Archives for posts with tag: be kind

Some time ago, I left myself a note scrawled in a notebook I keep tucked in my handbag.

Write about death, art, what we leave behind, how little anyone will care or remember. Talk about how we yearn, and take, and build, and how little it matters and all of our destruction for what? Admit to the hypocrisy of even writing about it. Ponder meaning and impermanence.

Yeah…or don’t? I read about Dolly Parton dying with little surprise and an unexpected feeling of real sorrow. I don’t listen to her music much, and she still managed to touch my life. How strange.

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

I head down the trail in the darkness. Sunrise is a way off yet. By the first hint of daybreak I reach my halfway point, still pondering Dolly Parton. She seemed to have been equally famous for her music and her genuine goodness, and I saw her relationship as a powerful model of what partnership over a lifetime could look like. How often are truly decent good people ever famous? She did a lot in life to spread that around, too.

…In a world where you can choose to be a Donald Trump or a Dolly Parton, wouldn’t being Dolly be by far the better choice? I’m just saying, clearly being a good person didn’t hold Dolly back at all. Choose wisely. The path ahead is your own.

I sit thinking about choices, and kindness, and being the best version of myself I know how to be, in spite of physical pain, in spite of chaos and damage, in spite of circumstances. Dolly made it look easy, but looking at those hairdos and those outfits, and reading some of her backstory, I very much doubt “easy” was part of the package. She did the verbs, though, and this does tend to support the idea that they can be done.

… And she leaves behind her art, as a musician, and so many memories for people whose lives she touched. As legacies go, that’s pretty big. Impermanence is what it is, and someday everything and everyone that ever existed on this earth, and even the very planet herself will be gone, and maybe then, Dolly will be forgotten, along with the rest of us… But for all the time humanity lingers, creating lives and memories on this mud ball hurtling through space, we have a chance to be better than our worst impulses, and to create a world that says something wonderful about who we were, once we’re gone. That seems worthwhile.

I sit with that thought awhile. Daybreak comes. It’s a bit cooler today. I’m grateful for the cool of the morning. It’s likely to be another hot day. I slept well and deeply, waking only once, and rather early in the night, for no obvious reason. I’m rested, but also uncomfortable. It’s mostly just arthritis, and I do my best to let it go with minimal success. I find myself a little aggravated that today is a work day, but also grateful just to have a job at all.

I sigh to myself. Sometimes life feels like an endless series of compromises between equally unpleasant choices, although I know that is an illusion. There are so many more choices available, and my choices to compromise this or that are my own. I smile to myself at the reminder and stretch, feeling my body welcome the movement. I feel okay for most values of “okay”, and it’s a lovely morning to begin again.

It was just a dream. I remind myself again and again, while also trying to ignore the recalled details, hoping it will fade as I wake, walk, have coffee, run errands…

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

…As dreams go, it felt “too real”, like living some other version of my life, or a moment not yet lived…

The space is tediously sparse: undecorated white walls, one window. The view is something on the urban edge of suburbia, cheapened by the vertical blinds. The quiet feels heavy, interrupted by a ticking clock and unintelligible voices in an adjacent room, or the corridor. I breathe, exhale, relax. I notice my hands, which seem unfamiliar and aged, frail and thin skinned, but beautifully manicured.

My head turns in the direction of a knock, and the door opens. A stranger, a woman, enters with an aggressively cheery greeting and the fake smile of someone who hates their job. “Good morning! How are we today? Ready for breakfast?” She places a tray on my side table and busily tidies the room as my eyes follow her movements. More effort doesn’t seem warranted; she doesn’t really see me. She starts for the door and I speak up, “Is M____ visiting today? Or… Is it tomorrow?” She looks at me, real eye contact, a long pause. “I’m not sure,” she says, “I’ll have to check at reception,” and she’s gone.

Faintly, as if from a distance, I overhear conversation as I look at the unappetizing tray with my meal on it.

“She asked what?”

“If someone named M_____ would be coming to visit today or tomorrow. I don’t know who that is…”

“You’re new. That’s her husband. He’s been gone – dead, I think – for like 20 years. She doesn’t seem able to remember that. Sometimes she remembers, you’ll definitely be able to tell. She clearly misses him, but she doesn’t talk much about him, just asks if he’s going to visit.”

“Oh, poor thing… Does she have other visitors?”

The matronly voice in the hall laughs, “Honey, she’s 117 years old. If she had kids or friends or family, she’s outlived them all. No one comes. She was a writer, I heard, and an artist, but the arthritis in her hands…”

The voices fade away. The food still looks unappetizing. Institutional, like the view. Tears fill my eyes. Ridiculous woman, I think to myself. Of course I know. I just can’t bear it, and I miss him so much…

…the tears spill over, and my shaking hands struggle with the fork, finally settling for just pushing things around on my plate…

I feel his hands warm on my shoulders. His touch eases my pain. I sigh and relax grateful for his touch, and his love. “You’ve got to eat something, Baby,” he says softly, running his fingers through my hair. “You could do that forever,” I whisper. We laugh together. I put my hand on his, where it rests on my shoulder. “I’m glad you came to visit,” I say.

… I don’t turn my head. I know what I’d see. It’s fine. I’m okay with solitude. I sit watching the light of the window chase shadows across the room. The clock ticks on. My hands ache. My head aches. My heart… aches.

… I wake with my face still wet with my tears, and grateful to see another sunrise, to love and be loved, and for still another chance to be a better version of myself than I was yesterday. I make a silent promise to some future version of me – I won’t waste these precious finite mortal moments. When things go sideways, I’ll begin again.

… I sigh to myself as I step onto the trail. I’m grateful for the dawn of a new day, and for this sunrise. I’m grateful for another opportunity to begin again. Grateful it was only a dream. Grateful that my beloved will be there to welcome me when I return home. I wipe away a stray tear and head down the path.

It’s not quite 04:00. I’ve been awake since my Traveling Partner woke me around 02:10, unable to sleep, struggling to breathe. I don’t have any help to offer, and everything I say seems likely to start an argument. I dress and leave the house.

I sigh to myself, grateful to have a good therapist.

… My path feels uneven, and I’m walking in the dark

There’s really nothing to do but keep walking. Stumble, fall, begin again. Incremental change over time adds up. I can count on that. Impermanence? That’s real, too. Change is. We are each having our own experience, too. What feels like a reasonable question to one, may feel very different to another. Practicing non-attachment feels hard, sometimes. Walls and mirrors, and humans being human.

… The real motherfucker is that I only have the power to change myself or my own choices, regardless whether useful or necessary changes could be made by another person – that’s on them and entirely out of my hands…

I get all up into my head in the wee hours, thinking about values, character, boundaries, acceptable behavior, relationships, choices… We walk the path we choose. We become what we practice – whatever we practice. I sigh to myself in the darkness. Almost an hour yet until daybreak. Maybe I can nap for little while? Later is soon enough for beginnings and choices.

… Until then, I’ve got this path to walk and a bunch of thinking to do.

In the quiet minutes after tempers flare and the uneasy peace that follows, I take some notes. New or unremembered metaphors, insightful analogies, deep questions, and revealed underlying hurts of times long past… Notes for meditation, for self-reflection, for discussion with my therapist. Tripping hazards on life’s path.

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

It’s a very human experience, and a lot to think about. I will think about the path ahead, and also the path that has lead me to this point. I’ll consider my behavior, my choices, and my options. The menu of life’s Strange Diner is vast and the options are many – nearly always more than I can imagine, or accept.

I sigh to myself, and set my notes aside for tomorrow.

A new day, another sunrise, a chance to begin again.

I woke early this morning, from the sound sleep I had sunken into after the neighborhood fireworks finally stopped. I got up, surprised to find my Traveling Partner also already up. I started the watering and caught up on messages, then headed up the highway for my walk.

I walk along the marsh trail, more meadow than marsh this time of year. Swallows swoop and dive, chasing their breakfast. Meadow flowers bob gently in the soft breeze. The bold magenta sunrise begins to fade, first to pink, then to a softer pale salmon hue, before fading away to blue sky streaked with white clouds. I sigh and wonder what distant wildfire is responsible for that crazy magenta sunrise? It was beautiful.

A convenient place to stop and reflect.

I get to a spot that I’ll call “halfway” (it isn’t, but it is a convenient spot to stop and there is a fallen oak adjacent to the trail which makes a relatively comfortable seat). I stop with my thoughts, and my baggage, and sit with the moment for a little while.

… This is me, here, now…

I sit contemplating emotions and behavior, and what separates and defines them. Emotions tend to be what they are, and we don’t have much opportunity to manage or control our feelings, themselves. They are an internal, often immediate, experience. Behavior, on the other hand, we have clear opportunities to manage and control that (and often explicit societal expectations that we will do so effectively). That isn’t any sort of statement that it will be easy, at all, especially if we haven’t been in the practice of doing so regularly. It really does take practice. For some of us, it requires a lifetime of continued, focused, dedicated practice – and we’ll still lob some wildly inappropriate behavior into the world (or an important relationship), in spite of all that fucking practice, far more often than we expect. Humans being human. Some of this shit is a bit complicated, whether by brain damage, poor upbringing, ignorance, trauma, medication, or circumstances.

… Most of the time, most people are probably doing some version of their best in the moment, however thoroughly inadequate it may seem from our own perspective. We’re each having our own experience…

“Emotion and Reason” lit differently – how we view emotions, and how we use reason, make a difference.

I do my best to lead with kindness and empathy. I’m surprised how often and how easily I manage to fuck that up. Deep listening is a more challenging practice than it seems it would be. Practicing healthy boundaries is more difficult than I ever expect it to be, but frankly I’m a relative beginner on that topic, so perhaps that is easy to understand? I sigh and remind myself to also treat myself with kindness, compassion, and understanding. My beloved’s expressions of hurt, frustration, and disappointment in some moment may define the moment, but they don’t define me as a human being. Nor do his missteps or difficult moments define him.

I reflect on my mistakes in the context of my values. I give myself time to think about them as snags and potholes on a clear path. I visualize various moments differently than they occurred, incorporating the changes in my behavior that I’d ideally want to see. I compare and contrast with similar moments that went very differently. I let myself recognize the differences in a useful way, to build additional implicit understanding.  I remind myself to be patient and slow down, to take the time I need to do things right, and to avoid taking it personally if (when) the world doesn’t slow down with me.

… The journey is the destination. I walk the path I create with my choices. I have opportunities (so many) to change that path by changing my choices. It sounds easier as words than it is in practice – but “practice” is an ongoing thing. I’ll keep walking (and practicing).

… I keep my focus on my own behavior, because that is what is within my control, and it is what I am responsible for, myself…

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I don’t know what is around the next bend. I’m walking this path, enjoying the journey, and doing my best to be the person I most want to be. There’s work yet to be done. Where does this path lead? I guess I’ll find out when I get there. In the meantime, I guess I’ll begin again. Again.

It’s a gray and rainy morning. I woke too early, still groggy when I left the house. I reached the trailhead ahead of the dawn by a bit more than an hour. The darkness was chilly. The trail was dotted with unseen puddles. Everything is damp and smells of fresh earth and recent rain.

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

I walk a bit farther than usual before I stop. I enjoy a different perspective on daybreak when it comes.

Blue morning.

… I’ll be fine after I have some coffee…

I sit awhile watching the blue hues become a rather ordinary uninteresting gray rainy day. I’d rather be sleeping. Or painting. I feel moody and cross.

I sit with my thoughts awhile, not really meditating, just thinking things over. Options. Choices. The way ahead. Life. I sigh to myself. The complexities of being human vex me sometimes. I watch the gray clouds glide past overhead. Stormy weather. Chilly enough for a sweater. I’m glad I wore one.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I look down the trail. The solitude is pleasant. Uncomplicated. I get to my feet, and stretch. It’s a new day. The clock is ticking. I remind myself to let small shit stay small – and I begin again.