Archives for category: winter

Perspective is an interesting thing. Change the context, or vantage point of an observed thing, and it may look quite different. Change the filter or lens on a camera, and the pictures are transformed. Zoom in, or step back, and what is revealed changes. Scale in comparison to other things may alter the apparent importance of something experienced or observed. A change of perspective has as much to do with our understanding as a change to the facts themselves. How interesting is that?

I woke earlier than I planned. Earlier than necessary at all, but once I was awake, there wasn’t much point in hanging about at home waiting for an unexpected opportunity to make a household-waking amount of noise inadvertently. I dressed, made coffee for my Traveling Partner, and got on with things. Somewhere between the front door and the trailhead, sleepiness caught up with me, and getting up so early now feels foolish. I parked the car just as the rain began drumming on the roof. Well, shit. I sit back a bit, listen to the rain sleepily and watch the clouds cross the sky while I wait for a break in the rain sufficient to walk the trail comfortably.

I am thinking about the “lens” through which I view the world. It’s a useful metaphor for perspective. I think about the necessity of “polishing the lens” for accuracy through education, fact-checking, and testing assumptions. I think about taking a closer look at events and experiences for a deeper understanding by way of “increasing the magnification” as one might with the lenses of a microscope. I consider how many lenses my eye doctor uses to get my prescription on my glasses just right, and the many comparisons between lenses that process requires. The lens is as excellent metaphor for perspective and clarity of thought. I sit contentedly, listening to the rain, and considering things through a variety of “lenses”.

…It makes sense to view the world through a variety of lenses, and to build nuanced understanding through considering things from more than one perspective…

My tinnitus rings and chimes and buzzes loudly in my ears and I am sleepy. My mind wanders. That’s okay, I’m not in any particular hurry and it’s still raining quite hard. The clouds are a pale soft gray against the darkness of the night sky. I find myself wondering if the new administration really will manage to put an end to the bullshit back-and-forth of the Daylight Savings Time changes we put ourselves through each year. If they do, which way will they go: permanent DST, or the other? I consider each option from several points of view and realize I’m not actually certain which I’d prefer, myself. I can see value to either, depending on the lens I choose. Summer hikes? Winter commutes? Sleeping in? Camping? Gardening? Children going to school? People with seasonal affective disorder? This lack of certainty tends to suggest it may be tough to bring about such a change, if many people are similar conflicted or uncertain. I find myself wondering, too, who will have the loudest voices and most money to spend on influencing the outcome.

I yawn drowsily as the rain stops. Seems a good time for my wandering mind and I to hit the trail. I put on my boots. They feel heavy on my feet this morning. I hang my headlamp around my neck. It dangles loosely, pointing toward my feet. I pull on my fleece over my sweater and stuff my rain poncho into my back pocket, just in case. Time to walk a couple miles in my own shoes. Time to stay on my path. Time to see the world with new eyes from a new perspective.

… Time to begin again… again.

A familiar walk from a different perspective, and through a different lens.

My tinnitus is super loud this morning. Distracting. Annoying. I breathe, exhale, and relax, as I absentmindedly rub my left trapezius muscle, up near my neck… Or is it my sternocleidomastoid? That general area. Feels like it is carved of stone and most of the time also a prominent source of day-to-day pain. I see one of my care providers today. He’s very skilled and I am hopeful that I’ll have a few hours or a couple days of real relief before my fucked up neck recreates the painful circumstances all over again. I’ve grown resigned to accepting that it is simply the byproduct of an old neck injury, combined with progressing degenerative disk disease (C3-C4 mostly and cervical arthritis from C5 on up to C1). It sucks and it’s painful, but, and this is important and real, it could be worse.

I walked down the trail listening to the crunch of boots on pea gravel, and I focused on the external sounds around me; it helps push the tinnitus into the background some. I got to a pleasant spot along the river to sit for a moment. The world is quiet and from here I can’t hear the traffic on the nearby highway at all. Whether this is an atmospheric phenomenon, a lack of traffic, or hearing loss is not clear to me, and maybe not even relevant to this pleasant moment. There’s a strip of color, not quite orange, on the eastern horizon, peeking between hillsides, silhouetting the trees on the far bank where the river bends. I have the trail and the park to myself this morning, alone with my thoughts (and my tinnitus, and my pain). Well… mostly…

I sit quietly as a rather large raccoon waddles past. She gives me a look and hesitates a moment before proceeding. I sit still and watch her discreetly from my peripheral vision hoping not to discourage her and choking back a laugh remembering the desk sign my Traveling Partner made for me (“most likely to be eaten by something she shouldn’t be petting”). As the raccoon continues past she’s followed by 2…3…4…5 chubby fuzzy youngsters, one of whom appears eager to get a closer look at me. Mom looks back and lifts herself on her back legs and makes sounds that clearly manage to communicate “Damn it, leave that human alone, you have no idea where that thing has been! Come on, we don’t have time for this.” It’s super hard not to giggle but I really don’t want to alarm Mama Raccoon – she’s pretty big, and I’m definitely not up for defending myself from an angry or frightened raccoon; they are not to be trifled with.

She walks on with her youngsters following, heading down the river bank. I walk on, too, heading back up the trail toward the parking lot. It’s daybreak. Good time to begin again.

I drove to the trailhead this morning thinking about how far away this once seemed, although it now feels quite close to home. It’s become a familiar drive, and is also the approximate halfway point on my morning commute when I work in the office. Those details don’t change the distance in miles, nor do they alter the time it takes to make the drive, but what a difference in perceived distance and inconvenience!

I got to the trailhead still thinking about time and distance and the differences in perception perspective on a journey can make. A very long walk often only feels long when it is new and unfamiliar, seeming to grow shorter over time as walking it becomes commonplace. Funny how that works…

I walked down the trail in the pre-dawn darkness, thinking my thoughts. I came upon a good stopping point after what seemed a long while; I’ve been walking a different trail here, but with all the recent rain, only the “all season” trail is actually walkable now. The change in trail is a change in perspective, and perceived distance. I was still sore from yesterday’s walk, this morning, too; it has more hills and felt like a somewhat more challenging workout. This morning feels like a serious effort, and a bit “too far” though a look at my step counter and the trail map tells me there’s very little difference. Perspective.

I sit quietly, writing, enjoying the quiet. It feels colder this morning, though the temperature is the same as it was yesterday, maybe even a degree warmer if I trust my recollection. My legs and back ache, and my discomfort sets me up to “feel the cold” more, perhaps.

Repetition and familiarity create an experience of “ease”, and what seems easy also seems to require less time, or amount to less distance. Practice changes our perception of difficulty. Just something I am thinking about as the new year approaches. Want to get good at something? Practice. Want something to feel easy? Practice. Want some particular skill or response to become “second nature”? Practice. Do the verbs. Do them again. Do them better. Do them over. Keep practicing.

… Fuck I wish I didn’t ache like this though…

I laugh to myself and shake off my irritation with the pain I’m often in; it would be much worse if I gave up on the walking. I know this from experience. Experience also brings perspective. The journey is the destination. The longer I walk my path, the easier it may feel, and the more I may understand. (I say “may” because there are damned few guarantees or certainties in a human lifetime, and a lot of verbs required, and my results do vary.)

I begin to notice the chill a bit more in the darkness. I see a hint of daybreak in the blue gray of the eastern horizon. I can make out the path without my the headlamp now. I guess it’s a good time to begin again – with new perspective.

I’m sipping my coffee from the relative comfort of the office, having just put the finishing touches on the budget for this payday. I sigh quietly. The big gift-giving holiday of the year is behind me, now, and although the glow and warmth and merriment linger in my recollection and my sense of things, it’s definitely time to put my focus on paying the bills. We’ve got to pay for our fun, and this is a pretty solid, reliable truth of the human experience. Choose your adventure; pay the price of admission. There’s always a price to be paid. Big choices, small choices, moments of overreach, investments in a future we earnestly desire – doesn’t matter “what it’s all about”, sooner or later the bills come due. Running from it just makes the interest pile up (metaphorical or actual – things don’t get less expensive if we try to avoid paying the cost).

I sit with my osteo-arthritis pain; the bill I pay for choosing to live – and to do so without violence. That broken back that griefs me on the regular? I find it hard to feel real regret over that; I chose life, my actual own life, rather than face likely (imminent) death at the hands of my violent ex-husband. Was the price too high? Hardly. It was very much worth the price I’ve paid – and will continue to pay. Doesn’t make it less expensive.

Thankfully, most of the time the bills that come due in life are merely actual bills – the payments we have to make for some moment of fun we chose to have. This morning, I’m looking over my budget, grateful for the job that pays for the life my Traveling Partner and I are fortunate to share at this point in our lives. We’re not wealthy, and probably never will be (I don’t think it’s really a goal for either of us, honestly – we just want to enjoy “enough”), but the pantry is stocked, and we’ve got electricity, heat, running water, and highspeed internet. We’ve got books to read and a well-outfitted shop in which to make things (or fix things). We’ve got our little garden, and our life together. It’s enough. It is, in fact, the best life I’ve personally ever been so fortunate as to enjoy, and it’s definitely worth the price I pay when the bills come due. Isn’t that the important thing? That it feels worth it, I mean? That it feels like enough?

I sit with my gratitude in this quiet moment, hoping that this good time in our life together lasts a good long while. The future isn’t written and the world is full of turmoil. It’s hard to say where the future will take any of us, or how long one mortal life may last. I look over the budget one more time, and ask a question I know matters – although I don’t like to consider it; what can I do to protect my partner’s future from uncertainty if “the ultimate bill” comes due, and he’s left to go on without me? I don’t run from that thought these days – it’s too important to overlook it, and the bills always come due, eventually. That was a hard lesson to learn, but it’s an important one. So, I recommit myself to freedom from debt and building our savings; if either of us is left to deal with life alone, it’d be nice not to worry about debt. We have shared values and a shared understanding on this detail, and we plan together. It’s a partnership, for real. I smile to myself; it feels good to have a proper partner on life’s journey. More to be grateful for.

I sip my coffee. I breathe, exhale, and relax. It’s a mortal life, sure, but so worth taking time to savor each precious moment. I look at the calendar – 4 more days to the near year. Already? Already. Time to begin again.

Alright, People, here we all are, Giftmas is over, and it’s time to get back to work, do the math, pay the bills, and pay attention to what’s going on around us. It’s time to begin again, isn’t it?

…What a lovely holiday it was…

A nice little stack of books.

Among my gifts this year, a book that may well be among the most important I’ll ever read (I’ve already started it). On Tyranny, by Timothy Snyder. I definitely recommend it.

Among the most attention-getting, thought-provoking videos I watched this holiday season was “Why Billionaires Should Be Illegal” by The Market Exit. I recommend both the video and the channel.

Isn’t it time to “level up”? Your survival may depend on it… Just saying, it wouldn’t hurt to continue to learn, and grow, and develop your intellect, and to think critically about the world. Standing around being outraged by the latest repeat of the news and firing off annoyed social media posts is sort of … ineffective, wouldn’t you say? It’s quite likely that people in power count on you being ineffective, ill-informed, and emotionally over-stimulated. My opinion. Perhaps I think too much…

I enjoyed some “me time” this week, focused on art, thinking about next steps for enhancing my selection of hues in my [relatively recently] chosen medium of pastels. I’d rather not compromise on quality or personal preference, and in my case that means I’ll need to break things down and plan ahead; colors are expensive. It’s worth it to put this amount of consideration into something I love so much (a lesson well-learned). I looked over my plan again this morning over my coffee, while some other portion of my brain thought about the book I’m reading, and the state of the world. Which colors must come first to say what I don’t have words for? It’s something I think about a lot.

No walk this morning. The wind was blowing ferociously, and the rain was falling hard – sideways. The streets were littered with downed tree branches, and in a couple spots there were road closures. As I drove toward the trailhead, in the direction of the office, I passed through Newberg; all the lights were out, and the signal lights at each intersection were dark. I passed through Sherwood, too; the lights were out, here and there, and the traffic signals at intersections were all flashing red in all directions. There was lightening at regular intervals in the sky to the north. Nope. No walk today. I went on to the office. It’s empty, and I have this space alone this morning. I arrive first; no coffee. There’s a sign at the reception desk – no receptionist today. They’re on holiday. It’ll likely be a very quiet day here. I pour a cold brew into a clean glass and get started. It’s definitely time to begin again.

…5 days until the clock runs out on 2024…