Archives for posts with tag: consideration

I head down the road to a welcoming quiet trail along the Willamette River, singing a favorite rather poignant love song out loud, acapella, and probably off key. Doesn’t matter, what matters is the meaning of the heartfelt words. Love is perhaps the most human and humbling of experiences.

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

… But what do I even know? I’m just one woman living a mortal life…

I watch the sun rise as I drive to the trailhead singing love songs badly on my birthday. I arrive at this beautiful place, with my thoughts and my baggage, and hoping to do a better job of being the woman I most want to be without compromise or regret in the year to come.

Every dawn is a chance to begin again and to make the choices to be (and become) the person we most want to be.

I start down the trail and immediately find myself facing a choice. That’s often how things go. We make a lot of choices in life. Many of those will turn out to have been poor choices, once we’re further down the path life takes us, sometimes it’s hard to know when we make the choice. Ideally we learn from the experience and do something different next time. Doesn’t always work out that way… it’s a very human experience.

Go left or go right? It’s a simple choice, and either way this trail will bring me back to this place. Yes, it’s a metaphor.

I walk on. Does it matter what my choice was? Sure, it matters. My perspective will change based on my choice. I’ll see the world and my own circumstances quite differently perhaps. I walk on down the trail with my thoughts, enjoying the blue sky overhead and the many hues and shades of green. The meadow smells of Spring flowers: clover, blackberries, wild cucumber and wild carrot, various meadow flowers for which I lack names.

A robin on a fence post.

Snails, rabbits, robins, squirrels, chipmunks, a small fast lizard, a garter snake, bluejays… I stay alert as I walk. This beautiful place is home for a lot of creatures. This is a pleasant beginning for my birthday. I’ve taken today off, and also three days next week. I’ve got two of those planned for a bit of solitary time on the coast, the rest I will spend with my beloved, as much of it as he has patience for. It will be time well spent, it generally is. He’s smart and funny (and having his own experience). I’m grateful for the time we share in this too brief mortal life.

I find a pleasant spot to stop awhile, to write and to reflect on the year that has passed and to contemplate the year ahead. I could do with less chaos and turmoil. Less sheer willpower pushing me to complete tasks and more thoughtful self-care would be good, too. Doing a more skillful job of listening and loving would be a good choice, with less waiting to talk or being pissed off about dumb shit.

You know what is harder than practicing mindfulness? Living mindfully. You know what is more complicated than living mindfully? Loving mindfully. The amount of vulnerability and openness required is…much. The patience, kindness, and compassion involved are hard to overstate. The listening. The acceptance. The self-awareness. All of it takes practice. I fail a lot. I begin again over and over. I keep practicing. Incremental change over time is something I know I can count on, but it can be slow.

… And the clock is always ticking…

It’s about the journey, though, these precious mortal moments aren’t obstacles, they are the main event. I sit watching the sunlight change the green hues of the forest and the shrubs along the trail with seemingly infinite variety. There’s something to learn from sunlight through leaves. The trees and shrubs are what they are, it is the light that tranforms them. I sit with the thought awhile.

Shades of green on a Spring morning.

Three dogs run up the path, chasing each other playfully and darting in an out of the meadow, chasing each other, and the small rabbits hiding in the grass. A man approaches on the trail. “They’re friendly!” he calls to me. He’s loud. I’m not interested in conversation. I wave but don’t speak. I’m annoyed by the dogs being unleashed. The park signage is quite clear that dogs need to be on a leash, here. This man chose to behave differently. He doesn’t even have leashes with him.

… I find myself thinking about behavior vs feelings, and behavior vs intentions. We make so many choices in how we behave. I consider my own choices and behavior. How can I do a better job of reliably choosing the best behavior, moment to moment? This is worth considering.

A little while later (must be that time of morning), a woman approaches with three dogs, leashed. They are quite large, and well-behaved. They walk calmly alongside her. She stops occasionally to let them check out the scents along the trail. She waves politely as she approaches, but doesn’t break the beautiful stillness and quiet with loud greetings. I wave back. There is discipline and intention evident in her behavior and that of her dogs.

People making choices.

I watch to see which path the dog walkers will take. I’ll go down a different path, when I resume walking. I’m making choices, too. I breathe, exhale, and relax. It’s a nice morning for meditation, and a nice morning to begin again.

I wish myself a happy birthday, and let my thoughts wander on as the sun rises through the shades of blue and green.

Yesterday’s anniversary celebration was delightful, really memorable and lovely. It was the kind of night out that lingers in memory, lasting beyond the moment. I’m glad to be traveling life’s path with my Traveling Partner.

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

A new day dawns. Where does this path lead?

I went to bed later than usual, well-fed and still a little tipsy. I woke early-ish, rather abruptly. My beloved was already up. I dressed and headed for a hike along the seasonal marsh trail, now open for the Spring and summer. Somewhere along the drive up the highway I began to wake up more completely. I stopped for coffee along the way. I definitely need a cup of coffee this morning. 😆

… What an experience last night was! Remarkable…

I walk alongside the marsh ponds still thinking about last night… the wines, each so beautifully paired with the course they arrived with… the shrimp toast!.. the rabbit… the salmon!.. desserts… that chocolate cake, wow. The evening, and the meal, made its way into my top three most memorable meals of a lifetime, before the check ever arrived. I walk thinking about food, love, and Springtime. It’s rare that we splurge on such an evening, and the rarety made it even more splendid. I savored every bite. I’m grateful to my Traveling Partner for setting it up. His company for the meal was the best part.

I get to my halfway point, and take a seat on this favorite fence rail. The sky looks stormy and I have lost my enthusiasm for driving a great distance to a preferred retailer for peppercorns (and nothing else!). I’m enjoying the morning, but like a walk down any trail, I’m alert for tripping hazards after stepping into a pothole I didn’t see ahead of me. It’s a metaphor. Life’s journey isn’t reliably “well paved”, and surely it can’t be expected to be on “easy mode” for the entire game, eh? I sigh and swing my feet. A small brown bird darts away to a more comfortable distance and looks me over.

… We’re each having our own experience…

I breathe, exhale, and relax. It’s a beautiful Spring day full of promise. The path ahead no doubt still has potholes, and occasional obstacles to avoid. Detours. Bad weather. Wrong turns. The journey is the destination. I resolve (again) to enjoy all I can – and to learn from what I can’t enjoy. That’s enough.

I decide to sit a little while longer. I’ll enjoy taking the long loop back, around the meadow and down along the river. Good day for it. Good day to begin again.

Today is my anniversary with my Traveling Partner; 16 years together, a bit more, and 15 married. As long-term relationships go, it’s not exactly “a lifetime” – I’ve had to try a few times to “get it right”. This anniversary is a major milestone for a minor reason; it is my longest long-term relationship.

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

My next longest long-term relationships (14 years together, never actually married, and another that was 14 years married, but only 10 of those together) were problematic extensions of traumatizing models of “family life” I’d dearly like to erase from memory, but for the fact that my path through the chaos and damage eventually brought me here. I wouldn’t change a moment if it might mean missing out on the love I’ve found with my Traveling Partner.

“Communion” 2010

So here I am, walking as the sun rises, smiling and hearing love songs in my head. We have dinner plans tonight, and I’m excited about that. I haven’t gotten him a gift. I don’t know how to give a gift worthy of a love like this one on the limited budget I would have. Dinner together at the best restaurant in the area seems fitting. (His idea, which tickles me so much.)

“Contemplation” 12″ x 16″ acrylic and iron oxide. August 2011

Is love “enough”? I walk and think about that question and find myself answering “enough for what?” before shrugging off the question as irrelevant to my lived experience of love and loving. Love is love. Questions of sufficiency seem to lead down a path of price tags and comparisons and cost/benefit analysis, and that seems foolish. Love doesn’t have to be “enough” to fulfill some other purpose, it is enough to experience love, ever. I get to my halfway point, still smiling and feeling lighthearted. It’s a beautiful morning, and I am fortunate to be in love.

“Cherry Blossoms” 2011

I breathe, exhale, and relax. Meditation is difficult this morning. I fidget like a child in church, restless, excited. My mind wanders (don’t forget to pick up your Rx, don’t forget your manicure appointment, don’t forget to double-check the grocery list and stop by the store…). S’ok. It’s a very human experience. Most people don’t notice my brain damage; little glitches in the background, unusual difficulties with communication, oddball “quirks” that are actually coping mechanisms for getting around “thinking holes” and shit that just doesn’t work the way it should. I’m used to it, mostly. I’ve improved a lot over the years (so much). My Traveling Partner sees more of it than most people – and manages to be kind, loving, and generally very supportive, without succumbing to the potential temptation to exploit me to his advantage. (Not true in previous relationships, one of which apparently had exploitation as it’s specific purpose.) I feel safe and loved, which is pretty wonderful for this busted up weird human primate doing her best to figure life out, I must say. 😆

A token of affection. Love on a chain. The only heart-shaped locket I have ever owned.

I sigh contentedly, even happily. It’s a beautiful morning and I feel loved. I watch the sun light the vineyards along this trail. Such a beautiful moment. I sit here awhile longer. I have some errands to run before I return home to my beloved. I feel fortunate and merry, and supremely pleased to have taken the day off (and grateful to have had that option). Love makes it a beautiful day to be alive.

I smile and breathe the sweetly fragrant Spring breeze. I let the clock tick on (how could I even stop it?), soon enough it will be time to begin again.

[No AI was used in writing or editing this content.]

It is Wednesday. An ordinary day in all obvious respects. Today I did not drop any bombs on my neighbors. It was surprisingly easy. There is reciprocal communication on all sides; I wave and say “hi!” when I see them, they return my greeting. No bombs required. I’m quite certain that adding bombs to our interactions would not be at all helpful, and the destruction would be costly. Just saying, the whole “let’s drop some bombs” approach to diplomacy isn’t a particularly useful way of reaching accord with one’s neighbors. It seems, in fact, pretty fucking stupid, but here we are; fuckwits with too much power dropping bombs because no one is stopping them from doing so.

I get to the trailhead before daybreak, put on my headlamp and set off down the trail. I get to my halfway point in darkness and sit listening to the sound of the creek nearby, still full and fast from recent days of rain. No flooding, and most of the puddles on the trail are gone after a couple of warm Spring afternoons. I hear soft hesitant footsteps, something stirring in the brush. A deer steps out of the trees along the trail and slowly walks past me,  her eyes on me as she passes, then another, and then a third. They step down the trail a ways, before turning and disappearing from view.

I sit awhile with my thoughts. I have a lot to think about. I let the thoughts come and go like clouds, or the turn of an unread page in a book I’ve read many times before, skipping ahead to something better. I am choosing what to spend my time on, and where to put my attention.

I’m eager to get back to painting, if not this weekend, then after the Anxious Adventurer has moved out and I have my space back. The lack of creative work isn’t really about the space, though, it’s the environment. Initially, I was exhausted from caregiving and uninspired. This stopped me painting for about a year. The “emotional environment” became a more profound impediment, fairly quickly. It was an unfortunate harbinger that the living arrangement wasn’t going to work out long-term; I need to be able to paint in my own home. It wasn’t anything deliberate and there was no malicious intention, but there also was no willingness to be aware of the problem nor to address it. So. Here we are.

The wheel keeps turning. The clock keeps ticking.

One more work shift, then a long weekend for the Equinox. I hope to spend most of my time in the garden, preparing it for Spring. I may drive out to the coast for a day trip and some time walking the beach and listening to what the wind and waves have to say. I plan to continue my practice of specifically not dropping bombs or shooting people. So far it has been surprisingly easy to avoid. No idea why the head fuckwit in office is having so much difficulty with that, honestly. (One might be forced to assume that chaos, destruction and murder were explicitly the desired outcome. So incredibly vile and horrifying.)

I sigh to myself and watch the sky turn a deep blue gray as daybreak comes. I’m grateful for another day on which I can look into the sky without worrying about bombs or drone attacks; this place is not a target of bombs or drones (so far). I’m fortunate.

The clock is ticking. Where does this path lead?

The thought of my Traveling Partner sleeping at home brings a smile to my face. We’ve been enjoying each other’s company quite a lot, and as his recovery progresses, our intimacy is restored and the connection we share deepens. It’s lovely. It’s also another reason it will be good to “have our space back”. No ill will towards the Anxious Adventurer, and I’m grateful for the help he provided while he was here, but our lifestyles are not similar enough to make cohabitation easy, with regard to intimacy.

Change is.

I sit awhile longer. The clock ticks on. Eventually, it’s time to begin again.

I get to the halfway point of this predawn trail walk a bit out of breath, feet, ankles and knees aching from my needlessly aggressive stride. I stop, grateful for the convenient bench. I remind myself to breathe, to exhale, to relax, and too refrain from allowing other people’s drama to camp out in my head rent free.

… Let it go, I remind myself…

I have no idea what woke the household. I thought my Traveling Partner woke me as he got up, more specifically one single cough woke me. I rolled over and went back to sleep. Some time later, I woke again. It sounded like my beloved was really having a rough time, and struggling to breathe. I got up and dressed, surprised to find the hall bathroom occupied as I left the bedroom. The Anxious Adventurer was up, too. Very strange – he’s rarely up so early. I use the other bathroom, and before I finish getting ready for the day, I hear my Traveling Partner’s raised voice, swearing, frustrated and angry over not being able to breathe, and then an assortment of slammed doors.

To avoid becoming triggered and then having to deal with that shit all day, I depart quickly, wishing my beloved a good day as I exit. I’m still deeply irritated at the lack of consideration and the disrespect in the door slamming, but haven’t yet addressed it directly with the household; I’m still seething and I would prefer to approach things clearheaded. Later.

“Now” is mine. It’s peaceful and quiet on the trail this morning. The setting moon was an amber sliver, curved and beautiful, gone from view now. The night sky is dark. My tinnitus is loud in my ears, but the world seems quiet. It is an illusion, of course. Human primates haven’t figured out peace as a species. We slam doors and yell, we drop bombs and commit genocides, we murder people over the language they speak, the god they worship, or the color of their skin. Human beings know little of peace. We tend to put more effort into being angry. It’s a shame. We could do better.

We could start small, perhaps… stop yelling, stop slamming doors, stop taking a tone of righteous anger, and instead take a fucking breath and a step back to gain perspective. Stop feeding our inner demons. Engage each other in a reasonable measured tone. Ask clarifying questions. Assume positive intent. Behave with decorum, because it is a choice and we have the will to be the person we most want to be. I say it… but my words are unlikely to change your behavior. You’re walking your own path, same as I am walking mine. So… I’ll work on that, myself, because it matters to me. I too need practice. I’m very human.

I breathe, exhale, and relax, sitting here in the darkness. I reclaim my peace. Feels good. The work day stretches ahead of me, soon enough but not now. I pull my attention back to this moment right here. It’s a chilly morning, but above freezing, and I’m warmly dressed. My fingers are cold, from writing. I’m not concerned; I’ll warm up when I resume walking.

I sit awhile with my thoughts. This bit of solitude each morning is a big piece of my self-care. It is too cold for camping (for me) just yet, and I’ve been feeling seriously “over” dealing with people, lately. Like, at all. I could use a few days alone with my pastels, disconnected from my devices. I sigh to myself. I’d love those few days to be at home, but it doesn’t seem likely, or even reasonable under current circumstances. G’damn, though, we’re going on six years in this little house and I’ve never been alone in my own home for more than a few hours. I breathe in deeply, and exhale slowly, thoroughly, letting go of my resentment with my breath. It’s not personal, just circumstances. I let it go. I have these solitary mornings, and they go a long way toward meeting this need for solitude.

I’ve got a three day weekend ahead… maybe I’ll do something with that? I chuckle to myself. Like the roses and herbs in my garden, I find myself behaving as though Spring is imminent. It probably isn’t. Still, I’m glad I spent time in the garden after work yesterday, pruning and weeding. I didn’t get a lot done, but it was soul-satisfying work. The days are getting longer, and the afternoons are warm enough to comfortably work outside, when it isn’t raining. It’s enough.

I sigh again, mildly vexed by this headache that seems to have become a constant companion over the past 13 years now. I swallow my morning medication, dry, and look down the trail. Nautical dawn arrives, and enough light to see the skyline and horizon, and make out the trail without a headlamp. I stretch and get ready to begin again.