I’m sipping my coffee in the office, thinking about things that have nothing whatsoever to do with work. I’ve got surgery tomorrow (minor), and a day off for recovering after that. The weekend is ahead, but I’ll likely be at least somewhat impaired (due to the specifics of the surgery). Doesn’t really matter, I’m just letting my mind wander, thoughts drifting by like clouds on a summer day. “Nothing to see here.” I’m just enjoying my coffee and a few minutes before the day begins in earnest.
…Clear liquids only for the next 24 hours (I say that like it really matters, but I don’t guess it does)…
I breathe, exhale, and relax. The steady wush of the ventiliation in the background does not blot out the whine of my tinnitus. I notice it, but I let that go – it’s not “important” or relevant to the moment (or to most moments), it’s just an irritant (if I focus on it for too long). Pleasant enough beginning to the day, I guess. There’s nothing wrong here. The sky is gray with heavy summer storm clouds – no colorful sunrise. My back aches. I put that out of my mind, too, as much as I am able. There’s nothing much to be done about it.
I sit with those thoughts that linger, making room for gratitude and thoughts of my garden. I feel fortunate to have gotten to see “Golden Opportunity” bloom (for the first time since she was planted in 2021!), before the deer ate those flowers and every bit of tender new growth from that rose bush. Oh, sure, I fuss about it and it’s aggravating, but like many of life’s most useful lessons, if I make room in my experience to understand a bigger picture, and develop a more nuanced perspective, I could learn something that has lasting value. I sit thinking about what drives the deer to my garden each Spring and early summer, and what they don’t eat. I contemplate what I could potentially do to discourage them from eating my roses and tender salad greens without wrecking the aesthetic of the garden with a lot of ugly fencing. I look at pictures of my roses. The specific thoughts I think in this quiet time are less important than that I do take this time for myself, to “hear myself think”, each day. It is a means of building resilience, and also of ensuring that I feel appreciated and heard by the one person who has to listen to all of my chatter (and internal dialogue) – the woman in the mirror. Self-care matters. This is part of that.
I sigh to myself when I glance at the clock and notice the time. Of course. It’s time to begin again.
I’m sipping my coffee in that pleasant space between finishing the budgeting for this pay period and digging into the work of the day. There’s a cloudy sky beyond the window of the office, and the morning termperatures are cooler than they have been – of course; I’ve got a camping trip planned, so obviously the weather will turn chilly and possibly rainy. LOL
A moment of celebration, love, and delight; delicious, and worth savoring.
I smile every time I think about my birthday. What a lovely day, and in every regard thoroughly satisfying. Oh sure, more money/youthful energy/time perhaps it could have been more elaborate in some way, or involved other activities, but frankly the day’s simplicity and very high “chill factor” made for a completely delightful experience that met my needs. I feel loved and appreciated and celebrated. It’s a pleasant feeling, and I sit with the recollections, savoring them and sipping my coffee. 62, eh? So far, so good. I certainly feel more prepared to handle adult life and challenges than I did at 21. Or… 30, 40, 45, 50… I am, as they say, “a work in progress”. The profound value of incremental change over time is that it is a reliable path forward toward other (better?) things. I am more the woman I most want to be than I was in any prior year, and I keep making progress as a human being, learning and growing – and practicing.
I’ve learned some things over time, and I’ll share them (though I suspect we’ve all got to learn things our own way, and walk our own hard mile, regardless how much wisdom or knowledge may be available at our fingertips). I’ve learned that:
there is no rational justification for genocide, ever.
governments wage war because war is profitable.
human beings will persist in confusing anecdotes with data and can be easily mislead.
some people prefer to bitch about crap they could easily change rather than do the work to change it.
it is possible to find joy amidst chaos and tragedy.
change is, and although it can’t be prevented or avoided, it can be embraced and guided.
terrible hateful people walk among us, and they look like everyone else.
it’s very hard to be angry and grateful at the same time.
we can each choose our own path.
there’s always more work to do, and it is important to take breaks, and rest.
no one “makes it” on their own.
we can choose what we fill our thoughts with.
character and ethics matter, a lot.
if your only argument is name-calling or personal attacks, you have lost that argument (whether you accept that or not).
when “choosing sides” it is important to be clear about what the side you choose actually stands for.
critical thinking takes more work than most people are willing to do.
most of the things in life we stress out over aren’t actually worth that amount of emotional energy.
sometimes the “easiest” path requires the most work.
we become what we practice.
It’s not much. Certainly I’ve learned more, other, things – or – maybe I haven’t? Sometimes some lesson I thought I’d learned comes back to bite me because I had not truly put what I thought I learned into practice, reliably. Words are easy. Deeds…? That gets more complicated, doesn’t it? I feel my smile take a somewhat cynical twist, and sip my coffee. Life is a strange journey without a map, toward a destination we don’t necessarily choose with our eyes open (or recognize when we approach it). It’s a bit like seeing a funhouse mirror suddenly snap into a very clear focused reflection when I find myself very clear on some detail that had previously eluded me. My results often vary, and there are so many verbs involved…
The site I reserved for my upcoming camping trip, from the perspective of a moment in time 10 years ago.
It hits me in a moment what I really want out of my camping trip next week; time with my thoughts. I don’t really feel inspired to paint (yet), or even to take photographs (though I know I will). I want quiet solitary time with my thoughts, and a pen and some paper. lol Very low-tech, no fancy techniques, tools, or apps required; I want to walk trails, and watch clouds, and meditate. I want to breathe the Spring-becoming-Summer air, and take a closer look at the moss, the lichen, and the wildflowers. I want to sit quietly watching a braver than average small creature approaching me slowly with curiosity. I want to feel the weight of the world lifted from my shoulders because for a little while it will have nothing whatsoever to do with me. I want to “give my soul a rest” from the chaos of the world. I want to miss my Traveling Partner, because through missing him I discover again how deeply immersed in this love I really am. I want to unplug from the rest of the world and reconnect with my own deepest inner self. I sip my coffee and laugh to myself – seems clear enough. Now I’ve just got to do the verbs. lol
The clock ticks on. 62 now, and for the next 364 days to come. I hope I make good use of my time. I hope I live well and wisely, and love deeply. It’s time to get started on another year of living. It’s time to begin again.
My tinnitus is loud this morning. Distracting and annoying. I get my walk started early, close to home, but the sunrise had already begun. The sky is shades of orange, pink and dusty blue, and the western hills in the distance are soft shades of blue and gray. Feels like another hot summer day ahead, maybe not as hot as the past couple of days have been. Hot enough to feel like summer, and even the cooler morning temperature hints at the afternoon heat to come.
Sunrise, a new day, a new beginning, a new opportunity to choose.
I walked with my thoughts accompanied by assorted little birds hopping and flying along. Chickadees mostly, and robins;Â though I hear the songs of other birds I don’t see them. A small herd of deer bolts into the trees when they hear me approach. The lovely morning might have a certain sparkling Disney sort of vibe if it weren’t for the sound of traffic nearby, and my damned tinnitus ringing and buzzing in my ears. Still, it’s a pretty morning, suitable for all manner of beginnings, and I’m grateful to see another sunrise.
I spot a woodpecker on the trunk of an oak tree, in that instance before he begins drumming away at that bark, either communicating or seeking a tasty morsel. He’s loud too. I laugh and startle him, he flies off to a different tree. I keep walking, until I reach my turn around point, where I stop awhile.
I sit in the early morning shade of the trees along the creek, smelling the scents of Spring flowers. The sun continues to rise on the new day. I think about doing a couple days of camping next week while I’m off, and maybe some painting. I make some room for my mixed feelings. I very much want my time to be wholly my own while I am painting, but I also experience strange pangs of separation anxiety when I contemplate it. That’s odd for me. I don’t really look forward to sleeping on the ground, getting up is more difficult every year. On the other hand, I’m yearning to sit quietly, gazing into the trees without being aware there are dishes to do, or errands to run, for endless seeming unmeasured minutes. I don’t expect to sort myself out on one morning walk. I sigh to myself and let my thoughts move on.
… G’damn my tinnitus is annoying…
Camera or pastels? Camping light, or glamping? A remote site that requires a bit of a trek to reach, or car camping with amenities? Well equipped camp kitchen and outdoor cooking, or freeze dried hiking meals that require little prep or clean up? Effort or ease? What do I really want for (and from) myself with my time? I watch the sun rise and think about it. I’ve got all the gear and most of the needed supplies whatever options I choose. It’s the choosing that is so difficult; it requires a level of frankness with myself about my current needs and limitations that feels mildly uncomfortable. I sigh quietly. There’s time to consider the options.
I get to my feet and turn to face the sun. It’s time to begin again.
I drove to the office this morning, watching the sun rise, and happily singing a fairly dreadful rendition of Three Dog Night “One is the Loneliest Number“, not for any particular reason, it was just in my head. I felt merry and at ease, and traffic was light. Lovely morning for a drive. Mt Hood was a soft mauve silhouetted against the pastel peaches and pinks of the dawn sky as the sun peaked over the horizon, a vivid firey orange. It feels like another hot day, and the forecast agrees.
Yesterday was lovely. I didn’t do much in the way of activities or chores or errand running, I just relaxed at home, watched a couple videos, and read the new cookbook my beloved Traveling Partner had given me as an early birthday gift some days ago. My Traveling Partner is correct when he observes that I rarely manage to sit through and enjoy an entire video I’ve selected, due to hopping up to help him out or handle some needful detail immediately when mentioned (otherwise I may forget all about it), and it is sometimes an impediment to really getting to relax and recharge. Yesterday, I even indulged a favorite personal preference in the world of online video content; a real-time walk someone took video of, through a place I’ll likely never visit. It was a walk through a famous buddhist site in Japan – no music, no chatter, no ads, just the walk through a beautiful space. Restful and inspiring, it was a relaxed and peaceful interlude to spend with myself (and for a little while, until he got bored with it, shared with my Traveling Partner; he definitely prefers a somewhat faster “pace” to life, and wandered off to do his own thing before the (long) walk ended). I enjoyed it enough for the time to be memorable.
Yesterday was “enough”. Most days are, actually. That nagging sense of striving and seeking and trying and struggling and working to reach some seemingly unreachable goal for some vaguely defined purpose that seems so unrelenting and commonplace is largely self-imposed. Meaning to say it’s something we willfully put ourselves through. I can let that go. (So can you.) Just because I don’t have something, or haven’t lived some particular experience, or achieved some point of success envied by others doesn’t mean I need that for myself. Like… not at all. I may not even want that thing for me, myself, if I take a moment to think it over. Sure, a new car might be nice… but I don’t actually need one. A bigger house on more land? Sure, there’d be more room to spread out, more room for storage, more room for this or that feature in life, more room for shop space, maybe more land for gardening, and even for chickens… that all sounds delightful, and I certainly would not mind. Hell, I’d embrace it (it would be ever so much less effort than managing things in this smaller space). It would be nice. But… It’s not necessary for most values of necessary. New clothes? Nice to have, but not necessary. Another rose bush? Another raised garden bed? Luxuries. Quiet days solo on the coast in some lovely beachfront hotel? We’re definitely talking pleasantly unnecessary now, aren’t we? It’s sometimes hard to discern the difference between “nice to have” and “necessary”. (Sometimes it’s pretty easy given adequate honest self-reflection.) How hard are you willing to drive yourself for the things you think you have to have in life? How much easier could life be if you only put that much pressure on yourself for things that are truly earnestly urgently actually necessary for your healthy survival, and leaving the rest mostly to chance, reliant on your wise decision-making generally, and skillful use of personal resources day-to-day and good planning?
What does “enough” look like?
I’m just saying, I guess, greed isn’t a good look, and it’s not a healthy character quality. I work a lot to let that shit go, and to cultivate a sense of sufficiency and contentment in my life. (Not past tense, I actively work on it.) I have what I need, generally. There are things I’d like to have or achieve, but when I’m being very honest with myself, they’re nearly all lavish extras that I don’t actually require to live a good life. It’s human to want more, better, and extra. It’s human to want to go and do and be. Ambition and aspiration are part of what we are, as human primates and thinking reasoning beings. On the other hand, discontent and dissatisfaction and greed are also part of our very human struggle to be and become, and these tend to foster a lot of unpleasantness, anxiety, frustration, sorrow, and struggle. I try to balance any yearnings for things I don’t have or have not achieved with frank reflection on (and gratitude for) those things I do have, that I have achieved, and that I am fortunate to enjoy day-to-day. The result of this practice is that I’m generally contented much of the time now, and comfortably able to enjoy my life as it is, and appreciate how good it does tend to be. It’s human to want, it’s human to struggle – it’s a better experience to find a sense of sufficiency to rest in. It’s a practice, and there are verbs involved. (And no one can do this work for you; you’ve got to walk your own path.) No overnight results, but it has been very much worth the effort. I’m able to say I’m happier for it.
…It’d still be nice to have a bigger house, with a larger bit of land under it (I do truly love my little house and I am happy here)…
I enjoy the roses blooming in my garden – there are still weeds to pull and work to be done, no getting around it.
I sip my coffee and smile quietly to myself. I am grateful to be in such a good place in life that seeking and cultivating a sense of sufficiency is something I have time for; this too is a bit of a luxury. (When we’re mired in struggle perspective can feel quite out of reach and seeking it may feel like a drain on our resources we can’t easily afford.) What is “enough”? Is it different for everyone? Is there some definition of sufficiency that is reliably true for every individual everywhere? What would that look like? Would it be a reasonable practical goal to ensure every human being has that minimum quality of life? What would that look like? Would I be content with the same “enough” that everyone else around me has, or would I find myself yearning for more? What about you? Do you “have enough” in life? What necessities are missing? If you do have “everything you need”, what are you still yearning for? Are you on the path that takes you there? Are you even willing to walk that path? Just thoughts I’m thinking over my morning coffee as the golden summer sun shines through the trees beyond the window of this office.
…If I were to change jobs, the view would change – would my thoughts on sufficiency change with my point of view, or my income?
Time spent in the garden isn’t always about labor.
I smile and think about my garden. I got way less done than I’d hoped to this past weekend. Turned out I needed something different in the way of self-care. I needed relaxed lazy time reading books and napping, and laughing with my partner. I needed healthy rest and easy-going companionship. I needed icy delicious strawberry granita made on a whim. I needed take out on a hot night instead of cooking in a hot kitchen. I needed to put my feet up, even though I also needed to get laundry done. I mostly did just those tasks that were required, and the rest of my time I spent on comfort and leisure, a rare treat in a busy life. I’m grateful I have that choice.
Life’s Strange Diner has a big menu, but it isn’t really possible to sample everything on it, however rich or fortunate any one person happens to be. We’re human, and live finite human lives. The clock is ticking, and there are choices and verbs involved. We can only do or carry so much. We can begin again, if we find we’ve fallen, or feel we’re on the wrong path, but we’ve got to do that work for ourselves, and each one of us has our own limits and limitations to deal with. It is an interestingly varied experience, this human journey. I imagine the menu in any diner, on any summer morning, and wonder what I might choose differently in this moment, given time to reflect on where this path leads, and what I really need in life? We can’t choose differently then, but we can choose differently now – what gets us “there”? Where does this path lead? The clock is ticking. What will I choose? Isn’t it time to begin again?
I’m sipping my coffee as the day begins. My walk this morning was pleasant, uneventful, and frankly rather ordinary. The day is cloudy, and looks like rain. I’m in a thoroughly manageable amount of pain (for now), and I make a point of appreciating how (relatively) comfortable I am. In a life where chronic pain is a day-to-day experience, it is critical to really pause and be aware of it when pain is not a characteristic of the moment. Most of us don’t actually experience “chronic pain” as 100% of always every moment of every day all the time – it does come and go, and the severity varies. Our implicit memory and sense of “how things are” is notably affected by what we hold on to as “how we always feel” – so making room to be mindful and aware of a lack of pain becomes incredibly important for managing the whole experience of pain over time. Perspective matters. So, I sip my coffee, noticing how (relatively) little pain I am in right now, and make room for gratitude; it could be so much worse (and often is).
I breathe, exhale, and relax. I think about sunrises and sunsets, and views of distant horizons. I think about miles I have not yet walked, and contemplate trails I’ve yet to try. I think about camping, and I wonder when I might next spend a couple days on the coast, painting. I sip my coffee, and let my diffuse feeling of general contentment grow larger in my awareness. My eye falls on a small Hue Forge “painting” my Traveling Partner did from a photograph I’d taken. I feel loved and visible and appreciated as a person, as an artist, and as a partner.
Hue Forge rendering of a sunrise, Mt Hood silhoutted on the horizon.
That distant horizon is a good metaphor for goals and progress and walking my own path; there it is, just out of reach, that thing I think I want to get to. A goal, a vision, a destination – it could be any of those things, or just a place to camp that happens to be within view, but quite far away. What’s on the horizon? I never actually know, I only imagine, based on what I think I see. I have an idea, and a limited view. The closer that thing seems to get, the more detailed and real it may become – but it changes as it comes into closer view, more subject to scrutiny. Is it what I imagined? Is it actually what I want? Am I actually going to get “there” – or is that “there” quite different than I expected it might be? Am I being true to myself, and staying on my path, or has something fantastical on that distant horizon distracted me from my sense of purpose? Is it even real, or only something I thought I saw?
I sip my coffee feeling surprisingly content with “now”. Nice moment for it. Sure, the work day is ahead, but I don’t find that I mind. I’m fortunate to have a job I enjoy, working with a team of people I appreciate and respect (and even like), I feel appreciated in return. We get shit done. I’m working from home, which has the lovely quality of taking my breaks in my garden, or being able to run a quick errand during the day, and not finding myself quite so exhausted when the day finally ends. Nice “now” – I feel fortunate, and pause for gratitude; this too could be so much worse. Most of us do have to work to keep the bills paid and the pantry stocked, and it’s a difficult world. It’s not uncommon to have to endure a terrible work environment in servitude to a company whose values one can’t respect, simply to keep the lights on and the gas tank filled. It’s a lucky few who do jobs they love for companies they appreciate in an environment of mutual respect while being paid a good wage. If you’ve got it, be sure you appreciate it. Change is. Be kind to those who struggle with shit jobs for terrible bosses – it could be you at some point.
…Good cup of coffee…
My Traveling Partner gave me an early birthday gift last night. A new cookbook, and one that I’d spotted thinking “oooh, I’d like to have this one!” quite recently. I thought I’d added it to my wishlist, and was delighted that he had selected it. More delighted still – and a little amazed – when I discovered that I had not added it to my list at all. He knows me so well. I feel loved. This morning when my mind wanders, it is often to the kitchen, and thinking about what new adventures I may find there, between the pages of a new cookbook. 😀
Life can be experienced as a journey. I find it a useful metaphor. No map, lots of choices, and the path is mine to choose for myself. The horizon never really gets any closer – but it’s out there in the distance, tempting me onward. It’s a worthy journey – each step down the path has the potential to reveal some new delight, or to teach me a lesson I probably need to learn. We are mortal creatures – at some point, this journey will come to an end. Hopefully, I’ve learned all I could, experienced much worth sharing, and made a point to jot down some notes for anyone who may follow me down the trail (or simply wonders where I wandered off to).
I glance at the time. The clock is always ticking, and there are things to be done. It’s time, again, to begin.
Evening Light 