Archives for posts with tag: gratitude

I’ve spent the day relaxing in this quiet room, and providing my Traveling Partner with caregiving. It’s detail-oriented personal service work, providing care to this human being I love so deeply. Still, it has been a day with ample time for reflecting on life and love and what I have learned along the way.

Here are 61 lessons from my mortal lifetime thus far:

  1. There’s always something more to learn.
  2. Change is a constant.
  3. Zest for life is closely tied to experiences of wonder and awe.
  4. Self-care matters.
  5. Meditation is an effective practice.
  6. We become what we practice.
  7. We each have the power to define success for ourself.
  8. Setting boundaries is a self-care practice.
  9. Our values are not what we say they are; they are what we live and practice.
  10. Taking the time to do something well is reliably more efficient than having to do it more than once.
  11. Anxiety is a liar.
  12. Chasing happiness does not result in greater happiness.
  13. Lust is mostly a matter of biology.
  14. Savoring life’s small joys and making time for gratitude builds emotional resilience.
  15. Human primates operate “emotion first”.
  16. Our quality of life is more dependent on the quality of our relationships than the size of our paychecks.
  17. Assumptions are not facts.
  18. Expectations are not facts.
  19. Opinions are not facts.
  20. Beliefs are not facts.
  21. The catchiness of a slogan has no bearing on its truth or usefulness.
  22. Very few of life’s stressful moments have lasting impact.
  23. I probably need to drink more water.
  24. “Wealth” is relative.
  25. The person who throws the punch doesn’t get to decide whether it hurt.
  26. We are each having our own experience.
  27. A lot of the crap that bothers us most is shit we totally made up in our own heads that has no actual basis in reality.
  28. Self-reflection can help develop perspective.
  29. Rumination can be really damaging, and tends to limit perspective.
  30. The difference between rumination and self-reflection can be subtle.
  31. Emotional intelligence has real-world value.
  32. Getting enough rest is as important as drinking water, eating healthy food, and exercise.
  33. Solitude can be rich, beautiful, satisfying, and nurturing.
  34. Few people recognize their own confrontational, hostile, angry, or escalated tone of voice.
  35. Forgiving someone is a thing we do for ourself, not for the person being forgiven.
  36. People notice when someone isn’t paying attention.
  37. Distracted driving is potentially lethal.
  38. What we think we understand about human behavior isn’t reliably accurate, and can’t be assumed to apply to all people in every circumstance. It doesn’t.
  39. People are people.
  40. We’re all in this together.
  41. The journey is the destination.
  42. Your lived experience is yours. My lived experience is not yours.
  43. How you behave when you think no one is watching will tell you what your values truly are.
  44. Rationalizing poor behavior doesn’t make the behavior any better.
  45. We feel our own pain the most.
  46. Our ability to understand the world is limited by our perspective.
  47. Being a dick to people is a poor practice with predictably poor outcomes.
  48. Thriving and surviving are two very different experiences.
  49. Reading is an incredibly useful skill, the benefits of which are multiplied by enjoying it.
  50. Art is a way of expressing the things we don’t have words for.
  51. Language functions by agreement.
  52. Carefully defining the terms in a discussion prevents a lot of arguments and misunderstandings.
  53. Apologizing without sincere contrition isn’t really an apology.
  54. Apologizing while making excuses for how the offense is justified, understandable, or must be overlooked isn’t really an apology.
  55. An effective apology is 100% focused on the person hurt and how they were affected, and 0% about how the offender feels about it.
  56. Listening deeply is a powerful relationship building tool which takes time, practice, and effort to develop.
  57. Hijacking a conversation to talk about yourself instead is rude.
  58. Waiting for a turn to talk while someone else is talking is rude.
  59. Interrupting someone while they are speaking is rude
  60. Manners and civility are key to quality of life and cultured society.
  61. Life is worth living.

It’s not science. These are things I’ve learned myself, over a lifetime. I’m not even saying these observations and learnings are “all there is” (what would you add?)… these are just a few things I’ve learned that continue to serve me well.

It’s your journey, up ahead. I’m over here walking my own path. May your path be smooth and the way ahead illuminated.

Every sunrise is a chance to begin again.

I’m (finally) sipping coffee. Never had a walk this morning. Woke up in pain, though that’s neither different nor relevant to the moment, or this cup of coffee. It’s fairly late in the morning, so I’m having it with a little (coconut) milk and a bit of sweetness (vanilla syrup). It’s hot. It’s… coffee. It’s fine. Today is “the day”, and my Traveling Partner is in surgery. I’m in the waiting room… waiting. The Anxious Adventurer waits with me. We’re neither of us particularly stressed, both hopeful.

… It’ll be good to “have my partner back”, in the sense that the pain he has had to endure over time has been much for all of us. Worst for him, obviously, but terrible to helplessly witness, and hard on his relationships, generally. Hard on him, too. It has diminished and limited him, and shrunk his world to the size of his pain. I’m eager to see him once again doing the things he loves with ease. I’m eager to hear him laugh again and feel his strong arms around me.

…So I wait. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I drink coffee and remind myself to take my medication. I give some small amount of thought to my vertigo, which has begun flaring up more frequently, in response to less obvious things. I think about the occipital neuralgia that “lights my face on fire” for hours or days. I think about the shooting pain down the back of my right leg this morning that wasn’t there yesterday. Shit. I guess I need to start putting more attention on this fragile vessel. I don’t “feel old”… I resent these possibly aging related complaints, often with real ferocity. I use my resentment and my anger to push past the pain, to reject its power over me. I use my feelings to walk one more mile, and then to walk another. I’ve come too far to give up easily.

… This hospital has a pleasant waiting room (except for the uncomfortable chairs)…

I sit with my thoughts. I breathe. I shift in my chair trying to find more comfort before realizing again that the pain is mine, it’s not the chair. I write. I reflect. I wait. I’m good at waiting.

The Anxious Adventurer goes on a wee walkabout, exploring the carefully planned curated spaces of the hospital to pass the time. I’m fine with just waiting, not because I lack restless energy or curiosity, I just want to wait, patient and present, my thoughts with my partner. It’s certainly a place worth exploring, though. I enjoy the quiet and the hushed conversations, and the art.

… It’s a shame there’s so little public art…

Cloudy day. Waiting. It’s fine; soon enough we begin again.

Not much of a countdown left; day after tomorrow I head out for a couple days break from the stress and workload of caregiving, to spend a little quality time in my own head, taking care of me for a couple days. 3. Three days of downtime. I find myself eager and also a little bit anxious.

Before dawn.

I woke a little early. I got to the trailhead before daybreak. I wait for the sun, sitting quietly, writing. It’s a bit chilly this morning and I am grateful for the cozy warm sweatshirt I am wearing. Sunrise is coming later already. The days are definitely shorter than a month ago.

Yesterday was weird and difficult, but for me that was mostly “second dart suffering”, fatigue, and the chemistry of human emotion. It passed, and the conversations that came out of that were needful and handled with love and consideration. I don’t actually recall the end of the evening with much detail, beyond the lingering awareness that it was quite pleasant.

The morning begins well. I’m hopeful about the day ahead. I watch as daybreak shifts the hue of the sky from its darkest blue to lighter blues and a subtle hint of something not quite green and not quite yellow on the horizon. Sunrise soon. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I think of my Traveling Partner, and hope that he is sleeping deeply at home, getting rest that he needs so much. I lace up my boots. There’s enough light now to see the trail…

…It must be time to begin again…

Every morning is so precious.

I’m honestly not even a “morning person”, in the sense people generally seem to mean by the phrase. I’m just an early riser by habit. I would sleep in if I could. I am not at peak energy in the early morning. I don’t prefer to interact with people in the morning until I’ve been up a good long while and had some coffee and quiet time to myself. I’m often quite irritable first thing. See? Not a “morning person”, but I most definitely appreciate seeing the sun rise again.

This one is hues of orange.

…We are mortal creatures, and there is no guarantee we’ll see the next sunrise…

I’ve grown to truly love seeing the sun rise each morning. I’m often on some trail when the sun rises, or on the road headed to a trailhead for a walk in the morning. It’s a pleasant way to begin a day. I walk with my thoughts. I take a few pictures. I reach some likely spot for meditation, a bit of writing, maybe some yoga. Over the past four years this morning walk has grown from an occasionally expedient use of my time that happens to be pleasant, to become a firm and reliable self-care practice. I often feel out of sorts and unprepared for the day without my walk – and the chance to see the sun rise again.

… How many more sunrises will I have to enjoy? I have no way to know…

…We are mortal creatures…

I walk the trail, happy with the start to my day. Content with my thoughts and my experience. Satisfied with being in this moment. I don’t need anything different than what I have now. I keep walking. The morning is mild. The air is scented by wildflowers. I am alone. I hear traffic in the distance and an airplane overhead; it’s far too rare to truly avoid the sound of humankind busily going about the business of being human. We’re noisy creatures. I shrug it off and keep walking.

Breathe, exhale, relax…and walk on. Life is a journey. The path ahead is built on my choices. When I falter, I can begin again. I am my own cartographer. This is my journey. These are my choices. I walk on, one step at a time.

… My Traveling Partner wakes at home and pings me a greeting. I stop for a moment to reply, and to reflect and write…

Another sunrise. Another new day. Another chance to begin again. It’s enough.

It’s going to be another hot summer day. I remind myself unnecessarily to drink enough water (meaning, specifically, more than usual). Seems likely that the remaining summers ahead for human kind will continue to be hot and then hotter, unless something changes. Stay cool. Take care of yourself. Avoid punishing manual labor in the heat of the day. Be alert for signs of heat-related illness and take steps sooner than later.

Another hot summer day ahead.

I woke early and slipped away into the earliest hint of dawn. The morning air was still and felt somehow warmer than the 67°F than it was. Yesterday the morning felt warm at 60°F. Tomorrow it’ll no doubt feel warmer still at some higher temperature. The nights are not cooling off completely and the days are getting warmer, too. Summer.

The sun rose an irritable looking orange at the edge of a hazy pink horizon, as I drove to the trailhead. It was vivid and beautiful, particularly the view as I came around a bend in the road, with Mt Hood silhouetted a deep smudgy lavender against the vibrant colors of the dawn. I love that particular view, and I am forced to enjoy it in the moment; there’s no place to stop, there, so no opportunity to get a picture, and I never know ahead of time what beauty may appear – and quickly disappear – as I come around that bend in the road.

So here it is another day. Another hot one. I walked my walk, taking note of the increasingly warm temperatures as I walked. Drinking water. At my halfway point, I sit awhile watching and listening. I update my list of things to get done today. I drink more water. I write these few words. The warm humid morning and sense of sharing the trail (though I don’t see anyone else) push me to maintain a brisk pace, and I am eager to get home and have a shower. I’m unpleasantly sticky with sweat.

I walk on, thinking thoughts of balance, perspective, moderation, and sufficiency. I breathe, exhale, and relax, grateful to have remembered to take allergy medication this morning. I watch the sun rise as I walk, and now I am distracted by having to pee. Still drinking water.

I approached the parking lot (and the restrooms), unsurprised to see it nearly full. It’s clearly time to begin again.

… Stay cool. Be safe. Drink water. Know your physical limits. Wear sunscreen if you’re going outside. Take care of yourself; you matter. Be careful with those spoons…

An update, some time later, same day…

My Traveling Partner woke shortly after I arrived home, and not in a good mood. His sleep was interrupted and less than ideally restful. He’s had a change of medication, too, and it’s causing considerable irritability. He’s aware of it, and alerts me (and the Anxious Adventurer) of the situation, asks for our patience, and suggests we keep our distance as much as possible. Practical advice, and I plan to take it. There’s little about my to-do list that requires participation or even input from anyone, so I figure I can keep myself productively occupied for much of the day.

…First things first, a healthy breakfast salad, and a nice cup of tea…

I queue up my art video playlist for some study time over a bite of breakfast. A good beginning, suited to the day ahead, beating the heat. Next, after breakfast, I’ll tackle the housekeeping chores while the day is still cool… I may even paint with these new pastels, today! 😀 I sip my tea and hope that my partner’s experience of the day improves once he is fully awake, and has had his coffee. If not then, I hope he finds a suitable opportunity to begin again, and finds his success there.