Archives for posts with tag: forgiveness

I’m sitting on a bench over looking the Pacific ocean. It’s a bit after sunrise, but the sun hasn’t yet cleared the hilltops to the east. The sky is a pearly pink and a delicate pastel gradient blends it into the blue morning sky overhead.

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

Wind, waves, and a sunrise.

I listen to the gulls and sip my coffee. I’m in no hurry. It’s Sunday and I’ve got a couple relaxed days of painting ahead of me. I breathe, exhale, and relax. Each time work surfaces in my thoughts, I make a point of letting it go. Now is not the time.

I reflect on the crazy amount of pressure at work lately. I have to admit, a lot of that pressure is internal, and self-imposed. I reflect on the many times my Traveling Partner has cautioned me to slow down when I’m panicking over work stress, and how often he has helpfully pointed out that I’m the one putting myself through all that. Sometimes it’s hard to accept that I cause so much of my stress myself.

…He hasn’t been wrong about that; most of the pressure I’m under is reliably self-imposed (and unnecessary, and not helpful)…

Even this trip to the coast is intended, at least in part, to slow me down a bit and give me needed perspective. I reflect on that as I listen to the waves of the receding tide. I sigh to myself, grateful to have the opportunity to step back from work for a couple days. Grateful for a partner who supports and respects that need, even suggesting that I take the time.

I reach out to wish him good morning and to express concern about the heat and his wellness and to be encouraging in some way. My words are poorly chosen and don’t reflect awareness of what he wants and needs from me in the way of supporting and encouraging him. I get an unexpected blistering reprimand; he needs something different from me, and I feel like a jerk for the unhelpful outreach and poor timing. Shit. Failure sucks. I screenshot some of the messages to consider later (otherwise they may get lost in later conversation), and to share with my therapist for additional guidance.

I wonder what small birds practice?

I sit with my thoughts, watching the sea and gazing out at the western horizon. I missed my morning hike planned for Basket Slough this morning. I had hoped to watch the sunrise from there, rather than in my rearview mirror, but I had gotten the route confused for another. Basket Slough is in an altogether different direction (south) than the one I traveled this morning (west). I’ll hike the beach instead. There are miles of beach here, and about seven miles or so are walkable at low tide.

I sigh quietly, thinking about what matters most, what it takes to be (and become) the person I most want to be, and contemplating my obvious shortcomings in a way that is self-compassionate, kind, and useful. It’s a more difficult practice than the words imply. It’s easier to “drink the poison” and lose the useful details in the message, sometimes. The resulting festival of self-pity, guilt, shame, and emotional self flagellation may seem cathartic in the moment, but doing so would be mostly pretty poisonous, too. Better to lift myself out of the muck and sever the doom spiral neatly before it pulls me down. I can accept with sincere contrition and regret that I’m capable of errors in thinking, poor decision making, and poorly chosen words at precisely the wrong moment. Feels like a lot to work on. It’s a very human experience.

… Brain damage sucks, but there are useful workarounds for many of my specific challenges, they only require constant practice, and unlimited patience! 😆

I watch the parking lot here fill with folks in boots suited to mud, with buckets and shovels, heading down to the beach to dig for shellfish. This is a popular area for that. They are purposeful and well equipped for their task. G’damn I sure wish I felt similarly right about now. I definitely don’t. As with the crushing pressure of work, I suspect the feeling is illusory, and largely crafted within, built on my feelings of insecurity and doubt. Again, very human. This shit isn’t easy, or obvious, or in any way effortless – but it is possible to grow and change and improve over time.

I think about love, and notice that the blue hue of my glittery fingernails matches the sky. I listen to the wind whisper to me about practice and persistence, and learning from mistakes. I can’t know what the future holds – but I don’t have to. I can exist in this moment here, now. I’ll be busy enough with that, there is no need to become anchored to past regrets or future worries. “Now” has plenty with which to hold my attention.

I finish my coffee and grab my cane. It’s a beautiful morning, and it’s time to begin again.

Where does this path lead? The journey is the destination. Am I on the right path?

Enjoy the moment.

Stormy but mild, the weather is what it is.

Yesterday was lovely. Oh, not without a brief moment that was less than ideally harmonious, but we are human primates after all, the emphasis being on “primates”. Sometimes communication is more difficult than we’d like it to be, and in any household that includes me, this is complicated by both PTSD and brain damage. Still, generally speaking it was a lovely day spent in my Traveling Partner’s good company, and the rare moment of irritation or discord resulted in a better connection and clearer understanding of each other. Useful.

I make it a practice to focus on the positive, to reframe conflict in terms that allow me to grow and become more the person I most want to be over time, and as a means of allowing me to appreciate each finite mortal moment with my beloved. We’re both quite human. There’s no doubt we love each other deeply, and it truly matters to both of us to to heal, to support each other, and to move on from moments of conflict. Yesterday didn’t require much effort in that regard; it was a lovely day in good company.

I spent a good while reading, yesterday, which I enjoy quite a lot. I spent time writing and enjoyed sorting the many stickers my beloved Traveling Partner had gifted to me. (So fun! So delightful!) He worked on a project nearby, and we hung out together, each contentedly doing our own thing, together.

Today begins well. I get to the trailhead at sunrise, feeling well rested and merry. The walk down the marsh trail is pleasant, if a bit “squishy” from prolonged recent rain. It is sprinkling this morning. I don’t really care about that. I do care about the pain in my left foot (which I have been thinking was a flare up of tendonitis or maybe plantar fasciitis), which slows me down a bit. It becomes obvious as I walk this morning that it may be something much more practical in nature; I think the heel in these boots has some kind of “air cushion” or similar design, and I think the left side has blown out from wear. I’m annoyed by this because these boots can’t be re-soled. Well shit. They’re three, maybe four years old, and I’m probably due to replace them. I don’t really feel like dealing with that, but the path ahead will need sturdy boots, eh? That’s not even a metaphor; good boots make a lot of difference in the quality of a walking experience. I mean, okay, it’s also a metaphor.

…But I guess either way, I need new boots…

I stop a little farther on from my “halfway point”. I’m in no rush. It begins to rain a little harder and lacking overhead cover from the trees, I walk to the photographer’s blind grateful to find it unlocked, and unoccupied. It is a good spot to write and to take shelter from the rain.

What about the day ahead? No idea, really. Yesterday was lovely. There is no shopping to do, no errands on my to-do list, nothing on my mind. I’ll walk, and maybe do a bit of boot shopping before I head home to do some routine housekeeping and such. Maybe bake some bread if I have the energy later? Seems a good day for it. Maybe chili for dinner? I remind myself to check that I have all the ingredients.

Life being lived. Nothing extravagant or fancy, all pretty ordinary stuff. Where it gets complicated is that it is too easy to become wound up and twisted over some moment of disharmony or disappointment, and overlook all the joy and contentment. Savor the joy! Be present for the moments! Appreciating the pleasant moments and the small joys with the same focus, commitment, and energy we seem to save for arguments creates emotional resilience and a more accurate implicit sense of who we are and the life we lead. It’s also simply a very nice way to experience life fully; be present for each moment. That’s a pretty useful practice.

The rain stops. My Traveling Partner pings me a good morning greeting as he wakes. A large flock of geese passes overhead. There are more storm clouds on the horizon. The sky is a homogeneous milky gray. I sit with my thoughts and this quiet feeling of joy, and prepare to begin again.

It’s rare to put things in order such that some need of my own really “comes first”. I usually put specific key responsibilities at the top of my list, obligations to home and hearth, family or colleagues, because doing the needful matters, and people are counting on me. Last night I chose to play a current favorite video game for a little while, instead of tidying up or hanging out with the family. This morning I’m writing before I do the budget (it’s a payday). Choices have consequences, and as I sip my coffee I find myself feeling like a jerk for putting myself first last night; I forgot to make tuna salad for my Traveling Partner, which he had specifically and fondly requested (he really likes the way I make it).

…Well, shit…

I sigh to myself and make a note to include an apology with my morning greeting, later. I could do better. Very human; my results vary. But, it’s also not helpful to kick myself over it for any length of time, once I’ve acknowledged my error, commit to making amends, and am ready to move on contrite over the miss, but also grateful that I did take a moment to treat myself well. I’ve just got to do a little better at balancing such things.

…I’ll keep practicing…

I sip my coffee listening to a bit of music, and getting my thoughts organized for the day ahead. The weekend is almost here. It’s a lovely summer day. I feel a peculiar pang of nostalgia for long lazy summer days of adolescence, hanging out at the edge of the woods with my boom box, listening to Atlanta Rhythm Section or Van Halen. Funny to feel it so sharply from this office desk, simultaneously feeling the gratitude and joy of living a substantially better life than I knew in those earlier times. Humans are weird. We cling so tightly to illusions of what was, forgetting for the moment the realities that hurt us so deeply. I guess it’s better than being mired in sorrow. I smile to myself, as I listen to a favorite song from a long gone time ago.

Another day, another set of choices, and new steps on this journey to becoming the person I most want to be. I know I can count on my results to vary, and I’m grateful for each new opportunity to begin again. Change is. This path definitely leads somewhere. I guess it’s time…

I went to the usual trailhead of my favorite weekend morning hike. Pretty morning, but… the trailhead is busier than usual. A parked vehicle (vacant but with hazard lights left on), an especially disreputable looking old van (windows covered by foil), and an old RV with signs of being someone’s long-term dwelling, are in the parking lot. My skin crawls, and I experience a sense of “stranger danger”. I could be overreacting, but by the time I could be certain that I am or am not, it could easily be too late, eh? I move on, and go to the western trailhead of the park, on the far side, nearer to my usual “halfway point”. I’ll walk the trail in a different direction, approaching the views from the other side, and I’ll take a route that doesn’t approach the other trailhead at all (skirting the marsh instead of crossing it).

A calm sentinel.

It’s a lovely morning, and I’ve no regrets over the change of direction. I walk the trail contentedly. I see geese, and nutria, robins and squirrels. I walk along the river for a while. I look across a different bit of meadow, at a different stand of trees on the other side.

A change of perspective.

The morning is chilly but not cold, and I am warm from walking. I feel relaxed and rested, and my (quite minor) seasonal allergies are not vexing me; I remembered to add allergy meds to my morning medication. I feel comfortable in my skin and merry as I walk. I am supported by my cane (it’s actually a very strong, lightweight Leki trekking pole with some shock absorbtion), and my ankle does not yet ache from the walking, nor do my feet hurt. I would be walking in spite of those things, but it’s nice not having to fight that pain, this morning.

I think about the day ahead, but my thoughts are scattered, fractured by distractions: birds, flowers, movement in the underbrush. I walk on, enjoying the scents of Spring. I try, briefly, to recall whether I have errands to run, but I fail, and for the moment I don’t actually care. I’m wrapped in this moment, now, and it’s quite enough.

I walk, thinking about my beloved Traveling Partner, sleeping at home. He’ll likely be quite sore today after physical therapy yesterday. I resolve to keep myself occupied until he alerts me that he’s up and about for the day, to do what little I can to ensure he gets the rest he also needs. I smile. My heart is filled with love and my thoughts with fond memories. He is so much part of my life and experience after 15 years together. May 1st is our anniversary, but “that moment” that he truly became part of my life and my future was actually on his birthday, in December, at the end of 2009. By February we were the best of friends, by June he had moved in with me. Even then, I don’t think either of us anticipated marriage being part of our journey (less than a year later), we were both pretty sour on the notion from our past experiences. Still, here we are. Feels almost as if we’ve “always” been together. It’s easy to forget what a short time it has been. I grin to myself as I walk. He could not be more dear to me, nor further entangled in my heart. I am wrapped in his love every moment of every day. I sigh happily, and keep walking.

An enormous flock of Canada geese pass overhead. I think about my Granny, and wish that she could have met my Traveling Partner. I think she would have liked him. I know my Dad would have. I chuckle over the ways of men, and wonder what it might have been like had my Dad and my partner had a chance to enjoy each other’s company? I walk on wondering when I stopped being angry at my father? When had I truly forgiven him? It’s clear that I have… How strange. I once thought I never could.

Time passes, and the passage of time heals a lot of hurts, given a chance. Forgiveness isn’t for those who have hurt or wronged us, my Traveling Partner was right about that; forgiveness benefits most the one who forgives. Forgiveness is a letting go of the terrible weight of lasting pain and lingering rage. Forgiveness is another way to begin again.

My footsteps on the path are regular and even, steady like the tick of a clock. The clock is ticking. I walk on, with new perspective, toward the next curve on the path, the next opportunity to begin again. It’s time. It’s always time. I’m okay with that.

I’m sitting in the artificial twilight of a lamppost at the edge of my preferred local trail. It’s not yet fully dawn, but there’s a hint of daybreak in the changing color of the sky. I caught myself scrolling through the news headlines, though there is nothing there worth reading. Nothing new. Mostly intentionally distressing – or selling something. I put it aside. I don’t benefit in any way from becoming sucked into that garbage.

I think about stumbling on the trail a few moments ago. I caught myself, didn’t fall, but it was a moment of inattention and the outcome could have been worse. There’s something to learn there. It’s a metaphor. In a sense, scrolling through the news feed mindlessly is another sort of stumble. Disregarding healthy portion control when I struggle with my weight? Another stumble. Skipping a planned walk or a workout when I have specific fitness goals? Stumble.

Other lives, other challenges, other ways to stumble on a path. An addict in recovery having “just a little, this one time…”. Stumble. Someone making an important lifestyle change yielding to an old habit. Stumble. Important financial goals overlooked for a little “retail therapy”. Stumble. Giving that toxic relationship another chance. Stumble. It’s so very human to stumble, but we really can catch ourselves, and get back on the path. We really can acknowledge our failures and begin again.

I sit with that thought watching daybreak come, turning the sky blue beyond the dark clouds overhead. It’s okay to fail and begin again. It’s okay to pause on the trail to rest or to reflect. It’s okay to be human. It’s a journey. The journey is the destination.

I think of a far away friend admitting to me that she hadn’t been reading my blog. I was surprised by the admission, not because I expect all my friends and people dear to me to read my writing, but more because she found the admission embarrassing or awkward at all. I’m pretty sure it’s a near inevitability that any one reader will eventually stop reading and move on to other things. lol I see “this place” as a resting point on a journey more than a path. Once my point is made, the rest is perhaps noise. Repetition. I certainly wasn’t hurt by her admission. I’m here. You’re here now. For a moment we travel together whether through coincidence or intention, and we nonetheless each have our own experience. I rarely cross paths “in real life” with someone who reads my writing. She’s rare and delightful in that way. I cherish the experience, but don’t expect it. Our Dear Friend connected us, here, through their conversations about my writing. I was fortunate indeed to eventually sit down with them together over coffee. What a joyful day! When our Dear Friend neared the end of her life, we shared that too. I’m grateful.

Dawn. A new day, and the path ahead is clear. When I see the path and walk it mindfully, I’m less likely to stumble. It’s a very human experience, though, and the path is uneven in spots. There’s still a chance I may stumble, or even fall. When I do, I get up, consider my missteps, and begin again.