I slept in, like, properly slept in, waking a couple hours later than I ordinarily would, feeling well rested, and ready for a new day. Being home feels good.
A familiar view from a favorite trail.
My legs ache. It’s just sore muscles, from recent days of more than usual walking. I mostly ignore it, and walk on. The blue skies of recent days have yielded to encroaching gray clouds gathering overhead. The air feels heavy with higher than typical humidity. I keep on walking, through oak groves and alongside meadows and vineyards. I pass by a creek, and lush dense weeds and wildflowers that grow along the banks, edged by trees. Farm workers in the vineyard eye me warily as I pass. I wave. They wave back. We have nothing to fear from each other. I continue walking.
It was an ordinary walk on an ordinary morning. I hope I have many such walks (and mornings) ahead of me. Gray skies or blue, the details matter less than my ability to walk on, and my freedom and opportunity to do so.
I sit quietly after my walk, on a convenient picnic table tucked among the oaks trees that line the beginning of this particular trail. It’s not remote or exotic, and lacks any sort of features that might attract crowds. It’s just a convenient local trail, well maintained, paved and mostly level, and even lit in some sections (which is nice for very early mornings before sunrise). It feels safe and familiar, and long enough to be satisfying (it’s about a mile and a half all the way around), but short enough to be quite manageable even when I’m having some difficulties. This trail is rarely crowded, which is a nice bonus.
My tinnitus is annoyingly loud in my ears. I do my best to focus on other things. I breathe, exhale, and relax. It is a pleasant morning and I am happy to be home. I remind myself to stop at the store on my way home, but can’t recall what I need to get. I chuckle to myself; I have an app for that. I probably rely on that too much.
I sigh contentedly, savoring this pleasant moment before I begin again. The clock is ticking on a new day. It’ll soon be time to begin again…
Where does this path lead? What will I see along the way?
I’m relaxing on a sunny hillside, looking out across the trees, to distant hills on the horizon. It looks much closer than it is. The breeze is cool on my face, the sunshine is warm on my back. The sound of laughter mingles with birdsong.
Here. Now.
For the moment I am relaxing at the day use area of this State Park where I’m camping – I can’t move into my campsite until a little later, but getting here early gave me the time and opportunity to switch up my campsite with one more suited to my limitations. Realistically, I wasn’t going to be easily able to hike my gear down to the more remote site I had booked, but it wasn’t obvious until I got here and looked at the trail conditions while I stood on my aching ankle.
The day use area is somewhat crowded. It’s a gorgeous day for picnics, bike rides, barbecues, and outings with family. It’s also a gorgeous day for solitude, but that’ll have to wait another hour. I get a short hike in on a pretty forest trail, and enjoy the views, before returning to the car to sip an iced coffee and wait for check in time.
Meadow flowers. The same flowers, when spotted in my garden, are weeds. Perspective.
It’s quite a bit later, now. About three hours later, and well into the afternoon, with several more hours of summer sunshine before nightfall comes. My camp is set up. It’s a very sunny camp site, and my tent is set up in the one corner with some afternoon shade. I swap my hiking boots for “camp sandals”, after applying Deet to exposed skin to minimize bug bites. I wet a handy compressed paper wash cloth/towel thing with ice water and wipe the sweat off my face and neck, which feels refreshing. I crack open a cold bottle of water and add a hydration mix to it. It’s time to relax for a little while, and get settled. Somewhere far away, sirens wail. The world is out there, somewhere, but for now I am here not dealing with any of that mess, just sitting here at the edge of the sunshine, listening to birdsong and breezes.
I smile thinking about the short conversation with my Traveling Partner, as I got my camp set up. He misses me. I miss him too, and it’s nice that we can say as much without any awkwardness or fussing over me taking this time. I do miss his face, though, and I cherish the words and cute “stickers” we share back and forth. I feel loved.
A tiny spider drops onto my shirt from somewhere and I jump up startled, swatting it away. Well shit, that was good for a bit of excitement. lol I breathe, exhale, and relax. I sit in the shade drinking my water and watching new campers arriving. I’m glad I’m already set up. It’s hotter now (but not actually hot), and somewhere nearby a small dog is yapping. I could do without the yapping dog…
Butterflies, birdsong, and breezes.
…Still, it’s quite a lovely moment, and I quickly forget about the yapping dog, lost in the moment, feeling the silky caress of the breeze, scented with meadow flowers (and Deet). These moments are so fleeting. I sigh contentedly, sitting in the sunshine with my thoughts.
Eventually, I’ll begin again… What then? There are so many paths to choose from…
I’m sipping my coffee as the day begins. My walk this morning was pleasant, uneventful, and frankly rather ordinary. The day is cloudy, and looks like rain. I’m in a thoroughly manageable amount of pain (for now), and I make a point of appreciating how (relatively) comfortable I am. In a life where chronic pain is a day-to-day experience, it is critical to really pause and be aware of it when pain is not a characteristic of the moment. Most of us don’t actually experience “chronic pain” as 100% of always every moment of every day all the time – it does come and go, and the severity varies. Our implicit memory and sense of “how things are” is notably affected by what we hold on to as “how we always feel” – so making room to be mindful and aware of a lack of pain becomes incredibly important for managing the whole experience of pain over time. Perspective matters. So, I sip my coffee, noticing how (relatively) little pain I am in right now, and make room for gratitude; it could be so much worse (and often is).
I breathe, exhale, and relax. I think about sunrises and sunsets, and views of distant horizons. I think about miles I have not yet walked, and contemplate trails I’ve yet to try. I think about camping, and I wonder when I might next spend a couple days on the coast, painting. I sip my coffee, and let my diffuse feeling of general contentment grow larger in my awareness. My eye falls on a small Hue Forge “painting” my Traveling Partner did from a photograph I’d taken. I feel loved and visible and appreciated as a person, as an artist, and as a partner.
Hue Forge rendering of a sunrise, Mt Hood silhoutted on the horizon.
That distant horizon is a good metaphor for goals and progress and walking my own path; there it is, just out of reach, that thing I think I want to get to. A goal, a vision, a destination – it could be any of those things, or just a place to camp that happens to be within view, but quite far away. What’s on the horizon? I never actually know, I only imagine, based on what I think I see. I have an idea, and a limited view. The closer that thing seems to get, the more detailed and real it may become – but it changes as it comes into closer view, more subject to scrutiny. Is it what I imagined? Is it actually what I want? Am I actually going to get “there” – or is that “there” quite different than I expected it might be? Am I being true to myself, and staying on my path, or has something fantastical on that distant horizon distracted me from my sense of purpose? Is it even real, or only something I thought I saw?
I sip my coffee feeling surprisingly content with “now”. Nice moment for it. Sure, the work day is ahead, but I don’t find that I mind. I’m fortunate to have a job I enjoy, working with a team of people I appreciate and respect (and even like), I feel appreciated in return. We get shit done. I’m working from home, which has the lovely quality of taking my breaks in my garden, or being able to run a quick errand during the day, and not finding myself quite so exhausted when the day finally ends. Nice “now” – I feel fortunate, and pause for gratitude; this too could be so much worse. Most of us do have to work to keep the bills paid and the pantry stocked, and it’s a difficult world. It’s not uncommon to have to endure a terrible work environment in servitude to a company whose values one can’t respect, simply to keep the lights on and the gas tank filled. It’s a lucky few who do jobs they love for companies they appreciate in an environment of mutual respect while being paid a good wage. If you’ve got it, be sure you appreciate it. Change is. Be kind to those who struggle with shit jobs for terrible bosses – it could be you at some point.
…Good cup of coffee…
My Traveling Partner gave me an early birthday gift last night. A new cookbook, and one that I’d spotted thinking “oooh, I’d like to have this one!” quite recently. I thought I’d added it to my wishlist, and was delighted that he had selected it. More delighted still – and a little amazed – when I discovered that I had not added it to my list at all. He knows me so well. I feel loved. This morning when my mind wanders, it is often to the kitchen, and thinking about what new adventures I may find there, between the pages of a new cookbook. 😀
Life can be experienced as a journey. I find it a useful metaphor. No map, lots of choices, and the path is mine to choose for myself. The horizon never really gets any closer – but it’s out there in the distance, tempting me onward. It’s a worthy journey – each step down the path has the potential to reveal some new delight, or to teach me a lesson I probably need to learn. We are mortal creatures – at some point, this journey will come to an end. Hopefully, I’ve learned all I could, experienced much worth sharing, and made a point to jot down some notes for anyone who may follow me down the trail (or simply wonders where I wandered off to).
I glance at the time. The clock is always ticking, and there are things to be done. It’s time, again, to begin.
I drove to the office with a love song in my head. Sweet, endearing, lingering in my memory as a recollection of a time when I yearned for the sort of love I enjoy right now – although back then I didn’t actually believe such love existed at all (it was just that far outside of my own experience of life and the world). I get to the office, pour some coffee, and put on my playlist of “silly love songs” to coast into the new day. (Every song on this list is deeply meaningful to me in some way, with regard to love and loving, but admittedly, some of my choices may not make sense to anyone else – it’s not about that, though, is it?) My reflection smiles back at me in the window. The morning sky is gray and threatening rain. I breathe, exhale, and relax. It’s a lovely morning anyway.
I woke from a deep sound sleep this morning, with serious thoughts still occupying my consciousness, left behind by my dreams. Something about choosing to be less negative, as a means of improving my quality of life, and sharing that thought somehow with those dear ones in my life who are reflexively deeply negative without really giving any thought to how that colors their experience over time. You know the sort, I’m sure (hell, maybe you are that sort – I once was, myself)? I’m talking about the folks whose humor is mostly pretty dark, often very sarcastic, sometimes self-deprecatory in a somewhat disturbing way to listen to? The folks who seem to complain at least a little bit about almost every experience they have? The ones who say “no” or reject ideas before an idea can be fully presented or a sentence completed? Yeah. “Those” people – the chronically negative buzzkills in our lives, who likely mean well, and may even think they are being “realistic” or humorous… How best to communicate to these people that the negativity they embrace with such firm commitment is not only a noteworthy “bring down” in any group (and potentially not as amusing as they may think), but potentially also the actual key to why they feel the way they do in the first place?
…I definitely get tired of chronic bitching almost immediately, and sarcastic “humor” and bitterness unleavened by real joy in life is exhausting to deal with…
What you plant in your garden determines what you harvest, but you’ve still got to pull the weeds.
I smile, listening to the love songs on my playlist – it’s hard to be annoyed while also wrapped in love. I sip my coffee and make room for gratitude; I’m fortunate to be so well loved, and to enjoy the opportunity to love so deeply in return. No doubt that colors my thinking. Certainly, becoming a more positive person generally (at least for me) followed falling in love with this singular human being who is now my beloved Traveling Partner. Sometimes it almost feels like that was some kind of shortcut or cheat code, but when I’m honest with myself, there was a fucking ton of work, and verbs, and practice of practices that also followed the beginning of this relationship – and those things could have been done, and occurred, and created the profound benefits that they did, without regard to being in love. They were choices. That the inspiration to make those choices was this profoundly deep emotion is mostly coincidental (although I wouldn’t change it for all the billions in the world). It’s doable without falling in love.
Bitter is not one of the flavors of Love.
How does one make a change from chronic bitterness and negativity to becoming a pretty positive and upbeat person day-to-day? Are there some “simple steps to being happy” that are being withheld from common knowledge? I don’t even know the answer to that question – I just know what steps I took, myself. Happy to share, I hope this is useful for you in some small way.
If you need therapy, get therapy. How will you know? If you’re chronically miserable, you probably need therapy. If people around you are regularly suggesting therapy, or asking if you’re in therapy, or inquiring about your mental health and whether you’re okay, you may benefit from therapy. Just saying; sometimes we can’t make our journey alone.
Be selective about the practices you practice. We become what we practice. If you practice chronic negativity, bitterness, sarcasm, that’s what you become, and what you fill your life with.
Put your own self-care high on your list of things to do, every day.
Be choosy about your media consumption – what you fill your head with will determine (often) what the content of your thoughts will likely be.
Consider some sort of contemplative practice (like meditation) – make time in your day to “hear yourself think”.
Embrace small joys and celebrate small wins. It just feels good – a lot better than feeling annoyed, disappointed, or bitter.
Practice non-attachment. Clinging to expectations and assumptions is a fast track to being discontent and disappointed.
Do good. Another way to feel good about life, is to contribute to the good in life.
Live! Embrace change. Explore uncertainty. Try new experiences. Learn new things. Walk unfamiliar paths. The menu of The Strange Diner is vast – look it over.
Life is too brief. Don’t waste precious limited mortal moments on pointless performative negativity. Live authentically – and enjoy the joy you find (and create)! Just saying – you do have choices.
I smile and have another sip of my coffee. Good coffee. Good playlist. Good time to begin again. (Good luck on your journey!)
Change is. Like the weather, moments are ever-changing, evolving, not static things the way our recollections sometimes make them seem. They are not that snapshot in our memory, somehow more lasting than the moment itself could ever be. This morning the weather reminds me that change is, and that moments are brief, and impermanent. After yesterday’s warm sunny day, this morning’s chill feels unexpected. The mist clinging to the meadow and the edges of the marsh is a surprise. The morning begins with sunshine, but already it looks like it may rain – quite soon.
Sunshine as my walk begins. It doesn’t last.
I have no particular concerns over the weather, although I didn’t think I’d need my rain gear and didn’t grab it for the walk. I may come to regret that decision. For now, sitting at a favorite spot along the trail watching the sky turning dark and stormy, I’m content to watch and wonder and just be. Moments are what they are, and like rain showers, they will pass on by. I can wait them out, walk on, or find joy in them. Choices. One choice I just don’t have is a choice to halt change or stop the flow of time. Moments will come and go, without regard to the sort of moments they happen to be.
I sigh to myself. I am fine with this moment just as it is. I am rested and my pain is well-managed. The trail is not crowded, and it feels like I have it to myself although the parking lot had several cars in it when I arrived. I sit with my thoughts.
The day ahead is housework and laundry, and a bit of gardening, a pretty typical Sunday. I have a short grocery list – ingredients for dinner. My Traveling Partner is making dinner tonight, and I am eager to be helpful not only because I’m happy to see this positive milestone in his continuing recovery from injury, but also because he’s an excellent cook and I enjoy what he brings to the table any time he’s in the kitchen.
I think about the housekeeping that really needs doing and remind myself that working from home reliably a couple days a week now also means some tasks can be put off to those days quite easily without adverse outcomes. Maybe do the laundry Tuesday? It’s a relief to be as focused on not exhausting myself as I am on getting things done. That six months of intense, sometimes round the clock, caregiving following my beloved’s surgery wasn’t just exhausting, it was emotionally trying and I often felt completely inadequate. I still find myself coping with that experience, even though it’s behind me, and hasn’t been a thing for months. I still feel the treadmill of endless tasks and too little capability under my feet, emotionally, and it’s taking practice and will and mindful presence to let that go. That moment has passed. I sigh again, feeling the intensity of my relief wash over me.
I hear footsteps coming up the trail slowly. I look up and see deer stepping along gently. They pause, watching me. A trio. A young buck and two does. I wonder if they have new fawns? I don’t see any. I consider taking their picture as they slowly approach me on the path, but when I move ever so slightly, they stop, stiff, alert, and wary. I relax and just watch them. When they get closer, I turn my head away, hoping to communicate that they’re no concern of mine, and that I am not a threat. The larger doe approaches very near me. There’s something tasty growing near my feet apparently, and she’s willing to take a chance on approaching quite closely. I could reach out and touch her, but don’t want to risk starting her. I let her breakfast in peace, and just sit quite still.
Voices coming up the trail get my attention. I look up, as the deer do. The deer bolt, and trot off into the trees. I sit where I am, and when people emerge around the bend in the trail I wave and nod. They are no concern of mine, and they walk on past.
Moments don’t last. Sunny afternoons may be followed by rainy mornings. Threats may emerge in one moment, and disappear in the next. Tears dry. Trauma heals. The clock ticks on.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. I get to my feet and look up the trail. The future is ahead of me, and this path won’t walk itself. It’s a good moment to begin again.
Evening Light 