… And out the door. It’s only now dawn. I made the walk around the long loop of the trail in darkness, the circle of light from my headlamp bobbing along ahead of me. I didn’t stop for long. It’s a mild gray morning, but not raining. I just didn’t feel like writing in the dark this morning.
I sneeze a few times. I use a few tissues. I take my allergy medication. I walk along marveling at modern convenience. My mind wanders with my steps as I walk this familiar trail. Lost in thought I step off into the damp grass once or twice.
I hear geese overhead as I sit writing at the start of the trail, after I’ve finished my walk. Another work day. It’s fine. I’m grateful to have a good job that keeps the bills paid and food on the table. I have a lot to be thankful for. I sit with my gratitude for some little while.
I have no idea what woke me, this morning. I wasn’t having any luck going back to sleep, so I got up. I’m unbothered by such things. I’m content to be on the trail quite early, and I’m lucky to live in a safe place where walking in the dark does not present unreasonable risk. Life doesn’t have to be overly complicated. I sit enjoying this moment now, between the trail and the workday. I feel relaxed and unhurried.
I breathe, exhale, and relax, and think of faraway friends and the many ways distance and circumstances can change us. How many years does it take to figure out who we most want to be? How many more to become that person? Still more years after that to make changes because we didn’t know then what we do know now. Being a human being can be quite complicated. So much practice needed – and what we choose to practice will determine who we become. It’d be nice to get that memo quite early, but we seem cursed to figure it out on our own, stumbling through the consequences of our actions, over time.
… Time…
Seems like there is precious little time to waste in this short finite mortal life. The path is always ahead. We choose it as we walk. We become what we practice. Our results vary. I sigh to myself. Practical truths worth reflecting on. It’s already time to begin again.
The moment begins with a coffee. Ethiopian beans, a medium roast, ground medium fine, to make a lovely pour-over to which I’ve added a bit of powdered vanilla and dried rose petals, before I begin the pour. I take my coffee to the garden.
I sip and I think, and I watch a blue jay, watching me. He is, I think, a blue jay who was born quite nearby, a couple years ago, and he returns to my garden each Spring, often following me around as I work in various flower beds and raised beds. When I walk away from one bit of work, he inspects it with interest, before following me to the next spot. I call him “Bob”, but he doesn’t answer to that name. Neither does he fly away startled. He often seems interested in what I have to say. lol Today he left me an acorn while I watched, and flew to a nearby branch to watch me. I pocketed his gift (and said “thank you” lol) and it is still in my pocket, now.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
… Later, my Traveling Partner will point out that the blue jay I saw is probably not the same blue jay, and that their lives are rather short. I consider that, and wonder how much memory they might pass on, reminded of a video we recently watched, about butterflies. I call them all “Bob” anyway, so in some sense it hardly matters, and the jays have never objected.
The primroses are blooming.
I spent a beautiful morning in the garden, pulling weeds from the veggie bed and putting down compost. The work is unfinished, though I got quite a lot done, and that is the way of big projects, isn’t it? We work to a plan, overcome challenges, use available resources, notice some lack in the available materials… Well shit.
I ran out of compost at about the same time that I ran out of energy, and limped out of the garden reluctantly, boots muddy, muscles sore. What a lovely way to celebrate the Equinox, hands in the fertile earth – a favorite Rite of Spring. The entire time I worked in the garden, my beloved Traveling Partner was working in his shop. I could hear the music of the machines while I worked. I found particular joy and comfort to hear the sounds of my partner working.
A new day dawns. What will you do with the opportunities?
This morning I woke ahead of my alarm, and rose expecting to feel stiff from yesterday’s effort. I feel okay. Capable. Strong. All things considered, I’m not as strong as I’d like to be and have more limitations than I prefer, but I feel good today and for all observable values of “good”, I feel pretty splendid, actually. I smile as I drive to the trailhead. It’s a lovely morning to put some miles on my boots before returning home. I’ll stop for a bag of compost on my way home and go back to the garden. It is my way of celebrating the coming of Spring. Tomorrow is soon enough for laundry and whatnot.
As I cross the marsh, I listen to the robins singing their noisy morning song, and geese calling to each other overhead. Lovely morning for walking, and I have the trail alone, too. The solitude feels like a gift. I grin and think of my Traveling Partner, sleeping at home. I’m glad he’s getting the rest he needs. He’s in the middle of a job and needs to be rested in order to be focused, relaxed, and able to work with the full measure of his skills.
I smile, feeling incredibly loved as I recall that he’s made reservations for us to celebrate our anniversary at a Michelin starred restaurant that recently appeared on a list of “best in the nation” eateries. I’m excited to go, and even more tickled that the whole thing is his idea. I feel very loved and filled with gratitude for my partner’s recovery from injury.
I walk with my thoughts all the way to far side of the marsh, past my usual halfway point. I take a side trail I usually skip, just for fun, to the top of a hill, expecting a view out over the marsh… No such view has been preserved here, and I find myself in a grove of oaks surrounded by a dense thicket of brush and shrubbery. I’m not disappointed, just reminded how often our expectations have no direct connection to reality. It’s a pleasant spot to write and meditate, so I do that, taking a seat on a fallen tree trunk. It’s a beautiful quiet place.
I finish my writing, and my meditation, and find myself in daylight, sun up, and blue sky overhead. The garden is waiting. It’s a good time to begin again. I get to my feet and get started. The clock is ticking and this trail isn’t going to walk itself. 😁 Later, I’ll make coffee… perhaps with a hint of rose and vanilla.
First, I’m fine. I’m okay, and there’s nothing amiss in this moment. That is an important detail.
I woke abruptly to a loud noise and a sense that something was seriously wrong. I woke fully triggered and in “overdrive”, ready to react to danger – of whatever unknown type there might be. There was nothing going on of the sort I could do anything about, it was only a loud noise. A door slamming somewhere, but it could have been anything or nothing at all; along with the PTSD, I am sometimes afflicted with “exploding head” nightmares. So… suddenly waking up in a panic, fully triggered, is not an unknown sensation for me.
I’m okay. My Traveling Partner is also okay for most values of okay, though he didn’t sleep through the night. I’m grateful that he isn’t hurt. When I woke that was my first (only) concern.
I dressed and headed to the trailhead. It’s raining. Today I don’t care at all, and I’ll feel better after I burn off this adrenaline fueled energy in a healthy way. My heart is still pounding and I was trembling for awhile. In every practical sense, though, I’m okay. Years of practice have given me more resilience. Totally worth the effort, though at the time, in the moment, the discipline of practicing practices often feels a little pointless. There’s no obvious immediate return on the effort… Well… It’s subtle and not obvious. The gains are there.
…I pull on my poncho and find my headlamp…
This is my path and I’m walking it. 😄 A little rain isn’t going to stop me. I definitely need to begin again.
Seems to be very effective so far… probably doesn’t hurt that the path is mine, and that I choose it myself.
…
…
I get back to the car a bit damp but not drenched. The rain is still falling steadily. I couldn’t stop at my usual halfway point due to that bit of the trail being flooded, and the place I often sit being surrounded by a large muddy stretch and water. Nope. I just walked on. By the time I reached that point I was feeling relaxed and merry. Ready for a new day. It’s enough.
The path ahead isn’t always smooth and well lit. There are going to be rainy days. There will be obstacles along the way, and detours. Being prepared for those is sometimes a matter of acceptance and a willingness to adapt to circumstances. PTSD screams that something is an emergency, though nothing is “wrong” in that kind of way at all. Sometimes a noise is just a noise. Being able to bounce back once I’m triggered is a pretty notable win for me.
I breathe, exhale and relax. I take a few minutes for meditation in the car. It’s already time to begin again.
Each tick of the clock is its own. Each moment is unique and precious, like a breath, or a snowflake. They are fleeting, those ticks of the clock, and those mortal moments. Yesterday, around this same time, the morning was filled with chaos (household internet was down, my laptop had a brand new operating system on it, my work day was shortened by an afternoon appointment and filled with unexpected meetings), this morning this moment is peaceful, and rather mundane. Yesterday’s challenges are behind me, today’s are still ahead.
The time is…now.
With each moment being fleeting, and unique, and the tick of the clock ever ongoing, and our mortal lives filled with opportunities, choices, and changes, it can be easy to feel harried, or pushed around by circumstances, and forget to truly live those precious moments, and to make informed choices from a thoughtful perspective. I sip my coffee and think about that.
I think about the way my Traveling Partner calmed me down after I had hastened home frantically to sort out what had “gone wrong” with my new OS, and get back on track for work as quickly as I could. Hilariously, what had gone wrong was mostly the human being at the keyboard. lol Small details I didn’t recognize in their new form, and tools I was less familiar with, and in a moment of panic, I stopped understanding what little I knew. My partner was patient, and he is deeply knowledgeable of computers and operating systems, as if it is part of his DNA. In an instant, he had identified the issue, sorted things out, showed me where I had gone astray, and I got my day started. He’d already resolved the household internet issue. He’s good like that – and I’m fortunate to enjoy a loving partnership with a human being whose skills complement my own so well. In some other moment, he may have been the one seeking out my assistance with some thing he felt ill-equipped to handle.
I think about my appointment later in the afternoon yesterday, and the lasting feeling of calm loving support that had carried me through the day. Going to the VA often makes me anxious (and angry). The appointment was routine enough, just my annual thing with the VA: blood work, images, a consultation, updated prescriptions, another vaccine. The VA stresses me out most of the time. I dislike the stark reminder of my mortality on display, and I similarly dislike the facade of support for veterans also on display. Oh, don’t get me wrong, the employees at the VA (the doctors, nurses, clinical specialists, technicians, and cleaning staff) do their best for veterans every day against the terrible constraints they face due to lack of appropriate staffing, lack of required funding, lack of approval for this or that treatment for one condition or another – and the frankly performative “consideration” for veterans by our administration is grotesque and disappointing. It’s not the fault of the staff, but the hopelessness, cynicism and disappointment permeate the air at the VA – at every VA facility I’ve ever been in. It’s not a partisan thing, although this current administration is by far the most grotesque and horrifying in my own lifetime – every administration makes new veterans, and none actually wants to pay the full measure of the price to care for them. (And if veteran’s are not cared for, well then their lifespan is further shortened, eh? Less costly by far. It is quite Dickensian from that perspective.)
I sigh and sip my coffee. My appointment went fine. Images taken. Vaccine received. Blood drawn. Hell, I even capitulated to having a pelvic exam and a pap smear (probably my last based on current recommendations for women in my age group). Sexual health is important, even as we age. Anyway, it was fine. Only a moment.
Yesterday I was quickly wrapped in stress. This morning is quite different, calm and inviting. I smile to myself, enjoying this moment. And if it were a shit moment filled with stress and chaos? Well, I know it will pass. There will be other moments. It’s not an easy thing, letting small things stay small; it takes practice, and sometimes some help. I had watched a peculiarly timely video that touched on change and moments and resilience in a way I found useful. I’m glad I had; I needed those words of wise perspective and encouragement yesterday!
…Each time for the first time. Each moment the only moment. “Ichi-go ichi-e” – live your moments with intention, and presence! Show up for your own life. These moments are finite and mortal, and we have so few. Each having our own experience, walking our own path, we connect over briefly shared moments. I smile to myself. Crappy muzak in the background of a chain cafe on a work day morning, sipping on an utterly ordinary cup of black coffee – even this moment is precious. It is mine.
Sometimes it’s a metaphor – sometimes it is just a cup of coffee. 🙂
I smile and sip my coffee, reflecting on this moment, and other moments. The music plays on. The clock keeps ticking. Eventually, I’ll begin again, for now, I’ve got this moment right here, now. It’s enough.
I’m staring at the bright blank square of light in my hand. I’m sitting in the dark at my halfway point on this morning’s walk, and rather oddly, my mind is blank. The morning is quiet and a few degrees warmer than it has been. The morning is clear and calm, a handful of stars peeking through scattered clouds. I have the sense that I had a worthwhile idea… yesterday. Not very helpful right now, though.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. We’re a day closer to Thanksgiving. I feel ready for that and grateful for my good fortune. I’m also grateful to see signs that the current terrible, corrupt, anti-science, anti-education, anti-fact, anti-American administration is beginning to falter. Hopefully the damage done can be repaired. G’damn, what were people thinking to set this shit in motion?! Our stupid “us vs. them” bullshit, partisan politics, and hateful “othering” has torn the country apart and has literally gotten people killed. Ugly. We can do better – we only have to choose to do differently.
I served my country. I watched the cold war end. I am so disappointed in what I see now. Do better.
Ah, but truly I am grateful. It could be worse. I pull my focus back to this moment, here, on a quiet autumn morning before dawn. There’s very little traffic. There is no one else on the trail. The homes and apartments on the other side of the small creek that runs alongside the trail are visible through the strip of forest that lines the creek banks. They are dark and quiet, too. The moment is mine. I soak in the peace of it, and fill myself with contentment and joy. Nothing to see here, really, a woman on a walk, pauses to rest and to write, insignificant to anyone but herself. It’s enough, isn’t it?
I shrug off my arthritis pain, and my tinnitus. I ignore the sensation of tendonitis developing in my left foot. I pay no mind to the headache that seems to accompany me everywhere, most days, now. I have no time for frailty! I laugh at myself; this refusal to yield to mortal frailties is only effective in the mornings, I find. By day’s end I will be too tired to fight it anymore, and I will be forced to give in to my limitations, reduced to limping from task to task, mobility clearly impaired. Very human.
In spite of physical pain and discomfort, I still manage gratitude. I hear the woosh of HVAC nearby, and recognize that my tinnitus doesn’t deafen me. That’s definitely worth a moment of gratitude. My arthritis and occasional tendonitis don’t stop me from walking local trails and being outside. I’m grateful to be on my feet and still walking. This headache vexes me, often, but so far it hasn’t been found to have any life-threatening cause (or potential outcome). I’m grateful to have unmeasured time ahead of me, in some amount, in this mortal lifetime, and even more grateful to enjoy it in the company of good friends, smart colleagues, and my beloved Traveling Partner. There’s so much to learn and do and enjoy yet in life!
Daybreak comes. I’m grateful for another sunrise.
Two more work shifts, then the holiday. I’m grateful to have a job that gives me holidays off. I smile, remembering that this weekend the Giftmas tree will go up. I’m grateful for the well made artificial holiday tree and the many beautiful ornaments I’ve gathered over a lifetime. I’m deeply grateful that my sister shared family ornaments after our mother died. Each colorful glass ball, icicle, star, and blown glass Santa sparks some recollection of Giftmas past. I’m grateful for those holiday memories, sparkling and twinkling in my imagination.
The path forward becomes clearer with the dawn. I sigh contentedly in the stillness, and get ready to begin again. New day, new opportunities, and I’m grateful. Right now, that’s enough.
Evening Light 