It’s a lovely morning on the trail. The sun is up, shining golden and filling the tree tops with light. The air is cool and hints at fall ahead. Summer scents of mown meadows and blooming flowers fill the still air. The distant hills are hazy; it’s wildfire season. I pause to sit and meditate as the morning becomes a new day. It is a lovely practice.
Sunlight and oak trees
“Nothing to see here.” I have the trail to myself, this morning. I enjoy that as the pleasant luxury that it is. I don’t own this land. I don’t have any claim on this place at this time. It is a public trail available for anyone who chooses to use it. It’s nice to have it to myself, and quite rare this time of year.
There’s a work day ahead, but it’s not yet time for that. This is time for me. Pleasant solitary minutes for walking and reflecting, for thinking and for meditating, and for snapping the occasional photograph of sunlight in the trees, or wildflowers, small birds, or the rising sun.
The sunrise, as I arrived.
I watch small yellow birds land on weedy stems alongside the path. They chirp together, nibbling at the seeds drying there after the flowers have faded and fallen.
A small yellow bird holds still for a picture.
Lovely moment. Lovely morning. I’ll work from home today, a nice break from commuting to the office. I am grateful to have the choice. I sit watching the little birds flutter among the weeds. There are several now. They ignore me and go about the business of the day.
…Each moment is so precious…
What are you cultivating? What are you working towards as a human being? Are you the person you most want to be? What steps are you taking to get there? What practices are you practicing? We become what we practice, so those choices really matter. Choose wisely.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. The morning chill contrasts with the warmth of the sunshine on my bare arms. I sigh contentedly. It’s a great beginning to a new day, for me, here, now. Your results may vary. You’re having your own experience – make the choices that will make it a good one, if you can. It’s worth making that effort.
… The journey is the destination…
I get to my feet to head back. It’s already time to begin again.
It’s a new morning. A new day is beginning. There will be new opportunities ahead and new moments to enjoy. Yes, I’ve got this headache and my tinnitus is shrieking in my ears, but… I’m also grateful. I’ve got this new day.
Breathe, exhale, relax.
It’s a work day. I’m grateful for the job I have and the colleagues working with me. I’m grateful for every payday, and my Traveling Partner’s support of my professional endeavors.
It’s a Friday. I’m grateful to see the weekend arrive, feeling inspired and having made a firm commitment to myself to spend some time painting this weekend. I’m grateful for my Traveling Partner, who supports and appreciates my creative side.
I’m grateful that I have an appointment planned with my chiropractor this weekend for some myofascial release work that reliably gives me some real relief from this headache, however temporarily.
The bills are paid, the pantry is stocked, and the housekeeping is mostly pretty caught up. I’m grateful to have been able to sustain the energy to get shit done over days, weeks, and months that my Traveling Partner has been dealing with his injury. I’m grateful for how hard my partner works to stay pleasant and level-headed, in spite of pain and discomfort, depression and inconvenience, and dealing with his injury ceaselessly. My gratitude for his persistence and endurance are hard to overstate and I count on him more than is fair under the circumstances.
I’m grateful for my steadfast friendships. However far away, and however long it has been since we’ve seen each other, I’ve got some amazing friends, and I am so fortunate to know some truly lovely good hearted people.
I’m grateful for the love between my Traveling Partner and I. I’m grateful to love and to be loved. I’m grateful for the love I have learned to show myself. I’m grateful that love exists in the world at all – it’s a special thing. I am grateful for every chance to be more loving.
I’m grateful for this sunrise. I’m grateful for modern conveniences like running water, electricity, and internet connectivity, and this car that gets me where I want to go. I’m grateful for clean clothes to wear and sturdy boots that let me walk so many miles. I’m grateful to be able to walk. Yes, I am sometimes stressed that I may be losing my hearing, but I am also grateful to have it, now. I focus on the gratitude… and the now.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. I put my focus on the positives, and all the many reasons I have to be truly grateful. It’s not that there’s nothing to be irked by, disappointed over, or dissatisfied with, it’s more that those feelings and experiences are by far the lesser portion of my experience, generally, and if I am willing to take a moment for gratitude I see that so clearly. So, this morning I do.
The morning is pleasant and mild. It’s a good one to walk with my thoughts. It’s a good morning for gratitude. It’s a good morning to begin again… I’m grateful to have the chance.
Yesterday was… awful. Mostly. Humans being human. I was certainly not at my best. The day seemed too long, my efforts too futile, and the promises of the future too limited. Chaos and damage; once I was triggered in the early morning, my anxiety flared up on this whole almost-forgotten level and continue to struggle with it even now.
My sleep last night was disturbed by mocking nightmares of imminent demise and ruin. I woke abruptly, too early, feeling the full measure of my “baggage” like a weight around my neck. I had trouble catching my breath, so I got up quickly and quietly and slipped out into the pre-dawn darkness to “walk it off” at daybreak.
A glimpse of the full moon, an unexpected delight.
As I waited for enough light to comfortably walk the trail, I took time to meditate. I had hoped it would do more to ease my anxiety than it did. I sit with my thoughts. I breathe, exhale, relax, and take inventory of my physical wellness. Pain? Yeah. Definitely. I take my medication and hope for relief. Rested? Sure, mostly. I’ve added calendar reminders for self-care breaks and healthy calories; I’ve been letting my self-care suffer trying to stay caught up on all the caregiving stuff – and I’m just going to say it; I’m in no way actually up to the task of providing round-the-clock caregiving to another human being (even one that I love dearly). I’ve got limitations that make that a pretty poor choice, but didn’t understand them in this context until I rather stupidly committed to providing the caregiving. My Traveling Partner needed more from me than I could realistically provide with skill. It’s been a shit show and very difficult few days for me, and more so for my partner. Stupid mistakes, and an astonishing level of inconsiderate bullshit that I honestly didn’t expect from myself.
My back aches and I feel vaguely ill, but my head isn’t stuffy anymore and I can breathe. I’ve got the usual headache and a workday ahead. I feel frustrated and annoyed in advance of any reason for it.
The chaos in the household has been disruptive for everyone. I’m inclined to bear the blame for all of it, because that’s what I tend to do. The truer truth is that there are three human beings in this together, each with their own baggage, their own bullshit, their own challenges and goals and dreams – their own values – and their own very real struggles, right fucking now. It’s hard to forge a comfortably calm genial environment together in less than 6 weeks, and do it in a time period that includes a major move, an incredibly advanced spinal surgery, and changes to medications of one kind or another for everyone involved. I don’t even know why we expected it to be any easier in the first place. (Did we?)
Daybreak comes
It’s a new day. A chance to begin again, if I take it. A new shared experience, if I am willing to be open, vulnerable, considerate, patient, kind, and able to listen with care and compassion. I wish I wasn’t having to fight my anxiety. Wishful thinking won’t change the world. Better to take time to reflect rationally on what I need and expect from the Anxious Adventurer, and on what I can realistically provide to support my Traveling Partner with skill and kindness, and then deal with those realities appropriately.
… I’ve managed to be a complete dick to everyone around me for days, and do so thinking I was behaving quite differently…
I notice the time. Although I am “officially” no longer responsible for my Traveling Partner’s medications (mostly because I have made too many mistakes, which can’t be a thing with meds, but also because he doesn’t need that with the same level of oversight now), I still find myself on alert; it’s time. My anxiety goes through the roof; change is hard. I breathe through it. Exhale, understanding that this level of anxiety over that task should have been a clear indication that I’m possibly not the right person for that task. I walk tensely, picking at my cuticles until I notice that I’m doing it. I stop the picking and keep walking, and breathing. Fuck anxiety.
I walk on, trusting my partner. He’s reminded me multiple times to refrain from jumping in and taking over or trying to do things for him without asking what he needs. (Fucking basic; “nothing about me, without me”, you’d think I’d have that down.)
The sunrise is pretty, beginning with hints of luminous pink. I walk, feeling the chill of autumn ahead. I should have worn a fleece, but didn’t think to grab it as I left, still fighting the residue of my nightmares.
… Some days I feel like I am barely an actual adult…
I walk and breathe and reflect. I pause my halfway point to write. So much to do today. Work. Getting my partner to and from an appointment. Getting prescriptions reordered. Picking those up. I start to feel overwhelmed in advance, but it’s just the anxiety talking. I let it go. I’ll just keep practicing.
Not much of a countdown left; day after tomorrow I head out for a couple days break from the stress and workload of caregiving, to spend a little quality time in my own head, taking care of me for a couple days. 3. Three days of downtime. I find myself eager and also a little bit anxious.
Before dawn.
I woke a little early. I got to the trailhead before daybreak. I wait for the sun, sitting quietly, writing. It’s a bit chilly this morning and I am grateful for the cozy warm sweatshirt I am wearing. Sunrise is coming later already. The days are definitely shorter than a month ago.
Yesterday was weird and difficult, but for me that was mostly “second dart suffering”, fatigue, and the chemistry of human emotion. It passed, and the conversations that came out of that were needful and handled with love and consideration. I don’t actually recall the end of the evening with much detail, beyond the lingering awareness that it was quite pleasant.
The morning begins well. I’m hopeful about the day ahead. I watch as daybreak shifts the hue of the sky from its darkest blue to lighter blues and a subtle hint of something not quite green and not quite yellow on the horizon. Sunrise soon. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I think of my Traveling Partner, and hope that he is sleeping deeply at home, getting rest that he needs so much. I lace up my boots. There’s enough light now to see the trail…
I’m honestly not even a “morning person”, in the sense people generally seem to mean by the phrase. I’m just an early riser by habit. I would sleep in if I could. I am not at peak energy in the early morning. I don’t prefer to interact with people in the morning until I’ve been up a good long while and had some coffee and quiet time to myself. I’m often quite irritable first thing. See? Not a “morning person”, but I most definitely appreciate seeing the sun rise again.
This one is hues of orange.
…We are mortal creatures, and there is no guarantee we’ll see the next sunrise…
I’ve grown to truly love seeing the sun rise each morning. I’m often on some trail when the sun rises, or on the road headed to a trailhead for a walk in the morning. It’s a pleasant way to begin a day. I walk with my thoughts. I take a few pictures. I reach some likely spot for meditation, a bit of writing, maybe some yoga. Over the past four years this morning walk has grown from an occasionally expedient use of my time that happens to be pleasant, to become a firm and reliable self-care practice. I often feel out of sorts and unprepared for the day without my walk – and the chance to see the sun rise again.
… How many more sunrises will I have to enjoy? I have no way to know…
…We are mortal creatures…
I walk the trail, happy with the start to my day. Content with my thoughts and my experience. Satisfied with being in this moment. I don’t need anything different than what I have now. I keep walking. The morning is mild. The air is scented by wildflowers. I am alone. I hear traffic in the distance and an airplane overhead; it’s far too rare to truly avoid the sound of humankind busily going about the business of being human. We’re noisy creatures. I shrug it off and keep walking.
Breathe, exhale, relax…and walk on. Life is a journey. The path ahead is built on my choices. When I falter, I can begin again. I am my own cartographer. This is my journey. These are my choices. I walk on, one step at a time.
… My Traveling Partner wakes at home and pings me a greeting. I stop for a moment to reply, and to reflect and write…
Another sunrise. Another new day. Another chance to begin again. It’s enough.
Evening Light 