I overlooked writing at all yesterday. I mean, to be clear, I “wrote” quite a lot, as a function of the work I do for a paycheck. A lot. What I failed to do was any other sort of writing: introspective, meditative, creative, nothing of that sort. I arrived home from work wholly exhausted, brain fatigued, dragging myself along on pure willpower alone, and the awareness that if I didn’t do this or that task, no one else would either.
… I managed to hold enough in reserve to make dinner…
I’m still tired this morning. My last several nights have been restless and my sleep interrupted and full of nightmares and stressful dreams of failure, futility, and pointlessly chasing unachievable goals. Hell, Elon-fucking-Musk even made an appearance in one of my unpleasant dreams and he was just as big a clueless out-of-touch douchebag in my dream as he is reported to be in life. Bleh. G’damn I hope I sleep better tonight.
I’m in a ferocious amount of pain and filled with resentment at insurers who don’t want to cover long-term services that maintain better quality of life and reduce pain, but without “fixing” anything. My occipital neuralgia flared up some days ago after quite a long time of only dealing with it occasionally; it’s clear that the additional care I had been receiving was actually reducing my pain. “Fuckers,” I snarl quietly, but I don’t know who I am most angry with – my insurance company or the rich assholes who built this stupid entirely profit-focused system. This is a fucking dumb way to approach medicine.
I sigh quietly. Let it go. I’m paying out of pocket for the care I need, today. It’s not a sustainable choice. I can’t do it often, but I definitely need some help managing the pain right now, after three exhausting work weeks that I am happy to put behind me.
Dawn on the marsh
It’s a new day. Boots on, cane in hand, this trail isn’t going to walk itself. For now I’ve got the place all to myself, a treat for my fatigued consciousness. Solitude. No people. No need to speak or hear words. I breathe, exhale, and relax. Today, self-care first. Then, I’ll begin again.
Chilly morning, but not cold. I’m groggy again this morning and eager for the weekend. I woke early and headed to the local trail I favor. The sliver of moon on the horizon was rising, the sun not yet peeking over the edge of the world.
A sliver of moon.
I set off down the trail. There are already birds singing in the pre-dawn darkness. I listen to them as I walk and try to identify them. Seems likely it’s mostly robins. Busy morning for creatures, apparently; I am startled by a raccoon at the edge of the trail (and had myself startled a different one as I left the house, earlier). We look each other over and mutually decide not to be bothered. lol I walk on.
I breathe exhale and relax. Stopping at my halfway point, I sit for a moment with the sunrise. Peach and pale orange hues remind me to stop at the store for oranges for my Traveling Partner on my way home. Yesterday’s work day invades my thoughts, and I let that go. Somewhere distant I hear morning traffic. I’m actually not far from the highway, and when this trail winds back through the vineyard adjacent to this strip of creekside forest, the highway will be easily visible. This is not an exciting or remote trail. It is convenient and very well maintained.
I sit with my thoughts awhile longer before getting to my feet to head back to the car. There’s a new day ahead and it’s time to begin again, already.
Some 15 months ago or so, I drained the hot tub, planning to clean and refill it, which I didn’t do before winter had come. It stood empty quite a long while. Shortly after the Anxious Adventurer moved in back in July, he refilled it and adjusted the chemistry – very promising – only to discover a notable leak. Well, shit. I’ve been without the joy of being immersed in hot water for all this time, and last night after repair work, and tinkering, and cleaning, and filling, and adjusting chemistry, the hot tub was back to fulfill its purpose; being full of hot water. Oh damn that was so nice, just to soak in hot water, floating gently, watching the sky overhead. See, the thing about a bath tub is that the water inevitably begins to cool, a less than ideal outcome. lol
I still woke up crazy stiff and hurting, this morning, lovely moment soaking in the hot tub being a profound pleasure but not a cure for anything. I’m not even annoyed. It’s just part of the experience.
I drove in to the office feeling merry, without regard to the pain I’m in. I stopped at the top of a hill to see a beautiful sight before driving on (I rarely allow myself that luxury).
Mt. Hood, Venus, a crescent moon.
Nice morning for it. I’ll get a walk later. My head aches and I could do with a cup of coffee. It’s a busy day ahead. I work on taking things as they come, this morning, and refrain from reading things into the moment, or anticipating challenges that don’t yet exist. I’m just floating. Present. Observing. Mindful. Enjoying this moment as it is, without demanding that it do or be more than whatever it happens to be, now. Allowing sufficiency to be enough.
strawberry blossoms
I think about dinner, later. I think about my garden, now. Neither of these things are part of my experience of this moment, here. That’s very much part of the challenge, isn’t it? Living “now” doesn’t have to be about hedonistic excess (probably shouldn’t be about that, really), but neither is it “about” the moments and experiences that are presently out of reach. Yearning is not productive. Planning is. How best to find the balance between those things is work in progress, at least for me. I remind myself to make room for other experiences, other lives, other ways, other journeys, while I walk my own path. I breathe, exhale, and relax. (How am I so tired this morning?)
I sip my coffee, finding some amusement in how much I miss my Traveling Partner this morning, and my garden, and the cup of coffee I’d make for myself… simple experiences of profound joy, readily available when I work from home. Things are fine in the office, and there is nothing to complain about. I even have a pleasant view of a lovely Spring morning out this window in front of me. I’m neither content with where I am, nor am I wishing to be elsewhere. I’m just here, living this moment, and it’s fine. I feel fairly positive, and mostly merry, I just hurt and my attempts to avoid that sensation are fatiguing and have the potential to make me cross as the day wears on. I’m restless. Thinking about my garden is preferrable. Thinking about my beloved is uplifting. I end up spending rather a lot of time “in my own head”. No complaints; it has become a pretty pleasant place, generally.
…I’m stalling. There’s an entire day ahead and I have a list of things to get done in these handful of mortal hours. The clock is ticking and it is time to begin, again.
I ended the work day, yesterday, happy to see the week end. I arrived home tired and aching, but whether that was sore muscles from previous days’ work in the garden or from my tetanus booster, I don’t know. Doesn’t really matter, does it? I almost talked myself out of heading into the garden to make good use of the sunny hours after work.
Blue sky overhead head.
I managed to stick with my current practice of going into the garden every day – ’tis the season, after all. I carried the new clematis around to the newly begun “west side garden” to plant it in a large nursery pot ready for it there. It’ll be a lovely splash of fancy pink flowers. While I’m at it, I grab the almost forgotten six-pack of arugula starts that I’d left in the front garden to plant later, deciding to plant them in the bed with the Swiss chard, and maybe add a row of more delicate salad greens of the sort prone to bolting in full summer sun. I got everything planted and watered, and did a bit of weeding and pruning in the front of garden. I felt satisfied and pleased when I quit and went inside for the evening.
Clematis “Markham’s Pink”
This morning as I left the house, I walked past the front garden smiling to myself, then noticed that the doe that visited my garden during the night (captured on camera) had eaten my romaine (which had been doing quite well). Right to the ground. I just kept walking toward the car. Nothing much to do about it. “Fucking little bitch!” I said under my breath as I passed the garden. It’s Spring. She’s probably pregnant or just recently dropped her fawn. It’s hard to be mad, really. Good healthy greens, I guess I even understand. My Traveling Partner likes romaine, too. lol
I’ll replant if necessary, of course, and I guess I need to figure out a wire cover of some kind. I think it over as I drive to the trailhead to get my walk in, along the marsh.
The forecast said sunny…
If my timing had been routine this morning, I’d have been well down the trail and unprepared when the rain shower began. Instead, I’m relaxing into the moment, enjoying my thoughts, and writing, and waiting for more light and a break in the rain. No hurry. It was nice to sleep in, even if only for 15 minutes.
There are things to learn here. I sit with my thoughts, reflecting on these experiences awhile, and enjoying the way the muted grays of winter have become the many shades of green that are Spring.
I sit wondering if the dwarf clover, vetch, and wildflowers that I planted on the shallow slope at the foot of the retaining wall will be tasty for the deer, when those grow in? The deer will be more easily able to get to them, and should happen upon them before climbing the steeper slope at the edge of the neighbor’s yard, which has to be to crossed to reach my garden beds and my roses. I planted the clover and vetch for erosion control. I planted the wildflowers for the bees and the birds. It’ll be nice if the deer enjoy them too – and leave my damned salad greens the hell alone! lol
I chuckle to myself. I’m not even mad, not really. It’s Spring. This is the way of things. I planted my garden. I made the choices. There are lessons to be learned on life’s journey and my results will vary. The trick is to move forward with new knowledge and wisdom gained from experience. Hell, I’m even grateful for the unexpected rain; it’s good for the garden after a few warm sunny days. I sit awhile longer thinking about my garden as a metaphor before putting on my boots and reaching for my rain poncho.
I’m sipping my coffee and reflecting on my journey, and things generally. My sleep was restless and filled with peculiarly realistic dreams of places, people, and circumstances that were in no way actually real in my own life. It was a bit unsettling to wake as if from an altogether different life into the life I live. It’s not the first time I’ve had such dreams, and I doubt it will be the last.
I made the drive to work watching the night sky transform at daybreak. Venus was bright above the horizon, and the sky was smudged with orange and rusty hues. I caught glimpses of Mt Hood from a couple vantage points that don’t offer a convenient place to stop, and struggled a bit to avoid being distracted by the beauty. Safety first! I have places to be, and loved ones who would like to see me again when I return. That was a pleasant thought in the moment. Something about the morning kept reminding me of “home” – not my home, now, but some long gone time and place that I can’t return to. It only exists in my memory. A spring afternoon, the buzz of insects, a screened in porch, and the hum of a fan, Easter shoes that pinched. A summer morning, the heavy scent of southern blossoms, the thick humid air, the clink of ice cubes in cold glasses, and sweat that doesn’t dry. Only memories, now – even most of the people are…gone. I sighed to myself as I drove, letting the thoughts drift through my mind like clouds. Nothing to be concerned about, just the morning of a new day, and some thoughts to get me started. It’s funny – I often “do my best writing” while I’m driving, and can’t jot down the words. lol An interesting challenge is finding them again, later. I rarely do. I find other words, other thoughts.
Strange journey, life, isn’t it? We each walk our own path. We’re each having our own experience. We persist in sharing our advice with other travelers as if they could ever truly make use of what we have learned ourselves – maybe, sometimes, in rare instances we really can learn from the experiences of others. I often wonder how true that really is. We are our own cartographers, and these “maps” we make aren’t very helpful to anyone else, generally. The moments and the journeys are uniquely our own. What do you actually get from reading these words? When I point out that we become what we practice, do you understand what I’m pointing out to you? How it applies to your own practices? The ways it could be useful to change your experience? How easily leaving dishes in the sink “now and then” becomes dishes in the sink more often? How difficult it can be to adopt a new better habit without committed practice? How easily anger becomes a character trait instead of a moment of emotion, when we yield to our anger and relish “venting” our frustration instead of steadily practicing some other approach? When I suggest practicing self-care, do you consider it and take action? When I observe that my chronic device use quickly became hard-to-resist doomscrolling and that I had to change my practices to preserve my emotional health, did you reflect on your own, and the effect it has had on you? You have a moment to make a change, to become the person you most want to be. What will you do with it?
I’m not telling you how to live – I’m just wondering what you get from my observations over time, or if it is merely an entertaining distraction?
We’re each walking our own path. Each tending our own garden. (These are metaphors.)
I’m just one human being, walking my own hard mile, facing my own trauma, and even the consequences of my own actions and choices. I’m grateful (and fortunate) to be where I am now, but there are no promises I’ll “always” have it like this – I’ve lived through far far worse. We are mortal creatures. We’re fortunate any time we can share the journey. I sip my coffee and think about love. Our choices in life only get us so far; some of it is also pure luck and the timing of circumstances. Each moment is precious – and unrepeatable. I reflect on Ichi-go ichi-e, and vita contemplativa – useful concepts. I practice non-attachment, and seek a sense of contentment and sufficiency. Along the way, I’ve found (often but not always) real actual no bullshit happiness. This surprises me, and I embrace the moments as I find them. Chasing happiness never got me there. Funny how that works.
Each moment as temporary as a flower.
My coffee is almost gone. The waning moon is faint in the cerulean blue of the morning sky. I’m okay right now – for all the values of okay – and I’m grateful. Nice moment. I breathe, exhale, and relax, and think about weekend gardening to come. There are strawberries to water, and arugula to plant. There are radish seedlings to thin, and a clematis vine to plant in a pot. There are new moments to live, and new thoughts to think. I smile to myself, grateful to have the chance to share words with you over my coffee, however you choose to use them. I wonder for a moment where your path may lead? Then, I get ready to begin again.
Evening Light 