After an after work nap that began as “laying down for a couple minutes” and quickly became collapsing into a deep sleep for 90 minutes, I still crashed pretty early last night. I slept deeply, but woke early, abruptly, jerked from a deep troubled sleep by… what? I don’t know, and it didn’t matter. I mostly felt relieved to be awake, and no longer prowling The Nightmare City for safety or an exit.
I got up quietly, dressed, and left the house. My waking consciousness was still disturbed by my dreams, but I know the relative importance of such things (basically, none), and I don’t take it personally, I just move on. I drive to the nature park for my morning walk, and considering the very dense fog this morning, I wait for more light. It wouldn’t do to carelessly step off the seasonal marsh trail in the fog and darkness, and risk tumbling into a pond (or the Tualatin River), most especially during a government shutdown that means there is little chance of help coming. On mornings like this, foggy, chilly, and quiet, I often have the trail entirely to myself.
My nightmares vex me, and I am feeling annoyed. Daybreak came and I walked the first half of my route in the dim light, thinking about the symptoms of the sickness that has infected our national identity. It’s everywhere. An already rich, well-documented fraudster gets a “trillion dollar payday”. Regular people go without promised services and even food because the grifter-in-chief is okay with using actual human lives as bargaining chips and thinks (apparently) that governance is some sort of game. Armed masked thugs kidnap Americans off the streets of their own neighborhoods without personal accountability or consequences, because supposedly they’re the fucking good guys (they’re not). The courts play badminton with people’s rights. The media puts more money and effort into marketing copy than real news, and AI slop is infesting every feed, every channel. The president makes a point of pardoning criminals – as long as they’re his friends, or offer him some personal benefit. Vile. Hateful. Corrupt.
It’s all so very tedious and ugly… My footsteps crunch along the path in the chilly fog. I’m frustrated and disappointed by the pointless petty partisan bickering of elected officials whose actual job is the one thing they seem committed to not doing; governing. This shit has gotten so bad it has the power to put my fucking nightmares into perspective. Remember freedom of speech? PTSD? Say hello to America 2025. Fuck.
I get to my halfway point and take a seat on the fence rail of this bit of fence that runs along one end of a pond in the marsh. I like this spot. I’ve a good view across the marsh in one direction, and oaks dot the hillside in the other. It’s foggy enough that I can’t see far, and there is no visible horizon. I sigh contentedly, feeling relieved to be awake – and alone. The world is stressing me out quite a lot lately. I keep working at building resilience and self-care, but I also have to keep draining my resilience reservoir over one stressor or another. It has required near continuous self-care and resulted in frequent (emotional, cognitive) fatigue. We could do better.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. I meditate in the fog as daybreak becomes the dawn. A new day ahead of me, with new opportunities to be (or become) the person I most want to be. It’s not an easy path. I fail myself rather more often than I’d like, but I also manage to impress myself now and then, and I’ve come further than I ever expected I might go. I sigh to myself. The sound of it seems strangely noisy. A goose or duck, unseen somewhere in the fog, gronks (irritably?). An enormous flock rises from the foggy marsh and takes to the sky as a group. They’re loud as they pass overhead.
Long weekend ahead, for me. Veterans Day Tuesday, and I took Monday off. For a long time a bunch of us (Desert Storm veterans) have gotten together over the phone, or on social media, or in a virtual meeting space to reconnect, hang out, and catch up on things. Not this year.
There are fewer of us these days and the timing and circumstances weren’t in our favor this year. The guy who usually hosts is in rehab. Again. Another needs to spend time trying to figure out groceries because his SNAP benefits aren’t available, and his disability compensation doesn’t go far enough to pay his bills. We’re mortal creatures; some of us just aren’t around any more. I’m disappointed, but also grateful to be in better circumstances, myself, at this place in my life. I sit awhile thinking about these strange military friendships that linger. There’s really nothing else quite like them. A unique experience of a very particular sort of trauma-bonding, with people who knew me at a very different time in my life. In many respects I am not that woman at all, now. I wonder if these old friends would like me as well if they knew me more as I am, now, than as the woman I was then?
I inhale the chill foggy autumn air deeply and exhale slowly, thoroughly, like adding a page-break to a document. I let my irritation and sorrow go, with my exhalation.
I think for a moment about the Anxious Adventurer, and the difficult journey of figuring himself out. Life is hard enough when we do know who we are. Having to also figure that shit out along the way is a massive additional complication for someone who is expected to be an actual adult, already. I don’t envy him having to deal with that; I’ve been there myself and it definitely felt like a Sisyphian task sometimes.
My Traveling Partner pings me. I feel loved and valued. I see him working through his challenges in life, too. We’re each having our own experience, we three human primates. Choices and circumstances, and each on our own path. It’s funny sometimes how different our individual perspectives can be. I often wish it were easier to share what we learn along the way, more effectively.
I sit with my thoughts awhile longer, wondering what value these musings even offer…
…Then I notice it’s already time to begin again. I’m glad I have so much to be grateful for, and so many options.
Evening Light 