Archives for posts with tag: do the verbs

Yesterday was a pretty relaxed day of getting things done, although not that many things, and rather slowly. I spent the day in pain, and that put pain management as a high priority, competing for my attention through the day. My Traveling Partner was also dealing with pain, and struggling to focus on the work he was doing, too. We managed to enjoy the day together in spite of pain. Later, when the Anxious Adventurer returned home from work, he brought his own pain along with him. Nonetheless, we all mostly managed to mostly enjoy the time, without complicating the experience with pain. That’s something, and I sit for a moment this morning, grateful for the good day yesterday in spite of pain. Everybody hurts sometimes… Living with chronic pain is its own special hell, but it can be managed to some extent.

It could have been worse; I found enough “spoons” to bake cookies.

I woke this morning from a deep restful sleep, and was awake for a few minutes before I realized I wasn’t asleep anymore. I got dressed and headed to the local trailhead I favor. I don’t have any reason to drive further, really, and this is a pleasant trail and it is a quiet morning. It’s Labor Day weekend, and there’s no one here but me, so far. It’s the sort of weekend a lot of families use to go to the coast or to the mountains, this little suburban trail is neither of those.

A hazy summer sky reminds me that the world is burning, elsewhere.

I walk the trail, down through the oaks, between the parking lot and the vineyards, winding around the bend past mature grape vines, and down into the trees that grow more densely along the creek, until I get to this spot, convenient to sit a moment with my thoughts. I’ve grown very comfortable with practicing meditation outside, somewhere along the trail I’ve chosen, in the early morning. I’m rarely interrupted. It’s pleasant and quite calming. Lovely morning for it, in spite of the haze of distant wildfires.

… I’m still in pain (again) today. Like a lot of people, I live with chronic pain

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I reflect on age, and aging, the vagaries of the absolutely crap-tacular US healthcare system, and what it means to balance endurance with joy, and what it takes to thrive in spite of chronic pain. Then I let all that go and enjoy this lovely morning moment of quiet contentment out here on this trail. I’m less anxious, knowing I’ll go back to work on Tuesday, which is helpful. Like a lot of other things, anxiety tends to worsen pain, or at least seems to make it more difficult to manage or ignore.

I watch some chipmunks playing at the edge of the trees. They delight me. I would definitely pet one if it came close enough, and laugh at myself over it. It’s probably not a good idea to try to pet wild creatures, generally speaking. I spend a moment wondering if I’m such a chucklehead that I’d actually do something so foolish, or would I only want to? I find myself unable to be entirely certain. I hope I’d choose wisely. My ability to apply self-restraint and impulse control are much better on the GLP-1 I’ve now been taking for more than a year. It has improved my life quite a lot, because I’m not so likely to do dumb shit “because it seemed like the thing to do at the time”.

The rising sun illuminates the strip of meadow beyond the trail that separates the forest from the vineyard. I see an elder couple walking their dog slowly approaching from the farthest point along the trail still visible to me. Nice morning for it, and I knew I wouldn’t have the trail to myself indefinitely. They wave and offer a cheery greeting as they pass. I wave back and reply.

More housework today, I guess, that’s the routine. Pain slows me down, but I try to avoid letting it stop me. There’s just too much to do, and we’re all in pain (in this household) – someone still has to get things done. When we all commit to doing what we can and coordinate our efforts, we still manage a pretty good quality of life, and sometimes even manage to forget the pain for a little while. It doesn’t do to let things go too long, it’s harder to catch up than it is to stay on top of things.

…New job Tuesday…

I sigh to myself and enjoy the cool summer morning and the scents on the breeze. Meadow flowers. Mown grasses. Forest and creek. The lavender scent I’m wearing, that reaches my nose when I move. My hair feels soft on my shoulders and I wonder again if I should get it cut? I feel comfortable in my skin in spite of my pain, and grateful to have worn a sweater over my lighter summer top. The first hints of autumn approaching are all around, and the cooler morning is just one sign.

I’ve lingered here awhile and my legs are beginning to feel stiff. It’s time to walk on. This day is a good one to get things done… but there are definitely some verbs involved. lol It’s time to begin again.

I am in some pain this morning, but nothing like the worst of the pain I am sometimes in. My coffee is good, better than average, not my best cup of coffee. I sit quietly with my thoughts and my coffee, after my walk, giving my illness-weakened body a little time to recover from the walking, before I get started on the housework. It’s a cycle, this thing we call “life”. Many cycles, actually, on a journey without a map. It’s easy to narrow my focus to just this space, here, and to allow life to become the cycles, and little more: sleep, walk, coffee, write, work, rest, cook, clean-up, sleep again. We are so much more than the practical task-handling endeavors that are necessary to build and maintain the quality of life we enjoy. Getting ahead sometimes means so much more work, and doesn’t always feel “worth it”. Falling behind happens in an instant of thoughtless ease. Finding balance is sometimes difficult, and I sometimes sacrifice self-care on the alter of providing for others (not a healthy approach long-term).

…I am fortunate and grateful for a partnership that encourages self-care and provides mutual respect…

My Traveling Partner inquired about the towels this morning – were there more clean washcloths somewhere? I’d fallen behind on the laundry, and committed to doing that today. When I arrived home, he’d already started a load of laundry. Having help feels good. Going into the kitchen, I see dishes piled in the sink… no one thought to do the dishes while I was down sick. I frowned at the dishes while I made my coffee. I’ll get those done, too. (Definitely feeling better.) Pride of place, a sense of responsibility, and a desired quality of life tend to be enough to keep me at it, but omg, sometimes it is just much. (I will admit that one practical factor in my lifelong decision to remain child-free was my total lack of interest in doing all that work for some other human being, most especially without help!) It’s hard to take the breaks I sometimes need, to maintain my own health. Finding balance is complicated… Why is that so complicated?? I think it comes down to a couple of things: perceptions, perspective, and reality.

One perspective on a morning walk.

How we perceive things around us changes when we’re ill, or under stress, and our priorities may change in the moment. How people around us perceive things may be something we have to consider, too, depending on their needs and expectations. When we’re sick, we may care a lot less about the vacuuming, or clean kitchen counters. When we’re exhausted, we may not care at all about whether the shower is actually clean. All very human, eh? But, once we’re back at our best, those things may suddenly matter quite a lot, and begin to be something causing us stress or a sense of urgency.

…I really dislike the “catch-up cycle” after I’ve been ill; I feel like I have to get it all done immediately to make up for any allowances and accommodations I made while I was ill (a thoroughly internalized lingering consequence of growing up in a culture of misogyny that treats the unpaid labor of women as a given, and a notable bit of baggage I am still dragging around)…

A very different perspective, focused on the details.

Our perspective on the details, large and small, is a big piece of how we set our priorities. Do the dishes in the sink matter a lot – or just matter a lot to me? Is it a health concern, or just something I don’t like to see? (Some people don’t care that much about having a handful of dishes in the sink that need to be washed and put away, other people have literal break-downs over a dirty glass sitting in an otherwise clean sink. Care to guess which one I am?* Which one are you?) Sometimes, keeping an orderly house feels more like self-care than it feels like manual labor. In circumstances such as that, it’s pretty easy to “stay caught up” and handle those tasks as a sort of meditation. Things do take the time they take, though, and housekeeping workload stands in defiance of creative endeavors. Again with the challenge of finding fucking balance. I sip my coffee and laugh at myself. I do what I can. I get a lot done – often more than I think I’m capable of, because even there – my perspective may not be a close fit to reality.

What we turn our attention to, and how we think about what we perceive, changes how we understand the world around us.

…Reality always gets the last word…

When I had cats years ago, I was quite convinced that my cats didn’t do any damage to my home, and that I kept things sufficiently tidy that there was “no cat smell”. That’s perception. I felt that the benefits to having my (much loved) cats far outweighed any concerns about cleanliness or health – lots of people have, and love, cats. That’s perspective getting involved. We don’t all see the world the same way, nor do we all share the same understanding of it. Still, the world is the world – reality largely ignores our perceptions and perspectives and just does its own thing. My apartment full of cats (and many of my belongings) definitely “smelled like cats” – but I didn’t perceive it (acclimation) and didn’t understand what I didn’t see as a potential concern (lack of adequate perspective). The reality of it was unmistakable when I moved out. (As well as difficult and costly to remedy, due primarily to my lack of awareness over time.)

I’m just saying – I have a shitload of housework to catch up on, after a camping trip, several days in too much pain to do housework, and then being sick. I can chuckle over how human that is, now. It is what it is, right? Now I see the need, because my perspective has shifted with my improving state of wellness. I feel the internal pressure to make it a very high priority – putting myself at risk of poor self-care. Cycles and balance. Fuck. Adulting is hard.

…We do become what we practice…

I sigh to myself and glare into my now-cold coffee. I’ve got a to-do list ready, and it’s a long one (but I’ve got the entire weekend to work on it). It’s already time to begin again – I’ll just be over here doing my best.

*Both. I’m rather inconveniently both of those types of people with regard to the dishes. Baggage is heavy… I remind myself to put some down.

I’m sitting in the sunshine as the sun rises. Pretty morning. My walk to this point has been quiet and pleasant. There was no traffic on the highway, either. If the folks in my neighborhood are a representative sample of Americans in the area, most folks who were going somewhere this weekend are gone, and those that were up late firing off various fireworks and noise makers are probably sleeping in; that shit was still going on at midnight.

A misty morning at the trailhead.

I’m enjoying the quiet and the solitude. Somewhere in the distance, I hear an occasional car pass by. My tinnitus is crazy loud this morning, and my back aches ferociously. I breathe, exhale, and relax, pulling my posture more upright. Changing my position doesn’t ease my pain in any noteworthy way, but slumping carelessly definitely tends to make it worse. Choices. I grumble silently to myself; everything seems to require a fucking effort. lol I laugh at myself for resisting the truth of it. Yes, surely things require effort. That’s just real. I sigh to myself and let it go. There’s no use fighting the effort required to do things. The best I can do is to make wise choices about what I am doing and where I’m putting my limited resources as an individual (even down to the effort involved).

Halfway “there” is just a point along the way. The journey is the destination.

…Fuck pain…

I sigh to myself and smile, thinking about yesterday. Nice evening. The Anxious Adventurer made lemon bars. Tasty. I made (a fairly simple, summertime) dinner. Nothing fancy. We enjoyed it together as a family. The weather was fairly mild and not hot, and we had turned off the AC, enjoying the natural breeze through windows open wide to the summer air.

I’ve no clear agenda for the weekend. Routine housekeeping stuff I guess. I sit watching the little birds at the edge of the meadow. I think about old friends and try to distract myself from pain. Maybe it is a good day to get out into the garden? There’s laundry to do, too. I chuckle at myself when I find myself daydreaming about doing housework as I sit here in the sunshine visualizing this or that task I know I am likely to do on a Saturday, and wondering what I can actually accomplish in practical terms. I’d rather sit with my feet up in the garden, sipping iced coffee and ignoring the tick of the clock, but time is a precious and finite resource and I have things to do. Another sigh breaks the stillness.

What next? I don’t know, yet. I’ve got options to consider. Choices to make. I’ve got my own path to walk. For the moment I am content just to be here, now, enjoying the morning sun without attachment to any particular outcome. Later, I can begin again.

I arrived at the trailhead, sunrise well underway. It’s a cloudy morning, but the sort that hints at a sunny afternoon to come, more than it suggests rain. I start down the trail thinking about roses. Everything is green and beautiful and the air smells sweetly of fragrant wildflowers and mown grass. Wild roses are blooming along the trail.

One of several varieties that grow in the area.

The scent of the roses is particularly delightful and (for me) evocative. I have so many memories that are triggered by the scents of roses. When my Dear Friend died I added a wee “memory garden” to a corner of the yard, and added roses there (not that I didn’t have quite a few already, but these were chosen specifically with her in mind). I smile as I walk; the roses in my memory garden are blooming (well, two out of three). It’s their first year blooming. They’re quite lovely and smell wonderful. I shared pictures to my Dear Friend’s bestie. I know how painful missing such a friend can be.

“Rainbow Happy Trails” blooming

I have fond memories of talking about our gardens together, my Dear Friend and I. I have such memories of my late Granny, too, and my Mother. Many of my memories of times shared with my Dad are also gardening related. It seems proper to honor them in my garden. Memorial Day is tomorrow, and it also seems proper to be thinking of long gone friends, family, and loved ones, this morning. The sky overhead seems somber without being gloomy. I’m not grieving, just remembering.

“Whimsy” also blooming, her very first.

Funny how meaningful roses (and my garden) have become for me. Most of my roses tell a love story through the careful selections, each name hinting at the profound love I share with my Traveling Partner. Tokens of my affection, reminders of how complicated love can sometimes be. I chuckle to myself; my partner cares little for flowers, but loves me so deeply that my roses matter to him, if only because they matter to me.

“Alchymist” blooming in spite of being delicious to passing deer.

Some of my roses have their own stories to tell, having traveled in pots with me for some 25 years before being planted into the ground. Others captivated me so thoroughly that in spite of failures, I’ve continued to replace them. Still others, I yearn to plant in my garden even knowing they may not be suited to the space I’ve got left. lol Funny to be so passionate about roses. I wasn’t always, and there’s a story there too, perhaps for another day.

“Baby Love” blooming first, last, and almost all year long. Purchased the year my partner and I moved in together.

I get to my halfway point with my thoughts. The scent of roses reaches me from some unseen rose on the meadow somewhere. I have the trail to myself this morning, in spite of the holiday weekend, mild weather, and relative lateness of the hour. I listen to the breeze rustling the meadow grass. I am sitting in a low spot a hillside behind me. I feel “invisible” and safe. The busy squirrels, robins, and jays don’t mind my quiet presence. I watch them contentedly as I write, reflect and meditate.

Lovely morning for it.

I let minutes pass, grateful for the solitary time. I manage to miss my Traveling Partner, in spite of enjoying this solitary moment. He is more dear to me than I have words for. My garden is getting a bit weedy because I’ve chosen to enjoy my partner’s company rather than “do my chores” more than a few times over the past couple of weeks. I’m not complaining about that, it’s a worthy choice and the moments in a human lifetime are finite, each unrepeatable and unique. The time we spend together is undescribably precious.

… I smile, thinking about the number of my roses (and roses I’ve had in the past since 2010) that I’ve chosen with my beloved in mind. It’s many. It is, actually, almost every new rose I’ve chosen since we became friends, even before we were lovers, and eventually married. Of the 13 roses currently in my garden, 7 celebrate him (and us). Of the remaining roses in my garden, three are long-time favorites that are meaningful to me for other reasons, and three are the new ones I planted in the “memory garden”.

“Nozomi” with me 25 years, and one of the first roses I ever purchased from rose breeder Ralph Moore directly, though it wasn’t one of his.

I hear voices and the crunch of other steps on the trail. I sigh quietly to myself, sitting quite still for a moment, smiling when I notice that the squirrel nearby has done the same thing. We sit quite still, waiting to see what may come around the bed. Strangers call a friendly greeting as they approach and wave as they pass. I wave back and smile. We’re each having our own experience, but understand each other. We are enjoying this trail, this lovely Spring morning, and the scent of meadow flowers.

It’s a rather ordinary morning. My head is filled with thoughts of roses and the memories they evoke. I sit with my thoughts, and try to work out ways to discourage the deer from eating my roses. It’s quite a puzzle. I sigh to myself and plan to stop by the garden store on my way home, and get to my feet. The clock is ticking. It’s time to 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.