A colorful sunrise greeted me at the trailhead. The weather is mild, almost warm. The air is calm, and the pollen count is fairly high. My head is a little stuffy. The robins (and there are many) are quite loud as they call to each other.
Dawn of a new day.
It is a new day, filled with promise and opportunity, chances for success and for failure, and rich with choices. It’s also an utterly ordinary such day. The day begins well; I escaped my headache of yesterday. Definitely a good beginning.
I swap soft shoes for sturdy boots and grab my cane. I rarely walk any distance without it these days. I’m not bothered by that, it’s just a detail.
Colorful sunrise
I breathe, exhale, and relax, and set off down the trail. Lovely day for it, in spite of my stuffy sinuses, and irritated throat. Lots of flowers blooming now. I’ve taken allergy medication first thing, and it helps. I continue to enjoy the moment – and the flowers. The sunrise continues to evolve, the clouds shifting pink to salmon to peach and bold shades of orange. Quite a display. I pause frequently to enjoy the sight of it, and to snap pictures.
…It is worth all manner of bother and inconvenience and delays to pause for a beautiful sunrise; there’s no knowing how many we may see…
I walked and watched the sun rise, until I reached this not-quite-halfway spot. It has a better view than my usual stopping point. A row of trees is silhouetted against the sky. A wonderful baby blue morning sky begins to show between the colorful clouds.
I breathe exhale and relax, sitting awhile with my thoughts as the sun rises. I think ahead to later. I have it in mind to make breakfast for my Traveling Partner and the Anxious Adventurer and myself, a little later. A chubby raccoon slowly walks past, far enough from me to be unconcerned about my presence, near enough to be clearly visible. Somewhere nearby, a woodpecker makes his presence known.
Dawn becomes day, and it’s time to begin again. I get to my feet to finish my walking and turn towards the sun.
I woke this morning with a song in my head. That’s not so strange. It’s not even strange for it to be a love song; it’s been that sort of weekend. What is odd is that it is a Frank Sinatra version of a Cole Porter classic. lol Nothing against Frank, but he’s not generally my choice of crooner for most jazz standards. lol
… The strangeness didn’t stop me from singing along with the song in my head (and heart) all the way to the trailhead…
It is quite a chilly morning for May. I’m glad I wore my frumpy warm favorite baggy sweater. I almost didn’t and I would have regretted any other choice this morning. It’s almost freezing. There is a dense fog clinging to the marsh lowlands. I swap soft shoes for my sturdier boots and head down the trail.
Dawn beats me to the trailhead these days.
Yesterday was a lovely day. I got home from my walk and spent the day on household tasks, mostly laundry, and made time for some reading and played a video game. It was a relaxed day in my Traveling Partner’s good company. I walked thinking about love and feeling grateful and uplifted, rested and recharged.
I baked the best brownies I’ve ever made.
I tried a new brownie recipe. The results were fantastic. I’ve never made better. I used Joshua Weissman’s Fudgey Brownie recipe from his Texture Over Taste cookbook, which differs slightly from the recipe of the same name online (otherwise I’d link it). Seemed like a good day for brownies – and it was. They were so good my beloved had me talked into baking another batch today (they’re easy), but adulthood caught up with him during the night and he later asked me not to. They’re quite irresistible, and also full of sugar; not ideally healthy, and best served as an infrequent treat.
I ran out of energy before I ran out of daylight, and kept things quite simple for dinner.
Just a bowl of ramen.
I smile thinking my thoughts and hearing the sound of my steps crunching along the marsh trail as I walk. The fog enveloped me in my solitude. I could see sunlight in the treetops as I stepped along. I reach my halfway point and stop with some reluctance; 38 degrees (F) feels colder in May than it did in March. lol Still, I stop and write awhile. It is a thing I do.
I’ll finish my walk (probably with my hands jammed into my pockets for warmth), then go to the store before I head home. It’s another day of housework, minus the relaxed shilly-shallying of yesterday. There is a new week ahead, and it’s time to set aside play in favor of getting things done. Laundry. Tidying up. It’s not really a long list – I’ll even find time in the garden. An ordinary day, in what feels like a mostly pretty ordinary life. It is mine, and there are choices to make, actions to take, and projects to see to completion. I know my results will vary. That’s fine. When I fall, I get back up. When I fail, I begin again. It’s a journey. I smile at the rising sun and get to my feet with a song in my heart…
I’m sipping my coffee and eagerly looking forward to a long weekend. I’m taking a couple days off to enjoy my Traveling Partner’s companionship and love without having anything else to do (like work) to take my attention away from the joy that is this good partnership. 14 years married. 15 years together. Hell, I didn’t live with any previous partner, nor even my parents for 15 years! LOL This is worth celebrating. No plans, just presence. (And maybe some sleeping in?)
I breathe, exhale, and relax, and feel the simmering excitement that is, for me, a characteristic of celebrating just about anything, however small. Spring feels like a time of “renewal”, too, so there’s that. I love that we got married in springtime. Each year, as the flowers bloom all around, it feels like we renew even our love for each other. I like that. I’m grateful for this partnership; it has brought me a long way on this path I’ve chosen, and my Traveling Partner is a man I can count on for wise counsel, deep enduring affection, and honesty. I smile to myself and think “I chose wisely”. I hope he feels the same.
A rather random thought crosses my mind and fills me with a sense of my partner’s love, “he may not care at all about the flowers, but he cares deeply about how much I love my garden”. Perspective on love. I sit with that awhile, feeling both grateful and fortunate. There’s nothing about this that is “deserved” – we both work, every day, at making our love deep and strong and enduring. We earn each other’s respect and affection over and over again. We give each other reason to be grateful to share the journey for as long as we can. Some days I earnestly wish we might have the chance, truly, to live forever – just to enjoy each other longer.
I smile to myself and look out the window onto a beautiful Spring morning. The deer stopped by my garden yesterday and ate my newly planted peppers right to the ground, sampled the beans (they weren’t to her liking, apparently) and moved on. I laughed, frustrated but still merry. There is childlike delight in seeing the deer pass through, and it’s hard to be mad that they also enjoy the taste of my garden. lol I’m glad I made space for a bit more garden on the other side of the house, in a spot the deer can’t really get to at all. My “blue jay friend” who follows me around the garden while I work each year (for the last couple years) has returned to keep me company, too. He takes a position nearby when I’m in the garden, and follows me as I work, from bed to bed, from branch to branch, curious about what I’m up to, and occasionally finding a tasty bug to enjoy as I weed and water. The robins visit the lawn daily, picking bugs from the soft ground after the Anxious Adventurer waters. I love this season for so many reasons. The roses have buds now, and it is a quiet race between “Baby Love” and “Rainbow Happy Trails” to flower first. Something ate the Dahlia tubers, but the primroses are thriving. My garden is a happy sanctuary filled with lessons on resilience, patience, will, effort, love, and making good choices, and it is also a living metaphor I spend considerable time reflecting upon. I feel enriched and fortunate to have even this small garden. I laugh when I think about how many roses I’ve managed to wedge into this small space, each (all but one) thriving. More than anything else, having this small suburban home and wee garden space has contributed to a profound feeling of security in my life, much in the way that my partnership with my Traveling Partner has made me feel secure in my heart. It’s a nice place to be – and I am so grateful.
The clock ticks. The day begins. There are things to do before the long weekend comes. Choices, verbs, and my results may vary. There is no time to waste – each moment is so fleeting – but it is important not to rush them; they only come once. Each moment unique like the butterlies in my garden, and the flowers. Still… it is time to begin again. I should get started. 😀
All along the trail, flowers are blooming. Mostly trees and shrubs, it is too early for roses and other summer-flowering things. The sunrise begins as an orange smudge on the horizon, Venus very bright in the morning sky. I catch a glimpse of what I think was the ISS, and smile. What an amazing feat of science, technology, engineering, professional commitment, and diplomacy! I guess, considering the way things are going these days, it makes sense that it is nearing the end of its expected usefulness.
Pear blossoms (at the edge of my garden)
Holy shit, when did human beings become so terrible? Has humanity always been actually awful, or has it been just those few monsters in our midst making things dreadful for everyone? We’ve really got to stop electing terrible people with malicious intentions to powerful positions. It’s not a reliable means to creating a good world in which people can thrive together. It’s frankly unpleasant and horrifying. We should probably really consider what we teach young people that so many arrive at adulthood lacking critical thinking skills or basic ethics.
I shake my head and keep walking.
Cherry blossoms and hedge flowers.
The trail takes me past a small chapel. This part of the path passes by a parking lot, and is paved and lit. It wanders through tall oak trees. These grow tall and quite narrow, being so close together.
Oregon White Oaks
I keep walking until I reach my halfway point and sit for a little while, avoiding my thoughts, spending time simply taking in my surroundings. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I listen to the robins singing their morning songs. I can hear the nearby creek and the distant traffic. A chipmunk approaches hesitantly before darting away. The sky is filled with the light of dawn and sunrise, and the hills to the west are hues of subtle blues. The rows of grape vines in the vineyard that the trail wraps as it heads into denser trees towards the creek are becoming more visible and the artificial lights I can still see from here are beginning to go out, section by section. The air smells of Spring. It’s a lovely quiet moment and I have the trail to myself.
Here comes the sun.
I sit awhile longer with my thoughts. Too soon the world will catch up with me; it’s a work day, and a busy one. I already know my calendar is full and my task list is long. I sigh quietly. Could be worse. I’m fortunate, and I am grateful for my opportunities. I’m not complaining about the burdens that come with them. I’m just not ready to get started. I’m enjoying this moment.
Enjoying the moment
I smile to myself when I remember (again) that I am working from home today. I can take my breaks in my garden, and enjoy lunch with my Traveling Partner. The clock is always ticking, and it’s important to enjoy the moments we have together. There’s no knowing what the future may hold. I take another breath of the Spring-scented air. It’s time to begin again.
The drive to the office was relaxed and routine. My coffee isn’t bad (neither is it actually good, it’s just coffee). The view from the office window at dawn hints at a warm afternoon, later. A good day to be in the garden.
I’m in the office.
The waning “pink moon” setting as the day begins.
I sigh to myself. Breathe, exhale, relax. I take a few minutes for meditation before work begins. I plan the day ahead. I do a thoughtful body scan, and consider how best to manage my pain and the stiffness that results from the combination of sore muscles and arthritis. I seek the one, and try to avoid the other, but ultimately pain is pain; managing it as well as I can is a good practice. Not letting it run my life is an important choice. They both require a committed effort; there are verbs involved, and a steady willingness to care for this fragile vessel with a full measure of consideration, and my whole heart. I stretch and sigh again, before wondering “at what point is a sigh just a deep breath?” I let all that go and watch the moon set.
Yesterday was lovely. My appointment with the surgeon I was referred to went well, I guess, for some values of going well; I got referred to a different more specialized surgeon. lol Progress? I guess so. The Anxious Adventurer set up two more of the small raised beds for me in my new “west side garden”. It’s small space, and sure, it’s narrow, and limited, and the big A/C unit is right there, but… it’s also just outside my office window, and rather private (not visible from the street the way the front garden is). The first bed is already planted in strawberries, and since I started those from mature plants in 4″ pots, there are already flowers. I smile at the thought and yearn to feel the soil under my fingers as I fill the other two beds with soil and plant them with… something. I don’t know yet. It’s a spot that only gets afternoon sun, and I haven’t yet decided what else to plant there. Maybe just more strawberries? Something with flowers? Perhaps a clematis in that extra large black plastic nursery pot left over from when all my roses were potted (so many years, so many roses)? I smile, feeling my shoulders relax. I get so much joy from my garden I easily forget how I loathed the time I spent gardening as a kid. It felt like an obligation. A demand. Manual labor, nothing more or less, and I was sure that I had better things to do with my time. It felt like indentured servitude, then, and I longed to be 18, and master of my own affairs and decision-making.
What have you planted? How well do you tend your garden? (It’s a metaphor.)
…I’m grateful now for the time I spent in my parents’ garden; I use those experiences a lot, in my own garden, now. I’m still doing most of the labor. lol I don’t resent it any more. I appreciate help when I have it, but I love the work and my only resentment is that aging has robbed me of considerable strength and endurance for it… I have to choose my tasks wisely, and plan the work thoughtfully.
I hope the work day passes quickly. I’m eager to be back in the garden. I think about love and gardening awhile longer. I’d plant honeysuckle or jasmine instead of clematis, but either of those has serious potential to aggravate my Traveling Partner’s allergies rather a lot. I’ll miss them, maybe, but clematis offers lovely dramatic flowers, and will be less likely to be unpleasant for my beloved. I would not willfully choose to harm him. I think about how much I adore him. How my love is returned in equal measure; everywhere I turn in my home I see his love in the little things he has done or made for me. Even yesterday. New work skills, hobbies, creative endeavors, tools and materials, are often tried out or put to use the first time in some new something or other for me. I feel so loved.
A token of his affection, 3D printed, using Hue Forge.
The journey from being mired in trauma, sorrow, despair, or ancient pain is not an easy one. There’s no map. There is no sherpa to carry the baggage accumulated over a lifetime. There’s no handy tutorial. It’s a hard mile and we have to walk it ourselves, but every step, every moment, every sun rise is a chance to walk on, and to begin again. We become what we practice. We have choices. Sure, it’s a lot of work, and it’s often slow going. We stumble. We fall. We fail. It’s human – all of it, so very human. When I began this journey years ago, I only wanted to “be mostly okay” – to feel something good, at least as often as not. I wanted to manage the chaos in my head and to silence my nightmares.
I find myself, now, in a very different place – mostly thriving. Contented. Joyful. Even happy, rather a lot of the time. I wasn’t trying to get “here” – but once I got there, I just kept on walking. Kept working at healing. Kept practicing practices. Kept making better choices and slowly becoming someone more like the woman I most want to be. The journey is the destination – this isn’t new-age-y bullshit, although it is as metaphorical as it is practical – it’s quite real and you can make the journey yourself, from wherever you are now, to that place you most want to be, or at least someplace much better than where you feel you are. Keep walking. One day at a time. One practice at a time. One moment of studious self-care at a time. Making the decisions that the journey requires isn’t always effortless or obvious or even “painless”. Sometimes adulting is hard. I’m not telling you how to do the thing – I’m just saying it can be done, and hoping to provide some measure of hope and encouragement on what is admittedly a difficult journey. Life. Healing. Becoming. It’s not a journey of miles or moments, or hours or days – it is a journey frankly measured in years and decades. A lifetime. But the time does pass, and the miles do add up – and we do get somewhere as we go. Incremental change over time adds up. We become what we practice.
What are you practicing?
If I stopped writing today, I don’t know that it would be missed. There is so much life to live… I enjoy taking a moment to reflect on it, though, and doing so brings me great joy and peace. What about you? What are you doing to cultivate contentment? To find joy in your experience? To build emotional resilience? To become the person you most want to be? It’s not too late to make that journey – you only need to begin again.
Evening Light 