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The Journey is the Destination

September 28, 2024 //
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I time traveled in my dreams last night. I revisited a time and place and lifestyle so different than my life now it is hard to reconcile the experiences as being those of one singular individual human lifetime. Peculiarly, although I had not yet met my Traveling Partner at that time, my dreams rewrote the recollections to include him, sometimes as my partner, sometimes as a stranger met through circumstances. I woke feeling vaguely disoriented, wondering how I hadn’t recognized him then, before fully realizing I was dreaming.

I drove to the trailhead this morning, listening to music. Instead of the bluegrass and country-ish music on the thumb-drive my Traveling Partner made for me, I paired my cell phone with the car, loaded my “favorites” playlist, and rolled up the road bumping bass-heavy EDM tracks, and house music. How unlike me. lol I generally prefer to drive without any distractions at all, including music.

I found myself in a strange here-and-now moment sort of juxtaposed with a younger me, dark shades, fast car, soft black leather driving gloves – a “cool”, determined, emotionally disciplined me who only felt free when she was alone on the highway between distant destinations. She was broken, but hiding it pretty skillfully (a very lonely way to exist).  Funny to remember her in such a visceral way, connected by the music we both love. Her “real life” was pure misery and terror, work, and those moments of blissful freedom out on the Texas highways, alone. I remember her. I’m thankful we don’t have much in common beyond the continuity of a lifetime. That thread broke, in 1995. I’m grateful to have moved on from there, then, and her.

My life now is so different. Mostly pretty pleasant. I might even say quite wonderful, many days (or moments). I still have my challenges. I’m still dragging around some baggage. The chaos in my head persists. I’m still damaged. Nonetheless, most of the time, most days, life is mostly better than okay. I’m good. Life is… good. Not “perfect”, and I don’t think “perfect” is a reasonable goal. Good is enough.

…”The journey is the destination”…

Driving with music on is a different experience. More relaxed? I think so, generally, and I silently agree with my Traveling Partner, still sleeping at home, who recommends it to me regularly for staying relaxed while I’m driving. It does tend to let “the driving part” of my brain handle the driving while giving the busy, excitable, chatty part of my brain something else to do. It also stops me from being too much in my own head. I get to the trailhead before dawn, thinking about dreams, and driving as a metaphor. I sit quietly thinking about a woman I once was, and the woman I have become over time. I think about the woman I hope to be… with more practice.

…Nice morning for thinking…

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I reconnect with here, now. I listen to the sound of occasional cars passing by on the quiet Saturday highway, and my tinnitus. I’m not in much pain yet, but it’s been a difficult few days of it. Walking doesn’t really help with my pain lately, not in any obvious way, but I still enjoy walking. I do it in spite of pain, and these days I reliably walk with my cane. The inevitable slow loss of progress vexes me sometimes. I know I have to keep at it though, walk on, keep practicing… the journey is the destination. We become what we practice and a lot of our skills and abilities are very much “use it or lose it” sorts of things.

I sit thinking about my Traveling Partner on his own journey to come back from what turned out to be a pretty profound injury. The time, dedication, and practice that requires is much. I’m proud of him for the progress he’s made so far, and impressed by his commitment to push on, in spite of the weight of his emotions. It’s a difficult, complicated experience. The verbs are many. The effort required is intimidating. It’s fucking hard. Hard to contemplate, hard to undertake. His persistence and pure will are certainly some of the things I love about him. I remember my own long-ago journey to recover from injury and physical trauma. I quietly consider ways I could be a more effective, more supportive partner, and a better friend, while he goes through all this.

… I’m tired, though, not gonna lie; caregiving is a lot of work and giving. Time. Effort. Attention. Care. So many verbs, and an endless 24/7 to-do list. I’m looking forward to my upcoming break on the coast to rest, care for this fragile vessel, and paint for a couple days. I definitely need it. I’m grateful for a partner who supports me taking care of myself. I am beyond grateful (and delighted) that he’s made sufficient progress that I can consider taking a real break at all. I need it more than I want to, and I have pushed myself harder than is ideal. I need some rest.

Daybreak and a chance to begin again.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. Nice morning to walk the trail along the marsh and watch another sunrise. Nice morning for self-reflection and gratitude, for perspective and love. I wonder where the day will take me? I’m grateful for my Traveling Partner on this complicated journey that is a mortal lifetime. I’m grateful for quiet mornings alone, too. My heart fills with wonder and love songs as a deep orange smudge develops on the western horizon. I’ve got my boots on, and my cane in my hand… It’s time to begin again.

The journey is the destination.
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Categories Allegories, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, gratitude, health, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, The Art of Being

A New Day Ahead

September 27, 2024 //
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I woke feeling rested and positive. I sit quietly, now, at the rain-soaked trailhead waiting for daybreak, and enough light to safely walk the rainy trail before work. It’s quiet here, as if the whole world sleeps. Like so many things we may think we perceive, it is an illusion.

I use the night settings on my camera to see the “meadow” between me and the river out of view beyond the trees on the far side. It’s no meadow, now, (it’s been mowed and plowed) and I wonder if it’s been “so long” since I was last here? I really don’t think so. Change is. Sometimes it’s an overnight thing. Sometimes it comes at me much more slowly.

A field before dawn. A quiet moment.

I remind myself of errands I need to run today. While I remember them, I write them down. I need to pull a painting out of storage for shipment; it recently sold. I need to get my suitcase for my upcoming trip to the coast for a few days of painting. I’m exhausted, again, physically and emotionally, and I definitely need this downtime. A chance to sleep whenever I sleep, until I wake, with no agenda or commitments on my time besides my own attention on my self-care and my pastels. The sea air will do me good. I’m eager to spend time focused on art and self reflection, meditation, writing, and rest. Damn, do I ever need the rest. Wednesday evening seems simultaneously very soon and very far away. Four more work shifts. Six more days.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I’m enjoying the rainy morning. It reminds me I need to get out into the garden and clean it up for winter. I couldn’t keep up with juggling work, household tasks, and caregiving, and the garden got left behind. It’s untidy and wild. This weekend? Maybe. I pause and add a note to my list of shit that needs to get done. It’s a long list. I’m struggling to stay caught up. The Anxious Adventurer is some help, and i am grateful, but there’s so much more to do than he even knows to think of. lol

… I’m so tired. I worry sometimes that the stress of it may be shortening my life…

I pause my thoughts to add more to my list. Tasks that need to be done before I head to the coast for a couple days of not doing.

The rain begins to fall steadily. Maybe no walk this morning? The sun isn’t even up yet. No way to tell. I listen to the rain fall, content to sit quietly, waiting. This moment of quiet is enough, just as it is. I breathe, exhale, and relax. Plenty of time for meditation before the work day. The rain falls. I wait. I breathe. I rest. Soon it will be time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, gardening, gratitude, health, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, The Art of Being

Other Thoughts

September 19, 2024 //
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Quiet morning. Nothing much going on. Nothing much “in my head”. Pain is pain. Love is love. Human primates are a mixed bag of wonderful and vile. Life is worth living. The journey is the destination.

… Get off your fucking cell phone when you’re with people, and most especially when you’re operating a moving fucking vehicle. There’s no text message worth dying for, and no distraction worth killing for. Just saying. Stop doing that dumb shit. (Being glued to your damned phone when you’re spending time with people is just rude, not lethal, but still rude, so maybe don’t, eh?) Friendly PSA. I know, you didn’t ask.

I sit quietly with my lack of thoughts and my breath, waiting for the sun. Another work day. My tinnitus shrieks in my ears. My back aches. My head aches. I’d like to feel more comfortable but that’s apparently not a today thing, at least not in this moment. I distract myself with my coffee (it’s very good this morning), and some moments spent gazing at the nearly full waning moon. Beautiful. Worth the time spent just looking at it. It hangs overhead successfully outshining the parking lot lights that are unfortunately also in view. (What the hell is the matter with us, always trying to light up the darkness as though it were daylight and making all kinds of noise?!)

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I have the vague feeling of “having a bunch of shit to do’, but can’t recall why I feel that way. I’ve got a bit of a break, some away time, planned for a couple weeks from now. I clearly need it. Again. G’damn why do I run myself ragged this way? I can’t possibly get “all of everything” done all the time, and I only exhaust and frustrate (and disappoint) myself by thinking otherwise. I could treat myself better…

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I feel my shoulders relax, and my back. Pain sucks. It’s not always easily manageable. Sometimes it isn’t manageable at all. I generally make a point of “not bitching about it” – but this doesn’t always serve me well, it just keeps anyone else from being overly troubled by it while I trudge onward, doing my best. “Chronic pain” is not particularly descriptive of the lifetime experience of living with pain. It’s just a handy label. Be kind to people; there’s a lot of pain in the world and a lot of people not complaining.

… The sky begins to lighten…

Another chance to begin again.

Perspective. Sufficiency. Mindfulness. Kindness. Compassion. Non-attachment. Self-care. Consideration. So many things to practice on this journey… I can’t say I’ve “mastered” any of these, though they all matter to me, and I do practice them. It is a very humbling experience, this human life. My best efforts often feel inadequate, not because they truly are, but simply because I am so very human, and somehow expect so much more of myself than I know how to deliver. I keep practicing. I reflect on my failures – without ruminating. I reflect on my successes – without becoming arrogant or complacent. One day, one moment, at a time down this path that has no end. No end I can see, at least for now. We are mortal creatures. I don’t recall the beginning of this journey. I may not be aware of the end when it comes. How very peculiar. How very human.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. Daybreak has come. I can see the trail sufficiently well to walk it safely. I’ve got my boots on, and my cane by my side. I finish my coffee and look out across the meadow. A low mist clings to the ground. It’s time to begin again.

Every sunrise a new beginning.
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Categories Allegories, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, health, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, The Art of Being

Sh1t Gets Real

September 18, 2024 //
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It’s a rainy morning. It was only a hint of a drizzle as I left the house, but here at the trailhead it is a steady rain. Still, I wait for the sun; this is my quiet time and I am alone with my thoughts. I probably need to be. We are mortal creatures and bad news weighs on me a bit. I use the time to process my thoughts, emotions, and the content of my dreams.

Sitting with the questions, and the feelings, waiting for the sun.

Yesterday evening was “stormy” – emotional weather. As strange as it seems (to me), I feel rather more hopeful about the future after the frankly painful discussion with my Traveling Partner, and my lingering concern that it was potentially somewhat one-sided in a way that could prove problematic later. Having the conversation at all feels like progress, and I am grateful that my partner insisted on bringing it up and following through on it.

I slept well and deeply. I woke from strange chaotic dreams of death, dying, and traumatic change – but my dreams lacked any particular amount of emotion and seemed more typical of “corporate training videos” than nightmares. I woke with Kendrick Lamar’s “Not Like Us” in my head, and the recollection of my partner saying “it’s mixed really well”, and my own thought that this is also so true of life. It’s “mixed” really well; there’s a lot going on, and somehow events seem to flow one to the next in a progression that generally makes some sense. Strange wake up.

I spent the drive to the trailhead thinking about love and partnership – and mortality. Uncomfortable thoughts about healing and change, growth and failure, and the all too limited time we have to be and become, filled my head as I drove. Finding real true abiding deep love is no easy thing. It takes so much more than happenstance. Sustaining that love if we’re fortunate enough to find it, (particularly if we’re traumatized wounded fancy fucking monkeys askew with chaos and damage), is this whole other journey of hard fucking work, and a commitment to vulnerability and change that a lot of us just can’t bear to contemplate at all. Doing it? Fuck that shit. It’s too hard. Isn’t it? So hard. But I’m here, still, and I want to be here, traveling life’s journey with this singular extraordinary human being who I love so dearly. Bumpy bit of path, this, that’s all. There’s real work involved. No room for complacency. No time for coasting on what once was.

We talked a long while yesterday evening. I cried a lot, while trying not to cry at all. He yelled some, out of frustration with not being heard, while trying not to raise his voice at all. A lot of useful relevant things got said out loud, maybe not for the first time, but taken as a whole it was worthwhile to hear them said. I listened a lot. I listened deeply. There’s no loss of love between us, but there is a lot of work to do. Seems like we both want to do the work, and it sounded like we have a shared idea of what the outcome could look like. Progress. I keep thinking about it.

Grief comes up. He soothes me best he can. Pain comes up, we do our best to commiserate gently and comfort each other. We talk about loss, and mortality, and open up about our fears. It was an intimate and connected conversation, although painful and emotionally difficult. I’ll probably be thinking about it for awhile. I probably won’t share more of/about it than I have. Too personal. Too…real.

… Seems like the sun is taking its sweet g’damn time coming up this morning…

I sigh to myself. Good morning for thinking and meditation. Good morning to begin again.

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Categories Anxiety, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, gratitude, grief, health, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, The Art of Being, The Big 5

A Monday Moment

September 16, 2024 //
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It’s dark and I am waiting for the sun. I’m sitting at the trailhead, paused between meditation and writing, some time before my walk. It’s a Monday morning, probably a fairly routine one… But… And?

I’m feeling a bit “off”, somehow. Vaguely irritable, only… maybe not? I don’t know. I’m in a strange discontented headspace, with nothing much to complain about, and nothing going on that actually seems “wrong”. I’m not “unhappy”… neither am I “happy”. I sigh heavily. The weekend wasn’t particularly restful or productive. I enjoyed it in the company of my Traveling Partner, and that was pretty nice. I very much feel that I should be looking back on it with much more gratitude and enthusiasm, but… this strange discontented mood has a pretty firm hold on me. Something like the sensation of wanting something I simply can’t have, ever, and knowing it while only half accepting it, but also not taking any steps to change that. Weird mood.

Soon enough I’ll have to “put my work face on”, and wholly adopt a certain professional positivity, and get the day going. Fine. I will and it’ll work out. I’m just…here… now, in this very different place. No idea why. I feel almost as though laying down for awhile and just… weeping… might be a more authentic use of my time, but it seems like a fairly childish and ineffective approach to take.

…I wonder if my walk will help…

I breathe, exhale, and relax, waiting for the sun. I’m not yet in any particular amount of pain. This could be a very pleasant moment. It isn’t quite. Am I, perhaps, reacting to my Traveling Partner’s (understandable) feelings of depression and negativity, as he confronts and deals with his emotions regarding potential long-term consequences of his (more severe than we knew at the time) injury, or becoming fused with that experience instead of living my own? It’s possible. We spent the weekend closely together, enjoying (or sometimes not enjoying) each other’s company.

… Maybe I didn’t get enough rest? Or didn’t get enough done…?

Another sigh breaks the silence. The sky slowly lightens as daybreak approaches. I think to myself that perhaps I could sleep a bit later in the morning now that the days are shorter, but I know it’s a wasted thought; I wake when I wake. It happens to be quite early. I do my best to make good use of the time.

… I resent feeling so stupidly fussy and irritable without good cause…

I pause my writing and my thoughts when my alarm reminds me to take my morning meds. I do that while noting sourly to myself that as things are going, I’ll be unlikely to ever retire, becoming one of those older folks who works for a living until my grave opens up to receive the last of my frail remains. G’damn that’s fucking depressing. I’ve wanted to retire since I entered the fucking workforce. I take a deep breath and let it go, along with the thought. The future is not written. I breathe, exhale, relax, and bring myself back to this moment, which, although characterized by this almost comically bleak mood, isn’t really all that bad, otherwise.

Be here, now.

I work at resetting my mood. I fail, and I try again. I look for different perspectives. I take a moment to really “hear myself”. Limited success, and I keep trying. I know “the way out is through” and I know I will become what I practice. I keep practicing. Change is, and eventually this mood will pass. Eventually, I’ll understand what gadfly is biting my metaphysical ass and be more easily able to do something about it. Slow going, this morning, and my irritability vexes me.

The first hint of a new day.

Daybreak comes, and with it a chance to begin again. I frown pointlessly at the sky, missing old friends and somehow also missing solitude (in spite of being literally alone in this moment). I grab my cane and get my stupid human ass out of the car and on my feet. It’s time to begin again.

… Maybe I can just walk it off…?

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Categories Allegories, anhedonia, Anxiety, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, Frustration, health, loneliness, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, The Art of Being, War and News of War
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