The morning was clear and cold, as I left the house. The sky was flecked with stars and the waning moon peered down at me from above my quiet neighborhood. By the time I reached my halfway point on this morning’s walk, a dense mist was gathering, and I am now wrapped in fog. Change is.
I sit quietly with my thoughts. I meditate. I exist. The moment feels timeless and static, fixed in place, and unchanging. It is an illusion. Moments are brief. The mist gets thicker, as the clock ticks onward.
Can a picture truly capture a moment and hold it still?
I sigh to myself, filling my lungs with the cold morning air and exhaling, adding the mist of my breath to the morning fog. Nice moment, this. I could almost imagine that the world is at peace, that people feel safe in their communities, and that the world is a rational, ethical, nurturing place…
I haven’t looked at the news today. I don’t plan too, beyond what may be shared to me by my Traveling Partner, or in the course of the work day. Very little changes there, and between the atrocities of foreign genocides, global human rights abuses, and the horrors of American governance in the current administration, I have no stomach for it, and no need to see the same terrible news every day. It isn’t new at all. That, and then also the ads and the ever devolving quality of the writing, generally. Omg, AI “writers” are hilariously bad, and the prevalent errors and outright falsehoods are… unacceptable. So…no. Not this morning. I’ll just sit here, enjoying my peaceful morning, feeling safely wrapped in the mist.
I sit thinking about it being “Banned Books Week“. Good week to buy real books by human authors – particularly any of the many excellent books that piss off the government. It’s not healthy for our freedom to permit someone else to tell us what we can’t read. I’ve got a lovely long list of books I’d like to read… The holidays are coming. 😁
Daybreak comes gently. The fog seems to take on a hint of blue. My mind already feels “too busy” and my calendar “too full” – but it is an ordinary work day, and I’ve actually only got one errand to run. I slept well and deeply last night, but somehow already feel tired almost to the point of exhaustion. I find myself missing the company and laughter of old friends, and the wise counsel of my Dear Friend, and my Granny. We are mortal creatures. The clock is always ticking, and the grains of sand in the hourglass are finite
I breathe, exhale, and relax. Workers begin arriving to start their day in the vineyards alongside the trail. It was inevitable; it is time to begin again.
I reached the trail before daybreak. I walked down the path in the darkness, the bobbing half circle of light cast by my headlamp lighting the way ahead of me, but obscuring anything I might have seen beyond that bit of light. I consider that metaphorically for some distance, until my thoughts wander on.
Daybreak, and a new day.
By the time I get to my halfway point on the trail, I am thinking about the many “versions” of “myself” I have been over a lifetime. Each of the many jobs, addresses, relationships, traumas, and triumphs, have left their mark on the woman I am today. Steps on a path. A journey that is its own destination. I find myself asking some questions as I reflect on my life and the changing context(s) in which I have lived it. I think about the “here and now”, and the changes that brought me to this point.
In what version of myself have I been happiest, most often?
In what version did I most respect myself?
In what version did I enjoy the greatest sense of consistency between my values and my actions?
In what version did I seem to be most likeable?
In what version was I most likely to compromise my values for personal gain?
In what version was I villain, hero, or “NPC” in my life?
Are there versions of me that I regret so thoroughly that I am ashamed of the person I was?
How do I hold on to the best bits of all of the many versions of the woman in the mirror, and discard the worst, to become truly the woman I most want to be? (And is that version truly worthy of the effort required?)
I find self-reflection a worthwhile practice. I sit with my thoughts, listening to the sounds of an autumn morning between marsh ponds and meadow, breathing the chilly air carrying the scents of fall flowers and some hint of…mildew? It is a gray morning. The sky lightens slowly revealing a cloudy sky. The threat of rain exists in the scents on the mild breeze, and also in my arthritis pain.
The pain is annoying. I think (and write) about it too much, probably. It sometimes feels inescapable.
My Traveling Partner and I both deal with chronic pain. I do my best to manage my pain. When we’re hanging out, in pain, we each do what we can to take care of ourselves and each other. Our efforts are not reliably successful. Last night was difficult. I’d find some position in which my pain was lessened, and hold myself rigidly trying to hold on to that bit of improved comfort. He perceived it as “tension”, which I guess it was, in a sense. My tension is uncomfortable to be around, for him. He wants to help if he can (but he can’t really, it’s not that sort of thing).
His experience of pain had him squirming in my periphery, trying to get more comfortable, which I find uncomfortable to be around. I’d very much like to help, if I could (but I can’t really, it’s not that sort of thing). We do our best to be kind to each other, compassionate, empathetic without fusing with the experience of our beloved partner. It’s difficult. Pain “shrinks our world” and we’re sometimes terse with each other, when it’s actually the pain itself that is annoying us.
We ultimately ended the evening early, withdrawing to separate spaces to seek some kind of relief, if only from dealing with each other’s pain on top of our own. Seems a harsh and rather isolating approach to take, but it’s probably better than hurting each other’s feelings or taking out our discomfort on the person we love most.
I didn’t sleep well. Pain, again. I struggled with falling asleep, and once I had, I was awakened multiple times by one noise or another, or light, or the sound of angry voices, but each time I woke, the room was dark, and the house was quiet. It was weird. I woke abruptly, around 02:00, feeling a sense that “something wasn’t right”, but again all was apparently well and quiet. I returned to sleep and dreamt that I was awake… really thought I was, until my artificial sunrise woke me from a deep sleep. I had forgotten to turn it off for the weekend. I was still feeling groggy and a bit out of sorts even as I began my trek down the trail, some time later.
Saturday. No hurry, and there’s certainly ample time for self-reflection, and this is as good an opportunity than any – better than most. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I let my awareness of my pain recede into the background (for as long as I can). Daybreak becomes dawn, then daylight. I watch from my seat on this fence rail. A soft sprinkling of rain falls briefly.
I sigh to myself, suddenly missing old friends far away, and yearning to sit down over coffee and conversation. I’m momentarily overcome with a poignant feeling of nostalgia… Annapolis… Killeen… Monterey… Augsburg… Fresno… Times and people, long ago and far away. My eyes tear up a bit. The moment passes. My thoughts move on.
It begins to rain softly. I look down the path toward other places and new experiences. I admit to myself with some reluctance that it must be time to begin again… and I get to my feet, and walk on.
I walked the trail to my halfway point in darkness. It’s not yet daybreak. The days continue to get shorter. My headlamp creates a small area of light around me, and a feeling of safety. I’m no “safer” with the light on or off, having reached a nice spot to stop, it’s an illusion. We are, for the most part, daytime creatures; we like to see what is going on around us, which requires light. Mostly. I turn off my headlamp and let my eyes adjust.
I have a song stuck in my head, but only a small portion of the refrain, and I can’t quite recognize it. Every time I try to figure it out by “playing a bit more”, it skips back to just the bit stuck in my head. I find this mildly amusing, but also rather annoying. I let it go.
A brief sprinkling of raindrops begins, then stops. Will it actually rain? I hope it does, but I also hope that I beat the rain back to the car before it begins to fall seriously. lol The trees are more dense on the other side of the trail, here, so I change my resting place to one with better cover, “just in case”, and continue thinking my thoughts.
It is a work day. A Monday. I am just two days away from completing my 30-day “trial period” on this new job. I like the job enough to want to stay. My boss has expressed his satisfaction with my work. Successful completion of this trial period feels like a given… and this has (perhaps a bit paradoxically) caused my anxiety to escalate wildly. I persist with calming breath work, and take steps to regain my perspective and get centered.
“Anxiety” 10″ x 14″ – and she feels much bigger than that, generally.
…Breathe. Exhale. Relax. Repeat…
Adult anxieties are no more rational than any other anxieties, and they are not a reliable gauge of “threat levels” or hazards. In this case the perception of a ticking clock, a countdown, and the explicit proposition that the decision regarding whether this is a permanent position at all rests on these 30-days definitely amplifies my insecurities, which in turn cranks up the volume on my anxiety. It occurred to me days ago (and may have been explicitly stated by someone at some point), that this “pressure cooker” really is a test – of my ability to handle routine matters under pressure, to cope with high demands on short timelines, to adequately determine relative priorities, and to be resilient. Pretty good test, too, if a bit nerve-wracking. I expect to pass, but that expectation actually seems to make the anxiety worse, not ease it at all. lol
… I’ll be glad to see Wednesday’s sunrise with this first 30 days entirely behind me…
I take a few unmeasured minutes to meditate, and for a time I feel freed from my anxiety. Nice. Another handful of sprinkles passes by, and my choice to take cover under the oaks is proved a good one. Well timed. I smile at the clouds overhead. Daybreak comes, gray and moody, and I am joined by some very early robins who seem eager to see what they can find in the dampened leaf litter and softened earth. So far it’s quite a pleasant Monday morning, in spite of the coming and going of my anxiety in the background.
I inhale the damp autumn air, filling my lungs with it, feeling uplifted. It took me a long while to learn to put more attention on the good moments and small joys than on the moments of stress and doubt. It has been profoundly worthwhile to learn this practice. It’s not about ignoring stress or stressful things. Circumstances need to be appropriately dealt with, regardless how stressful. As creatures, though, we tend to get fixated on our most difficult, painful, scary, unpleasant, and challenging experiences, and if we do so to the exclusion of all else, we can easily develop a negative view of life more generally, that can begin to pull us down into despair. That was my own experience, for sure. This is better. So, I set aside any fretting over work, because the work day hasn’t even begun yet, and I allow myself to embrace these lovely moments on a Monday morning, and take the time to enjoy the dawn of a new day with my whole attention.
I sit awhile longer, here, now, enjoying this lovely moment of peace and solitude. I listen to the occasional sprinkling of raindrops on the leaves overhead. The sky lightens to a paler shade of blue gray. I think about the weekend, my Traveling Partner’s love, and good home cooking. I think about how well the Anxious Adventurer took care of the lawn all summer, how good it looks, and reflect on my gratitude and appreciation – and wonder if I have said “thank you”? I ponder how fortunate I am to have found a new job so quickly after being laid off and remind myself to thank my Traveling Partner for some excellent professional advice he gave me, in the earliest days of our friendship, that has continued to serve me well. I remember being incredibly irritated to hear him suggest that I consider cultivating a more agreeable and approachable attitude, professionally (and it was hard to hear that I was difficult to work with…) I’m grateful that I took his words to heart. Life has been better personally, and more successful professionally. Definitely worth a “thank you”.
The sprinkling begins again, and seems inclined to continue. The clock continues to tick. I sigh to myself as I get to my feet. Already time to begin again.
The clear night sky sprinkled with stars has given way to pink streaks of clouds across a pale blue sky. I sit at my halfway point on this trail watching the sun rise.
Each sunrise is the promise of a new day.
My anxiety commandeered my dreams at some point during the night. My Traveling Partner somehow breeched the fragile boundary between reality and dreams, calling me back from The Nightmare City with a question. I don’t remember the question, and I’m not sure whether he actually woke me (or, if he did, why). I got up briefly to pee and went back to sleep. I woke gently, without anxiety, and the morning has been pleasant and otherwise routine.
The morning felt quite mild, initially, but as I sit on a favorite fence rail, I begin to feel the autumn chill. I’m grateful for this sweater, and the fleece I threw on over it at the last minute, as I got out of the car in the darkness. I sit enjoying the sunrise, and the sky turns from pink stripes to streaks of thin white clouds and blue skies. It’s a lovely morning. I’m taking my time with it.
My Traveling Partner pings me a good morning greeting and asks about my plans. He’s enjoying his morning, too. I mention an errand I plan to take care of before I return home – having completely forgotten it no longer needs to be done. He gently reminds me. I laugh heartily, out loud – it’s the sort of thing that could frustrate me to tears under some circumstances. This morning it’s harmless, inconsequential, and amusing, and I consider the difference in perspective that allows it to be funny, this time.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. It’s been a lovely weekend, filled with loving moments and good fortune, and these stand out from the moments of stress that also occurred. It’s nice to feel so positive, and to have developed an outlook on life that allows me to bounce back from stress so much more easily than any younger version of me knew how to do. If I could, I’d go back in time and share what I have learned with that younger me. Instead, I share that here, with you.
…We become what we practice…
A small sparkling highlight this weekend was stopping for groceries yesterday morning; the Checker returned my keys to me! I’d misplaced them days ago, and hadn’t found them. I had resigned myself to the likelihood that they were lost. She had carefully held on to them, waiting to see me again on an upcoming weekend. Having them returned to me gives me a feeling of hope that probably exceeds the moment, and I’m okay with that. Feeling hopeful is far better than feeling that everything is pointless or futile.
Such a small thing.
There’s an entire new day ahead. It’s a Sunday, and most of the day will be housework and chores and getting ready for a new week – and I’ll be doing things from a hopeful perspective, and spending time in the company of my Traveling Partner. Sounds like a good way to spend time.
I look down the trail. Several small groups of people approach, some distance away on the other side of the meadow. I get to my feet – it’s time to begin again.
I slept through the night, waking to the artificial sunrise of my silent alarm. I dressed and left the house in the usual way. I arrived at the trailhead before daybreak, put on my boots, grabbed my cane, and began the trek down the trail.
I walk and breathe, my mind a mostly barren place, nothing really amounting to actually thought going on. I just walked.
… Strange morning…
My Traveling Partner pings me. No “good morning” greeting or inquiry about my state of being. Instead I get a hurt reminder that I had said I would pick up a package waiting in the mailbox. I’d forgotten, distracted by a moment of discord shortly after I got home yesterday. Shit. For the time being (and it is a recent change) we’ve only got one key to the mailbox, and picking up the mail now requires a return home to grab the key, or the foresight to take it on the way out the door. A suprisingly complicated change, once brain damage is accounted for. I sigh to myself. I do my best to do everything that needs to be done… Seems always just out of reach.
I’m now at my halfway point feeling aggravated, disappointed with myself, and fairly disinterested in interacting with “the world”… And it’s a fucking work day. Great. I ignore the slow tears dripping down my face. For the moment I have no patience with this very human experience. My Traveling Partner is having a difficult morning, himself. I do what I can to be supportive, compassionate, and kind. Maybe one of us will turn our morning around and have a good day?
I breathe, exhale, and… Well, I try to relax. I persist with trying to meditate, trying to let go of my irritability, trying to simply breathe and be… Inhale. Exhale. Repeat. How fucking hard does this shit have to be?!
Daybreak comes. I look down the trail and get to my feet. It isn’t all lovely mornings, big smiles, and beautiful sunrises. This is a very human experience, and sometimes there’s real work involved, and however “successful” the outcomes seem to be, the moment may still be quite unsatisfying or unpleasant. It is what it is. Another reason to begin again… and it’s time. I’ll do my best.
Evening Light 