Archives for category: The Big 5

I head down the road to a welcoming quiet trail along the Willamette River, singing a favorite rather poignant love song out loud, acapella, and probably off key. Doesn’t matter, what matters is the meaning of the heartfelt words. Love is perhaps the most human and humbling of experiences.

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

… But what do I even know? I’m just one woman living a mortal life…

I watch the sun rise as I drive to the trailhead singing love songs badly on my birthday. I arrive at this beautiful place, with my thoughts and my baggage, and hoping to do a better job of being the woman I most want to be without compromise or regret in the year to come.

Every dawn is a chance to begin again and to make the choices to be (and become) the person we most want to be.

I start down the trail and immediately find myself facing a choice. That’s often how things go. We make a lot of choices in life. Many of those will turn out to have been poor choices, once we’re further down the path life takes us, sometimes it’s hard to know when we make the choice. Ideally we learn from the experience and do something different next time. Doesn’t always work out that way… it’s a very human experience.

Go left or go right? It’s a simple choice, and either way this trail will bring me back to this place. Yes, it’s a metaphor.

I walk on. Does it matter what my choice was? Sure, it matters. My perspective will change based on my choice. I’ll see the world and my own circumstances quite differently perhaps. I walk on down the trail with my thoughts, enjoying the blue sky overhead and the many hues and shades of green. The meadow smells of Spring flowers: clover, blackberries, wild cucumber and wild carrot, various meadow flowers for which I lack names.

A robin on a fence post.

Snails, rabbits, robins, squirrels, chipmunks, a small fast lizard, a garter snake, bluejays… I stay alert as I walk. This beautiful place is home for a lot of creatures. This is a pleasant beginning for my birthday. I’ve taken today off, and also three days next week. I’ve got two of those planned for a bit of solitary time on the coast, the rest I will spend with my beloved, as much of it as he has patience for. It will be time well spent, it generally is. He’s smart and funny (and having his own experience). I’m grateful for the time we share in this too brief mortal life.

I find a pleasant spot to stop awhile, to write and to reflect on the year that has passed and to contemplate the year ahead. I could do with less chaos and turmoil. Less sheer willpower pushing me to complete tasks and more thoughtful self-care would be good, too. Doing a more skillful job of listening and loving would be a good choice, with less waiting to talk or being pissed off about dumb shit.

You know what is harder than practicing mindfulness? Living mindfully. You know what is more complicated than living mindfully? Loving mindfully. The amount of vulnerability and openness required is…much. The patience, kindness, and compassion involved are hard to overstate. The listening. The acceptance. The self-awareness. All of it takes practice. I fail a lot. I begin again over and over. I keep practicing. Incremental change over time is something I know I can count on, but it can be slow.

… And the clock is always ticking…

It’s about the journey, though, these precious mortal moments aren’t obstacles, they are the main event. I sit watching the sunlight change the green hues of the forest and the shrubs along the trail with seemingly infinite variety. There’s something to learn from sunlight through leaves. The trees and shrubs are what they are, it is the light that tranforms them. I sit with the thought awhile.

Shades of green on a Spring morning.

Three dogs run up the path, chasing each other playfully and darting in an out of the meadow, chasing each other, and the small rabbits hiding in the grass. A man approaches on the trail. “They’re friendly!” he calls to me. He’s loud. I’m not interested in conversation. I wave but don’t speak. I’m annoyed by the dogs being unleashed. The park signage is quite clear that dogs need to be on a leash, here. This man chose to behave differently. He doesn’t even have leashes with him.

… I find myself thinking about behavior vs feelings, and behavior vs intentions. We make so many choices in how we behave. I consider my own choices and behavior. How can I do a better job of reliably choosing the best behavior, moment to moment? This is worth considering.

A little while later (must be that time of morning), a woman approaches with three dogs, leashed. They are quite large, and well-behaved. They walk calmly alongside her. She stops occasionally to let them check out the scents along the trail. She waves politely as she approaches, but doesn’t break the beautiful stillness and quiet with loud greetings. I wave back. There is discipline and intention evident in her behavior and that of her dogs.

People making choices.

I watch to see which path the dog walkers will take. I’ll go down a different path, when I resume walking. I’m making choices, too. I breathe, exhale, and relax. It’s a nice morning for meditation, and a nice morning to begin again.

I wish myself a happy birthday, and let my thoughts wander on as the sun rises through the shades of blue and green.

The morning mist caught me by surprise. No reason it should, I suppose; the temperature warmed in the wee hours after several cool Spring days, and today is expected to be hot (27C/80F). Tomorrow is forecast to be even hotter, and there is an extreme heat advisory.

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

The sunrise began with a ferocious heat-threatening diffuse orange. Pretty, although I’m not looking forward to the heat or increased wildfire risk. I remind myself to drink plenty of water.

Beautiful sunrise, hot day ahead.

The mist clings to the low places, gathering in near the rivers and creeks mostly. It envelopes me as the trail turns to wrap around the vineyard, leading me down closer to the creek that runs adjacent to the trail. As I walk I wonder if maybe I should have worn a fleece or my cardigan? It’s not hot yet. 😆 I’m chilly, in spite of walking.

I get to my halfway point and stop to write and reflect. It is Thursday. (Already?) Tomorrow is my birthday, 63. (Already?) I’m taking a few days off, an entire week. My Traveling Partner is in the middle of an important work project. He encouraged me to consider fucking off for a couple days, and I make plans for a couple nights on the coast. It’s nice to have that kind of freedom. I feel very loved. So far this is an extraordinary birthday celebration. Yesterday he gave me another book – and I’m thoroughly delighted – Barbara Walters “How to Talk With Practically Anybody About Practically Anything”, which I’ve wanted for a long time. It was a surprise that it is also a first edition in excellent condition.

There is so much more to find within the pages of a book than mere words on pages.

… I’ve got a lovely stack of books to read…

…63?

I don’t “feel my age”. I’m not sure I gave much thought to what being 63 would feel like, though. I feel more or less as I’ve always felt. The feeling of age or aging only hits me when I notice my capacity for manual labor is less than in my twenties, or I happen to take a longer look at my hands. “Aches and pains” don’t signal age for me; I’ve lived with serious chronic pain since my twenties. There’s some gray in my hair. Arthritis that was limited to my damaged spine for a lot of years turns up in my joints now, too. But, generally speaking, 63 feels like any other year. I will probably enjoy it every bit as much as I’ve enjoyed 62. 😆 The clock is ticking, but mostly I don’t notice.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. Pretty morning for meditation. The morning sun lights the trees along the trail. The mist begins to thin and fade away. There’s a whole new day ahead, then my birthday.

I happily contemplate a couple days on the coast as the weekend wanes… I’ll set off early, after I water the lawn in the morning. I’ll pack light, maybe bring my pastels, and load the car the night before. I’ll be gone just as the sun rises, probably, and I know my Traveling Partner will miss me – that’s part of the point. Having that chance to miss each other prevents us taking each other for granted, over time. I anticipate the joy of walking miles of beach in the cool morning breeze, and enjoying an iced coffee at some choice spot to sit and listen to the waves caress the shore, and the gulls calling to each other overhead. There’s a fantastic bagel shop near a beach I like, and I look forward to a fantastic bagel on the beach. It’s the kind of small delight that I savor. They add up to an immense quantity of joy, over time.

I smile contentedly. The best part about a couple days of solitary time away is returning home to a cozy life filled with love. I’ll never be wealthy but I feel rich; I have love.

I take a deep breath of the cool morning air and taste the scent of flowers. Summer is coming. I look down the trail amazed by how far this journey has taken me. 16 years ago I could not imagine being actually happy, like, at all, ever. I figured settling for surviving my life would be the best I could do. I’m grateful to have given myself a chance to continue on. I would not trade this life as it is for any other. My first real glimpses of happiness left me more confused than appreciative; I was ignorant of real lasting love, and certainly had no skill at being happy when happy moments turned up. It took practice just to accept the possibility of happiness. There was still so much chaos and damage to sort out. So much to learn about love and loving. There’s still more to learn even now. I’m okay with that. The journey is the destination and I’m traveling in very good company.

I glance at the time and the clear blue sky. It’s time to walk on. It’s time to begin again.

Yesterday was beautiful at the outset, but slid sideways into hurt feelings and aggravation later. Pretty sure it was mostly me: poor communication and unsuccessful pain management – but even if it weren’t me at all, I’m only going to be able to work on the me portions effectively, ever. So… that’s on my mind this morning.

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

…I almost returned to Basket Slough this morning, it was that lovely, yesterday.

A beautiful place for self-reflection.

Instead, this morning I head to Spring Valley, another lovely spot with a pleasant trail.

Every path begins somewhere.

I could skip writing at all today and share this cute (and deeply meaningful, wholesome, and encouraging) video that my Traveling Partner shared with me yesterday. 😁 It emphasizes some of the points I often make myself. (I hope you enjoy it.)

I breathe, exhale, and relax. Yesterday’s sunny (and also rainy) afternoon has become a memory. This peaceful morning begins with a new moment on a less frequented trail. As I get my gear together, a truck pulls into the parking lot and a burly outdoors type climbs out and gathers his gear. Backpack, waders, net, fishing rod, cooler… Definitely looking like he’s here with a purpose. The river is very nearby. It flows past still and silent. He doesn’t bother with this spot right here by the parking; he heads purposefully down the trail. I give him time to get well ahead of me; I have no interest in conversation with strangers this morning.

The Willamette River on a Spring morning.

I head down the trail with my thoughts. I consider yesterday’s walks. I recall seeing a medium-large gopher snake on the Basket Slough trail leading up into the oak savannah to the viewpoint. He was too quick for my camera, sliding away into the grasses alongside the trail and quickly disappearing. As I walk this morning, I happily spot a family of rabbits playing at the edge of the meadow, and they see me approaching and dart away into the brush before I can get pictures. Life is like that (love is too); opportunity is not enough. We’ve also got to make the effort required, and even so we may be met with failure instead of what we think of as success.

… That’s frustrating (and disappointing)…

Doesn’t much matter that there are no “do overs” (there aren’t, not really, what’s done is done) – we can, and must, begin again. We can learn and grow and do better next time (or do something altogether different). It’s a journey.

A wild rose along yesterday’s path.

I think about the rose I did photograph… And the lady bug I didn’t photograph. There are choices we make in every moment. It’s not always clear whether or how our choices will be significant. They often are, though, and it may be for the best to make all our choices with care. Moments are finite and fleeting and we don’t know when the journey will end or when travelers may part company. Ideally we each do our legitimate best every moment, every choice, every relationship, every day… It’s a lot to keep up with. Failures happen. Stupid catches up with all of us eventually (at least a few times). Sooner or later, we all take a turn at hurting someone’s feelings, or of being hurt ourselves. It’s a very human experience.

…Do your best. Make your effort count…

I don’t write any of this from a perspective of finding the journey easy or the path ahead clear. I’m writing from the perspective of being very human and, regrettably, sometimes a complete asshole. I’m sitting here contemplating how thoroughly (and frequently) I manage to fuck up some of the simplest seeming things, like basic communication. I sigh to myself. I’m not making any excuses. I could do better. I’m also not giving myself much grace or consideration at the moment, I’m pretty vexed with myself even after a night of rest. Part of me says I did my best, and wants me to learn and grow from that. Part of me says I fuck this shit up way too often and I can (and need to) do better. I guess both positions are true.

Does matter where the path leads if we don’t make the choice to walk and take the steps to make the journey?

I take a breath of the cool Spring air at the edge of this meadow. I listen to the sounds of the birds all around me. In one direction, the trail curves away around the meadow. In the other direction, it also curves away around the meadow. 😆 From this vantage point there’s no obvious difference – but the distance in miles may differ, and the outcome may differ. What I find along the way may be different, too. What matters most is to choose – without knowing the outcome – and to begin. The journey is the destination. That has to be enough. There is nothing else.

I sigh and walk on. This rock isn’t very comfortable anyway, and I “think better on my feet”. This morning I am a little preoccupied with self-interrogation of how I can more skillfully listen deeply, and avoid talking over people (particularly my partner), and how to make things right with my beloved after hurting his feelings and being an insufferable ass. Another sigh, this one a bit impatient and frustrated with myself, but realistically this is “the vehicle” I have for this trip. I’ll have to make it work.

It’s a new day, and there are new opportunities to be the woman I most want to be, and to be a better lover and partner than I was yesterday. There are choices involved, and effort, and verbs – and still more opportunities to begin again… but the clock is ticking. Time is finite and we are mortal creatures. It’s time to begin again.

Feeling stuck? It happens. Been there… not lately, but once upon a time it was pretty common, even chronic. I’m sitting at a different trailhead this morning. Almost wilderness, but not really. It’s simply unfamiliar, and the novelty feels wilder and more remote than this little green space really is.

A well trodden trail leading to an unknown destination.

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

I passed through the gate, which just stands there not attached to anything, preventing vehicular traffic passing through, into the big clover meadow encircled by trees, bounded on one side by the silent broad Willamette River, and on the other a forest that extends to a quiet rural state highway. This early on a chilly Sunday morning there is no traffic, nor are there other visitors.

Care for a swim? 😆

Available data suggests that the river is relatively shallow here, between 7″ and 10″ deep, but it’s deceptively calm surface manages to suggest caution, and anyway it’s much too cold for swimming, at 41F (7C) this morning (air temperature that is, I expect the water is maybe a bit warmer, based on the mist hanging above the river, but it wouldn’t be enough to coax the average person into it).

A meadow of clover, a moment of joy.

I start down the trail. Even this hard-packed dirt trail is much easier on my ankle and my foot than pavement ever is. I still have my cane, but my stride feels easy and natural. It’s a nice change and I ask myself why I don’t come here more often? It’s a lovely spot, and only 17 miles from home. The view of the sunrise over the river is quite splendid. I sigh contentedly as I walk. The air smells of Spring flowers, clover, blackberries, wild cucumber, and spicy scents of various wildflowers less familiar to me. In rainier seasons most of this trail is too muddy to walk safely. I enjoy being able to reach the far side of the meadow and circle back around.

Wild cucumber blooming among the thimbleberries.

I get some great pictures as I make the loop around the meadow. There’s something vaguely nostalgic about the scent here. Something that hints at childhood visits to my grandparents’ house in summertime, or weekends working in the garden. I breathe, exhale, and relax, pausing now and then to soak in the scene and the scent.

I find a spot to stop a moment, to write and watch the river flow past. It is so quiet here, it’s hard to imagine I am close to a city at all, but Salem is only 7 miles away. Doesn’t matter at all how close it is in miles. Measured by the experience of this moment, it may as well not exist at all.

Watching the sun rise from a new vantage point.

… I’ll definitely be coming back to this trail more often…

I sit quietly enjoying my time in this place.  The light through the trees changes as the sun continues to climb higher in the sky. I reflect on conversations with my beloved Traveling Partner over recent days. He’s been helping me quite a lot with putting more explicit focus on my self-care and it has been making a difference.

Bunnies!

Motion catches my eye; a rabbit with baby bunnies has ventured out into the grass near the trail. She’s far enough from this rock I’m sitting on to be fearless about my presence. I watch the bunnies hop into the open space of the trail, then dart away, when a shadow passes overhead, returning to continue munching and playing. I watch them for a long while, contemplating consciousness and intelligence, and the arrogance of human primates and our delusions of our special place in the world. We know so little of everything there is to know, and even less about the vastness of what we don’t even know we don’t know. Are bunnies self-aware? Do they reason? Do they feel and experience emotions? (Why would we think they don’t, other than to make ourselves feel better when we kill them?)

As I watch, one rabbit with bunnies becomes several, all hopping and playing at the edge of the meadow in the sunshine of a new day. Some of the bunnies roll in the dust of the dry packed trail. A variety of songbirds flit about. I feel fortunate and delighted to see all of this. I fill up on the feeling of wonder and joy.

I sit with my thoughts awhile, then walk a trail that heads the other direction from the trailhead. There’s more to see. The morning is mine to enjoy as I will. I think happily to my Traveling Partner encouraging me to make something of the day for myself. “Do something for you,” he said. This is me, doing that. I breathe the scented Spring air deeply and walk on. It’s a lovely moment for it.

Strange fruit. What might you see if you slow down and really look?

There’s nothing in the news more worth my attention than these quiet moments in the real world. There is no app on any device that offers me more than I’ll find on this trail, in this moment, here, now. Look up from your scrolling long enough to see that there is a real reality in which you exist, with much to see and do and choose from. Your choices matter. There’s a reason all these apps want your attention, and more and more businesses have such apps; your attention has real value. Spend that on you – choose where you put your attention with care.

…Be here, now… Be present. Moments are fleeting, and our mortal lifetimes are brief.

I smile to myself like I know something. Maybe I do. Maybe I don’t. My results definitely vary. I’m having my own experience – and it’s real. I get back to the parking lot, which is filling with people and dogs. This is not my idea of a great time, so I wrap up my notes and my put my gear back in the car. Coffee would be good right about now, and it feels like a good opportunity to begin again.

Travelers on the same path are nonetheless each having their own experience.

Butterflies are a beautiful metaphor for change and growth. It is too early for butterflies on the meadow here. They come later. Interestingly, and perhaps in conflict with the whole “growth and change” metaphor in some way, butterflies have no choice. They will go through metamorphosis like it or not. We have a choice whether to learn, grow, and change or…not.

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

I am thinking about butterflies because I appreciate them as a metaphor, not because there are (or, as is the case presently, are not) any actually around. We can choose change. Can choose “metamorphosis”, we can choose being and becoming.

The last couple of days I’ve taken time to illuminate a couple pages in my notebook (it’s really not a “journal”) for future writing. The pages delight me. The theme is butterflies, and growth and change. I haven’t written anything on these pages, maybe I won’t, ever. I enjoy the prepared pages, regardless, they are a thing all their own.

Butterflies on a page.

An unexpected yawn interrupts my thoughts. Crazy, I almost feel as if I could just lay down and sleep. It’s fully daylight on a lovely Spring morning, and I’m sitting at a favorite stopping point along the marsh trail, as it turns to meander past the meadow and through a stretch of oak savannah and down to the river, where there is a lovely viewpoint at which I rarely stop (too crowded, very popular).

One version of beginning again.

I had started down the trail from “the low end”, heading west, clockwise if viewed from above. Most people will start from the upper parking area, and take the year-round trail in a counterclockwise direction, getting to all the marked viewpoints quickly, and turning back. A few photographers will venture further, to the blind setup in the meadow looking towards the ponds, or the viewpoint less favored by walkers, which looks out over the meadow at “nothing”. The birdwatching folks like that one a lot. The meadow and grassy places between the oaks is dotted with patches of flowers, yellow or white or some hue of pink. The lupines are done and going to seeds. It is time now for wild mustard, daisies, and dandelions, and wild roses.

The view when I arrived was gray and overcast.

Sunshine comes and goes. I think about change and growth and becoming the person I most want to be. I think about how fortunate and grateful I am to enjoy the partnership I have with my Traveling Partner. It feels good to be so well cared for. Like a friend on a road trip who remembers to bring their GPS, he reliably “knows a great place to stop”, and helps me find my way, if only by joking about the scenery, or encouraging me to continue. Instead of each day being a new moment of dread and anxiety, each day brings a new opportunity to begin again in good company.

… We’re still each having our own experience…

Same view, different moment.

Sunshine breaks through the clouds again.  Self-care matters. We become what we practice. I stretch and squint into the sunshine. The meadow-fresh air smells of flowers and something spicy. The robins eye me between tasty morsels dug up from the leaf litter and soft soil beneath it. They sing bits of song at me, but I don’t speak robin. 😆 Perhaps they are reminding me that there is a whole day ahead? So many moments and opportunities to change! I remind myself I’ve got errands to run once I turn towards home on the other side of this walk.

For now I’ll just enjoy this moment. I can begin again later. Right now it is enough to breathe the Spring air and listen to birdsong, and think about metamorphosis – and practice. We become what we practice.