s just located differently. lol Learning to deal with pain emotionally has been as important as anything I’ve done to attempt to reduce it. I fully expect pain to continue to be a thing that is part of my day-to-day experience, and it’s no good letting it call the shots (anytime I have a choice to do otherwise). My results vary.

The ringing in my ears is… loud. I’m looking forward to being by the ocean. The sound of ocean waves and seaside breezes is one of the very few things that drowns out my tinnitus almost entirely. It’s a delightful break from the maddening din that no one else hears. For a couple days it’ll be rather as if there’s no tinnitus at all. This experience is one of the reasons I go to the coast when I need some time to myself, the chance to escape the noise of my tinnitus for a short time. Another is the feeling that being oceanside connects me more closely to my Granny and my recently departed dear friend,  both of whom felt a strong connection to the sea.

It won’t be long now until mountain and forest places are warm enough for camping and hiking, too. I enjoy the forest most of all,  myself, and that’s a lifelong love. I enjoy the seaside places. I enjoy the broad plains and vast expanses of high desert skies. I love the forest. My reluctance to camp in early Spring is to do with physical comfort, only. My arthritis makes sleeping on the ground in chilly weather uncomfortable, and the more frequent Spring rains make hiking muddy and more treacherous, so I just don’t. Choices.

…I sit quietly for some moments, feeling grateful to have the luxury and privilege of choices…

Daybreak comes. The morning sky stays pretty dark, and streaks of blue hint at daylight to come, through stormy clouds. It’s not raining though, and it looks like a good morning for a walk. I remind myself to check my paint box for blues and grays and colors I might use for stormy skies…

Soon there will be enough light to walk the trail. I grab my boots to make the change from sneakers, and get ready to head down the trail. It’s already time to begin again.

Walking my own path, I start where I am.
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Categories Allegories, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being

Clocks and Calendars

April 2, 2024 //
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It’s quiet early, but daybreak arrived before I finished my commute into the city. I’m sipping my coffee and watching the sun rise from the office. The big windows, and this corner seat, give me an amazing view of the changing colors of the sky. Looks like another sunny Spring day ahead. I smile to myself, enjoying the coffee and this moment.

A glance at the calendar reminds me it’s a short countdown to my next wee getaway to the coast for some solo time. I’m surprised that I’ve needed so many short breaks to maintain my emotional wellness over the past six months or so, but when I reflect on that, I guess it isn’t so surprising. I’ve had a job change, my Traveling Partner has had an injury (some months ago, now) that has required my continued assistance and support, as well as the picking-up-of-slack resulting from his reduced ability to do things around the house when I’m working (or, generally) while he recovers, and more recently the loss of a dear friend hit me hard – right in the emotions. So, okay, I need a bit of a break from life and routine and… effort. Not so surprising at all. I’m fortunate that I can take the break I need. I’m even more fortunate that my partner supports my doing so, and more generally supports my commitment to self-care (and has, himself, a personal commitment to my wellness as well as his own).

Calendar and clock remind me of all the many details of a planned work day. I sigh to myself, already chafing at the constraints of time and planning. The clock never stops ticking; what we do about that is what matters. I know I need a day or two without feeling “chased by time“, and I’m eager to enjoy a couple days of … no agenda. No plan. No specifics. Just sleeping, waking, breathing, and being. Meditating without a timer. Napping without checking whether it makes any sense to nap right then. Reading because it’s what I feel like doing in that moment. Walking on the beach without a goal or destination. Eating meals based on whim or curiosity without being concerned about what anyone else likes. Seeking awe in small details of the world around me, without chasing any particular experience or satisfying any expectations. Giving up the structure and routine of day-to-day life for a couple days, in favor of savoring each moment of existence as something of a personal adventure in leisure and relaxed joy.

…Oh, damn, that sounds soooo good…

In the meantime, I am counting down the hours with an eye on the clock and the calendar. There are things to do before I leave, and things to do to prepare to go, and … just things to do that need to be done. All very commonplace stuff, and nothing to be stressed about. No reason any of it should “weigh me down” or create a feeling of pressure… sometimes it does, though. Adulthood requires us, individually, to keep track of a lot of fucking details. This morning it was a gentle reminder from my Traveling Partner that I’d said I’d take the glass bottles on the counter to be returned or recycled, and hadn’t yet done so. Routine shit and I honestly just forgot; they’d become invisible to me sitting there, unless I was standing right there making coffee. Just a small detail that needed attention. They add up. I make lists. I do my best to keep on top of all the shit that wants doing. lol It’s a very human experience and my results vary.

The medical appointment that was stressing me out so badly was… fine. Productive. Useful. Promising. I’ve got to make some changes to medications I’m taking, and I’ll start a new one at the end of the weekend (yes, Ozempic), after I come back from the coast. I’m hopeful that small changes in treatment will result in big improvements in wellness – there are still verbs involved, and I’m not allowing myself to become overly eager and wantonly encouraged by the temptation of improvement in the form of a prescription; I’ve still got to do my part to skillfully manage my calories, the nutritional quality of the food I eat, the exercise I get, and on and on – details. Details that add up. I raise my cup to the sky, toasting the value of incremental change over time. I finish my coffee, and begin again.

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Categories Allegories, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, Love, meditation, Moments, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being, turning 60, weight loss secrets

Waffles

March 31, 2024 //
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The blues and grays of daybreak are smeared messily across the sky, clouds gathered low on the horizon. There is a bus idling at the bus stop on the highway, near the parking lot, where I am sitting  waiting for the sunrise. No one gets on or off at this relatively remote stop at this very early hour. Eventually the bus pulls away,  leaving behind only the quiet of morning.

I finally made waffles in the new waffle iron yesterday. They were… good? Not great. A new waffle iron means learning how to make waffles all over again. It’s definitely a better waffle iron and I plan to make waffles again this morning, to take advantage of what I learned yesterday and “get the process down”. Yummy yummy learning. lol

Yesterday was a beautiful Spring day. I got into the garden, weeded a flower bed, planted four new roses, and tidied up the lawn in preparation for it to be mowed later in the day (picking up sticks, cleaning up any cat poop, and digging up a dandelion or two before they could go to seed).

Both processes serve well as living metaphors and useful practices. Metaphors because they stand so well as analogies for other experiences in life, and practices because the things I learn from each of these experiences is incredibly useful in more than the obvious ways – but also require persistence and repetition to extract all that can be learned.

I sit with my thoughts about waffles and gardening for awhile, watching daybreak becoming a new day. The great vast flock of Canada geese on the marsh begin to take flight, rising up from the delicate mist that is cringing to the marsh and meadow. They pass noisily overhead. The sky is bluer now,  and the clouds on the horizon seem much darker. Still waiting for the park gate to open, I step out of the car, stretching and breathing the chilly fresh morning air deeply before changing from sneakers to hiking boots. It won’t be long now, and it looks like I’ll have the trail to myself this morning. The thought delights me.

…The park gate opens with a quiet clang. I move the car and hit the trail…

Wherever I am standing is a good place to begin.

I return to the car feeling the morning chill. Hands cold in spite of mostly being in my pockets, I chuckle to myself; I’ve got gloves in the car and could have worn them.  i didn’t. Cold fingers struggle with boot laces. It’s chillier this morning than most recent mornings have been. I start the car and warm up a bit. I take time to finish this bit of writing. I’m eager to head home and make waffles, but there’s no rush. I haven’t yet heard from my Traveling Partner, and he’s likely still sleeping. These quiet early morning moments I so thoroughly enjoy are also a way of giving my partner a chance to get more rest without me clattering about the house clumsily, so there’s definitely no rush, and I consider the short walk across the parking lot to the marsh viewpoint,  a favorite spot for getting pictures of nesting birds, and playful nutria. I’ve still got the park all to myself, too…

I think about the new roses in my garden. One new rose yet to arrive, a celebration of love and a reminder of the deep connection I share with my Traveling Partner; “Bolero“. I am excited to add this one to the garden. It’s entirely new to me, and celebrates a strange drive home from camping last year; I had a piece of music stuck in my head that later turned out to be music my partner was actually listening to, unbeknownst to me, in that very moment. I am still a bit astonished by the depth of connection the experience represents, and this is why Bolero has ended up in the garden.

…I’m so excited to see all the roses in bloom…

Love and memories. Practices and metaphors. It’s a good morning to be present and to enjoy this quiet moment of reflection. Soon it’ll be time to begin again,  with waffles and with love. It’s a good day for beginnings.

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Categories Allegories, breathe, Free Will, gardening, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Practices, Relationships, Roses, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being

Quiet Time

March 30, 2024 //
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Daybreak is just a faint pale smudge along the horizon. The moon hangs low on the western sky as it slowly sets. There’s very little traffic,  it’s a Saturday morning and I am parked at a trailhead waiting for sufficient daylight to walk a favorite trail, again. Aside from the interruption by an occasional passing car,  my tinnitus is the loudest thing I hear. It’s quiet this morning, and peaceful.

…Another car pulls into the parking lot, pulls up to the closed gate, then slowly drives to one of the few parking spaces outside the gate and parks. They are waiting, too. As the days grow longer it becomes more likely to see another person here, even at this early hour.

I sit with my thoughts, enjoying the quiet and waiting. I think about my garden plans for the weekend. The new roses have arrived. I hope to get them planted. Three of these honor my recently deceased dear friend, and love and friendship generally. I think she would have enjoyed my selections. I hope my planned placement is as pleasing as I think it will be.

The sky continues to lighten slowly. Looks like blue skies today. The local forecast is for warm Spring weather. A promising beginning. I think ahead to the day and weekend. Yesterday I was too tired to be much help to my Traveling Partner,  but today I plan to be available to assist in some work stuff, if he needs me.

My trip to the coast is just days away, now. I’m eager to enjoy the deeper more prolonged quiet time. No agenda,  though I may bring my paints along. I  haven’t yet decided the most desirable means of “refilling my fuel tank”, this time. Maybe I will simply read and nap and walk on the beach?

A new day dawning, another opportunity to be the person I most want to be.

The park gate clangs open. It’s time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, art and the artist, breathe, Free Will, gardening, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being

Ring, Zing, Buzz

March 24, 2024 //
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I’m waiting for the sun on a Sunday morning. The forecast is for rain, but it isn’t raining here, now. Across the highway, and further still across some fields, suburban lights glitter low on the horizon. This is no wilderness, although the trail I’ll walk feels at least a bit remote, down along the Tualatin river. Daybreak is approaching. Soon. In the meantime, I sit with my thoughts, listening to passing cars and the ring, zing, buzz of my tinnitus. It’s a quiet morning and at least for now, my tinnitus is the loudest thing I hear.

Daybreak on a cloudy morning.

A break in the clouds reveals the blue of the morning sky. Daybreak is not helpful for walking, this morning. Anyway, I am still waiting for the park gate to open. The lower marsh trail I can reach from this parking space just outside the park is seasonal, and off limits until May. Frankly, some mornings (many), it’s tempting to walk the seasonal trail anyway, although it is off limits this time of year, but doing so would come with additional risks; it’s a lowland trail along the edges of the marsh, often muddy and sometimes flooded in spots. It would be just a bit more stupid to walk it in near darkness than I prefer to be. Also, these sorts of community spaces rely on people following the rules in place to protect them (both the spaces and the people using them), to maintain their beauty for years to come and new generations.

… So, I wait…

Waiting, watching, being.

I sit with my thoughts, enjoying the stillness. It’s a mild Spring morning and a good one for walking. The cloudy sky hints at rain. I’m glad I spent time in the garden yesterday. Between the gardening and the weather, it definitely feels like Spring here. I’m grateful for the change of seasons. Another new beginning.

I feel a poignant sorrow that my recently deceased dear friend missed the coming of Spring. No tears. I have the sense that she “chose her time”, and I can only honor her memory and respect her choice. I’m okay; we are mortal creatures. I’m fortunate to have shared so much time with her.

It’s time to begin again.

The park gate opens with a quiet “clang”. There’s enough light to see the trail. The day and this walk are ahead of me, and that seems like a worthwhile direction to go…

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Categories Allegories, breathe, Free Will, gardening, gratitude, grief, Healthy Living, Love, meditation, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being, turning 60, women
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