Gray morning, overcast moody looking skies appear as dawn becomes day. No colorful sunrise this morning. I’m not fussing over it, just noticing.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
I set off down the trail.
I got an early start, which suits me. I’ve got this trail alone again this morning. Bonus. It is a Sunday, and a good day to relax and do something pleasant and likely to “recharge my batteries”. Yesterday’s time in the studio was lovely. I’ll likely paint more today, while my Traveling Partner works.
My steps and my thoughts carry me to a favorite spot to sit and reflect. I stop awhile, surprised that there are no fishermen here yet.
A lovely spot to sit awhile.
Weird morning. My mind wanders. I think about my mortality without any particular anxiety, just curious what lies beyond. Nothing? Something? I guess I’ll know when I get there. The clock is ticking. I think about my Dear Friend, my mother, my grandmother…in one case I’m very certain she was ready; we spoke about it. I dislike the idea of dying unexpectedly and having no opportunity to prepare and to “wrap up my affairs”. What choice do any of us really have about the circumstances of our end? Maybe some choice, we can avoid accelerating our demise by limiting our foolishness… but that isn’t much personal control over such a final moment.
…Don’t mind me, the gray morning has infiltrated my musings, that’s all.
I’m disinclined to continue down the rabbit hole of mortality and my thoughts move on. Tomorrow, work. Today, housekeeping, and more painting, and probably a nap. 😆
The surface of the river is so smooth and calm this morning. It means little; that river is still flowing along (at something like 5400 cfs). It’s still a river. A fisherman shows up, and walks past me, and on down to the bank, tossing me a gruff “good morning” as he passes. I return the greeting, then get to my feet. Time to move along.
Sometimes I find a moment of peace through happenstance, sometimes I make choices that create a moment of peace. Either way, I enjoy the moment.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
This morning is a bit of both, I guess. I chose to set my alarm for an early hour, in spite of being Saturday, and in spite of an interrupted night’s sleep. I chose this particular trail, in a small state park. It is pure luck that I’ve got it all to myself this morning: no other walkers, no dogs, no talkative children, just quiet, and birdsong. It’s lovely.
A new day, a path I chose.
I start down the trail as the sun rises. The air is sweet and spicy with that particular fragrance of Oregon wildflowers that I love so much. My steps feel comfortable, my stride feels relaxed and confident. For the time being my pain is minimal, and I’ve got my cane to steady me if my energy runs out, or I stumble. It’s a good beginning on a new day, and I savor the beauty of the moment as I walk.
Wildflowers line the trail.
I walk. Breathe. Exhale. Drink in the sights and scents of this lovely summer morning. Granted, it’s easier to create and enjoy a moment of peace in a place such as this, but I’ve found similar peace in some unlikely places. The success is in the outcome, not the setup. I sigh to myself; I’m not fooling anyone. It definitely is easier to find (or create) a peaceful moment in a place like this. I smile as I walk. I’m grateful for this lovely easy peaceful joyful moment of solitude on a carefree summer Saturday morning. Moments don’t last, so I savor it while it does.
Be present; every step counts.
I peer over the edge of an odd gap between trees off the edge of the trail. Something clearly uses this as a route to somewhere… but it is treacherously steep. I don’t test my agility; I am too aware of my limitations, cautious, and reluctant to be injured in a location where I might not easily be found. Choices.
I walk on. The sun lights up the tree tops, green and gold. I get to a favorite spot with a lovely view and stop to watch the sunrise.
A nice spot to reflect on a new day.
I’m not really thinking about the day ahead just yet. I’m enjoying the moment I’m in. That’s enough. This beautiful moment is as fleeting as any other – all too brief – it makes sense to enjoy it as it is, and soak myself in this delightful feeling of peace. It will pass. I chuckle to myself. Good or bad, the moments pass. The clock is ticking on this mortal life. I don’t let the awareness fret me. I just walk on.
I get to my feet, feeling content and merry and ready for a new day, wherever my path may lead. It’s time to begin again.
Local news outlets reported that more than 8000 lightning strikes occurred yesterday in this region (Oregon/Washington) – in an area where proper thunderstorms used to be rather rare. Wild. (I think we broke our planet, y’all…) This morning the sky still looks stormy. Gray cottony clouds cover the sky, threatening rain.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
… I definitely need a little time away…
More stormy weather.
… and I’m forsure heading into the forested mountains of the Tillamook State Forest for the weekend. My car is already mostly packed. I think over the things I decided to pack, and the things I decided to leave behind. I nearly always bring way more than I need, and this time I’m trying to be less wasteful with my energy, and my resources.
I run through my mental list of things I’ve yet to pack. I’m nothing if not serious about making lists (and checking them twice 😆). I’ve got time and I’m not rushing. It is early morning and I’ve still got a work day ahead of me. I don’t plan to leave before about 13:00… but I do want to do a load of laundry…
I chuckle to myself as I sit trailside with my thoughts; I could have skipped my walk today. 😆 Why not? There will be more walking later, and there’s manual labor involved in setting up camp. It didn’t even occur to me to skip my walk this morning – how to tell when a practice has become a habit. 😁 I breathe, exhale, and relax. No colorful sunrise this morning, still a good time for meditation.
… I still need to pick out a book (or two) for this adventure, pack up my paint box, make sure to put my CPAP machine in the car, load the last few things into the car and double-check for missed essentials. I sigh to myself and reassure my busy eager mind that there’s plenty of time.
… but I’m counting the hours, and the clock is ticking…
I watch the cloudy sky doing cloudy sky things, and double-check the weather forecast. It’s fine. (Yesterday’s thunderstorm was not in the forecast, my brain “helpfully” reminds me.) I’m going anyway. My tent is waterproof (for many values of “waterproof”), and it has never failed to keep me dry.
I sit by this trail, comfortable and unbothered, grateful to be so easily able to just take a few days when I need them. Grateful for the partnership that is okay with my getaways. Grateful for the job that pays for the time off. Grateful to have adequate well-maintained gear. Grateful that I can drive an hour in anyway direction and feel “away”. I’m looking forward to a couple days of solitude.
I look at the time and get to my feet. Less than 8 hours until I’m in a forest, setting up camp somewhere utterly new for me. Exciting. It’s time to begin, again.
It happens. It’s an ordinary Monday. I got enough sleep. I woke on time, when my lights came on. I got on with readying myself for a new day, and headed out, stopping only to water the lawn. So… what’s with the crushing fucking anxiety this morning?
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
I breathe, exhale, and relax. I arrived at the trailhead without any difficulty – and I hadn’t expected any sort of difficulty. Everything seems pretty routine and ordinary this morning.
… and isn’t it? So ordinary and routine, and yet I am vexed by my anxiety…
Anxiety is a liar. Anxiety is an emotional and physical experience backed by a powerful cocktail of hormonal signals and internal chemistry. Learning to let it be what it is (and nothing more) is a huge step towards learning not to struggle with it. Whether or not a given moment of anxiety has any basis in reality (a real cause that makes some rational sense) is a wholly separate concern from the experience of the anxiety, and would need to be dealt with separately in any case. I sigh to myself. Fuck anxiety.
“Anxiety” 2011
I breathe, exhale, and relax – again. I keep repeating the exercise until I feel the knot in the pit of my stomach loosen, feel my jaw unclench, and begin to find the simple act of breathing actually simple once more.
Anxiety as a disorder (or element of a disorder) is not reliably attached to a real world experience or trigger. It may surface in response to something as mundane as a random thought or a brief moment of uncertainty. Trauma changes our brain, and one byproduct may be anxiety as a disorder. Why did I wake up anxious this morning? Unknown. Nothing obvious. Maybe genuinely nothing at all, or perhaps the remnant of a dream already forgotten? The important thing is to recognize that it most likely isn’t about anything, and to not bother with troubleshooting for a “root cause”. Having an anxiety disorder is the cause of disordered anxiety. So, I let that go. No point in chasing a cause.
I let my steady steps carry me down the trail as I focus on my breathing and the sights and scents of my immediate surroundings. It’s a pretty morning. The forecast says it will be quite a hot day. (I’m glad I watered!) I walk along with my thoughts, staying focused on this moment, here. The sun rises, casting a golden glow over the oaks. I get to my halfway point and stop to write a bit.
Can I lift myself out of my anxiety? Maybe. I can at least avoid making it worse by refusing to let it pull me further in, and refusing to allow it to spiral out of control, by recognizing it, acknowledging it, and keeping it firmly confined to a narrowly defined experience that I understand. It will pass. No point at all in feeding it.
Funny thing, my Traveling Partner noticed my anxiety beginning to flare up in the background before I did. Two days ago, he began observing it, calling it out, suggesting I do something more to care for myself… I didn’t feel it, and said as much. Well… I fucking feel it this morning. 😆 G’damn. Also… how annoying is that? I sigh again, feeling the weight of my emotions in my exhalation.
I stare at a lock of my long-ish brunette-ish hair in the morning sunlight. It is shot through with gray. I rarely give thought to it. My internal sense of self is much the same as it has always been… I think. Maybe not. I definitely don’t have a feeling of “being old”, yet, but I do feel my years now and then. Not so much this morning, and the gray hair surprises me a little. It is real though, more real than my anxiety.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. An ordinary day in all regards, aside from the anxiety, which I feel ready to ignore, although I know ignoring the sense of it doesn’t change the tightness in my chest, or the sensation of being out of breath, or the feeling of my pounding heart. I just have to give my chemistry time to adjust to something more commonplace, and calmer. In the meantime, I’ve got this walk to finish, and an entire day ahead of me. I guess I’ll begin again. What else?
I woke early, with my alarm. I dressed quickly and quietly, and watered the lawn before heading for the trail. I arrived just at daybreak – ostensibly when this park opens – and as I drove into the park to the trailhead, I passed one, then another parked car. Imagine my surprise (and, frankly, my irritation) to see random cars parked willy-nilly on the narrow access road. These were no early morning hikers, either, these were over night visitors or people parked out of view, sleeping in their cars.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
I sigh crossly, grateful I don’t speed down this road in the twilight of dawn. I easily could have hit one of them, parked well into the road (there being no parking at all along the access road and no pullouts).
I get to the trailhead parking. Another overnighter parked in just the stupidest fashion in a spot very much outside the actual parking and blocking the path down to a lovely river view. I swear to myself, thoroughly vexed by this bullshit. I start down the path, stepping around the truck quietly, and find myself startled by the guard dog chained beneath the truck, who lunges at me barking furiously. Well fuck that shit. I turn back even more annoyed, but not wishing to risk a dog bite.
…G’damn, fuck rude people abusing park spaces with their entitled bullshit…
I turn down a different path as I wonder “who even does this shit?!”, but I don’t really want to know – I just want my peaceful morning walk. Disappointing start. I inhale the fragrant summer air as I walk down the path into the meadow. It had been dense clover, blooming with sweet smelling purple flowers only a couple weeks ago. It has been mown since then. The tidy arrangement of rows makes me wonder what sort of farm equipment was used for the purpose. The view isn’t as lovely as when the meadow is lush and blooming. An altogether disappointing start to the day.
I get to my halfway point on this loop trail. The rock I generally sit on has a fat pile of dog shit dropped right next to it. Gross. “Fucking hell, people, clean up after your g’damned dogs”, I mutter crossly as I walk on. I have the recollection of a convenient rock or log somewhere along here… Now my walk becomes a vigilant search for somewhere to sit, instead of a peaceful, mindful, meditative progression of steps on a path.
…I feel my awareness of my own disappointment begin to evolve into seething irritation, almost anger, that sits at the edge of becoming a feeling of entitlement…
I sigh and stop. I just stop on the trail and stand for a moment, listening to the birds chirping, peeping, and singing. I lean against a large-ish maple of some kind, resting my feet. My back aches already, today. My tinnitus whines loudly in my ears, and I focus on the birds singing to assure myself that the tinnitus isn’t “real” and hasn’t actually deafened me. I breathe, exhale, and relax.
… It’s a beautiful moment, in a lovely spot along a wooded trail, on a cloudy summer morning. It’s worth redirecting my attention to here, now…
I let my irritation and disappointment dissipate. I watch robins foraging in the leaf litter at the edge of the trail. It’s a beautiful quiet morning. I hear Spring Valley Creek trickling past nearby, unseen beyond the thicket of shrubs and berry vines. Young chipmunks chase each other through the trees. The leaves of the trees shake and rustle in the breeze. The clouds hint at rain that may not come and I find myself wondering why I am in so much pain this morning? I have no enthusiasm for the work I committed to helping my beloved Traveling Partner with, today, but maybe I’ll feel more like it later. I don’t dwell on it, or on my pain.
I walk on down the path, and find myself in a pleasant glade near a bend in the path. There is an old picnic table tucked back away from the trail, in a regrettable state of disrepair, but adequate as a place to sit that isn’t on the ground (harder to get back up at 63 than it would have been at 30). I sit awhile. I write. I meditate. I wait on a moment that hasn’t yet arrived. I breathe, exhale, and relax. It’s so easy to take shit personally that isn’t personal at all. Reality isn’t going to bother with correcting our mistakes for us, it will simply punish us when we’re incorrect. I sigh to myself and remind myself to do something about my pain when I get back to the car.
I don’t bother with the news today. Why would I? Ads. AI slop. Sponsored content. Cookies. Paywalls. Slanted opinions instead of clean emotionally neutral factual reporting, or honest authentic and explicitly stated personal biases revealed openly. All of it on repeat, and supplemented by copies of copies of copies shared across media groups and individuals. Completely pointless, and all of it seriously joy destroying crap targeted at getting all of us to pay someone for something. Bleh. No thanks. I sigh, feeling a little impatient even having the thought, and pull my attention back to “now”.
“View of the Willamette River” “7 x “9.5”, soft pastel on Pastelmat
It’s not reliably easy to find, make, or preserve our peace or our joy. There are verbs involved, and a willingness to persist. I’ve been finding it helpful to spend more time in my studio, painting. I smile to myself; the view I missed this morning is the view I painted from memory last night. I find some little bit of comfort, joy, and peace in that idea.
I take a deep breath of the cool summer air, smelling the scent of recently mown clover mingling with the scent of wildflowers. A bird of prey somewhere nearby screams about whatever is on their mind. The chipmunks all vanish. This moment may not be “perfect” (what ever is?), but it is mine, and it is enough. I think about the day ahead and wonder if my partner is also in more than usual pain this morning?
… Sometimes the best I can do is to keep walking, putting one foot after the other, until I get somewhere. Each day offers a new beginning, and each moment is a new chance at peace and joy. What will I do with it (besides “my best”)? The clock is ticking – today I feel it more. The clouds overhead are definitely threatening rain now – I guess it’s a good time to begin again.
Evening Light 