It isn’t raining yet. My arthritis, the forecast, and the scent of the air suggest it definitely will. I’m okay with that. I like the rain.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
Blue hue at daybreak.
I’ve been sitting here at my halfway point for some while now, just sitting with my thoughts, no point or specific purpose, allowing minutes to pass unnoticed and uncounted. Some mornings are like this, quiet and lacking in clear purpose or any particular drive to do anything any differently. I’m okay with this, too.
…We create a lot of our own bullshit and drama simply by resisting what is in some moment, when we could face the challenge with acceptance, first, before we consider fighting it at all…
I breathe, exhale, and relax. Nothing to see here. It is an ordinary enough sort of morning on a cloudy day late in the summer. I take time to meditate in the darkness, watching the blue hue of the morning develop slowly, revealing the gray sky instead of a sun rise. Somewhere beyond what I can see, the sun still rises. There’s a metaphor there. I reflect on that awhile.
I get to my feet, grateful for a new day, and a chance to begin again. Maybe I’ll make it back to the car before it begins to rain?
It’s a quiet morning. The sky is clear and starry overhead. The air is still and cool. My steps are steady and even as I walk down the trail. It is a new day.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
I walk along, letting my steps follow the familiar path, while my mind wanders elsewhere. Work later. Errands. Pick up prescriptions from the pharmacy. I remind myself to save some energy for later, so I can help my Traveling Partner with a repair that may need three hands. I get to my halfway point and observe that I’ve been so much in my own head, the walk itself has left no impression on me. My body was merely a vehicle. My mind traveled a different path entirely.
I sigh to myself as I take a seat on a big rock for a few minutes. I look around in the dim twilight. Daybreak soon. The treeline blends in against the darkness of the night sky. No bunnies or birds at this quiet hour. I take a deep breath and exhale slowly.
The peace is ruptured by screaming. Angry screaming, incoherent words , the sounds of rage reach me from the apartments across the creek. My whole body tenses up, and my mind tries to block the sound or my awareness of it. It’s real, though, and I’m suddenly deeply anxious, alarmed, and on alert. There’s no legitimate threat to my safety from this painful human experience happening on the other side of the creek in some apartment, but the sounds of it definitely affect my peace. More yelling, then the sound of breaking glass, and silence.
… The silence feels ominous…
… I breathe, exhale, and relax (as best I can), and repeat, until I feel my heart rate slow down again, and stop hearing my heartbeat in my ears. Nothing over there is happening to me. I’m having my own experience – and I’m grateful it isn’t anything to do with angry screaming or breaking glass. I’ve got it pretty good these days.
Daybreak comes while I sit wondering about things. I’m grateful for this peaceful solitude. I’m grateful to have survived domestic violence (it’s part of my distant past). I’m a little surprised by how quickly the years between then and now melt away so quickly; I’m still trembling, my body still feeling “ready to run”, although no longer full on triggered. I take a deep healthy breath and exhale, and repeat that a few more times, feeling the slow steady breathing begin to calm my body. I think about my beloved Traveling Partner – I am grateful to know love like this.
Gratitude is a good beginning to a new day. I watch the sky lighten and silently list things I am grateful for, allowing myself a moment to savor each detail and really appreciate the qualities in my life that make it a good one. It’s a useful practice, in spite of sometimes feeling a little forced or silly; the results are reliably good.
…We become what we practice…
My beloved pings me a good morning greeting. I’m grateful to be so loved. I smile to myself, also grateful for the pack of tissues hastily stuffed into my pocket as I got out of the car. Tissues that happen to be available to me through the love of my partner, who remembered from my writing that I had run out (or soon would) and made a point of giving me the extras from his truck.
(Well timed, my Love. Thank you!)
The sunrise begins with an unimpressive smudgy orange along the horizon. I’m fine with it. I’m definitely not criticizing since I can’t create an actual sunrise myself, at all, and have no useful tips for making a better one. I sit watching, grateful to see another rising sun.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. Another day, another opportunity to be the person I most want to be. Another day to choose wisely. Another day to love and be loved. Another day to feel grateful and to be kind. Another chance to begin again.
Well, here we are, another morning, another moment, another chance to begin again and to do better than we did yesterday. A little at a time, our actions and experiences, and the things we choose to practice, will change us. Choose wisely. 😁
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
Today feels better than yesterday, although neither experience of a lovely morning offers me real insight to the difference. This morning I feel calm, kind, and unbothered. Yesterday I was cross with myself and the world and didn’t really have any more reason for that than I have for feeling quite differently now. I say that as an observation that our subjective emotional experiences are sometimes not directly connected to some obvious cause – they simply are what they are in that moment.
…Sometimes what we do about how we feel is more important than the feeling itself…
I slept pretty well, and woke a little startled when my lights flashed on before slowly brightening. I woke seriously groggy and had to slow down and make a careful point of going down my morning checklist to avoid making some small mistake that might wake my Traveling Partner or mess with his morning when he wakes a bit later. I appreciate a good routine, settled, reliable, predictable. This one isn’t that, yet. It needs more practice.
The sunrise from the trailhead already hints at autumn. It comes later, and the colors are a bit different. I consider whether or not to get another camping trip in, maybe after Labor Day? (Less crowded, fewer kids.) I don’t know if I really want to, or if I’m toying with the idea instead of something else. Life’s menu is pretty big, and there is a lot I’d like to do or try or see.
… My mind wanders on…
This year is already half over. Seems strange that it has gone by so fast. Subjectively, in this moment, I feel as if I have “achieved nothing”, which would be a huge bummer if it were objectively true. Oh for sure, I haven’t cured a major disease, changed the trajectory of world events, or solved homelessness in my community, those achievements were never within my reach as an individual. Not my path.
I’ve been painting, working, and supporting my Traveling Partner’s return to working, too. I’ve walked a few miles (about 600 or so, I estimate). I’ve started and finished some projects. I’ve started and failed to finish a few projects, too. I enjoyed one celebratory evening out with my beloved that is still lingering in my memory fondly. I tried out drone flying as a hobby. I got an RC car and happily drive it (it suits me better than flight). I don’t know, none of that seems odd or particularly noteworthy, just snapshots from one human life. Still, isn’t it enough for most of us to live and love and hope to learn to do those things with some measure of skill, over time? Doesn’t that amount to an achievement on its own?
…I feel fortunate…
I breathe, exhale, and relax. I’m grateful for the job I’ve got that supports the life I share with my partner. I’m grateful to be able to say I was able to provide caregiving to my beloved that helped see him through a major injury and recovery, to see him working in his shop once again. (Now that’s an achievement!) I’m grateful for our little house in a small town situated between suburbs and farm fields. I’m grateful for this well-maintained trail available to me each morning and for the sunrise I am lucky enough to see. Maybe it is all quite ordinary, it’s the experience I live, and I feel fortunate for the highs, and I try to learn something from the lows. It’s a very human experience. It’s enough.
I smile and breathe the summer morning air deeply. It smells nicely of mown grass and meadow flowers. The air is clear and still. The temperature is mild. It’s a nice pause before I begin a new day – again.
I wrote this Saturday morning, after getting some sleep and looking back on the first day of my recent camping trip.
The work day ended on Friday in a purposeful push to finish everything and remember each commitment, each loose end. I managed it, and it felt like an achievement unlocked. My attention immediately turned to finishing loading the car and saying sweet loving goodbyes…
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
… I always forget something. This time it turned out to be batteries. Well, more accurately, when I checked my gear I failed to test my headlamp or my little camp lantern. Dumb. I’m getting ahead of myself – that discovery was later.
It was not a given that I’d find a suitable camping spot. Without exaggeration, every reservable camp site within a three hour drive from where I live was reserved, for all of the dates I had available! My next step was looking for camp grounds that are exclusively first come/first served. There turn out to be several in the big state forest north and west of my home. Okay, so it’s an adventure, and I set off eagerly.
… you’re not waiting for an “and then…” twist, are you? It was a lovely drive, and almost no traffic. I arrived when I expected to. I circled one loop, then the next. I could hear my Traveling Partner’s doubtful tone when he advised me that everything would be full. I stayed hopeful. I’d try the walk-in tent sites, and hope that they aren’t half a mile into the forest, all down hill.
I stopped at the pay kiosk and took a slip, and filled out everything but the site number and started walking. At long last, and feet already hurting, I see one that isn’t occupied! I start toward it. A frantic plump woman of a mommy age rushes past me and quickly clips her receipt to the numbered post and turns to me simultaneously challenging and somewhat embarrassed. “I already saw this, I went to get a slip is all. I was already here!” I shrug and walk on, limping a bit. I was already resigned to finding a more remote site in the disbursed camping area when I walked up on an empty site from behind. For real?! I’m almost relieved but also a little wary. I check the post. Nothing. I clip my receipt there after writing the site number on it.
So relieved. I sit down at the picnic table and drink some water.
Number 9
A woman approaches me looking frustrated and waves the white slip of her receipt, telling me in broken English that she had seen this site first and only walked away to get her receipt. I drank water, and pointed to the numbered post with my receipt clipped to it. I had read the camp rules; no reservations, first come first served, someone must be occupying the site to claim it, or their gear must be present, no holding a vacant site for someone else. I felt her frustration, I had felt it myself moments ago. I definitely prefer being able to reserve a spot.
The painfully slow process of getting my gear to the site on one foot with plantar fasciitis and the knee on the other leg being quite obnoxiously unpredictable, began with real determination. It was slow going, and before I’d made two trips I was already tired and really feeling the limitations pain places on my abilities. This is one of the exceedingly rare circumstances when I truly regret my lost youth. I definitely could have done more, better. We don’t know what we don’t know. That 27 year old powerhouse physique would come in handy right now. Hell, roll the clock back to 55, this wouldn’t be much of a challenge. Today? I find myself wondering if this may be my last solo camping trip altogether…
… Beginnings imply endings, and we are mortal creatures…
Getting my basic gear to the site took three trips. Then two more because I forgot stuff I’d definitely want tonight or first thing in the morning. Another back and forth for coffee beans, and my portable grinder. It was after all that, that I discovered neither my headlamp nor my camp light would light up. In one case, the batteries were exhausted. The other had no batteries at all. I made the trek to the parking lot again, and a trip a mile down the road to Lee’s Camp Store. I’m glad I did. My beloved sent me his love and told me he misses me, and it finally reached me. (No WiFi or connectivity in the forest.) A nice way to end the day.
Lee’s Camp Store – worth a stop anyway, and peculiarly magical.
Oh, it wasn’t actually late, I was just fucking exhausted. 😆 I knew I’d get a fresh start in the morning. For the rest of that Friday evening, I focused on getting off my feet and getting some rest. Beginnings could wait.
I slept okay. I woke up okay. The morning seems a relatively ordinary one. The weekend was generally good, although I feel like I didn’t get much done due to swapping out a notable portion of the time I would have spent on housework for self-care, and I still somehow manage to feel uncomfortable with that.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
I watched the moon setting as I watered the lawn.
It’s forecast to be hot today. I watered before I left for my walk. I ended up going back into the house for a warm cardigan. The forecast may say it’ll be a hot day, but it is quite chilly now. Funny how that sometimes happens.
It’s not important, just an observation on an ordinary Monday, for which I have no particular enthusiasm. That seems odd to me, but even that is pretty ordinary; people feeling some reluctance and lack of enthusiasm for the beginning of another work week is nothing new at all. We’ve probably all been there however much we may enjoy our work. I shrug to myself as I walk this familiar trail. There’s so much I’d rather be doing than working, but working is what pays the bills and unlocks the opportunities to do those other things, often. It’s unfortunate that we spend so much of our lives on this fucking hamster wheel.
Get off the hamster wheel now and then.
Yesterday’s hike was a lovely one. I enjoyed it enough to wonder if I could make it there and back on a workday… I’d be pushing my luck on the timing in a way likely to trigger my time hang-up, and cause me stress, undermining the value of the walk. Probably not a great idea. I’ll have to settle for weekends. This too, is ordinary. Most things are.
My allergies are vexing me, even this is nothing noteworthy. Human beings and spring allergies are a known thing. There’s an entire industry involved in dealing with allergies, and and whole field of medicine devoted to treating them. Mine are not bad relative to how bad they can be. I can enjoy flowers and walks among the trees, and petting cats… but there are a couple things that trigger my allergies, and they cluster in springtime. Tree pollen, mostly. Something about specific foods causes me to break out in sneezing and immediate sinus congestion and a runny nose. Wool against my bare skin can make me break out in hives. Bee stings are the most serious. Bee stings can cause anaphylaxis for me, and this time of year I carry a bee sting kit everywhere.
I’m grateful that I can enjoy the scents of flowers.
I sigh to myself at the halfway point on my rather ordinary walk on this ordinary Spring Monday. I’m not complaining. I’m grateful. Ordinary is okay, and for most values of ordinary, this is pretty good. My lack of enthusiasm isn’t nearly as important as this beautiful morning. I enjoy it for what it is. I enjoy it as I am. It’s enough.
Sunshine and oak trees, and a path; the way ahead is obvious, if not exciting.
I’m just saying, I suppose, that there’s no reason to expect that a healing journey or a journey to become the person you most want to be will lead to an exciting, eventful life of adventure and wild delight. Sometimes – mostly, perhaps – the big win is the relative lack of excitement, and the increase in ordinary pleasures.
Yesterday in the evening, things went sideways for a short time. My Traveling Partner and I stepped all over each other’s trauma and baggage. While that was thoroughly unpleasant, I’m impressed by our ability to recover from it, bounce back, and enjoy the remainder of the evening together. He impresses me. I’m grateful for the work he puts into a relationship. I smile and swing my feet from this bench, kind of wishing I’d worn the new sweater he gave me yesterday (an early birthday gift). I feel very loved. Not just because of the sweater.
What will you find if you slow down to see more?
I breathe, exhale, and relax. Sure, it’s an ordinary Monday, and I’d rather spend it with my beloved than spend the day working. That’s real, and it’s nothing special or extraordinary, just very human. I’m okay with it. I sigh and look at the time. I’ve a few more minutes before I have to begin again. I’ll make a point to enjoy them.
Evening Light 