How’s that for an image? It is a useful metaphor for some of life’s irritating experiences, though. A small detail (like a grain of sand) might be nothing in the greater cosmic whole, but for an oyster it’s an irritant so profound it may feel injurious. What to do? Well…an oyster transforms that small persistent irritation into something profoundly beautiful – a pearl.
I sit at my halfway point reflecting on that idea.
I’m enjoying my Traveling Partner greatly of late, even more so than usual. Feels like we’re “on to something”. I’m looking forward to the Anxious Adventurer moving on to his own next adventure, elsewhere. Just saying, he’s a generally well-intentioned guy with a good heart, but a poor fit for cohabitation (with us). He has a lot of self-work yet to do, and needs time and space to do it (if he embraces that work at all), and no one can do it for him. I get it. I also don’t choose to create a soft landing for him if he chooses not to grow and mature. As my Traveling Partner himself has said, “I want my life back”.
I remind myself to get his move out plan. I need to make plans myself, most especially if he’s going to need any help (at all). It’s time.
G’damn, I’m so glad my beloved Traveling Partner has made so much good use of his recovery time.
I watch the dawn lighten the sky. I think about sand and pearls. I think about beginnings. I think about how easily people waste their time and opportunities, minutes and hours trickling away on some app when they could be living their lives. That’s a choice.
… Choose wisely…
I sometimes find myself frustrated by “fellow travelers” unwilling to do the needful. There are verbs involved. There is no instant win. No shortcuts. Just verbs, practices, and moments. We are each having our own experience. Personally, I think I like pearls enough to do that work of transformation.
Where does this path lead?
I watch the dawn becoming day. Soon, I’ll begin again.
This morning I slept in, even accounting for the change to Daylight Savings Time, and in spite of this head cold, which is much better today.
Spring comes to the marsh and meadow, and the oaks on the hillside.
I get to the trailhead equipped with new boots and a smile that feels too big for this moment. I’m enjoying the glow of being so deeply loved, and the recollection of a leisurely coffee with my Traveling Partner this morning. It was quite delightful. Right now, nothing matters more.
Where do you find your peace? How do you restore your resilience when it’s tested? How do you recharge your batteries? Are you doing enough of those things to feel well and whole and reliably content? Just questions I asked myself on the way down the path – many times over the years, actually – and they reverberate through my consciousness as my steps took me down the trail this morning. Lovely morning for it.
… Right now, feeling wrapped in love and filled with contentment and gratitude, I am as happy as I have ever been. This is a happy moment. I marveled at it as my steps crunched down the trail, cane in hand, smiling. This is a truly wonderful feeling. I savor this feeling and the moments that lead me here this morning. I chuckle to myself happily; I feel safe from self-sabotage, because I’m also comfortably aware that “this too will pass”. Moments are fleeting, and it’s best to enjoy them without getting attached. 😁
I breathe, exhale, and relax. No coughing. I think I’m getting past the worst of this cold and beginning to recover.
I am fortunate to be so loved. I’m grateful that the most profound love of my lifetime is also my friend. I’m grateful for the depth of our connection and these years of joy and growth that we’ve shared. I’m deeply appreciative for the opportunities we’ve taken to lift each other up and offer encouragement and wisdom won through facing life’s challenges individually (and together).
I sit swinging my feet and looking out over the marsh. It is less solitary at this time of the morning, and I see hikers and photographers out on the trail, on the other side of the marsh. Ahead of me or behind me, I can’t tell. We’re fellow travelers on a path we hope will take us where we want to go. It’s figuring out the destination that is the tricky bit, isn’t it? That, and not being distracted by some other traveler’s journey. We’re each having our own experience. Sometimes it takes awhile to figure out that the journey is the destination.
I smile happily, enjoying the moment. It’s enough. Later, I’ll begin again.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. I sit quietly along this trail, appreciating a new day, a good mood, and having enjoyed a good night of rest. Small things, and still worth appreciating. A lot of small things have joy and wonder and plenty of value worth appreciating.
One moment, and the dawn of a new day.
The western sky is taking on some lovely pink hues along the edges of the clouds. I hear voices coming up the trail, rather loud for so early. “…use this trail almost around the clock, so we….” They come into view as they round the bend. I call out a cheery “Good morning!”, hoping to avoid startling them. “Morning, Young Lady!”, one replies. “We’re going down to put up caution tape and cut off a section of this trail for safety,” says the other. I ask if I’ll still be able to walk the loop all the way around with a detour, and they reply that I will. They walk on. I wave as they depart and they return the gesture. Human beings, being human.
Our words matter. Our gestures matter. Our ability and willingness to include others and to communicate matter. We have so much to offer each other and the world. Good things. We choose, and act on our choices. The consequences of our choices are our own to endure, and to be responsible and accountable is not something we can dodge or defer indefinitely. The bills will always come due. Worth thinking about.
Choose wisely. Speak gently. Act with intention.
The clouds roll past overhead, and it’s a gray sort of dawn. For a moment I catch a glimpse of a luminous fat full moon peaking through clouds and tangled bare branches. Pretty. It doesn’t last. Moments are brief. Impermanent. There’s something to be learned from that. I sigh quietly. I am wrapped in contentment and not eager to move from this place or this moment. The clock is ticking, though, and moments don’t last, even when we linger.
I stand and brush some damp leaves off my jeans and look down the path. New day. New moments. Time to begin again. I smile to myself and set off down the path.
“Keep walking,” I tell myself silently. Over and over, step after step down the trail to my halfway point. This morning I got an early start, and I get to my halfway point just at daybreak. That’s fine. I just wish those persistent steps had carried me past this shitty mood.
Here. Now.
I sigh irritably and let it go. I didn’t get here by myself, but that’s the way of human primates; we are social creatures, and easily pick up feelings from each other. It’s not personal, it’s how we’re wired. I try again to let it go. I’m cross with myself, with my Traveling Partner, and with the fucking world. “Do better, Assholes”, I mutter to myself feeling seriously cranky.
Another sigh. I’m grateful to have remembered to shove a pack of tissues into my pocket. The tears vex me, and now my nose is running. I feel like a ticking time bomb, which seems like an unreasonable overreaction, honestly. Sitting here alone I can more easily evaluate that, and maybe gain perspective and soothe myself.
Could my seriously shitty mood be a byproduct of changes to my medication? My doctor prescribed something different to help manage my neuropathic pain, things like my headache, my occipital neuralgia, and other pain that is linked to my spinal injury. It has definitely helped with that – it even seems to have “turned down the volume” on my tinnitus, which was unexpected… but this new medication also reduces the need for other prescription pain relief, and reducing the amount of that comes with known difficulties – “the down” is rough. Is my shitty mood coming from (or aggravated by) withdrawal symptoms? It could be. Useful perspective.
I find perspective and reframing very calming. It’s a useful practice.
The Anxious Adventurer is supposed to be doing something or other for his days off, to give my Traveling Partner and I some time alone to enjoy each other. He came down with a cold, but doesn’t say anything about whether that has affected his planning. It’s honestly one of the most vexing characteristics of cohabitation with him; he’s not at all “open”, not out of meanness or any sort of reserved nature, it’s more that he seems to lack basic communication skills and has little will to improve. I still have no idea when or if he’s going somewhere, nor where that might be. He seems clueless why such things matter. (I like to plan, that’s part of the fun for me, and I discuss my plans freely, even seeking other perspectives and suggestions when I am planning something. I know that isn’t everyone’s thing, but fucking hell say something enough in advance for people around you to also plan!)
….Comfortable cohabitation generally needs shared values. Without that, someone is generally not comfortable…
I breathe, exhale, and relax. I meditate as dawn becomes day. A new day, another sunrise, a new beginning… I rely on being able to begin again.
A different “now”, a new perspective.
… Fucking hell, it’s a work day, too… I can’t say I feel like it, I definitely don’t. At all. I inhale the cool morning air. It smells like Spring. It feels warmer than I expect for early March. Fog begins accumulating, oozing up from the creek bed on the other side of the trees. It’s 7C (45F) and feels comfortably mild. There are early Spring flowers blooming: crocuses, daffodils, hyacinths. The air is sweet with the fragrance. I focus on that.
… And I’ve definitely picked up another head cold…
Fucking hell being human is complicated and annoying sometimes. No wonder we do such a shit job of simple communication or managing our emotions with care, or being considerate of others. It’s hard sometimes. It takes practice, and we mostly don’t bother to teach this shit.
We become what we practice.
The clock is always ticking. I get to my feet, reluctant to deal with the world, but recognizing the necessity. It’s time to begin, again.
Okay, so here we are. War. First things first; are there bombs dropping where you are, or is it a legitimate risk that they may? If yes, then please put this down and get to safety. I’ll still be around, later. You definitely have more important things to be concerned about, like safety, shelter, and potable drinking water.
If there are no bombs dropping where you are, and you are safe from harm, generally speaking, then please consider not immersing yourself in “war porn”. Read the news in words, no images if you must “stay current”. Or, you know, don’t. I’m not telling you what to do, just sharing what works for me.
I don’t want to watch bombs dropping – I already know what war looks like. I don’t need to watch hours of video footage of violence, destruction, and death. I have looked directly at the face of war. I don’t take it lightly, and don’t view it as necessary or needful or as a productive use of time and resources, at all. I am an anti-war army veteran. I’ve fought and been in combat. I’ve helped clean up damaged facilities and retrieved and cared for the dead. War is nothing to celebrate, even for the victorious; it is shameful, wasteful, and tragic.
People who wage war – who call the shots and send human beings to fight and die – don’t fight those wars or pay the price for the violence. I think they should. You want war? Then you pick up a weapon and go lead that fighting, you fucking monster. You go pull the bodies out from under the buildings you bombed. You answer to the grief stricken population.
I’m grateful no bombs are dropping here. I hope it always stays that way.
I take my usual morning walk feeling grateful and fortunate. I seem to be coming down with a cold (another one??), nonetheless, compared to being bombed, I’m quite fortunate. It is an ordinary Monday, following a lovely weekend.
I sigh to myself watching daybreak become a gray morning, without any hint of a colorful sunrise… but there’s also no rubble, no destruction, no death from above, no sirens blaring, no sounds of wailing or weeping. No fear. No stench of death or chaos. It’s another pleasant quiet morning at the edge of a small town, near where the vineyards meet the highway.
…We got so close to a world at peace, y’all…
Bombs or no bombs, it is a useful practice to take care of ourselves as best we can with the resources available. Breathe. Reflect. Be helpful, kind, and compassionate. Listen deeply. Lift people up. Use your words wisely, they are powerful.
I do my best to prepare my heart – and my resolve – to endure a world at war (again). I’m still hoping things may cool down once the billionaires and powerful grifters in office have what they want (that they could not simply purchase). I sit reflecting on how I can be truly helpful to the real human beings, the noncombatants affected by the trauma inflicted by war, if at all.
I take time for meditation. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I’m grateful to be where I am, and even who I am. It’s enough. It’s Monday, and it’s time to begin again.