It was already daybreak when I reached the trailhead this morning, partly because the season is changing, partly because I slept in a bit (for some values of “sleeping in” lol). I got my boots on straight away and hit the trail. Quiet morning. Cloudy sky. It rained during the night and the trail is wet, muddy in spots. I walked with care, grateful to have my cane, annoyed by my pain with each step: ankle, knee, back. I persisted. I walked on.
A first look at a new day.
I’ll do this bit of writing. Meditate. Then run a couple errands before I head home to help my Traveling Partner with some paperwork. I suspect he could do it himself, if he chose to (although I’ve no doubt it would be unpleasant, difficult, and awkward), but it is easier to ask my help. I’d rather be helpful than deal with his discomfort and lack of enthusiasm for the task, but I honestly also hate doing this sort of crap (and somehow end up doing it in every relationship nonetheless).
I breathe exhale and relax. Sometimes things need doing, and it is important to get them done and see the process through. Like pulling weeds in the garden, it’s real work, often repetitive, and sometimes the payoff is not immediate, nor the value obvious. Still has to be done as a step on a path.
… I think about that a lot when I am walking. Steps on a path eventually make the journey…
The meadow this morning is dotted with tufts of greenery as the lupines begin to stand out from the grass here and there along the path, and in patches on hillsides. They are one of my favorites, and I’m eager to see them bloom again. I’ll paint them with soft pastels, as I have with watercolor, oil, and acrylic. I smile when I recall yesterday’s discovery of three new lupine seedlings coming up in the flower bed beneath the kitchen window.
As I sit at my halfway point, I watch the clouds drifting rather sluggishly across the sky. Less wind today. My headache worsens from looking up, and I frown at myself. I know better, I just like looking at the sky, and watching the clouds. Is it worth the pain? Maybe. Maybe it is; how long will I have the opportunity to see the sky overhead? We never know when the clock runs out, and it is always ticking. I’m not being gloomy, nor feeling the weight of my years, just aware that this mortal lifetime is finite, and that pain is inevitably part of the experience (but not the whole of it). I can choose differently.
I sigh to myself. Some moments I almost hear the ticking of the clock. It vexes me to be aware of the passage of time. I breathe exhale, and relax. I let that go and turn my attention to the flowers blooming on the marsh, the sweetly scented Spring air, and this delightful moment. It’s enough. I’ll begin again later. For now the moment is mine to enjoy, as I sit here beside the meadow trail.
A gray Spring morning, suitable for self-reflection.
It’s a Friday, and seems pretty routine and ordinary so far. It’s raining. Spring in the Pacific Northwest, this is not unexpected. The weather is otherwise quite mild (where I am), and I am content and mostly comfortable, if a bit groggy. My body feels as if I overslept (I didn’t) and my mind feels as if I am behind on things (I’m not). Funny how subjective our experience of life can be. This morning I am frustrated and annoyed with the amount of pain I am in, and my lingering feeling of fatigue, in spite of getting a restful night of sleep. I sip my coffee, listen to the rain falling, and try to let small things stay small, and avoid Other People’s Drama or wallowing in chaos I can not control (or fix).
I breathe, exhale, relax, and think about… lavender. I’ve now planted six varieties in my wee garden, placed close enough to various roses to (hopefully) discourage the deer from eating the roses. That was the purpose of the lavender, but I actually also like the smell of lavender, and in springtime often enjoy tea with lavender in it, or some other beverage (even coffee) with a hint of lavender. I enjoy lavender scented bath soap and fragrances. I avoid “over doing it” – strong scents can be annoying in small spaces. I have the recollection that at some point there was the thinking that lavender was an old-fashioned scent, or somehow conveyed “age”… I don’t perceive it that way, myself (I don’t think I ever have, but I’m not certain of that and thinking changes over time). On the other hand, I’m 62 this year, perhaps I like lavender because I’ve “grown into it”? (Nah, I was using lavender scented shower gel back in the 80s, as a young soldier, and enjoying the way it brought Spring to mind, for me.) I sip my coffee, enjoying the thought of the newly planted lavender settling into the garden on a mild rainy day, roots reaching further into the earth, tender new shoots of greenery developing slowly. I smile to myself, happy to have a garden, and a home of my own. Happy to share it with my Traveling Partner who is so enduringly dear to me. He comes out and sits at the edge of the garden when I work, sometimes, making suggestions and observing the work, calling out jokes or loving compliments, sharing that time and place with me fondly, in spite of commenting that he “doesn’t care at all” about the flowers. lol He cares about me. That’s enough.
Lavender in my garden.
The chaos of the world (and the turd in a clown car parked in a raging dumpster fire that is currently American governance) nibbles at my consciousness, trying to encroach on my sense of peace and contentment, but a quick glance at this morning’s headlines assured me they are all yesterday’s headlines regurgitated over new bylines for additional clicks and engagement. No thank you. I’ve got my own pain, and my own shit to deal with, and I’m already well-aware of the shit-storm of additional chaos and disappointment likely coming for us all. I’ll do my best to take care of myself, of my family, of hearth and home, and to be kind to others, and foster a sense of compassion and community. It’s important to do my best to be the woman I most want to be, and to avoid becoming “one of the bad guys” and also to maintain a strong sense of self, and ensure that my ethics remain intact. Doing that isn’t a small thing, and it has real, lasting value. It may not change the world, but it keeps my corner of it tidy and free of unnecessary bullshit, which is worth something.
Speaking of pain… I’ve got mine. It is what it is. I’m doing my best to keep it managed and to avoid letting it become a decision-making force in my life. I’d rather ache a little from the bending and reaching of planting lavender in my garden than go without a garden. I’d rather be sore from miles walked on new trails that sit at home crying over the pain I’d be in, regardless. I’m not saying that to shame anyone or criticize someone else’s choices; it’s just my own path, and I’m doing my best to walk it in spite of pain. Fuck pain. It already occupies too much of my time and attention, I don’t really want to give it more – but there it is, a near constant companion these days. Some days worse than others. Today it’s there, but it’s not “everything”. I push it aside, again and again, and get on with other things. How about you? How’s your pain? Are you managing to manage it, mostly? Are you practicing good self-care, taking meds on time, getting enough exercise, and good nutrition? Would a hot shower help? Would some yoga help? Would it help to stand up and stretch and move around a bit? Would it help to distract yourself with something positive and uplifting, like a cup of tea with a friend, or reading an interesting book? I hope you take care of yourself – you have a life worth living, and a human experience to enjoy that is unlike any other.
I sigh quietly, and notice that daybreak has arrived, blue-gray and rainy. I’m not surprised. Daybreak was expected – I’m not sure how I’d react if one morning the sun did not rise at all. It’s a strange thought. I knew it would be a rainy morning, because it already was. I sip my coffee thinking about how much of my expectations of life, generally, are simply carried over from previous days and experiences. Habits. Routines. Rituals. Familiar paths and roads. Practices. I sit with that thought a little while and wonder quietly how I can free myself from sticky expectations and untested assumptions to more easily embrace the novel and unfamiliar, or at least be more open to it when it comes?
Seedlings on a sunnier day. What have you planted in your garden? (It’s a metaphor.)
I see my smile reflected back at me in the window. I’m okay right now, for most values of okay. Even my pain, which is substantial this morning, isn’t really holding me back at all. It’s Friday. I’m eager to finish the work day and return to the garden, just to see the lavender I’ve planted there, and to count the radish and pea seedlings that have sprouted, and pull some weeds. Small joys add up. I sip my coffee and get ready to begin again.
I am reflecting on my “sense of self”, which I suppose is taking “self-reflection” to a very meta place. Definingly self-referential, and a bit like a funhouse mirror; I am lost in reflections and contemplating self-portraits I have done over time, most of them quite abstract. A friend – one of my dearest friends and among my most enduring friendships – reached out and asked to commission from me a self-portrait. An interesting commission, and I accepted it. I don’t know where this path will lead. Perhaps I am overdue to look at myself (and my life) through the lens of my own camera, my hand holding the brush poised over my own canvas? I am standing in a new place, seeing the world and my life through different perspective in a unique moment. I am at my most experienced, my most learned, my most positive – and my most fortunate. I am infused with love and a joy for living. This is not a place I’ve stood life for very long, ever, and here I stand – content and comfortable with myself. So. There it is.
The sky is still blue.
I sip my coffee and think thoughts of self. Who am I, now? Where is this path leading me? Who do I most want to be? How did I get here? I breathe, exhale, and relax. I think about colors, and I think about sunrises, sunsets, and the ticking of the clock. I think about my garden, and this sunny morning; I’ve planted seeds. What flowers will bloom, now? The morning sky is a delicate azure blue, again this morning. Same view, new day – new moment to be this human being. I think my thoughts awhile longer. There’s only so much time for that, and I enjoy it while it lasts. The clock is always ticking.
It is morning. A new day is beginning. I’m sipping my coffee. I flipped through the disappointing headlines and quickly move on; there’s nothing to see there, not really, and I don’t care to waste my time being pointlessly agitated by bullshit. I can treat myself better than that, so I do. I sit for a moment, quietly. The only sounds I hear are the persistent zing of my tinnitus and the soft wush of the ventilation system; all background, no features. Beyond the window, dawn takes shape, soft white clouds against the deep blue gray of the sky before sunrise. It’s one moment, of many.
Breathe, exhale, relax – and tend the garden of your heart with care.
I sit with my thoughts awhile, mostly thinking about the garden, where my Traveling Partner and I, along with the Anxious Adventurer, spent a good portion of the evening yesterday. My thoughts move on to an appointment, later, and later still an errand I’ll run for my beloved. I sigh quietly as a new day unfolds. The sky has become a beautiful azure blue. It’s already time to begin again.
It’s already afternoon. The busy start to a work day of catching up became a busy morning of meetings and follow-ups, which has become afternoon, and nearing the end of the work day. I pull my head out of my… email… and sit up. Breathe. Exhale. Relax. Drink some icy cold water, some sparkling hipster brand that is more scented than flavored, but it’s cold, and it’s potable, and I was thirsty. It’s good enough.
The sun streams through the office window as if mocking my plans to paint for a few days and ending up “rained out” over and over again. The plan is not the reality. The map is not the world. The intention is not the outcome. Perspective. I enjoyed the time on my own terms, and saw some beautiful places and got the real break “from the the world” that I needed so badly. I even got out into my garden, planted some lavender with hopes of seeing more roses bloom (I’ve heard the deer definitely do not care for the strong scent of the lavender and it is rumored to keep them away). Even if that doesn’t work out, I’ll have the lavender, which I greatly enjoy for it’s own qualities.
I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.
I breathe, exhale, relax, and take this short break, looking out the window into the sunshine. I’m smiling. No hard feelings; reality does not care about my plans, my intentions, or my maps. It simply is. I’m okay with it. I take my break with intention, enjoying this moment before I get back to work. I’m not a fucking machine, and there is no reason to behave as though I am, or treat myself as though I should be. I’m a human being, being human. I smile to myself, and think of my Traveling Partner. It’ll be nice to be home again, at the end of the day, to see him and feel his love, to share my thoughts about the garden, to hear his thoughts about what he’s doing in the shop. I rummage in my handbag for a snack bar left behind after my days wandering new trails. I forgot to bring anything for lunch. I began the day completely unprepared for work, but also no longer prepared to be out on the trail somewhere. lol It’s fine. I’m enjoying the day, and that’s enough.
It’s easy to be swept away.
I sigh to myself and drink my water. I take my afternoon pain medication; I’m sore all over from a week of trail walking, but I saw so many beautful places! Worth it. I think about a waterfall and a flowing river, an interesting metaphor for life, lived. It’s time to begin again, isn’t it? The river isn’t going to stop flowing…
Evening Light 