Archives for posts with tag: embrace change

I’m sipping my coffee as the day begins. My walk this morning was pleasant, uneventful, and frankly rather ordinary. The day is cloudy, and looks like rain. I’m in a thoroughly manageable amount of pain (for now), and I make a point of appreciating how (relatively) comfortable I am. In a life where chronic pain is a day-to-day experience, it is critical to really pause and be aware of it when pain is not a characteristic of the moment. Most of us don’t actually experience “chronic pain” as 100% of always every moment of every day all the time – it does come and go, and the severity varies. Our implicit memory and sense of “how things are” is notably affected by what we hold on to as “how we always feel” – so making room to be mindful and aware of a lack of pain becomes incredibly important for managing the whole experience of pain over time. Perspective matters. So, I sip my coffee, noticing how (relatively) little pain I am in right now, and make room for gratitude; it could be so much worse (and often is).

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I think about sunrises and sunsets, and views of distant horizons. I think about miles I have not yet walked, and contemplate trails I’ve yet to try. I think about camping, and I wonder when I might next spend a couple days on the coast, painting. I sip my coffee, and let my diffuse feeling of general contentment grow larger in my awareness. My eye falls on a small Hue Forge “painting” my Traveling Partner did from a photograph I’d taken. I feel loved and visible and appreciated as a person, as an artist, and as a partner.

Hue Forge rendering of a sunrise, Mt Hood silhoutted on the horizon.

That distant horizon is a good metaphor for goals and progress and walking my own path; there it is, just out of reach, that thing I think I want to get to. A goal, a vision, a destination – it could be any of those things, or just a place to camp that happens to be within view, but quite far away. What’s on the horizon? I never actually know, I only imagine, based on what I think I see. I have an idea, and a limited view. The closer that thing seems to get, the more detailed and real it may become – but it changes as it comes into closer view, more subject to scrutiny. Is it what I imagined? Is it actually what I want? Am I actually going to get “there” – or is that “there” quite different than I expected it might be? Am I being true to myself, and staying on my path, or has something fantastical on that distant horizon distracted me from my sense of purpose? Is it even real, or only something I thought I saw?

I sip my coffee feeling surprisingly content with “now”. Nice moment for it. Sure, the work day is ahead, but I don’t find that I mind. I’m fortunate to have a job I enjoy, working with a team of people I appreciate and respect (and even like), I feel appreciated in return. We get shit done. I’m working from home, which has the lovely quality of taking my breaks in my garden, or being able to run a quick errand during the day, and not finding myself quite so exhausted when the day finally ends. Nice “now” – I feel fortunate, and pause for gratitude; this too could be so much worse. Most of us do have to work to keep the bills paid and the pantry stocked, and it’s a difficult world. It’s not uncommon to have to endure a terrible work environment in servitude to a company whose values one can’t respect, simply to keep the lights on and the gas tank filled. It’s a lucky few who do jobs they love for companies they appreciate in an environment of mutual respect while being paid a good wage. If you’ve got it, be sure you appreciate it. Change is. Be kind to those who struggle with shit jobs for terrible bosses – it could be you at some point.

…Good cup of coffee…

My Traveling Partner gave me an early birthday gift last night. A new cookbook, and one that I’d spotted thinking “oooh, I’d like to have this one!” quite recently. I thought I’d added it to my wishlist, and was delighted that he had selected it. More delighted still – and a little amazed – when I discovered that I had not added it to my list at all. He knows me so well. I feel loved. This morning when my mind wanders, it is often to the kitchen, and thinking about what new adventures I may find there, between the pages of a new cookbook. 😀

Life can be experienced as a journey. I find it a useful metaphor. No map, lots of choices, and the path is mine to choose for myself. The horizon never really gets any closer – but it’s out there in the distance, tempting me onward. It’s a worthy journey – each step down the path has the potential to reveal some new delight, or to teach me a lesson I probably need to learn. We are mortal creatures – at some point, this journey will come to an end. Hopefully, I’ve learned all I could, experienced much worth sharing, and made a point to jot down some notes for anyone who may follow me down the trail (or simply wonders where I wandered off to).

I glance at the time. The clock is always ticking, and there are things to be done. It’s time, again, to begin.

Cold morning. I woke a little early to quiet darkness, happy to maybe catch a glimpse of the full moon, but thinking mostly about primroses. I dress and head to the trailhead.

A first glimpse of the full moon – first one of the Spring.

Yesterday I planted strawberries in the flower beds, thinking they’d make a good ground cover. My Traveling Partner surprised me by having a decidedly strong negative opinion on that idea. He’d put a lot of work into the lawn, and he was worried about the strawberries spreading into the lawn and taking over. (Seems less than likely to me… but my partner knows plants.) Although I’m willing to watch for that and take preventative measures, the truth is, I’m also somewhat lazy, and prone to letting shit fall behind if I lack sufficient energy for the task. I see how under such circumstances, strawberries could become…weeds.

Rather than cause my beloved lasting stress, I propose replanting those strawberries in their own raised bed on the west side of the house, instead. He likes that idea much more. I’ll do that later today. The Anxious Adventurer helps out by assembling an inexpensive raised bed for that purpose from a kit I purchased at the garden store. (I could have done that, true enough, but I’m notorious for doing a pretty half-assed “good enough” job on such things, and both my Traveling Partner and his son like to see things built well.) I’m grateful for the help.

Those bare expanses of border around and between the blueberries? I decide I’ll fill those in with primroses, which are doing very well at the other end of the bed and needing to be divided as it is. Primroses, though? Primroses?

Pink primroses thriving in my garden.

The primroses are a story of their own, I suppose. I never had “a thing” for them before I moved into this house. They’ve grown on me as they grow in my garden. They were just a couple of garden store primroses added to the front flower bed by the previous owner for last minute “curb appeal” when the house was put on the market. There they were. Blooming. lol Just some random flowers, added to the edge of the bed, visible each time I left the house. Unimpressively commonplace, I used to think. Over five years those three original primroses have become large beautiful clumps, well-established and thriving, and blooming like crazy from the earliest Spring days well past the end of summer. They do so well, and they’ve got such fun bold colors, I’ve added a couple more, on some whim, each Spring. Those are spreading too. Don’t know why I thought strawberries were a necessary addition – just divide the damned primroses! Welcome them and take them seriously!

So, now I have what feels like a proper plan in mind and I’m impatient to proceed. My Traveling Partner’s lawn is under no threat from the primroses, the strawberries will do well in a raised bed protected from slugs, and I get flowers and strawberries. Win.

It’s hard to get a clear picture, sometimes it’s better to simply observe. It’s a metaphor.

I watch the moon set over the marsh, and add a reminder to read up on primroses. I really don’t know much about them. I guess knowing more makes sense. They’re pretty. Do they have history? Where are they native? Are there wild varieties? I know so much about roses. I know so little about primroses. Are there other colors and shapes that might look good in my garden, too? What else is there to know? I smile to myself. Such a simple thing to give me so much joy.

Where are you finding simple joy? What do you do to cultivate that in your life?

Begin again.

A mist has developed on the marsh, clinging to the ground, thick in low places. It’s a cold morning. I look down the trail. The full moon attracted quite a few early risers to the trail this morning. I lace up my boots and grab my cane. The clock is ticking and it’s time to walk the path I’ve chosen. Another day, another beginning.

Shit does not always go as planned. Actually, giving it some thought over my coffee, in the deep predawn darkness of an autumn morning while waiting for the sun, I have to wonder if perhaps circumstances vary from our human attempts to plan things more often than a plan ever unfolds as intended?

This morning certainly makes me suspicious of the value in planning. In most respects, it still ends up being a rather commonplace Monday, but instead of getting a hike on the local trail I favor, I’m at a more distant favorite. Instead of working from home today, I’ll be in the office. Instead of cutting the workday short to take my Traveling Partner to an appointment, I’ll need to remember to reschedule it for another day. I’m okay with all of it… though I clearly won’t be getting any laundry done while I’m working (and I feel grateful to have gotten much of that done yesterday).

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I slept like crap last night, after also staying up later than usual enjoying South Park with my Traveling Partner and the Anxious Adventurer (for whom many seasons are as yet unwatched). It was a good time and well-worth the deviation from my routine.

During the wee hours, I thought I heard an exclamation of annoyance or frustration, but upon waking heard only the quiet of a household at rest. I couldn’t place the sound and wasn’t even certain I’d actually heard something… but I had a message from my partner, left for me sometime earlier, letting me know he wasn’t sleeping and gently suggesting I consider canceling his appointment and working from the office. An easy enough change to make, the hardest part of that being deciding whether to respond (risking waking him) and remembering to make the call to reschedule the appointment for another day. After waffling a bit, I take a chance on a short response, and finish dressing and making coffee for my partner to wake up to later, and slip away into the early morning darkness.

Change is. Just go with it, when you can. It’s easier than fighting it.

I sit quietly with my coffee and my thoughts watching an autumn mist gathering in lowlands along river and creek banks becoming a fog that stretches over the highway. My Traveling Partner pings me a string of emoji; he is grateful for the coffee and feeling loved. He plans to return to bed soon. We exchange a few words. Fuck, I love that man. I miss him when we’re not in the same space however much I also enjoy my solitude. He’s quite remarkable and I adore him.

I sit smiling “for no reason” (isn’t love reason enough?), and feeling grateful. Love isn’t perfect – we’re imperfect creatures – but g’damn it is pretty fucking wonderful.

The mist has become a fairly dense fog. The sunrise comes so late now that it’s likely I won’t get a walk today without a headlamp and the will to walk before daybreak. One more change of plans. I sigh and put my boots on. I grab my cane and tuck my purse out of sight. I fumble in my backpack in the darkness (it’s always in my car in case of emergency) and pull out my headlamp. It’s as good a time to begin again as any other…

Walking through fog before dawn… it’s a metaphor.

I’m sipping coffee and taking a moment after my morning walk. I’ll head to work, next, but this quiet interlude is mine. I’m sitting quietly, looking out into the view beyond and contemplating how I might capture this view in acrylic, in watercolor, in oil, or in a wholly new medium for me – in pastels.

Light and shadow, and an ordinary view.

I am content to sit here with my thoughts, even for hours. This is a pleasant moment.

I’ve tidied up my studio such that I can actually make use of it. Along the way I found an old cigar box with an unexpected treasure within – two small sets of pastels, an assortment of neon colors and an assortment of iridescent colors, looking very much unused since whenever they were purchased. I don’t recall buying them. The shoebox itself is one that one of my parents had used to send me something… sometime around 1995? Older? Old, for sure.

A fun surprise.

I continue to feel inspired by the thought of exploring a new medium, artistically. I picked up a selection of good quality pastels at the local art store, and some appropriate paper, and ordered some woodless colored pencils and pastel pencils. A small price to pay for the joy and growth yet to come.

Colors. Joy in a box.

For a moment, I feel impatient to begin, then chuckle at my human foolishness, because I have already begun! This moment, right here, now, is part of the experience. I smile and breathe it in. Inspiration. Joy. Enthusiasm. Eagerness. Delight. Wonder. It’s quite delicious and I am grateful to enjoy this moment.

I take time to really savor this pleasant moment, and to really “fill my cup” with this quiet joy.

The sun continues to rise. The clock continues to tick. It’s already time to begin again. I’m ready.

It’s a new morning. I hit the trail at sunrise, hoping to “walk off” this headache, this backache, the pain in my neck, and my general irritation with the day (which hasn’t even had a chance to get started)… but, as is often the case, all those things “follow me” down the trail and linger in my awareness.

Every journey begins somewhere.

…I find myself dreading the day, and feeling a bit trapped by my circumstances and choices. I remind myself how illusory such feelings can be, and to let shit go – let small shit stay small – and I remind myself to practice non-attachment, and to be mindful of impermanence. In the meantime, my steps carry me down this trail…

Pretty words and aphorisms don’t create change. My experience changes when I change my thinking or my actions, and it often takes some time. It’s a process. It’s important to understand that changing my own thinking and actions doesn’t change anyone else’s; it’s important to choose change based on what I want from the woman in the mirror. We’re each walking our own path, each having our own experience.

For many years I twisted helplessly within one relationship or another  trying to be the person a particular partner wanted, and often lost sight of who I,  myself, want to be. I suspect that’s not an experience unique to me. I try to approach things differently these days. I work on becoming the person I most want to be, myself, for me, based on my own values and sense of self. Taking the raw materials I’ve got, chaos and damage and all the messy broken bits, and practicing the practices that move me along my path in a way that causes no harm in my relationships, and creates harmony and connection isn’t reliably easy (or obvious), but I keep at. Seems a worthy endeavor and life is better for it.

…I am for sure not “perfect”… (there is no “perfect”)

Just as I walk this trail one step at a time, I walk my path in life one step at a time. The nice thing about this is that when I stumble (and I do), I can begin again – one step at a time. I set my goals. I measure my progress. I define my success (and my failure).

It’s been a challenging couple of days, for me. Caring for my Traveling Partner while he recovers from an injury has some difficult moments, bringing me to confront some things I would like to do differently and with greater skill. Requires practice. He’s got his own path to walk, and I can’t walk it for him – and it’s a poor choice to take that at all personally. His path is not about me. It’s more effective to focus on what I can do to be a good partner and care provider, and to be alert for opportunities to do more/better – or at least not make shit worse.

…I gotta say, my results vary…

The weekend is almost here. These days that doesn’t promise any great amount of actual rest, at all, there’s just too much to get done, and pretty much every day I already feel very behind on basically everything, more or less all the time. I’ll make a list of “must do” items and add things my Traveling Partner has explicitly asked me to take care of, and do my best to work down that list, task by task, until it’s all done… if I’ve got it in me. Some days I manage it. Others I don’t. “Everything I can manage” has to be enough.

I breathe the fresh Spring air as I walk. It’s a beautiful morning. I exhale each breathe grateful to have another day ahead to practice being the woman I most want to be. Who is she? How does she interact with the world? How does she handle her emotions? What’s her self-talk like? I see her as kind, considerate, experienced, and able to calmly deal with most of life’s chaos without losing perspective. I see her as someone helpful and understanding, compassionate and concerned for the state of the world (and her relationships). I see her being willing to listen, and honest without being unkind. I see her as comfortable setting boundaries, and respecting the boundaries set by others. I see her as a woman of great joy and enormous capacity for love. She’s hospitable, generous – but not a “sucker”. She walks through life with purpose, confident her path is right for her.

…Gotta have goals! Helpful to have a sense of self, both as I am here/now, and also where I would like to find myself. I walk on with my thoughts…

…Breathe, exhale, relax… walk on.

The day ahead seems more ordinary and routine, as I walk. I find myself more able to avoid taking my partner’s recent temper personally (or my own) as I walk down the path. Most of these moments of ill temper are a byproduct of injury or pain, and the ups and downs of medication taken to relieve discomfort or promote healing. An astonishing amount of the medication we’re given pretty commonly also happens to be mind or mood altering, though people rarely discuss it as being so. Even OTC stuff often has profound potential to color our thinking or the lens through which we view the world. I remind myself to be more patient and kind about such things, and to try to let petty aggravations just… go. It’s not personal.  Hell, sometimes that shit is barely real.

I laugh to myself, thinking about my own moments of misplaced temper in life. No shortage of those. Perspective. I could do better. I keep practicing.

I also keep walking. I get to the bench at the turn around point and sit down to write for a few minutes. This is some of my most cherished time each day. These few minutes of self-reflection and writing help me focus on what matters most, and help me find my calm center, my sense of perspective, and my joy. Whatever else any given day throws my way, I’ve got this moment, pretty reliably. That’s something worth having. I savor it.

I breathe, exhale, relax, and take a moment to enjoy the Spring sunrise and the golden hues that filter through the trees. It’s a new day, and I’ve got the path ahead, and a chance to begin again.