(Most of this post was written during the wee hours my last night of camping last weekend.)
I’m awake. The forest is dark and quiet. In the distance, the sound of truck traffic on the state highway that runs through the state forest is audible. For the moment I am not sleepy. The forest seems very still. I sit awake awhile, unbothered by the wakefulness itself, but it does tend to force me to reflect, and there is no where to go, and no distraction handy.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
I sit with my thoughts for a very long while, sorting the useful learning and interesting questions from the slop, earworms, and nonsense. Somewhere an owl calls into the night. She sounds very nearby. I am on alert when I hear something scuffling in the leaves next to the tent. Something small, busy, and I wonder whether it is trying to find a way in. I hear… something… the tent is hit by some sort of glancing blow in the darkness. I freeze, not exactly frightened, but my heart is pounding. I hear the squeak and the silence at the same time I hear something brushing against the outside of the tent, and then… the quiet returns after the sound of… wings? Some time awhile later, I hear the owl call into the night from some further distance…
I sit in the darkness for a long while, just me and my thoughts. There’s a lot to contemplate in life. It’s healthy to take real time for that, I’m glad I do. I make notes for later writing, for other conversations, and for further reflection. This time is for me. My thoughts, this moment, and the few things that cross my awareness that I’d really like to share are very much at risk of getting lost in the volume of thoughts that have accumulated and even grown stale trapped in my mental “buffer”. Making a few notes helps prevent me losing track of one idea or another from this large quantity of thoughts. 😆
After some long while, I sigh to myself and wrap this up, and put my restless mind to rest. It’s still hours before daylight. I’ll begin again then.
…
Here it is, a different now, a morning days later, and I’m looking back on those solitary moments alone in the darkness on a mild summer night with a certain fondness. I’m happy to be home, sure, but the fondness for that quiet solitude isn’t about how I feel about home nearly as much as it is about how I feel about the quiet solitude.
My morning, this morning, began vexatiously. I guess I’m already over it, but the feeling lingers like a bad taste. I look out into the peculiarly brownish, orangish dawn sky from the side of the trail. It rained during the night, but it wasn’t enough to rinse the smoke of distant fires from the sky. I sit with my thoughts, feeling cross and strange, and wondering what to do about any of it. I’ve certainly got options; the menu of life’s “strange diner” is vast.
I sigh to myself. For me, today is another day in corporate purgatory. I hope my Traveling Partner wakes feeling rested and capable.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. I’m walking the path I choose. I can choose differently. I sit with that thought awhile. I watch the sky lighten. Soon enough, it’ll be time to begin again.
The car is unloaded. I’ve had a shower and mostly unpacked everything and returned my gear to storage. There are still thoughts to think, and some metaphysical baggage yet to unpack. It was a good getaway. Time well-spent. I’m glad to be home, though. As with most plans, reality got to have her say and I’m glad I’m an adaptable sort of creature – it came in handy. I’ll tell those tales over the next several days. Today is about coming home. It is everything, for now, and it is enough. 😀
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
At home in the forest.
No connectivity for three days. My walk-in camp site was too far to lug some of the gear I brought for this trip out into the trees. It was an oddly stripped down bit of time away, and the lacks of convenience served to push my focus to the moment I was in, without regard to my comfort. I needed that more than I knew. I spent my hours in my own good company, easily able to hear myself think.
…Friday I was too tired to bother with lugging my pastels and my tabletop easel to the camp site. Saturday I was in too much pain. By Sunday I had “found my way” – and it didn’t involve painting, or long hikes, or looking at the world through my camera’s lens. I spent my time in thought, giving myself the rare treat of my own undivided attention. Three days. Well, almost three days – more than two. lol The long drive to (and home from) this forest was definitely one of the nicest parts of the journey – what a beautiful drive! Very little traffic.
No surprise that it feels like summer, I suppose; it is. What is more surprising is that we’ve got another extreme heat warning for our area (two already this year). I guess we’re fortunate. It’s only expected to be in the 90’s.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
An orange dawn greets me at the trailhead.
I head down the trail with a song in my head. I mostly don’t mind summertime, but it isn’t my favorite. I do have a lot of nostalgic feelings about summer. Memories of hot summer mornings, stifling humidity, swimming lessons, icy cold root beer or sweet tea on the screened-in back porch, and fireflies at twilight fill my thoughts as I walk. I have recollections of so many sticky sleepless nights, and the sweet relief of the cold flowing from the window AC when we were permitted to use it.
This is a very different time and place in my life. My feet carry me past towering oaks until the trail turns to wrap around the vineyard. I get to my halfway point and take a seat on a log left behind after a fallen tree was cut up and hauled away. I wonder, again, why this section was left behind? Doesn’t really matter, it’s a good spot to sit, to write, meditate, and welcome a new day.
The weekend was a thoroughly pleasant one. I didn’t paint but the studio is now set up for it, and I feel as if I could step into the studio at any time on any day and begin to work. It’s a nice feeling. It will require some changes of habit and timing to make skillful use of the opportunity. That’s fine. Life doesn’t stand still. Change is.
After some time passes, I realize that my mind has wandered far away to camping trips and plein air painting. I’d ideally like to go somewhere that presents me with huge vistas and open skies, maybe the high desert down south a ways, or some mountainside with views of hills beyond hills… Do I really want to camp, or just drive far with my camera, stopping for viewpoints and short hikes to see sights? There are so many beautiful and interesting things to see on this continent. I don’t have to go far to see something new or wonderful – Oregon is big. I haven’t yet seen it all.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. I pull myself back to this moment, here, now. The work day will begin shortly, but that time is not now. This moment, here, in the early morning summer sunshine, is mine. I watch the sunlight illuminate the tops of the oaks, slowly reaching the edges of the grape vines. I contentedly sit, watching the changing light. (I admit, it doesn’t take much to entertain me.) I’m grateful to have this moment of solitude and joy, satisfied to watch a sunrise. Grateful to have another mortal day.
I take a breath, and then another. I soak in the beauty of the morning, before the heat of the day settles in. It is a deliciously pleasant moment, in spite of pain (which isn’t too bad this morning), in spite of tinnitus (which is shrieking loudly in my ears), in spite of the (likely to be) busy work day ahead. I’m okay with all of it. I’m feeling relaxed and unbothered. I feel like summer. 😆
I smile to myself and stretch. The trail is bathed in golden morning light. Beautiful. I squint towards the rising sun and get to my feet. It’s time to begin again – a new day is waiting for me.
It’s an interesting question, isn’t it? Look around you, contemplate the things you have accumulated over the course of a lifetime, things you value, things you treasure, things you worked hard to be able to acquire… what does it all mean, though? What is of earnest and heartfelt value to you personally may have little value to others around you. If you had to “start over” completely, and could only take from all of your possessions two or three items, what would they be? If you were fleeing a wildfire or some sort of disaster, what would you most hope to find had survived when you return to your home? What would you try to take with you? What matters most?
…And when you’re gone, and what remains of your life are only those memories you’ve left behind in other hearts, and this accumulation of goods and trinkets, what do you suppose will be done with “all of that stuff”? Do you imagine your heirs may value it all as you have valued it? Do you imagine collections remaining intact, art becoming prized in other households, and items of value being cherished fondly as mementos of times shared? You do know you have no control over that outcome at all, right? You’ll be… gone. What matters to you is about you – and the framework falls apart once you’re gone. If what becomes of those things is actually something you care deeply about in any practical way, maybe have conversations about that with people you hope may wish to “carry on” your “legacy” in some way. Better to know now, isn’t it? Then your plans at least have some connection to some potential real outcome… though there’s no avoiding the underlying basic fact; you have no control over that at all. Not really.
Why do I even care? I don’t know, maybe the display of carefully selected antique porcelain demi-tasse cups and saucers is worth caring about (maybe not). Maybe the many dozens of art works on canvas are worth making some attempt that they end up in the hands (and on the walls) of friends and loved ones who will really appreciate them, and take real delight in seeing them each day (and perhaps thinking of me as they pass). There’s so much bullshit and stuff that accumulates in one ordinary human life. Paperwork. Books. Mementos of places and people. Dishes and small appliances and tools. Art. Plants. Sachets of tea. Socks and undies and camping gear. Photos.
…I’m pretty sure I could let quite a lot of it go, myself, before I ever shed this mortal form, and save my loved ones quite a lot of tedious and emotional work. Isn’t grieving already difficult enough…?
I sip my coffee and think my mortal thoughts. If I were fleeing dire circumstances (and I’ve had to do so once or twice), what would I take with me? I suppose it depends on the nature of the dire circumstances, and whether I would be limited to “what I could carry”, and how much time I had to prepare, and what my state of mind happened to be. I know that when I left home at 14, despairing, sorrowful, angry, and emotionally wounded, I took just one bag with a strap. I put a change of clothing in it, my journal, my wee address book, some cash, and walked away from my life as I knew it. I learned a lot about what “being prepared” actually requires (cuz that wasn’t it). These days, my “go bag” (a well-equipped backpack) lives in my car full-time. It’s there for camping or for emergencies. I could survive a lot of circumstances with just what is packed in that pack. I check it each year and udpate it. If I were fleeing some emergency, I guess I’d also grab my handbag (ID, etc). If I had time for rational thinking and a bit of planning, I’d likely snatch a couple of favorite paintings from the walls and try to protect them from harm – but I have images of all of my work, and in the abstract, I think I could let it all go, if I had to.
…Could you walk away from your whole life if circumstances demanded it, and just start over again?
I sip my coffee and reflect on disaster and on life, and on my good fortune, generally. I’m grateful that I don’t consider these things because I have to in this moment. They are only abstract reflections on legitimate real-world potential concerns. It’s an exercise in anxiety management, actually. My own most common sort of existential dread has to do with being displaced, or faced with one of life’s terrifying unexpected “rug pulls” and being entirely unprepared. “Losing everything I’ve worked for” is a terrifying idea. When life feels pretty comfortable and safe and good, my anxiety flares up (sometimes severely) and keeps me spun on the “what ifs” that are not now, and for me the most effective practice for dealing with that is to look those fears in the face and ask the question (some version of “what would I do, if…?”) – and answer it.
Sometimes a change in perspective relies on a change of scenery.
Camping next week. I’m excited to spend some quiet time out in the trees, walking new trails with old thoughts, and finding new perspective on what matters most. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I’m grateful for a loving partnership that supports my wandering trails alone, and welcomes me home at the end of each adventure. I’m grateful to have a partner who loves me as I am, and understands (or at least accepts) my need for time alone. We aren’t all the same in this regard, and we’re each having our own experience. My Traveling Partner misses me terribly when I’m away, and I know he must sometimes worry about the “what ifs” that trouble him most when I’m gone, himself. I love that each camping trip is framed with his loving embrace and encouragement, and followed by his sincere interest in where I’ve been and what I’ve seen.
Perspective matters. Is it a forest, or some trees?
Every time I go camping, I reflect on what to take along with me and whether I’ll actually need that thing. I’m prone to overpacking and being “too prepared”, dragging along shit I’m just not going to need, want, or use, but could imagine some remote potential circumstance that might require some item that makes no sense otherwise. I chuckle at the recollection of past camping trips with an assortment of items that just got left in the car, untouched. Each camping trip, each year, I leave some of that baggage and bullshit behind, and do a little better to plan for the most likely circumstances, only, no “extras”. I think of a camping trip when I packed my camera bag (my “real camera” is a nice Canon with several useful lenses), and also my journal and some books to read, and also my paint boxes for some plein air painting… and I didn’t do anything that trip besides hike, meditate, and gaze into the fire in the evenings! I didn’t paint anything, never even took my camera out of the bag, and never opened any one of the (several) books I’d taken with me! I still laugh at how ridiculous that seems, even now. My aspirations far exceeded my will or my capabilities. lol These days I plan more skillfully, and work to be honest with myself about both my intentions and also my capabilities.
Plein air on a drizzly Spring day – no camping required.
…Being weighed down by useless excess and unnecessary baggage is a tactically poor decision in most circumstances (real or metaphorical), just saying…
I’ve wandered far from my original topic, perhaps, but these thoughts are connected. How much baggage can I really afford to carry through life? It’s a worthwhile question, I think. I sip my coffee and wonder how to answer it. I’m grateful that I’m not fleeing some sort of dire circumstances, because I for sure don’t feel prepared for such in this moment, right here. lol
When I sat down this morning and logged into my computer the first thing I saw was a picture of my Traveling Partner and I, taken the day we got married. We’re holding the marriage certificate in our hands, together, and laughing with such visible delight that I’m immediately transported back to that moment of love and joy and celebration. My face hurts from smiling all this time since that moment. It’s almost time to begin again, and although I definitely don’t have answers for all my questions in life, I feel pretty confident that I definitely do know what matters most (to me). It’s a good place to begin.
It’s a new day, a new opportunity, and a chance to begin again. There are choices, some with obvious options, some less so. There are unrepeatable unique moments to experience ahead. Change is, and that’s unavoidable, but it is also among the many choices. The menu of The Strange Diner is vast – far larger than anyone can experience in a single lifetime. What will I choose, today?
The dawn of a new day.
I watch the sky begin to lighten through a tear in the storm clouds overhead, waiting for enough light to walk the trail without a headlamp. Pleasant morning for it. Rain fell during the night, but it isn’t raining now. The morning is chilly but not freezing or icy. The air is calm, and the morning is a quiet one. I have the nature park to myself.
I sit with my thoughts awhile, refusing to linger over the larger concerns of the complete shit show that is currently our federal government, or the bullshit and corruption that follows putting petty billionaires in charge of it. It’s a mess and I can’t do much about it besides complain, and endure the next few years wondering how we’ll clean this mess up afterwards. Instead I focus my attention on the sky above me, the imminent dawn, and thoughts of friends, life, and love. Looks like I’ll have a four day weekend for Valentine’s Day. I sit wondering what to do with that to celebrate a partnership that is such a profound and positive experience in my life? It’s definitely worth celebrating…
The storm clouds overhead begin to take on a shredded appearance. Hints of pale blue and soft lemon yellow peer through the open spaces between the storm clouds as they begin to drift apart.
The stands of trees along the trail are silhouetted against the sky now, and I can see the trail. I sigh and rub the painful places of my neck, shoulder, and back, wherever I can reach, and lace up my boots. The walk may help some with the pain, though it often seems as likely to make it worse. Doesn’t matter. I enjoy the time walking with my thoughts. It’s a useful prelude to a new day. It’s already time to begin again.
Evening Light 