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I’m sitting here on a cold Spring morning with my thoughts. I’m disinclined to walk. My head aches ferociously and my eyes feel gritty. Too little sleep.

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

My first thought on waking precisely “on time” when I had explicitly reset my alarm for just 30 minutes before my work day would start, was “What’s the point of even trying to get more sleep when I need it?” It hit my consciousness as a silent snarl. I was awake.

I dressed, dragged myself through washing my face and running a brush through my hair. I brushed my teeth glaring at the woman in the mirror. I left the house as quietly as I could, hoping not to disturb my Traveling Partner as I left.

Rough night. My sleep was interrupted. My Traveling Partner’s too. I did try to get back to sleep, and I guess I eventually did. Unfortunately my body slept while my mind stayed busy. I dreamt that I was awake, working, the entire time. It was not a dream of a pleasant work day. It was, instead, tedious and consuming, filled with distractions and imminent deadlines. I’m frankly glad to be awake, although less pleased that today is Monday and the work day is ahead of me.

… and fuck this headache…

All of this practicing, and mindfulness, CBT, and positivity bullshit isn’t anything to do with lovely easy sunny Spring days, though. All these practices, study, and work, are for the difficult moments, for the rough nights, and to more easily weather the emotional storms life inevitably throws my way. I’m human. Pain, sorrow, and struggle are just part of the package. How I deal with shit when it comes my way is when all that practice pays off – and it pays off big sometimes. This morning, for example. This is when tools built over years of patient practice deliver results. Headache and all; I’m mostly okay, just cranky and headache-y.

I sit parked at a local trailhead. I write and meditate, and let myself wake up as I restore some sense of honest perspective. I don’t worry about the walking, I give myself time to “sort myself out”. I make room in my heart for kindness and gratitude. I focus on this moment, here, now, and stay present. Daybreak comes, bringing new perspective. I embrace that and anchor myself to practical things I know to be true.

A new day, a new moment.

I sigh to myself. It’s a cold morning, but I’ll warm up as I walk. The fresh air will do me good, I suppose, and I know the exercise is good for me. I set aside my lack of enthusiasm and commit to the practice. I get out of the car with my cane, ready to begin again. Let’s find out where this path leads…

Relationships matter [to human primates], and because they do matter, we become attached. Attached to individuals. Attached to our own expectations and assumptions. Attached to outcomes. Attached to ideas about people and about feelings about people.

Our attachments become entanglements, sticky snares of emotion, and sometimes heartbreak. Human is (emotionally) messy. We become what we practice, as individuals. We have no control over what others practice, nor over who they choose to become.

Relationships are complicated.

I’ve experienced a few things in life (and love), too many to list off the top of my head, and somehow there’s still more to learn. I ended my evening last night thinking about experience and life and love, and how fucking complicated all that is by itself…then layer on the additional complications of the other person’s experience, and what they mean to us, and whatever challenges circumstances may contribute (mental health, chronic pain, medications needed to treat this or that condition, still other relationships, it’s a long and varied list)… it’s almost miraculous anyone ever maintains a relationship with another individual longer than it takes to go “oh, hell no”. It’s a lot to take sometimes. We do it because we are social creatures, and we do it because it feels so good to “get it right”.

It’s tricky. People struggle and suffer, and sometimes the solutions that are available to ease some particular bit of suffering (for example, medication to manage ADHD, or depression, or pain) can really complicate a relationship. People often “don’t seem themselves” until they get their medication just right. Sometimes the person they become, and may be happy to be, isn’t who we want to be with. It’s not a “right or wrong” discussion, it is more complicated than that.

I’m fortunate that my Traveling Partner is very open with me when he has the hard work of new meds in front of him. I do my best to support him through such things as he has reliably done for me, more than once (and is doing presently). I know it’s not easy.

Inconveniently, this time around we’re going through it together, while we each have our own experience of “the new meds journey”. We’ve been through it before. It is perhaps my least favorite experience in a relationship, and I am deeply grateful and appreciative that we communicate openly with each other; every change, every adjustment, and the details of our subjective lived experience get shared. No surprises, aside from the very real effects of the medications themselves, initially. Could be worse. Not my favorite bit of any relationship, but I’m not also having to deal with mysterious bullshit stemming from poor communication.

I get to the trail with my head full of thoughts. I’m okay. I’m pretty well settled on the new medication that is managing so much of my pain, so much better. A larger portion of my chronic pain is neuropathic than I had previously understood. It was a good choice to change my medication.

I take a deep breath and blow it out as a heavy sigh. I write a few words before I start down the trail, hoping to let it all go and take my walk, present in this moment, awake and aware, comfortable in my own skin and unbothered. It’s time to walk on. It’s time to reflect on impermanence. It’s time to practice non-attachment. It’s time for meditation and self-reflection. It’s time to begin again.

The “cold moon” supermoon is overhead. I can’t see it, tucked behind clouds, but the light shines through thinner clouds. I look up now and then, as I walk the dark marsh trail before dawn. It’s not quite enough to light the way. I carry my headlamp in my hand, enough light to see the trail escapes from between my fingers to create a pattern of light on the ground that swings and bobs with my steps. It’s enough.

I get to my halfway point thinking about sufficiency, and too much, and not enough, and fretting a bit about the cost of everything. I make a point to remind myself how good I do have it, in practical terms, in most ways. I’m fortunate and I am grateful. Life could be a lot worse – I’ve been there, too.

The morning is mild and quiet. I have the trail to myself. Some of that is about my choices; I’m here at an hour few people are even awake on a Saturday morning. I also benefit from pure chance and the decisions of others; there are some people who also walk the trail very early. They aren’t here this morning. I guess what I’m saying is that our circumstances are a combination of happenstance and choices. We don’t really know what’s going on with other people that has created a hardship for them, so perhaps best not to be a jerk about such things, eh?

I sigh quietly in the darkness. I think about the day ahead, a busy one for a Saturday. Next week, too. I’ve got a business trip down to the corporate office. The timing is not ideal, and I wonder why I didn’t consider it more carefully when the trip was being planned? Choices. Circumstances. Tis the season to feel like there’s too much going on, and not enough time for everything.

Yesterday’s work shift was a long one. Minutes into the commute home, I was in traffic, stuck at a signal light, waiting as the cars crept forward one by one, and only one car getting through each time the light changed. I managed to avoid losing my temper. My Traveling Partner messaged me about how far the slowdown extended, which was helpful. He handled dinner, and kept it warm for me, until I got home. It felt like pure luxury and true love to come home to dinner, and not be the person making it. I even had enough energy left to fold some laundry that my beloved had done, and prepare for a holiday event that will be later today. (Vending some items my Traveling Partner makes in his shop. I’m hoping it is worthwhile.) It could all have felt like too much, instead I had my partner’s help. That made a huge difference in my experience of the evening. (Note to self; definitely ask for help when you need it – and accept it graciously when offered.)

Lately life often feels like “too much”, and my resources for dealing with it feel like not enough. It’s… ordinary. Just a variety of human experience. Sometimes we are burdened with too much (or it feels that way), sometimes our resources (time, money, emotional resilience…) are not enough, or it seems so in the moment. Perspective helps. I sit with my thoughts. I have lived through real hardship and privation. This is not that. I have survived trauma and endured misfortune – but I’m here, now. I did get through it. There will be hard times. For the moment, things are okay for most values of “okay”, and I’m managing to avoid blowing things out of proportion. Helpful. With the economy in the shape it’s in, in such uncertain times, we’ve made a choice to scale back a lot of holiday spending. A lot. But I’ve had leaner Giftmases with fewer resources in worse circumstances… I’m grateful for what I have, and what I can provide my family.

Enough is enough. Even embracing sufficiency is a practice. And when I’m feeling overwhelmed? Boundary setting and careful decision-making are useful tools… when I remember to practice them!  I chuckle to myself. If, of all the world’s suffering, I could remove only that suffering that is self-imposed or chosen, I suspect it would clear up by far most of the suffering going on. It’s an interesting thought. It hints at real relief through actions we can reasonably take for ourselves as individuals, without suggesting anything as unrealistic as no suffering ever.

When I feel overwhelmed by my list of shit to do? That’s me. That’s self-imposed. I could choose differently, change the timing or reset expectations, ask for help, or…say “no”. That’s just one example of one way to restore the balance between demands and resources, in one mortal human life. There are others. Limited resources? Make more (meaning objects or goods), buy less. Do more reading and less subscribing and online shopping. It’s not everything. Sometimes our limitations are life or health threatening, and that’s a bigger scarier problem to face. It’s still going to be helpful to take those steps we can. Incremental changes add up. Our choices matter.

The early moments of a new day.

Daybreak comes. The sky begins to lighten. I can hear traffic from the highway adjacent to the park, on the far side of the marsh. I sit awhile, remembering tougher times, and reflecting on my life. I enjoy this solitary time for reflection and meditation. I try to recall why I was ever cranky about getting such an early start… I know I once was, but I can’t recall why. I cherish this precious time on some trail, walking with my thoughts, waiting for the sun to rise again.

I think about my beloved Traveling Partner, sleeping at home. I remind myself to fold the laundry he did yesterday. It’s nice having help with chores and household care again. I’m definitely going to miss him while I’m away next week… Just the thought, and suddenly I miss him right now, too. Silly human primate.

I’m startled by a splash in the marsh pond behind me. Ducks? Geese? Nutria? I only see ripples on the water. A spattering of rain begins to fall. I get to my feet. It’s time to begin again.

I woke several times during the night. I never figured out why. Each time I woke, i returned to sleep relatively easily. My sleep was restless and disturbed by peculiarly realistic dreams. By the end of the night, it seemed I was dreaming that I was awake, and my alarm got to full brightness, overhead light shining like an artificial sun as I woke from that last dream, walking along a trash-strewn crater pocked “beach” watching a savage discolored sun rise slowly.

I dreamt of masked armed thugs on the streets of American cities. I dreamt of chemical attacks, drone strikes, and bombs dropping on already flattened neighborhoods, and neat carefully planned rows of… rubble. I dreamt of fleeing, of hiding, and of fear. I dreamt of nightmare cities blasted by violence. I dreamt of blood and sorrow. I dreamt of waiting breathless and anxious for the next shock. It was a bad night and when I finally woke, my face was strangely gritty with the salt of dried tears.

… I don’t recall the details of my dreams, now, only vague themes and sensations, which are already fading, and for that I am grateful…

PTSD is sometimes a literal fucking nightmare. Thanks largely to the violence, and vile horrors and bad behavior of the current administration, PTSD symptoms I haven’t had to deal with for awhile are flaring up and demanding my attention, and my most committed and loving self-care. More fucking verbs – as if I have time for this shit right now. I sigh, rubbing my neck, and my shoulders, as well as I can without having extra hands. I gently massage my temples, and breathe. My anxiety surges, then eases, again and again. I feel hyper vigilant and pointlessly uneasy. It is an ordinary morning in all regards, aside from my subjective sense of persistent dread.

… And I’m tired

I head down the trail in the usual way, although I am in more pain than usual, and feeling wary and watchful in the predawn darkness. It is quite chilly – the coldest morning we’ve had since back in the spring. 38°F (about 3.3°C). I’m grateful for the warm hiking socks, and comfy sweater beneath a warm cardigan. I breathe deeply as I walk, enjoying the scents of autumn. There is a hint of wood smoke in the taste of the air; people have begun using their fireplaces as the temperature cools.

I think about work and fret about money, and the future, and mortality, and preparedness, until I realize I’m getting spun up over imagined disasters and things that have not happened, or are not real concerns in my actual life, now. I inhale deeply, and exhale slowly until my lungs empty, as if the exhaled breath could carry with it all of my stress and anxiety. Sometimes it does. I pull my thoughts back to here, now. This is where I am, and everything begins right here. Every change, every moment of progress, every journey to come, it all starts in this moment – and conveniently enough, it is always “now”. That’s a lot of potential to work with!

I get to a pleasing stopping point, hands warm enough for writing, having been jammed deeply into my pockets while I walked. I sit on a convenient bench and examine the horizon for the first hint of daybreak. I take a moment to recognize that it is not my experience in this moment that is driving my emotions; it is my emotions creating my concerns, and my subjective experience of the moment. I can change this! I focus on the details here, now, and my breath. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I meditate for unmeasured time, until an imagined soft chime coincides with a sense of “completeness”, and contentment. I’m okay. Anxiety is a liar. Emotions are not the totality of my experience, or of reality itself.

… It’s not personal, it’s just biochemistry and a human being human…

Trauma in life changes our brain even down to the hormones and chemistry of our bodies and emotions. I’m no expert, but I’ve tried to keep up on the science. There are ways to regain our joy, corral our volatility, and manage our emotions without stifling our creativity with drugs, undermining our humanity by becoming numb to ourselves, or allowing our good character to be compromised. It may require asking for help. It’ll definitely require a lot of practice – and probably some new practices and considerable change. I sigh to myself. So much change. So much practice.

I reflect for a moment on how far I’ve come over the past 15 years… it’s been quite a journey. I would not have dealt with a night like last night so well (and with such ease, relatively speaking) back in 2010. I’d have been tantrum prone, volatile, irrational, irritable, unapproachable, suspicious, guarded, and teetering on the thin edge between anger and tears, ready to blast some unwary associate or loved one unpredictably – and unable to talk about it, or sort out my own emotions from the real circumstances.

G’damn I am so grateful to be in a different place as a human being. All the work, practice, meditation, self-care, and therapy has been very much worth the time, effort, and expense. I walk a very different path now. I’m grateful that I do. I am grateful for the choices I made to change. I’m grateful to have a partner who loves and supports me.

Daybreak. Dawn soon. It looks to be a cold cloudy morning. No colorful sunrise today, just a dirty, pale, vaguely orange smudge along the edge of the eastern horizon.  As night becomes day, I get to my feet. It’s already time to begin again.

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.