“Stay on the path.” It’s an excellent suggestion. Do your best. Practice healthy practices that nurture you and help you be (and become) your best self. It’s not “easy”, and there’s work involved in the journey – a lot of verbs, a lot of choices, and frequent realignment of actions and intentions. Do your best. When you fail, begin again.
It’s a quiet Friday morning, before a long weekend. I’m eager to paint. I’m eager to walk this trail before work. My back aches. I don’t care about that. My head aches. I ignore that, too. I enjoy the living metaphor of walking this path and head down the trail contentedly, until I reach a favorite spot to sit a minute and write and watch the sun begin to rise beyond the highway.
Nothing fancy, just a sunrise.
I’m grateful for every sunrise I am fortunate to see. Some of them are crazy beautiful, amazing bold colors displayed across the sky. Others can barely be called a “sunrise” at all, particularly those persistently gray rainy Pacific Northwest mornings so common in autumn. Doesn’t matter; I’m grateful just to wake up to a new day and a new chance to walk my path, wherever it may lead me. Even on the worst days, being here is better than the currently available alternatives. lol
Watching, waiting, practicing, being.
Pretty sunrise this morning, though. I sit watching it evolve for awhile. Soon enough, I’ll head back to the car and on to the office. Soon, I’ll begin again. This path isn’t going to walk itself.
I woke up feeling mostly okay-ish, but by the time I was in the car and heading towards another work day I was feeling pretty crabby. I found myself feeling rather foolishly resentful, not about anything specific, just the expected basics of a typical adult life weighing me down.
The whole “working for a living” thing is actually a serious buzz kill most days, not gonna lie. Don’t misunderstand me, I’m grateful; I’ve got a good job, it pays for what we need, and I like the work I do – but I sure wouldn’t be bored to be able to live on my own terms, and I definitely don’t mind not working. I actually quite like having my time be my own.
… There are so many books yet to read, so many moments of inspiration to paint, trails to hike, conversations to have with interesting people, and so much love to enjoy…
I sigh quietly. I’m mostly resigned to it at this point (I have yearned for retirement since I was 18, but lacked the tools, knowledge, and foresight to make that a reality at the time, and here I am). Still gets to me some mornings, on my way to work.
I get to the trailhead. It’s dark, but I’m walking anyway. I lace up my boots and exchange a few messages with my Traveling Partner, surprised that he’s already up. I’m glad he exists in my world. To be clear, none of my resentment about working is directed toward him, or about him at all; it’s 100% about the culture and the weird expectations of what counts as “productive” in our society. I frankly have better shit to do with my finite mortal lifetime and my conscious waking hours than putting them in servitude to someone else’s profit, but here we are, eh? If I want those drab green squares of paper and positive numbers on my balance sheet, I’ve got to sell my life an hour at a time.
I shrug off my annoyance. It’s a spooky foggy autumn morning. The fog clings to the marsh. It’s chilly – definitely autumn – and I’m grateful for this warm fleece. I pull my scarf and gloves out of my gear box in the back of the car. They smell vaguely of summer. I wrap the scarf around my neck grateful for the extra warmth and that I am so well prepared. I grab my cane and my headlamp and hit “save”. It’s time to get going. This trail isn’t going to walk itself. I’m fortunate to have this time to enjoy, walking with my thoughts on an autumn morning.
I time traveled in my dreams last night. I revisited a time and place and lifestyle so different than my life now it is hard to reconcile the experiences as being those of one singular individual human lifetime. Peculiarly, although I had not yet met my Traveling Partner at that time, my dreams rewrote the recollections to include him, sometimes as my partner, sometimes as a stranger met through circumstances. I woke feeling vaguely disoriented, wondering how I hadn’t recognized him then, before fully realizing I was dreaming.
I drove to the trailhead this morning, listening to music. Instead of the bluegrass and country-ish music on the thumb-drive my Traveling Partner made for me, I paired my cell phone with the car, loaded my “favorites” playlist, and rolled up the road bumping bass-heavy EDM tracks, and house music. How unlike me. lol I generally prefer to drive without any distractions at all, including music.
I found myself in a strange here-and-now moment sort of juxtaposed with a younger me, dark shades, fast car, soft black leather driving gloves – a “cool”, determined, emotionally disciplined me who only felt free when she was alone on the highway between distant destinations. She was broken, but hiding it pretty skillfully (a very lonely way to exist). Funny to remember her in such a visceral way, connected by the music we both love. Her “real life” was pure misery and terror, work, and those moments of blissful freedom out on the Texas highways, alone. I remember her. I’m thankful we don’t have much in common beyond the continuity of a lifetime. That thread broke, in 1995. I’m grateful to have moved on from there, then, and her.
My life now is so different. Mostly pretty pleasant. I might even say quite wonderful, many days (or moments). I still have my challenges. I’m still dragging around some baggage. The chaos in my head persists. I’m still damaged. Nonetheless, most of the time, most days, life is mostly better than okay. I’m good. Life is… good. Not “perfect”, and I don’t think “perfect” is a reasonable goal. Good is enough.
…”The journey is the destination”…
Driving with music on is a different experience. More relaxed? I think so, generally, and I silently agree with my Traveling Partner, still sleeping at home, who recommends it to me regularly for staying relaxed while I’m driving. It does tend to let “the driving part” of my brain handle the driving while giving the busy, excitable, chatty part of my brain something else to do. It also stops me from being too much in my own head. I get to the trailhead before dawn, thinking about dreams, and driving as a metaphor. I sit quietly thinking about a woman I once was, and the woman I have become over time. I think about the woman I hope to be… with more practice.
…Nice morning for thinking…
I breathe, exhale, and relax. I reconnect with here, now. I listen to the sound of occasional cars passing by on the quiet Saturday highway, and my tinnitus. I’m not in much pain yet, but it’s been a difficult few days of it. Walking doesn’t really help with my pain lately, not in any obvious way, but I still enjoy walking. I do it in spite of pain, and these days I reliably walk with my cane. The inevitable slow loss of progress vexes me sometimes. I know I have to keep at it though, walk on, keep practicing… the journey is the destination. We become what we practice and a lot of our skills and abilities are very much “use it or lose it” sorts of things.
I sit thinking about my Traveling Partner on his own journey to come back from what turned out to be a pretty profound injury. The time, dedication, and practice that requires is much. I’m proud of him for the progress he’s made so far, and impressed by his commitment to push on, in spite of the weight of his emotions. It’s a difficult, complicated experience. The verbs are many. The effort required is intimidating. It’s fucking hard. Hard to contemplate, hard to undertake. His persistence and pure will are certainly some of the things I love about him. I remember my own long-ago journey to recover from injury and physical trauma. I quietly consider ways I could be a more effective, more supportive partner, and a better friend, while he goes through all this.
… I’m tired, though, not gonna lie; caregiving is a lot of work and giving. Time. Effort. Attention. Care. So many verbs, and an endless 24/7 to-do list. I’m looking forward to my upcoming break on the coast to rest, care for this fragile vessel, and paint for a couple days. I definitely need it. I’m grateful for a partner who supports me taking care of myself. I am beyond grateful (and delighted) that he’s made sufficient progress that I can consider taking a real break at all. I need it more than I want to, and I have pushed myself harder than is ideal. I need some rest.
Daybreak and a chance to begin again.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. Nice morning to walk the trail along the marsh and watch another sunrise. Nice morning for self-reflection and gratitude, for perspective and love. I wonder where the day will take me? I’m grateful for my Traveling Partner on this complicated journey that is a mortal lifetime. I’m grateful for quiet mornings alone, too. My heart fills with wonder and love songs as a deep orange smudge develops on the western horizon. I’ve got my boots on, and my cane in my hand… It’s time to begin again.
Noisy restless night. I’m awake, for the moment. I listen. I hear the reassuring sound of my Traveling Partner, sleeping. I had been struggling to find deep sleep in a restless household. Now? I’m awake with a ferocious headache, a pinpoint of pain on the side of my head above my left ear. In between… sleep… and nightmares.
… I woke in a panic, responding to the soft frightened sounding voice of my partner calling out to me, “Honey…?”. I sat upright suddenly, shaking. The house was quiet and dark. Just an “exploding head” dream. Fuck, I hate those. The fear persists awhile. Before that, I was dreaming that I was in a large granite sarcophagus, polished smooth, very dark. The lid was askew enough for air to easily reach me, and I could get a comfortable strong grip on the smooth cold stone, but I couldn’t move it. No light, just a sense of the narrowness of the stone box. Huge. I was standing upright easily. I tried to gauge other dimensions and walked the length of it, which somehow extended onward…onward… onward… into the darkness…or was I walking in place? I felt trapped and breathless. Heart pounding. I hear footsteps, not my own, and freeze. “Don’t move,” I think. “Control your breathing and for god’s sake don’t move.” I hold myself so, so still in the darkness. That was when I heard my partner call to me, “Honey..?”, and woke, shaking, frightened, heart pounding. Is he okay?!
He’s okay. Sleeping. The house is quiet around me. Just fucking nightmares, and a headache, and pain. I sigh quietly and breathe. My pounding heart begins to slow to something normal and comfortable. I get up to pee. Take an antacid. Lay back down. But I’m not sleeping. Not now. It’ll be awhile before sleep “feels safe” again. The night is half gone. Split by nightmares. I try meditation. Reading. Finally just write a few words; I know the recollection will dim as dawn approaches.
… This will pass with the night…
Tomorrow, I can begin again.
Foggy morning, waiting for the sun.
I eventually slept, some. I woke abruptly, frightened and triggered, by furious yelling in the hallway. My Traveling Partner had a bad night himself, going off one problematic prescription and beginning another, the experiences overlap. He is angry, tired, and unhappy about the hall bathroom light being on, keeping him from sleeping. 04:18. I get up, dress, make coffee for my beloved partner, and leave quickly, before I can (too easily) also be provoked to becoming angry. My heart is still pounding as I leave the house. I’m shaking. I remind myself to slow down, to breathe, to do my best. Getting killed on the highway in the fog driving stressfully wouldn’t be a helpful turn of events at all.
Now, I wait for the sun. I sit quietly with my thoughts and my tinnitus, heart heavy with questions. Breathing. Letting shit go that’s not really anything personal to do with me. Reminding myself that my own fragile state is as much to do with my difficult night as it is to do with my unpleasant “wake up call”. Reminding myself to stay on the path, and to be my best self even under these circumstances (maybe especially under such circumstances). I’m not a perfect person. It’s not a perfect effort. My results vary.
… But doing my best to be the woman (person) I most want to be isn’t about anyone else, at all; I do this for me. My failures, however humbling, are part of the journey. I know to reflect on the experience, learn from it, and begin again. Life is brief – too brief.
I sit quietly, thinking about my Traveling Partner, this complicated man who I love so deeply and enduringly. He’s very human, too. Tough time for him. I remember having to come to terms with having become disabled, myself. G’damn that was…hard. I think about recent pleasant moments together and loving words shared; it makes it tough to get mired in stress, hurt feelings, or anger. It’s a practice I value greatly. It’s pretty hard to be angry when I am practicing gratitude.
Gratitude, even in this moment, after a difficult night, is pretty easy. My Traveling Partner is “a bit of a handful” lately, and caregiving is fucking hard (and relentless) – but I love this man for reasons (and through shared experiences) that go so much deeper than shitty bad tempered moments under trying (and temporary) circumstances. Hard is hard. Okay. Love still matters. So I turn to thoughts of our enduring love to comfort me right now. Heavy questions can wait for lighter moments when I am more likely to face them clear-headed. That just seems wise – although, wisdom isn’t really my area of expertise. I’m am simply a human primate doing my best to learn from my mistakes, practice useful (helpful) practices, and begin again when I struggle.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. I focus on self-care for now, and sit here in the fog (actual, not metaphorical), waiting for the sun. This too will pass. There’s a new day ahead. I watch the morning commuter traffic rolling by on the highway and silently wish my partner well. I hope he gets some rest and I’m glad he’s not having to drag himself to work feeling wrung out from sleeplessness and changes to his meds. That’d be rough. I sit wondering for a moment if he felt the love that went into making his coffee with such care before I left the house?
…Fuck, I love this man so deeply, and very much in spite of the shit we’re going through right now, (which likely won’t seem significant a few years from now)…
Daybreak is slow to arrive on this foggy morning, but it will, and I’m grateful to see another sunrise. It’s time to begin again.
Nice morning. Mild. Quiet. I’m okay. I got a decent night of sleep after several restless nights of degraded sleep. I needed it. Dreams instead of nightmares. The morning started pretty well, and I’m not in much pain this morning. Manageable.
I sit quietly at the trailhead, waiting for the sun. I watch a pair of walkers hit the trail in the darkness, with a flashlight. The light swings and bobs as they disappear up the trail, the faint shapes in the darkness becoming formless shadows as they reach the first bend along the path. I don’t prefer to walk the trail in the dark. I become hyper vigilant rather quickly and it’s not much fun to walk along scanning the environment for unseen threats. I am unavoidably aware that those potential threats are not foolish imaginings; human beings can be quite dangerous.
So… I sit and wait for the sun.
I had planned to skip my walk today, to be certain of finishing the work day early enough to get home to take my Traveling Partner to physical therapy. On top of that just being a bit unnecessary, he messaged me during the wee hours; he’s not feeling up to it. Understandable. He’s tapering off a medication and the process fucks with his head, and his physical experience. I feel for him. When I saw the tapering instructions I was dismayed at how little regard appeared to be given to how the drug actually works, and it’s half-life. Doctors often seem to be fairly fucking uninformed about the psycho-pharmacology of the drugs they so casually dispense. Profit and process over people. It’s disappointing.
I am momentarily distracted by the bright lights of a freight truck rolling by on the highway. It’s decked out in so many lights! I am delighted by the display and grinning like a little kid. It’s a weirdly joyful moment. I wonder if the driver knows? Was the choice intentional? Do the lights make them smile, too?
I sit quietly awhile with my thoughts.
Daybreak soon.
This quiet time is so important for my well-being. I’m fortunate to have the will, the opportunity, and the partnership that support it. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I sit quietly, meditating, writing, and waiting for the sun. It’ll be daybreak soon, and time to begin again.
Evening Light 