The wheel keeps turning. The clock keeps ticking. The going around keeps going around, and the coming around seems slow to arrive, but inevitably will come around. The grains of sand in our mortal hourglass keep trickling away. It is another new day, another new week, and another series of imminent moments to live, to savor, and to remember later.
… What will you do with your finite precious moments, today….?
Me? I’m starting with a walk. The trail is dark, and it rained through the night. The neighborhood that surrounds this trail is quiet. The darkness is illuminated by occasional lights, and the quiet is interrupted by the distant hum and whir of HVAC systems. Humanity exists here. I sigh and keep walking. “Peace and quiet” is relative, I guess.
I slept well and deeply. The weekend of much needed rest was a worthwhile deviation from more typical weekends, when I commonly swap “gainful employment” for the greatly appreciated, but wholly unpaid, domestic labor of errand running, housekeeping, grocery shopping, and caregiving. I’m both grateful and relieved that my Traveling Partner needs so little caregiving now, at all. As his capabilities around the house with day-to-day tasks continue to improve, my ability to cover “everything else” (more or less, most of the time) also improves. The shared effort is a quality of life improvement, and made it possible to just set stuff aside this past weekend and relax. I can’t easily describe how much more rested and able to focus I feel this morning. I definitely needed that restful time.
I breathe, exhale, and relax, smiling to myself and enjoy the lingering feeling of being loved.
The world looks different before daybreak.
I walked the wet trail carefully in the darkness. It is slick with wet leaves, and dotted with puddles. I playfully stomp through a puddle or two before a grown up sense of safety vs hazards catches up with my sense of whimsy. I slip, just once, nearly falling because I carelessly stomped a puddle that was full of slippery leaves. I catch myself, feeling a brief moment of embarrassment, although I’m alone on the trail this morning.
I get to my halfway point and stop to take in the scene, rest a moment, write and meditate. It has become a cherished routine. It begins to rain, softly, and I am grateful for the tree cover that keeps me mostly dry. Chilly morning, too, I think to myself. I’m grateful for the fleece over my sweater, and its warm deep pockets.
… Monday…
I’ve got no particular sorrow or stress over a Monday, these days. A work day is a work day. I smile in the darkness. I sit enjoying the moment. I’m ready for whatever is next, as the wheel continues to turn. I’m ready to begin again.
I woke later than usual. It was almost 05:00 when I woke. I felt rested and positively merry. I dressed to head out for my morning trek down the marsh trail that circles the nature park.
As I checked the weather, and the time, I see I’ve got a message from my beloved Traveling Partner. The love and concern in his words is clear. He suggests I keep my walk short, maybe local, and proposes I maybe stay home entirely and get my miles on the elliptical, while watching a favorite show. He proposes that we could do something together, later, an idea that appeals to me. I feel loved. I sit with that feeling for a moment, letting it fill my consciousness.
The idea of a shorter walk and better self-care is a tempting idea, for sure, I admit. I really like being out on the trail, though, enjoying the short quiet interval of solitude… and my walks at the nature park put me nearby a favorite grocery store, and I generally stop there after my walk on a Saturday morning… The temperature is mild… I head out, remembering my commitment to one of the grocery checkers to share some items my Traveling Partner made, and deciding to keep my walk short, any way.
The drive to the nature park was quiet. No traffic. I enjoyed it, smiling to myself as I drove with my thoughts, grateful for my loving partner who cares about my well-being, and for the lovely morning. Before I reach the nature park, it begins to rain, first just a sprinkle, then as I reach the trailhead parking, a proper steady rain. I grimace, and laugh, betting my Traveling Partner had checked the weather report more closely than I had.
Now I sit, waiting for a break in the rain. I’m unbothered and relaxed. Hadn’t I already decided to make my walk a shorter one, anyway? No stress. No agitation. Just change. I breathe, exhale, and relax, listening to the rain on the roof of the car.
At its heart, resilience is simply that ability to bounce back in the face of change, uncertainty, emotional disregulation, or even trauma. Resilience needs development, as with things like muscular strength. Specific practices build resilience. Meditation, as a practice, helps build resilience. The practice of “taking in the good” is another that directly builds resilience. Forgiveness, as a practice, is another that contributes to resilience, by limiting how long our hurt feelings or injuries inflicted by another can dominate our thoughts. Practicing non-attachment and embracing related ideas such as impermanence, sufficiency, and building depth and breadth into our perspective on life, generally, are helpful for building resilience.
Resilience let’s us bounce back and carry on, without becoming mired in our pain, sorrow, or anger. Resilience is that quality that gets us quickly past a difficult moment, and on to enjoying the next. Well-established resilience, over time, may become the difference between having some troubling mental health episode or meltdown, and simply acknowledging a difficult experience, dealing with it, and moving on with things calmly. I don’t know about you, but that sounds pretty good to me.
…So I practice…
Sometimes, I fall short of my commitment to one practice or another, but that’s also why I see such things as practices in the first place, instead of tasks to be checked off as completed, or skills to be mastered. Mastery is inconsequential. Practice is ongoing. It is a doing that doesn’t really finish. Each practice with real world value in my lived experience becomes a lifestyle change, over time. Each practice becomes part of my routine, and part of who I am. The result? I am more resilient. It becomes a character trait, and in that regard, it also becomes easier to maintain. Such results don’t mean no practice is required, just that the effort and will involved in the practice itself is greatly reduced. Sometimes, though, I still find myself not practicing some practice or other, through circumstances or forgetting. I’m human.
… I just begin again, and get back to practicing…
The rain stops, but it’s not yet daylight, and I’m not in a hurry. There’s no need to rush my walk, or hurry home to barge in on my beloved’s quiet time over his coffee first thing. I sit quietly a little longer. Daybreak soon, and I’ll walk the short loop, and watch the sunrise – then, I’ll begin again.
I got to the trailhead early. Before the sun. Before dawn. Before daybreak. In the chilly darkness of an autumn morning, a mist gathers, moving up from the lowlands of the marsh and the riverbank. A slim crescent moon rises, looking like a single half-closed eye in watchful meditation, above the mist.
Predawn darkness at the trailhead.
It is a good time for thinking and for meditation. As the moon rises, I reflect on useful ideas I have picked up along my journey, each uniquely worthy of guiding me on my way, like sign posts, or streetlights. I take a moment to jot them down, carefully putting them in alphabetical order for no particular reason.
Amor Fati is, for me, a useful idea in spite of my lack of conviction with regard to the possibility that anything at all is or is not “fated” to be as it is. For me it carries a sense of recognizing that circumstances are what they are in some moment, and allowing (encouraging) a certain sense of acceptance, generally, and living within an accepting context, on life’s journey. I don’t carry any sense that I am “doomed” to some particular outcome – change is – only that even in the midst of change, acceptance can provide a comfortable foundation to rest upon, before beginning again.
Gnothi Seaton – know thyself – an idea with so much history behind it, it’s hard to call it an eye-opening realization. Seriously, though? How can we change who we are, if we don’t know who we are? How can we grow to become the person we most want to be, if we don’t know who that even is? How can we live our values, if we don’t have a clear understanding of what we do value?
Gratitude as a practice has become incredibly important to me. It’s one of several practices I practice that is built on a simple idea. In this case, the simple idea is that gratitude tends to crowd out anger and similar negative emotions, creating a more positive experience of life, even in stressful times. Gratitude helps build emotional resilience and reframes difficult experiences in terms that tend to promote peace, compassion, and understanding. Gratitude also feels good and satisfies something within me.
Ichi-go Ichi-e is the unrepeatable, unique nature of each precious finite moment, and is a particularly powerful idea for me. Each singular moment of our mortal lifetime is also another opportunity to begin again, to do better, and to be more present.
Impermanence is one of those ideas that has layers of meaning and usefulness. I meditate on impermanence often. Change is. However reliably certain some condition or experience seems, change itself is more reliable and more certain. We are mortal creatures, living our short lives in a finite universe of constant change. Impermanence is the sort of idea that can cause a person tremendous anxiety – or heal it, depending, I suppose, on how it it viewed, and whether it is accepted.
Memento Mori is an interesting idea, a reflection on mortality, a reminder that our time is brief, and that our mortal life will inevitably end. There is (as of 2025) no escaping death. Will the life we choose to live be worth our efforts? Will we be remembered – and for what? Life itself is characterized by impermanence, and our journey is the only destination we have, as the grains of the sands of time trickle through the hourglass. Even knowing that – maybe especially knowing that – we live and choose and grow and continue one day after the next, until the days run out. Which they definitely will.
Non-attachment, like several of these ideas, is associated with Buddhism, and other religions that value contemplative and meditative practices. It is a caution against clinging to expectations, desires, or worldly things. It is the face of a coin for which impermanence is the reverse. When we embrace change and refrain from clinging to some specific outcome, we free ourselves from a lot of drama, sorrow, struggle, and emotional pain. It goes hand in hand with ideas like “letting small shit stay small” and walking away from unpleasant (or damaging) people or experiences.
Vita Contemplativa is the inverse of Vita Activa (also a useful idea, but sadly perverted in a busy modern world, becoming “grind culture” and abusive overfocus on work to the detriment of self). The 21st century philosopher Byung-Chul Han wrote a book by this title, in praise of inactivity as a vital function of living well. Turns out, we’re so incredibly bad at living a contemplative life, or even at incorporating contemplation, self-reflection, and meditation into our daily lives that I couldn’t find a single really good source of information to link for this one, other than to Byung-Chul Han’s book. We put a lot more emphasis on productive action in life and society, even to the point of illness, chaos, and destruction. We over value momentum and ambition, and decry thoughtful reflection as”lazy” or a “waste of time “, and tend to punish the daydreamers and peace seekers among us. That’s pretty sad, actually.
A new day, well-suited to thinking thoughts and walking in solitude.
Day comes. The mist envelopes me on the marsh trail. I am alone with my thoughts, wrapped in contentment. I let the useful ideas stack up, layers of self-reflection, practices, and incremental changes over time. I can easily say I am in better place as a human being than I was 15 years ago. Strange to see the journey behind me in such clear terms, illuminated by a handful of useful ideas.
The time I’ve spent along the way really reflecting on where I’ve been and where I’m going – if I even know – has never been “wasted time”. Some of my most precious moments have been spent in contemplation. Meditation has proven itself as a powerful healing practice (for me). I didn’t know it would be, when I set off down this path…
… And it’s time, again, still, and already, to begin again. I don’t know where I’m going, not really, but I’m definitely getting there. The journey is the destination.
G’damn life feels too busy. Appointments. Meetings. Calls to make. Errands. Laundry. Household upkeep. Caregiving. Working for a living. Self-care. Sometimes doing the needful feels like an unreasonable amount of work, and this year I’ve rarely found myself able to make time for painting, gardening, reading, or writing (aside from this one sliver of my day early in the morning, when I can indulge myself in solitude and write these few words). I’m exhausted at the end of most days, barely able to stand by the time I take those last steps down the hall to bed.
… I feel like I’m working three or four full-time jobs…
Each morning I get up and do it again. Each day, I get my ass to work. Each day I tackle the errands on my list. Each day I give as much of myself as I can to caregiving tasks, and housekeeping chores. Each day I compromise on some detail of my self-care – because I just can’t do everything, and something has to be put aside for another day. I’m grateful to enjoy the life I do. I’m grateful to have such a strong and loving partnership. I’m annoyed with myself for griping about how much work life is, when I’ve got it so good, generally speaking. For sure there are people who have it far worse and would happily trade places with me.
I’m tired, I guess. I’ve sustained this for too long. I do make attempts to treat myself a bit better than I often do, but it’s not uncommon to return from a camping trip, or a day spent in solitary meditation, to a whole new list of errands to run, or chores that need doing. I almost immediately use up any reserves I may have built. It seems neverending… because it mostly is. It’s life, and there’s a lot to do.
… It’s only Tuesday…
I sigh quietly to myself, sitting at the halfway point on my morning trek around a favorite local trail. It’s still dark. I don’t mind. Is it my preference to walk in the dark? No. It’s the time I have, though, so it is the time I walk. I feel fortunate to still have my legs under me, and that I can still walk these trails on my own. That’s something worth a moment of appreciation and gratitude; it wasn’t a given that things would turn out so well after I broke my back in the early 80’s. There was a real chance I’d never walk again, at all. I’m deeply grateful my surgeries turned out so well. I keep walking.
I sit with my thoughts awhile. I can remember how difficult it was to understand how fortunate I really am. Understanding my relative privilege and general good fortune in life was hard – complicated by a deeply subjective perspective on life that focused on the trauma, the chaos and damage, the lifetime of hurt and anger. For a long time I was “trapped in the mire“. Resetting my own expectations was a complicated journey of its own. I keep working at it. It’s too easy to resent how much fucking work life requires for that to be “the right answer” (or even a right answer). I breathe, exhale, and relax. I’m grateful for this simple practice (meditation) that does so much to give me the calm and resilience to just keep at it, day after day after day. It’s not “everything”, and life still needs a lot of real work to “run smoothly”, but… it’s something, and mostly it’s enough.
The sky has lightened a bit. It is a deep charcoal gray, barely lighter than the darkness of night, but now I see the treeline silhouetted, where moments ago was only darkness. Meditation and self-reflection work that way for me; slowly illuminating my way, over time. Worthwhile, reliably restorative practices that bring a sense of balance and perspective are few – and worth the effort to cultivate them.
I sit watching the horizon. Daybreak soon. It’s almost time to begin again.
This morning I am waiting for the sun. Well, I’m at least waiting for enough light to easily see the trail. It’s a gray cloudy morning that hints at rain. I arrived at the trailhead before dawn this morning, feeling quite a lot better and eager to walk. On some other morning, the early hour wouldn’t stop me, I’d just grab my headlamp and go…
…I took my Traveling Partner’s truck this morning, and forgot to grab my headlamp…
Parked and waiting for the sun.
No headlamp, no walking (only waiting). 😆
So, I’ve got this moment of stillness and waiting, and a head full of noise (and it isn’t just my tinnitus!) – seems like a good opportunity to meditate and reflect. No pressure to perform, no time-sensitive tasks facing me, just this quiet moment before a walk on a summer morning. Useful. I approach the moment with gratitude; it can be difficult to find a moment of real stillness to pause and reflect. Time well-spent, when used thusly.
I sit with my thoughts, letting them pass through my consciousness, noted, observed, but without clinging to any one thought. I breathe, exhale, and relax, allowing myself to appreciate my own presence for some little while, simply breathing and being. I make room for life’s questions to surface in my thoughts, one by one. I allow them each to move on, some answered, some “for another time”.
I write for some little while, sharing these thoughts and practices.
The sky lightens as minutes pass. The oaks along the trail are silhouetted against the gray sky. Definitely looks like rain… but it doesn’t smell like rain, and my arthritis is not griefing me in any noteworthy way this morning. Maybe it won’t rain? I look down the trail and wonder if I will regret not grabbing my rain poncho? I shrug it off as a concern; the temperature is quite mild and even a drenching downpour would only mean a shower and a change of clothes after I return home. Inconsequential. I’d just be a bit uncomfortable as I finished the walk, and that’s not that big a deal.
I swap boots for shoes, happy that I didn’t turn back over the lack of a headlamp; there is no reason to hurry through this moment. It’s mine, and I can do with it as I please. I look out at the gray hills on the western horizon and wonder again if I have been over there, looking back at this place, ever. It’s just another thought that drifts by, and I let it.
A new day, a new moment, a new beginning.
I can definitely see the trail now. I stretch as I get to my feet and grab my cane. Even the most familiar path may have more to share, if I approach each new beginning with open eyes and a calm heart. It’s a new day, and it’s time to begin.
Evening Light 