Archives for posts with tag: begin again

In spite of the heat I spent some time in the garden yesterday (before it got too hot, in the cooler morning hours). I happily watered and weeded, and reflected on the chaos that has arisen over weeks of hot weather, busy work days, and other shit that just had to get done. Time is a limited resource, and so is the energy I’ve got available to get things done with.

I found myself doing what I tend to do when I observe chaos creeping further into my day-to-day experience; I made a list. I took some notes. I contemplated the varying levels of urgency and the considerations driving that.

The chaos in my garden.

There are peas dry on the vines ready to harvest for next year’s planting. There are carrots ready to harvest, and favorite salad greens that bolted in the heat (may as well harvest those seeds, too). The deer were haphazard with their “helpful” pruning of tomatoes, but I’ve still got a few tomatoes ripening, hidden in the greenery. Thirsty roses want deeper watering, and need a bit of pruning. There is so much weeding to do. Work had gotten busy, and I had gotten tired with other every day tasks on top of that, and I fell behind on several of the things the garden needs to thrive and be beautiful and productive. Our choices have consequences. Now I’m faced with those; I put my attention on work (for a job that I won’t be doing any longer) and let the garden go a bit wild, and the weeds remind me that my own choices allowed them to thrive.

I’m neither mad nor frustrated. The garden manages to be lovely regardless, and I enjoy my time spent there, even on a muggy summer morning before the heat of the day sets in. There are roses blooming at the edge of the lawn (at least one of which does not know the meaning of “winter” and will likely bloom all year) and it delights me to pause along the walk to see them there in the sunshine, drops of water glittering on the edges of colorful petals after morning watering.

“Baby Love”, blooming in the summer heat.

I spent the day contentedly creating order from chaos. I find it a useful practice for reducing background anxiety and stress. Chaos in my environment tends to result in chaos in my thinking. Tidying things up, clearing out clutter, and working down a list of tasks that need doing has proven to be a really good practice for managing my stress and anxiety. When those tasks are specific to supporting my own needs as an individual, it also feels like self-care. Conveniently enough, there nearly always seems to be something to do that meets those needs. lol Laundry. Dishes. Hanging up the various pairs of earrings that have managed to find some random resting place here or there in the house. Putting books away. Filing paperwork that has stacked, waiting to be filed. Dusting. Pulling weeds in the garden and from the flower beds as I pass by on my way to some other task or destination. It quickly becomes a form of meditation, when I stay engaged with the task and present in the moment, and don’t allow myself to “wander off” in my own head.

All along the way, task by task, hour by hour, there are moments of wonder, delight, and beauty that turn up to be savored and enjoyed. A colorful display of flowers. A lingering romantic hug with my Traveling Partner. A beautiful blue sky. I make a point of really enjoying these (and so much more) whenever they occur. Another sweet way to reduce stress and anxiety; really being present for moments of joy and beauty and savoring them. It matters so much to allow myself to be delighted, even for an instant.

A colorful display of flowers in the summer sun, at the grocery store.

I am never too busy to enjoy something beautiful. (I find myself wondering when I’ll next be in the city… maybe I can work in a trip to the art museum?)

Change can feel so incredibly chaotic. The loss of familiar routines feels disruptive. Managing the stress and the anxiety that can come with change can feel overwhelming – until I break things down into smaller pieces, and create order from the chaos one task at a time. Breathe, exhale, relax – like any practice, there are steps, and I’ve got to do the work myself to experience the results (otherwise, we’re just having a conversation about it, eh?).

I sip my coffee as the sun rises. I won’t be watching that from this office window much longer… Change is. Jobs end. We are mortal creatures, and however tightly we cling to some experience, or person, or moment, we will face the reality of impermanence sooner or later. The plan is not the experience. The map is not the world. Reality will be what it is without regard to our thoughts or feelings about it. Practicing non-attachment has tended to make me more practical about change – and chaos, and I no longer take such things so personally. I’ll take a new breath, and I’ll begin again. Really, what else is there to do?

For now, I sit with the quiet, and this good cup of coffee, and I look over what needs to get done today. I make a plan. I smile when the thought of my beloved Traveling Partner crosses my mind for no particular reason; he is a steady presence in my life whether we’re in the same room or not, and I am grateful to be so loved and supported. I reach out to a friend via email wondering if they have time to get together for a coffee sometime soon? It’s the relationships that matter most, in work and in life.

A hazy dawn, a row of birds gathered on a powerline.

I sigh to myself, feeling this contentment and practicality like a firm foundation beneath my feet. I’m okay right now, for nearly all values of okay, and that’s enough. The future is unwritten, and I can’t see where this path leads… but this feels like a good place to begin, again.

I drove to the trailhead watching the sunrise. The sky was strange violent hues of pink, red, and magenta, reminiscent of the florid edges of an infected wound. This moment of beauty is only so colorful because of the wildfires burning far to the east. As I drove I looked at the scenery along the familiar route “with new eyes”, enjoying the experience of a new moment, however small the differences between this moment and recent similar moments. Arriving at the trailhead, I again enjoy the familiar-but-also-strange scents of the summer meadow that becomes winter marshland when the rain returns. What is this fragrance? I wonder every time I catch this particular scent – which plant is that? I still don’t know. I have wondered for years and never smelled it anywhere but the dry summer meadows of Oregon.

I “took yesterday off”. It was a Saturday, but aside from the grocery shopping, done frugally with considerable care, I didn’t do any notable amount of housekeeping stuff. I made dinner in the evening, and took the day easy. I knew the household chores could wait a day, and giving myself a day of rest to bounce back from the stress of the week made sense. I have learned to put more time and attention into self-care when times are stressful, rather than allowing myself to get all spun up over shit best handled with calm, and measured thoughtful action, or failing to take care of this fragile vessel. Self-care doesn’t necessarily make stressful things less stressful, but it definitely improves my resilience. The day was pleasant, spent in the good company of my Traveling Partner.

I stepped onto the trail feeling comfortable and merry, enjoying the scents of summer and the fading sunrise. I walked with my thoughts, letting them carry me wherever they may. I found myself reflecting on my Dear Friend. It was at about this age, as I recall, that she worked her last job, teaching online for a college. One year they simply didn’t renew her contract. She was taken by surprise, hurt, and worried about the future. I sigh to myself and walk on. Maybe not yet, for me, but it’ll eventually come, and I walked with that thought awhile. How best to prepare? I kicked a random rock on the path and listened to it tumble away.

… Some asshole brought his small yapping dog to the nature preserve (there is signage everywhere that dogs are not permitted here), and I find myself annoyed, for a moment, as he passes…

Be present in this moment, now.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. The phrase “each time for the first time, each moment the only moment” has been in the background of my thoughts all morning. It was there when I woke. I sit at my halfway point letting it turn over in my head. I don’t wonder where it comes from; I’ve worked a long time to embrace it and understand how finite and temporary our experiences can be. How unrepeatable. “Ichi-go ichi-e” – it has been worth the time to cultivate an understanding and build a practice. I amuse myself for a moment thinking about the thinkers who helped to lead me here over a lifetime: Henry David Thoreau, James Baldwin, Thich Nhat Hanh, Elkhart Tolle, Rick Hanson, Jon Kabat-Zinn… others. I’m grateful. Life is better lived through a lens mindful perspective, non-attachment, and sufficiency. I smile at a squirrel crossing the trail. She eyes me with some suspicion as she passes. I sit quite still and hope not to startle her.

Another hot summer day ahead. The sky is a lovely pale blue, swept by soft white clouds, streaked with shades of gray here and there. The air is pleasant and fresh, and for the moment the air is still. “From the inside” I don’t feel the weight of my years, and this morning the challenges of aging are not vexing me. Contentment can be practiced and cultivated, and it can more easily endure hard times than “happiness”, which is seldom lasting. I’m okay right now for all the many common values of “okay”. Feels good to be in this place, in this moment. A little brown bird joins me on the fence rail I am seated on. We sit together awhile before she flies off to do bird things.

The sky is still blue.

I think back to a harder time. I was mired in despair, and a friend asked me “is the sky still blue?” Useful perspective at the time, and his question reminded me that non-attachment is a practice, and that impermanence is part of the human experience.

I take a deep breath of the fragrant summer air, and get ready to begin again.

It’s fire season again. The morning sky is a peculiar hazy pink at dawn, and the colorful sunrise is lovely, but there’s something about the hues that reminds me that to the east, in even hotter, dryer, places, the world is burning.

Beauty at what cost?

One might expect us to be better stewards of our precious planet than we have proven ourselves to be, considering we have no other. I stop along the path to rest and write and think. It’s a warm morning that will precede a hot day. I got out on the trail before sunrise. It was already 70°F (about 21°C). Hot for this area, this time of morning, even in summertime – or used to be. The view of the hills and mountains to the west are obscured by a dirty looking blue gray haze.  I look at the map of the region with the “wildfire layer” turned on. It’s alarming enough that such a feature exists at all, isn’t it?

Oregon, Idaho, Northern California, and beyond; it’s fire season.

I sigh to myself, and realize that my stuffy head may be “nothing more” than an air quality issue. I check the air quality index reporting – it rather strangely calls the air quality “good”. I disagree, as someone breathing it, and look to see how they get that result. Huh. They measure a handful of variables but neither smoke nor particulate matter are among them (and I have the recollection that it used to be included)*. I wonder at that, reminded that we live in a country whose leaders apparently think sanitizing history to be more palatable for those in power actually changes reality (it doesn’t). Human primates are fucking strange.

I sit watching the sunrise, from a familiar favorite vantage point. It’s not an ideal spot for pictures, the composition is cluttered and awkward, but I enjoy the view as it is, trees too close in the foreground silhouetted against the magenta and orange of the colorful sky. There’s a convenient large rock to sit on, and I have the trail to myself.

I’m in no hurry, and have no plan for the day besides staying cool and hydrated, and maybe getting a little bit done around the house. It’s a weekend, but changing jobs comes with a period of time not regulated by the requirements of work days nor bookended by weekends. Days are days, and tasks are tasks, and these mortal moments are mine to spend as I wish. I’ll make a point of enjoying that while it lasts, simultaneously hoping it doesn’t last long, which amuses me for some reason I can’t pinpoint. (At this point, I think we probably all understand that if I could, I would spend my days painting, writing, and dancing barefoot in my kitchen while I prepare something tasty, right? I wouldn’t work if I didn’t have to, I have other things I’d rather be doing. Reality doesn’t care about my daydreams.)

The sun peeks over the horizon and the trees to the west of me are illuminated. I see hints of russet and gold mixed in the green of summer foliage. It hints that autumn is coming. The seasons of the Pacific Northwest: winter, spring, summer, fire, fall… It is the season of fire, and it feels like the world is burning.

I sigh quietly and brush the small twigs, dirt, and bits of leaves off my jeans as I get to my feet. There’s further to go, and this trail isn’t going to walk itself. We’ve each got to walk our own mile, and do our own work. The journey is the destination. I look down the trail ahead, and get ready to begin again.

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*And these details are included. I failed to read with sufficient care and was corrected by my Traveling Partner (thanks!). Fact-checking matters. Stupid can come for us all. 😂

I woke ridiculously early this morning. I could hear my Traveling Partner coughing in another room. “Rough,” I thought, as I sat up, “sounds like he’s having trouble breathing.” As I reached for my phone to turn off my sunrise alarm and turn on a dim light, I realized I was pretty stuffy, myself. Allergies? Probably. Or not. Doesn’t matter, if it isn’t going to kill me, I guess. I notice that my head is pounding, too. Nasty headache to begin the day with. Great.

I sigh and stretch, and start getting ready for a new day. I figure I’ll just go get an early walk in, before work, although it’s not yet 03:30, and this changes which trails are available – or safe to walk. I think it over as I dress. My beloved seems a little surprised that I’m going to just go ahead and go, so early, but there’s another heat warning in effect, and it’ll be uncomfortably warm relatively early in the day, so perhaps it is just an opportunity? A lifetime of sleep challenges and insomnia have prepared me well to make use of strange hours. lol A hug, a kiss, and I’m headed out the door to walk in the darkness.

I walked the marsh trail with my headlamp in my hand, pointed down low to illuminate only the ground, and I watched Venus chase Jupiter up the dark backdrop of the starry pre-dawn sky. The morning was ever so still and quiet, and even the traffic was muted. I heard the crunch of my steps on gravel and over dried leaves. The air was still and smelled faintly of mushrooms and summer nights. I definitely had the trail to myself! Sounds in the underbrush as I strode through a grassy stretch covered with sparse old oaks gave me a moment of doubt about my decision-making, but it was only a family of racoons scrambling about, playing and foraging. They took off in other direction when my light reached them.

We spend a lot of our lives “walking in the dark” – life is a journey without a map, and we don’t see clearly where the path may lead. I think about that as I walk. I feel fortunate that this stretch of the journey is a familiar, there’s comfort in that. I stretch as I walk, hoping to ease stiff muscles and joints, and maybe this headache, too. It doesn’t help much, but it feels good to move. As I walk, I think about the tools in my toolkit, metaphorically speaking, and how best to organize my time and manage limited resources in this new here-and-now filled with uncertainty. Isn’t life always a little uncertain? I breathe, exhale, and relax. Could be worse – so much worse. This is only a beginning. Yet another. I wonder where the next opportunity may take me?

…I laugh out loud in the darkness when I catch myself thinking “what do I even want to be when I grow-up?”, realizing I am a long way down life’s path to feel that way, and yet it is still a question I often ask myself…

I get back to the car. I drive to the office that will soon no longer figure into my days at all, most likely. I prepare the budget for this pay period, aware that “things have changed” and that I need to consider new concerns, new details, new limitations – at least for now. Sometimes it’s a little scary. Sometimes it feels rather mundane and ordinary. My emotions are still shifting and I’m still “processing this”. Fuck I will so miss this particular job… on the other hand… it’s a job. There are others. I sigh as I hit “send” on the email to my Traveling Partner sharing my thoughts on the budget and seeking his. I’m grateful this is a shared journey.

I had planned to go camping next week, feeling very secure in my position in life and the world when the plans were made. I cancelled that to make room for uncertainty – and to map a new path. There’s quite a lot to do. I smile to myself; I may even spend time helping my Traveling Partner in the shop – or paint. Change is. Were this 5 years further down the road, I could perhaps simply file for my social security retirement, and breathe a little easier while I look for work, but that time is not now. Doing so now would be a terrible tactical move for the future. I sigh again and shake off the temptation toward wishful thinking. It’s a good time for taking a practical (and where feasible, wise) approach to “right now” – with a loving eye on the future, too.

…Aren’t we all sort of “walking in the dark”, much of the time? I sip my icy cold office coffee and think my thoughts awhile longer. The sun is rising now, and it’s time to begin again.

I’m sipping my coffee and feeling sort of cross and “stalled”. Just sort of sitting here, not motivated to act, or reflect, or choose, or consider – I’m a bit stuck, honestly. It’s a very human thing. Maybe I didn’t get quite enough restful sleep? Maybe I haven’t actually consumed enough coffee to get my brain going properly? Maybe I’m feeling (understandably) a little lost, or frustrated, or down? One thing I am definitely feeling is that I am dragging myself reluctantly through my experience, at least for the moment. Maybe I need to take a moment and just… cry?

I’ve been a proper adult over this untimely demise of my current job. I’ve been measured. I’ve been resourceful. I’ve been easily able to pivot to tackling the job search related tasks that need to be done now, and plan ahead to those yet to come. I’ve reached out to contacts likely to know someone who knows someone who knows of an opportunity that may be a good one for me. I’ve handled it. You know what I haven’t yet done, though? I haven’t allowed myself to grieve. I’ll miss this job. I’ll miss these colleagues. I’ll miss so many details of this particular routine at this time in my life. I haven’t given in to the hurt, yet. I’ve simply handled business with a clear head and a sense of urgency and commitment. It still hurts, emotionally, to lose this job – and I haven’t yet dealt with that. I’m going to have to, though, otherwise it will burrow into me, fester, and rob me of my will to act. Not helpful.

I’ve got the office alone, and I close the door, put my head down, and let the tears come – they’re right there, waiting. I let the fear and uncertainty wash over me. I let myself feel the hurt. I let the anger and feelings of disappointment and unfairness surface enough to acknowledge them alongside the tears. I go ahead and feel the feelings, and I cry. From experience I know that if I stifle these emotions and don’t provide myself the nurturing and self-care that I need – physically and emotionally – I’ll pretty quickly reach my “stall point”, and just stop functioning properly. I won’t be able to remember errands, tasks, and commitments, I won’t feel like doing anything, and I won’t be able to interact with people comfortably to talk about what I’m looking for out of a new job (because I’ll be mired in the unaddressed pain of losing the old one and too prone to talking the experience of hurting and loss). It’s like any other grief; the way out is through.

The tears pass pretty quickly, for now. There may be other moments, and other tears, with potential to pull me down and stall me if left unaddressed. Funny how embarrassing it feels to yield to a moment of emotion under these circumstances – there’s no reason for that. It’s not anything besides a very human moment of emotion. Emotion is part of who and what we are. I stretch and yawn, and sip my coffee. I’ve got an interview with a talent agency a little later. Later still, I’ll catch up with a friend who may have contract work that will support the short-term need nicely, for some indefinite time – not ideal, but far better than unemployment. I smile – the same friend got me into the contract that eventually developed into this job, that I’m now leaving with such sorrow. I’m grateful. I chuckle to myself over the value in relationships feeling like some “secret life hack” – it really is the people that matter most, and how we interact with them, and the experiences we share.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I do a quick “body scan” and take inventory of myself in this moment. Pain hasn’t been an issue the past day or two, but this morning it’s ferocious, and I have to deal with that, on top of “everything else”. A very human experience. It is often the case that when I am feeling most overwhelmed, or when I am feeling “stalled”, it may be some one small thing that needs my attention so urgently it shuts down everything else until I do give myself the attention I need. Those are generally experiences very much about emotions. When I feel overwhelmed or stalled, I go looking for the feeling that isn’t “being heard”, and give myself a moment to sit with that feeling, deal with it head on, and provide myself with the genuine nurturing from within that I am needing. Self-care. It’s a big deal.

I sigh and drink my coffee in the stillness. The clock ticks on, without any regard for what I may want out of the moment before moving on to the next. It’s already time to begin again – and there’s a lot to do.