My ears are ringing like crazy this morning. I focus my attention on the sound around me, and the songs of early morning birds (mostly robins). I listen to my steps as I walk the paved section of trail near home. I am walking westward. The sky is gray, densely cloudy, and the air smells of recent rain.
I squint at the newly planted section of vineyard alongside the trail, as I approach it. Something red is blooming at ground level, and I can’t quite make out the grape vines in the gloomy early light. Red clover? Vetch? Last year this was meadow (or fallow fields), and I reflect on the feeling I had the first day I came to this trail after the meadow had been plowed under and replaced by vineyard.
One perspective of many possible perspectives.
Here and there wild blackberries encroach on the edges of the vineyard. They aren’t the native sort, they’re an invasive non-native. The blackberries themselves are tasty nonetheless, but it will be many weeks before blackberries dangle ripe from the thorny canes. I walk past some wildflower blooming – or is it a weed? So close to the planted vineyard, I guess it’s very much a matter of perspective. I walk past reflecting on that.
Wildflower or weed?
Breathe, exhale, relax, and keep walking. I am having my own experience, walking my own path, and quietly enjoying this gray rainy morning.
… The clock is ticking…
I pause at my halfway point and sit for a few minutes, listening to the sound of geese overhead and distant traffic. Breathe, exhale, relax. My tinnitus is still pretty bad, but it’s no longer dominating my attention. There is forest around me and I can hear the nearby creek bubbling past. A small brown bird stops near me, hopping here and there in the grass at the edge of a the trail.
This is a lovely quiet morning, suitable for walking. I get to my feet and begin again.
The sun is up as I return to the car. I’m at a less frequented trailhead tucked away on the far side of the nature park. Different approach to the park, different views (more meadow than marsh), and that provides me with a different perspective.
A meadow of fragrant wildflowers.
I’ve been feeling a bit “stuck” now and then, recently, especially with regard to my fitness progress. Realistically, I know “the math”, and the basic truth of it is that I need to get more exercise and cut back on caloric intake (without reducing nutritional value). Such easy words to put on a page. Harder to live them in practice, primarily because I’m living with chronic pain, have some underlying metabolic concerns that complicate things by drastically reducing the amount of energy I can reliably make use of in a given day. Those things don’t prevent me from making progress over time, they just tend to slow me down and discourage me. File under “adulting is hard”. lol
I’m not complaining. Just saying these are real circumstances and sometimes I feel “stuck”. I often find a change of perspective very helpful for getting “un-stuck”, and so this morning I followed a favorite trail from a different direction, at a different starting point, and walked my difficult miles from a different perspective. Helpful.
A different point of view is sometimes the only difference needed.
I walked along as the sun rose, listening to the noisy robins in the meadow grass, and the geese calling to each other overhead. The air was filled with the scent of Spring flowers.
The sun rising beyond a grove in the meadow.
Feeling stuck? Maybe it will be helpful to change your point of view, to adjust your perspective in some way, even if only as a matter of taking a different route to a familiar destination? I know I find it helpful, and almost without noticing, I find myself walking farther at a faster pace (in spite of stops to snap a picture or two along the way). Sometimes beginning again is more effective if we begin from a different starting point, or heading in a new direction, or by entirely changing our approach to a challenge or journey. Your results may vary, but if you’re feeling stuck, isn’t that the desired effect?
Where does your path lead? What is beyond the next bend?
My Traveling Partner suggested, out of love and a desire to be helpful, that maybe I should consider using an elliptical machine at a nearby gym, or some lower-impact means of getting more miles in. It’s an idea I’ve considered (and tried), but I thoroughly dislike the gym environment and the mindless tedium of walking a treadmill to the point that I just don’t stick with it. It’s not a good choice of practice for me, generally. I’m willing – even eager – to be out on a trail at dawn walking a couple miles, happily alone with my thoughts, feeling the moment, enjoying the sights, and I do it day after day, without a miss. It’s time to pick up the pace, though, and challenge myself to go further more often. It’s time to increase my “non-negotiable distance” from 1 mile to two, then from 2 to three. It’s time to spend less time meditating at some beautiful halfway point, and more of my time steadily on my feet. (This is where my thoughts were as I walked this morning.)
Reflections and mist.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. I guess I needed a change of perspective (and a change of direction). I certainly feel less stuck, sitting with my thoughts after my walk, feeling my muscles relax, and my heart beat slowing down as I write. There’s an entire day ahead of me and a couple of errands to run. The clock is ticking – it’s time to begin again.
I’m sipping my coffee, back aching, and contemplating the day ahead of me. The world seems ever to be in turmoil, and I find myself wondering if maybe that’s just the way of worlds? Humans being human, stumbling in the darkness, failing to live up to their own expectations, trying and trying again – sometimes without changing what they’re doing that didn’t work the first time. We’re strange creatures; we have immense capacity for reason and intelligent thought, but often choose not to make use of it. Isn’t that strange? We have the power to change how we feel and what we do, how we experience the world around us, what we think of this or that, and to deepen our understanding and knowledge over time, to choose differently based on experience and learning, and sometimes we just… don’t bother. Isn’t that peculiar?
The weekend ahead of me is filled with choices and opportunities. Will newly started seedlings have enough roots to be ready to plant into the new little solar hydro garden that my Traveling Partner made for me? Will the deer eat more of my tomato plants? Will I find a pair of jeans that fit as well as this pair that is falling apart and can’t really be worn anymore in spite of being my favorite pair? Will I make “the perfect cup of coffee” and manage to enjoy it before it gets cold? Will I take time to finish the book I’m reading? Will I paint or write poetry or gaze at the stars in the hour before dawn? Will my Traveling Partner delight me with some unexpected token of his affection crafted for me by his loving hands? Will the Anxious Adventurer share a funny meme, or cook a tasty meal for the family, or give me a hand with the irrigation project for the west side garden? I think about the possibilities without setting expectations or making assumptions. The possibilities are nearly endless – what brings them to life will be the choices we each make.
…”Choose wisely,” I remind myself, “the clock is ticking”…
A rose blooming in the garden
Still, choices or no choices, actions or no actions, busy or not-so-busy, it’s worth making time to also simply enjoy each moment. Like the roses in my garden, each moment is unique. Unrepeatable. “Once in a lifetime”, however similar it may seem to some other moment quite like it. Being present – really present – slows the clock, and enriches each experience. Mindfulness as a practice has its greatest value in that quality above most others; presence. It teaches presence. It’s a practice, though, and it requires effort, and the doing of the thing. There are verbs involved, and choices. It’s not a passive happenstance that I can count on, it’s a choice I have to make, and a practice that requires practicing.
I sit more fully upright, hoping to ease the arthritis pain in my back. I’m aware of it there in the background. Does it hint at a change in the weather? Is it due to effort or strain? Does that even matter? I sigh quietly to myself and take something to ease the discomfort somewhat. I sip my coffee, and enjoy the moment without regard to the pain. Escaping it may not be an option, but neither do I have to let it control me.
Feels like a good day, generally. If it didn’t, I could choose to change things about my experience and perhaps improve it. That’s not necessary today; I feel okay for most values of “okay”, and I’m not weighed down by the foolishness, violence, and sorrows of the world. Not right now. It’s a pretty morning. There are flowers blooming in my garden (and beyond), and the day feels sort of “easy”, generally. I sit with that feeling, grateful and appreciative, not wanting to waste the moment by rushing it or taking it for granted, although I’m eager to get to the other side of the work day, and head home to my beloved and my garden.
I breathe, exhale, and relax, gazing out the window in front of me as cars stream into the parking lot below. It’s that time. Time to begin again.
I woke rested and feeling comfortable and awash in a feeling of contentment. I got through my morning routine without making some sort of loud noise. I made it to the trailhead before sunrise, but just after daybreak.
I caught a glimpse of Mt Hood and the beginning of a colorful sunrise.
It’s a beautiful morning. I sigh contentedly and lace up my boots. The trail is dim but not dark. There are little birds everywhere, and the air smells of flowers. I’ve got my cane, my camera, and this moment. It’s enough. There’s a work day ahead, but that’s later. I need to remember to water the garden, but that time is not now. I’ve got an appointment to keep in the afternoon, but that requires no attention from me, yet. It’s just me, this trail ahead of me, this moment, and a glimpse of the sunrise.
I grin happily to myself and grab my cane to get started. The clock is ticking and it’s time to begin. Again.
A colorful sunrise greeted me at the trailhead. The weather is mild, almost warm. The air is calm, and the pollen count is fairly high. My head is a little stuffy. The robins (and there are many) are quite loud as they call to each other.
Dawn of a new day.
It is a new day, filled with promise and opportunity, chances for success and for failure, and rich with choices. It’s also an utterly ordinary such day. The day begins well; I escaped my headache of yesterday. Definitely a good beginning.
I swap soft shoes for sturdy boots and grab my cane. I rarely walk any distance without it these days. I’m not bothered by that, it’s just a detail.
Colorful sunrise
I breathe, exhale, and relax, and set off down the trail. Lovely day for it, in spite of my stuffy sinuses, and irritated throat. Lots of flowers blooming now. I’ve taken allergy medication first thing, and it helps. I continue to enjoy the moment – and the flowers. The sunrise continues to evolve, the clouds shifting pink to salmon to peach and bold shades of orange. Quite a display. I pause frequently to enjoy the sight of it, and to snap pictures.
…It is worth all manner of bother and inconvenience and delays to pause for a beautiful sunrise; there’s no knowing how many we may see…
I walked and watched the sun rise, until I reached this not-quite-halfway spot. It has a better view than my usual stopping point. A row of trees is silhouetted against the sky. A wonderful baby blue morning sky begins to show between the colorful clouds.
I breathe exhale and relax, sitting awhile with my thoughts as the sun rises. I think ahead to later. I have it in mind to make breakfast for my Traveling Partner and the Anxious Adventurer and myself, a little later. A chubby raccoon slowly walks past, far enough from me to be unconcerned about my presence, near enough to be clearly visible. Somewhere nearby, a woodpecker makes his presence known.
Dawn becomes day, and it’s time to begin again. I get to my feet to finish my walking and turn towards the sun.
