Archives for posts with tag: mindfulness

It’s easy to focus on the negative, isn’t it? Whatever is amiss right now, whether here or far away, is often so compelling we dive headlong into that mess, and give up on all the good things going on, too. We get mired in some bit of unpleasantness, large or small, or let conflict live in our heads, and forget to live our lives through any other lens. Yesterday was hard. I had a nasty headache that persisted through the day, I was cross from the moment I woke until I finally called it a night. It’s rare for me to be stuck in a bad mood for so long. I’m glad I woke without it.

Look, I’m not saying don’t protest injustice (please be safe, and please protest peacefully), nor am I discouraging you from speaking up about how you feel or what you are going through. (Use your words! Speak truth to power.) I am pointing out that the picture is nearly always bigger than the moment any one of us is in right now, and there are opportunities to get to a more positive outlook, and a better state of being. In some cases, it may take a night of good sleep, in others maybe a moment of perspective is all that is needed? You results may vary – I know mine do. lol Adulting is hard sometimes. I’m grateful that with expectation setting and taking care with my words throughout the day, the consequences of yesterday’s crappy headspace ended up being generally good; a deeper connection with my Traveling Partner, and no one having to go to bed mad or with hurt feelings (as far as I could tell). Win. Small wins matter; sometimes small wins are all you get.

Sometimes it’s a good idea to take a minute, and sort things out.

This morning, I’m thinking about “what’s good?” – because I spent too much time yesterday focused on the things that were off, or going wrong, or just seem crappy and unfair. My Traveling Partner was correct all those years ago, when he pointed out to me that my negativity was doing me real harm (in addition to being unpleasant to be around, generally). “Toxic positivity” is not the solution; this is not “fake it until you make it” territory, though speaking in terms of practices may suggest that it somehow is. It is more to do with perspective, and balance, and self-awareness, and consideration, and compassion – and the very real likelihood that most of the time, in most circumstances, things are not as bad as they may seem in the moment. Emotions like sorrow and anger and frustration are still valid useful emotions that tell us something about our experience. The way out is through – squashing our emotions does not resolve them. Forbidding ourselves to experience our feelings in order to more carefully craft a feigned pleasant exterior and a smile suited only to commercial purposes is not emotionally healthy. There is another path. Savor the small pleasures and simple joys. Enjoy each fleeting moment of delight unreservedly. Share kindness. Assume positive intent. Don’t take things personally. When hard times hit, the resilience you’ve built over time will sustain you. We become what we practice. (Practice calm, we become calmer over time. Practice freaking out over small things or losing your temper over small mishaps, we become less able to manage our emotions in a healthy way, and unable to maintain our perspective on events. Seems like we’ve got some choices.) I sip my coffee and think about it awhile longer. Am I satisfied with how I handled my crappy day yesterday? Mostly. Could I have done better? Probably. I have today ahead of me to do that; it’s a whole new experience, filled with new moments.

It is an ordinary enough Tuesday. I may even work from home. My Traveling Partner suggested it. I woke way too early for that, though, and I did not want my wakefulness to wake everyone else. I dressed and slipped away into the darkness – hopefully without waking everyone.

What’s good? This cup of coffee, actually. It’s pleasant, mellow, and no bitterness detected – characteristics I’d like very much to develop and deepen, as a person. I think most days I get pretty close. Progress. I think about the work on-site annual strategy meeting that I am not attending in person this week, afterall. Sure, I could get all wound up in whether not being there in person may “hold me back” professionally… or… I could focus on what’s good; I’m home, available to care for my Traveling Partner when he needs me, and not faced with the inconvenience, cost, fatigue, or risk of illness that inevitably comes with professional travel. What I choose to focus on may set the tone for many moments ahead of me. It’s not a new lesson for me – I knew it yesterday when I was mired in my bleak mood. I struggled to make an effective change, not because I did not know I could choose otherwise, but because making that choice in the first place was so fucking difficult in that moment. (Moments pass.) I’m not inclined to understate how difficult it can be to choose change, to go another direction, or to soothe an angry heart. Sometimes it is hard, and my results vary. I keep practicing because I keep improving through practice. It gets better. It gets easier. It gets more reliable – until at some point, on some detail of behavior, thinking, or character, I will find that I have changed.

Walking my own path, one step at a time.

What’s good? Right now the warmth and cameraderie of this chain cafe! It’s a silly thing, but heart-warming; the baristas here have gotten to know me by name, and are familiar with my early morning coming and going on these work days. I write quietly in the corner, people-watching a bit now and then, sipping coffee and reflecting on life. If I don’t come by, they notice. If I am wearing a frown for no obvious reason, they ask if I’m okay. It’s a very human experience of community. It’s good. I enjoy it, even when I’m headache-y and cross. Yesterday it was one of the highpoints of my morning – just that moment of recognition that I was not at my best and clearly having a difficult morning. “How’s the morning?” backed up with a concerned look, and authentic interest in the answer hits differently. I reflect on authenticity and sincerity. A much younger me might have sneered dismissively at the suggestion that these are character qualities with real value. That younger me was wrong about a lot of other shit, too. I chuckle with fond affection and a smile with a little sorrow at the corners; we don’t know what we don’t know, and we think we know a lot more than we actually ever could.

What’s good? Simple pleasures, like a hot shower, or a good cup of coffee. Unexpected delights, like a gift on a non-birthday, or a letter (or email) from a faraway friend. A pleasant moment over a cup of tea at the edge of my garden in Spring? Definitely good. An unexpected compliment is also good. I sip my coffee and think of as many little things that feel good to me as I can, and I turn those around “in the other direction” – so many are things I can easily do and deliver that moment of joy and delight to someone else. I smile thinking about it. Maybe this evening is a good one to write letters (or emails) to far away friends? Perhaps it is a good one to enjoy a shower with my Traveling Partner – or share a good cup of coffee together in the evening (I could pick up some decaf for me)? Is there some little thing I could give to a friend to demonstrate my affection? Perhaps I could invite my pleasant neighbor over for a cup of tea? The joy we give others is returned to us multiplied. There are verbs involved. Choices to make. Actions to follow-through on. Living life is not a passive process.

Seems to be very effective so far… probably doesn’t hurt that the path is mine, and that I choose it myself.

I sip my coffee. I think to message my Traveling Partner to let him know I will return home later, after he wakes, to work from home. Useful expectation-setting that I don’t expect him to see until he wakes later. Minutes later, he replies; he hasn’t slept as well as I had hoped, apparently, but lets me know he’s going back to sleep. I hope he does and that his rest is deep and satisfying. I know how rare that it is, and how much he needs it.

My coffee has begun to cool. There is a bossa nova playing in the background, reminding me of my grandparents and summers at their house; the favored radio station playing there was some sort of smooth jazz, and often featured samba and bossa nova music. It’s not music that I greatly enjoy, neither do I dislike it – it definitely fills me with nostalgia, and memories of a different time and place.

Meditation over coffee… like a sunrise in my thoughts.

What’s good with you? Take a moment to think it over (no need to get back to me, though I’d certainly make time to enjoy your comment and to reply, it’s really for you more than for me), especially if the here and now of your experience is difficult. Give yourself a moment to appreciate the things that are good. Let it lift you up and color your perspective. Go ahead and begin again. 😀

I’m sipping coffee on an icy freezing morning in January, in a cafe space that seriously wants to be cozy and welcoming. The baristas here do their best, and they are cheery and familiar, and greet me as if genuinely pleased to see me. It’s nice. On the other hand, I may be the only walk-in customer for the first several hours they are open, and it’s a largish space with quite a bit of available seating that goes unused day after day. Chain coffee with a busy drive-through; “cozy” is not quite the correct descriptor, but it is warm inside and the coffee is hot.

I sit for some while sipping my coffee and thinking my thoughts. I’m in a weird headspace this morning. Not really looking forward to work. Not looking forward to the day itself, in any particular way. The news and the world have me vexed, stressed out, and even angry (sometimes). I don’t look at the news this morning, but I can’t pretend that we didn’t get so close to eradicating measles – then fail by our own deliberate (fairly stupid) actions. I can’t pretend that masked government thugs are being civil and professional as they go about the business of kidnapping US citizens from the streets, shooting, and maiming people for at worst some civil infraction that barely rises to the level of a criminal act by any definition (Seriously? tell me again how entering the US looking for a better life for yourself and your family by becoming a contributing citizen is “criminal”? This country was built by immigrant labor.). We’ve lost our fucking minds. Our president thinks it is appropriate (and feasible)(and worth doing) to talk about taking Greenland for ourselves – as if they don’t have a population that governs itself, and might have a fucking opinion about that. What the actual hell?

…All that and more. So much nastiness, pettiness, and bullshit, so much destruction and cruelty…and here we are. Cruelty is now policy. It’s on my mind a lot more than I write about it, and I sometimes find myself “picking at it” like the raw bleeding edge of a torn cuticle, thoughtlessly causing myself more damage and pain. Fuck. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I let all that go – again. I pull myself back to “now”. To “here”. This moment, this place, this experience…

I’ve got my own shit to worry about, right? I mean, the usual real life day-to-day fuss and stress that goes on for anyone, nothing tragic or terrifying (the world provides plenty of that, and I’m grateful for my relatively good circumstances presently). I worry about household maintenance that is needed, and I worry about my recently damaged car being properly repaired. I stress out over traffic when I’m in a hurry to be somewhere, and whether or not my Traveling Partner has what he needs for a comfortable day while I’m in the office. I juggle work and running errands and maintaining the household and getting meals on the table – all the usual shit in an ordinary life. (G’damn am I glad I don’t also have little kids to care for!!) I do my best to avoid taking mundanities personally. I avoid making assumptions that include some entity or individual being personally out to harm me (it’s rarely true, ever, and it does me no particular good to color my experience with that frame of mind). Chronic pain. Disability. Resource limitations. Health generally. Aging. Employment. An ever-growing to-do list that keeps me on a short leash with limited “free” time to read, relax, reflect, and enjoy a pretty good life… ordinary shit we all deal with to one extent or another (unless we’re among the very few with the means to shape our life very differently). I try not to just bitch endlessly about that kind of crap. It doesn’t help me to do so. Venting has been shown to have limited value for good mental health. It’s also probably pretty dull reading. So… yeah. Sometimes I’ve got shit on my mind that I don’t care to be fixated on, or to spend a lot of time writing about or discussing. It’s unproductive and unhealthy to become mired in other people’s drama – or our own. Some mornings the best I can do is sit quietly, drink my coffee, and think my thoughts until they carry me elsewhere.

Why go on about what I don’t write about? I dunno, I guess my thinking is that I’m as human as anyone, having my own experience, but still seeking solutions, still walking my path alert for obstacles along the way – and still walking on in spite of those obstacles. I’m not looking for opportunities to “get it off my chest” so much as I am seeking, finding, and sharing the tools and practices that light my way to a better experience living my life. It’s been rough sometimes. I’ve been through some shit. (You, too, I bet?) I live a better life than I ever expected to – and I’ve made a lot of changes to get here. I want to mostly focus on that. The changes. The possibilities. The practices.

Maybe you have thoughts, too? I rarely ask – but I am interested. Curious. If a particular post on this blog moved you, gave you insight, or lit your way somehow, would you consider commenting and linking to that post? Was it just a thought or some often shared aphorism that anchored you? An “eye-opening moment”? I’d love to know, if you are willing to share that with me. You are a presence in my life, though we’ve likely never met. What brought you here? What brings you back? You matter. I write with you in mind.

I sigh and shift uncomfortably in my seat. Arthritis and chronic pain – that’s fucking real as hell this morning, and I ache with it from my fusion (T12-L1) to the base of my skull these days. I will dutifully report it on my next doctor’s appointment, he’ll make a note and do nothing much about it; there is nothing much to be done. Still, it could be worse (so much worse), and I’m grateful for the day, this moment, and this cup of coffee. Life is more better than bad, and has been for awhile. The day-to-day inconveniences, nuisances, and moments of frustration or annoyance are inconsequential, generally, and do not define my experience unless I allow them to fill my awareness and crowd out my joy. It’s a journey, and I keep practicing.

I sigh to myself and get ready to begin again.

After a lovely restful weekend (and even sleeping in both days!), I woke earlier than I planned, this morning. I must have felt rested; the transition between sleeping and waking happened without my noticing, and there I was, awake for some minutes before I noticed I wasn’t asleep. I got up and dressed and prepared for the day as quietly as I was able – which, this morning, wasn’t very quiet. I grimaced when I banged my computer bag against the door jam on my way out. I felt certain that would wake someone.

I started the car, the tank read only a quarter full. Shit. I stopped and filled up for the week, somewhat reluctantly. I’ve got another errand to run later, and lately it feels like every dollar has two places to go. We’re a year in, and Trump’s economy isn’t an improvement on much of anything at all. I sighed to myself standing in the cold, pumping my own gas, thinking my thoughts.

A lovely lazy weekend…but I still need to take down the holiday decor.

It is a Monday. No particular feeling of dread involved, no extraordinary measure of anxiety, it’s just a day that follows the weekend. It was a good weekend. I started reading The Stand, by Stephen King. I’m well into it, and grateful I didn’t start it while I was ill. lol That might have worked on my mind a bit too much. As it is, it brings thoughts of COVID and the pandemic to mind. I cough, and look around the cafe a little guiltily. Coughing in public spaces makes me so uncomfortable, since the pandemic. I guess that’s reasonable – as the cold war shaped my thinking about nuclear war, so the pandemic shaped my thinking about contagion and social responsibility.

So… A routine Monday, then, and later some time spent moving boxes from one storage place to another with the help of the Anxious Adventurer. It all seems so very ordinary and routine. I don’t dare look at the news; it will mire me in dread and anxiety, and a forboding “what the fuck?” feeling that is hard to shake off, not so much because the news is bad (it’s unlikely to be good), it’s more that it is just so fucking petty and stupid. I can’t be bothered this morning, I’m still enjoying a lingering good mood from the weekend. I’d like to enjoy it a while longer. It suddenly feels like a busy week…the storage move, the car repair, the housekeeping, the cooking, work, and I still need to take down the holiday decor. I am reminded that what I put my attention on is what will fill my experience, and when I crowd my thoughts with imminent tasks and challenges I lose the opportunity to enjoy this quiet moment, here, now. I breathe, exhale, and relax – and let it go for now. I can take it as it comes. I can walk my path one step at a time.

Once we choose our path, we’ve still got to walk it. The journey is the destination. 🙂

I sigh quietly and sip my coffee. I’ve settled into a routine that feels pretty comfortable, lately, and it is happily less costly, and removes the hour-long commute I sometimes take to a distant co-work office. Pleasant, somewhat warmer weather will find me on a nearby trail, walking with my thoughts, and wintry cold mornings or inclement weather not suited to walking, finds me in this cafe (it’s just a Starbucks, very near the university library where I generally work most days, now). It works. The cost of a small black coffee for the time, the table, and the connection, is a small price to pay, far less than the cost of the gas for the commuting or the co-work space membership. I’m gonna drink coffee regardless – as long as the beans reach these shores affordably (for some values of “affordable”). Hell, my coffee was already ready and waiting for me this morning, when I arrived. lol

Happy Monday, indeed.

The Chaotic Comic came by to hang out and visit, yesterday. It was a good time, friends talking, nothing elaborate, but I really needed that connection, I think. It satisfies something within me, in spite of my less than ideally sociall nature. I still miss my Dear Friend greatly, since her death, and there is something “familiar feeling” in this new friendship, as if I have stepped into a role with the Chaotic Comic that my Dear Friend once filled for me. The age difference is about right; my Dear Friend was about where I am in life now, when we first met. The Chaotic Comic teeters on the edge of familiar circumstances in her own life, as I once faced in mine. Funny how the wheel turns, eh? My Traveling Partner graciously makes room for my new friendship, still making a point to get acquainted briefly before returning to what he was doing in another room. I’m grateful for his astute social discernment; he knew I needed this before I recognized it myself.

Human beings, being human. Living our finite mortal lives, moment by moment, choice by choice. I sip my coffee and wonder about the point of it. Maybe there truly is none, and we really do create any meaning or purpose that exists for us, at all? Are we only a peculiar cosmic coincidence, after all? Good times come and go. Dark times, too. Reading The Stand has me wondering, if it became necessary to leave it all behind, and walk away (or run), would I have the resilience and strength of character to make such a decision? Would I dither endlessly and meet a messy end as a result? Would I choose wisely or yield to magical thinking in spite of what I can see with my own eyes? Would I die in a zombie apocalypse, or could I survive? I can remember my father’s harsh words in some moment when I was stuck on a decision in a moment that required action, “Do something, damn it, even if it isn’t right!” and how often that lead me to make precisely the wrong choice in some urgent-seeming breathless moment of pressure and panic. Learning to slow down, to consider the details, the resources, the options, and to attempt to choose wisely based on a bigger picture has been worthwhile, and has stood me in good stead. How slow is too slow? How much consideration is too much time spent thinking something over? I sip my coffee and wonder if it is all down to the roll of the dice and the hand that we’re dealt? Do our careful choices matter? I like to think that they do. Maybe careful choices don’t guarantee better outcomes, but they seem to make the journey more enjoyable, day-to-day. The difference between a well-maintained trail through a lovely meadow, and trying to blaze a new trail through treacherous mires or marshes, seems a useful metaphor, perhaps. I think that over awhile, sipping my coffee.

However straight and obvious life’s path seems at a glance… I can’t quite see where it leads.

I breathe, exhale, and relax, and think about this path, this journey. I take a moment for gratitude. I’m aware I have better circumstances than a great many people, although I deal with my own challenges (and they sometimes feel unreasonably numerous). It could be worse. I’m fortunate to love and be loved. Fortunate to have indoor plumbing, and employer-provided healthcare. Fortunate to have a few simple luxuries and modern conveniences. Fortunate to have some useful survival skills and experience with hard times. I’m grateful to walk this path in good company. I finish my coffee thinking how good life is, when I’m not caught up in distant bullshit and vexation about things I can’t change with some action of my own. I smile, thinking of my Traveling Partner, and hoping that if I did wake him this morning, that he woke in good spirits and knowing how much I love him. I finish my coffee, and prepare to begin again.

He asked me “what’s your plan for tomorrow?” I replied with a short summary of a fairly typical morning for me, I’d dress when I woke, head out quietly for a walk, and stop at the store on my way home afterward. He looked at me with a very serious look, and a lot of love. “I don’t like the idea of you being out so early in the cold and the dark, that can’t be good for you after being sick, and with your arthritis. I read your blog, you know.” (That was the gist of it, I’m sure I’ve gotten the words a little wrong.) He asked me to consider staying home, waking up whenever, and having coffee before I get started doing things out of the house. I’ll admit, it’s an idea I enjoy. I love a leisurely morning over my coffee, and some writing, embraced in the warmth of “home”. I agree that I will stay home and have my morning coffee before I got out…and I did. (Well, I am.)

…This is definitely a better cup of coffee, and the soft lo-fi in the background is lovely, too…

What a luxury this is! I mean, it’s such a simple thing, but I feel very loved, and I am enjoying the morning. No tinnitus. I just now noticed that these noise cancelling headphones with the right music playing do a pretty sweet job of masking it. If I focus on it, I can still hear it, but otherwise it fades into the background, dim and unnoticed. Good coffee. Quiet morning. I breathe, exhale, and relax, and savor this simple luxury. Weekends.

I love a weekend. I’ve got this book, too. I’m already so eager to read it that I’ve set aside “A Canticle for Leibowitz“, which I got for Giftmas. I can pick it up again after I read “The Stand (1990 complete and uncut edition)“. I choke briefly on a sigh that became a chuckle; “too many books to read” feels like a fun problem to have. lol It is quite possibly one of my favorite “problems”. I think fondly back to walking to the local library each summer (often) and returning from hours among the aisles of shelves with an armful of books. I spent so many long summer days quietly reading, uninterrupted as I visited far off places and other lives through those pages. It was the 1970s, and even at nine years old, I was allowed to walk to the library alone (it was only half a mile), and had my own library card. By the time I was 12, I was reading from the adult section, too, although the librarian always double-checked that I wasn’t checking out something wildly inappropriate (I was 13 before she let me check out books by Anaïs Nin or Henry Miller).

When I deployed for Desert Shield, in the summer of 1990, I tucked books into small spaces here and there in the maintenance truck I loaded for transport to our destination. I filled my own footlocker with books (and my cribbage board, a monopoly set, and assorted sundries – which turned out to have been an excellent idea, later). I took quite a few books, and they passed through many hands over those many weeks and months of deployment, once the other people in my unit were aware of them. Even people who might otherwise not ever pick up a book, found themselves purusing my wee “library” after some time spent well and truly bored. War may be hell (it definitely is) – but it can also be quite boring between the moments of chaos, destruction, violence, or terror.

After I’d left the military, and while I was leaving my first marriage, I hurriedly boxed up the books I had, and put them on the truck, discovering only later (as my Granny helped me unpack into my new apartment) that quite a few of my precious books were missing – and all of my Heinlein books (a complete set of first editions) were among those missing books. Later my ex bragged about grabbing boxes from the truck while my Granny and I were loading it, and burning my books (and my high-heeled shoes – wth?) out of anger and spite, knowing they were precious to me. The books mattered to me more than his senseless destructive bullshit, and I cried – and replaced what I could, over time. I had very little furniture, and here and there stacks of books served as “side tables”, nightstands, or a place upon which to put a small lamp, for quite a while, until after the construction season picked up again, and I could afford some second hand furniture. Life lived, achievements unlocked. Hopefully I learned some things from it.

I like books. Real bound books. Before the Anxious Adventurer moved in, I had a small library here at home – a room set up specifically as a place to read, shelves and books lining the walls. I miss it. I don’t grudge him the space – and I’d rather not have him bedding down in some temporary arrangement in the livingroom or garage; those spaces have their purposes, here, already. Instead, we added the hutch and bookshelves in the dining room, and now my lovely breakables have a place where they can be seen (even used), and more space for books. It’s beautiful. It’s hard to be bothered by any of that, at all. Eventually, the Anxious Adventurer will make his own way in the world, and get his own place (sooner than later, at this point), and I’ll have that room back, and even gain additional space for books thereby. Neat. 😀

Do I sound “too excited” about a book or two? I probably am. But if we lost the internet completely for one reason or another, these bound books in my hands will still be as they are – and worth reading, even if only as a happy means of whiling away an hour or two of boredom. Read a book! There are so many. 😀

I breathe, exhale, and relax. My Traveling Partner looks in on me. We exchange a handful of words. I look at the time. It’s already time to get on with the morning. I smile to myself, feeling relaxed and loved, and ready to begin again.

I slept well and deeply last night. I woke gently at a good time for waking. I think I even managed to get myself ready for the day and leave the house without waking everyone else. The cafe is warm, my coffee is hot, and the background music is different, more to my taste. My first taste of this cup of coffee reminds me that life is not reliably joyful and easy; it is bitter, and tastes over-roasted. I shrug it off. It is also inconsequential. Some coffee is bitter. Some coffee is sweet. As with moments.

Everyone on my global work team is down with the flu, or recently recovering. The flu is hitting hard this year, but it is orders of magnitude less serious than COVID was. It’s easy to forget how terrible the pandemic was. (I’m glad I am finally getting over the flu, and I’m grateful it wasn’t worse; this year’s flu has killed thousands of people in the US alone, thus far.) Last night I did not wake even once to deal with my sinuses or to cough, and didn’t start coughing or struggling with draining sinuses as soon as I sat up – a pleasant change.

Spring is coming. Oh, this morning was freezing cold, and the car was thoroughly frosted over. It’s definitely winter here, now. I’m glad I’m not out walking in the cold and damp, I admit. Not my favorite conditions for walking, these freezing temperatures and dark, wet mornings. I won’t say “no” to a chance to watch the sun rise from a convenient trail, but I’d rather not spend hours in the cold to do that if I can avoid it. That’s just real.

My second sip of coffee seems quite different than the first, pleasant, not especially bitter. I don’t put a lot of thought into; it really doesn’t matter. It was probably something to do with the lingering taste of toothpaste in my mouth. I let my mind move on and enjoy my coffee contentedly. I take a moment to breathe, exhale, and relax, and do a “body scan”, allowing myself to feel my feelings and acknowledge the various physical sensations of being human. No particularly noteworthy amount of pain, this morning, which is something worth spending a moment of my time to appreciate and savor. I feel comfortable in my skin, ready for a new day. (I wonder what it holds…)

The earth keeps turning. The clock keeps ticking. American idiots keeps talking “bigger gun diplomacy” and nonsense about taking fucking Greenland. For real, people? Are we really those assholes?? Fuck democracy, we’ll just take what we want? I honestly thought better of us. Hopefully hateful stupidity and vengeful pettiness don’t win over the hearts of most Americans, and we can look back on this moment in our history with patient astonishment and lessons learned, after the next election. (Ideally sooner than later, because this shit is costing us many dollars, and allies, and destroying our reputation on the world stage.) We’ve got a mess on our hands, and I’ve become very concerned that we won’t dig out of it in my lifetime. I sigh and sip my coffee, grateful we still import this magical bean at all.

Speak truth to power. Don’t let your voice be silenced. Stand firm on your values, and try not to be too discouraged by current events; this too will pass, I remind myself. Change is. Impermanance is a permanent condition.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I let all that go and pull myself back to here, and now. For some strange reason, the playlist the cafe has on is playing surreal sounding … surf music? Weird. I find myself asking a barista what they’ve got playing. Yep. “Indie surf rock“, she says. It makes for an interesting atmosphere in this morning space in the wet gloomy winter of the Pacific Northwest. I’m not even complaining. It beats “shoegaze” or vapid pop breakup songs.

I sit with my thoughts awhile. There is no reason to rush the morning, I’ve got awhile before the work day begins. I think about the years behind me. 62 of those. I’ll be 63 this year. I don’t “feel old”, in spite of aches and pains and such; I’ve had those for years. The osteo arthritis in my spine developed before I was 30 and has continued to worsen over the years, climbing my spine, reaching my neck most recently. It doesn’t have further to go, but manages to keep getting worse anyway. I try not to let it dictate my life or my choices, day-to-day, sometimes that’s hard – but it doesn’t feel “aging related” to me. It’s a reminder of past trauma.

When I was a kid, adults in their 60s seemed elderly to me. That’s not true in 2025 – most of the people I meet in their 60s these days not only seem “my age” (well, duh), but also don’t seem (or appear to be) “old”. Phrases like “60 is the new 40” come to mind. I chuckle grimly; recent changes to vaccine schedules, dietary recommendations, and cost or availability of healthcare pretty nearly promise that aging is going to look very different in the near future (and not in a good way for generations who will find themselves aging very soon). Limited retirement potential for Americans also continues to burden folks as they age out of the workforce (if they can leave the workforce at all, it may not be voluntary). We do a pretty shitty job of caring for our elders in this country. We do a pretty shitty job of caring, generally.

I sigh and shake off my dark mood. G’damn I’m so fucking over people, lately. I call to mind the bright spots in my life, people-wise. My Traveling Partner. My friend the Author. My friend the Chaotic Comic. Far away friends I rarely see but write to more than occasionally. The Anxious Adventurer is also a human being with a better than average heart, of generally good character. Nonetheless, I feel a deep abiding need to “step away for awhile”, somehow, and like a great many people (most people, probably) I can’t really afford to right now. Another sigh breaks the stillness. The deep breath that follows feels good, and I relax as I exhale. I am enjoying the scents of freshly ground coffee as they waft my way, and I focus my attention on that. I rub my hands slowly, massaging my aching thumbs. I can’t say I’m surprised that arthritis is developing in my thumbs; the joints most affected are those that are most involved in holding a pen, a brush, or a palette knife. It’s a cruel twist, but it’s not personal. These are fragile vessels and we learn too late how best to care for them. I look at my hands. I see signs of age there most clearly; small wrinkles tell the tale of years, shadows of fading bruises are reminders of hidden fragility.

…The clock ticks on…

It’s been almost two years since I lost my Dear Friend. I experience a fleeting pang of mortal dread… that ticking clock, you know? I chuckle to myself. A great many people in my lineage lived to advanced years – a handful well past 100 years. Many (most?) into their 90s. There’s no reason to rush toward the end, but it’s on my mind more than it needs to be, lately. I often finding myself wanting to “live forever” – there is much to see and do and learn and explore, and many questions to ask along the way. This moment here is simple and ordinary, but it’s also precious and entirely unique. Moments are fleeting. Savor them! I sip my coffee, glance at the time, and think my thoughts.

A friendlier than usual barista stops by my table to chat – a moment of recognition and visibilty. She(?) is curious about what I’m doing, what I’m writing about. I find a way to describe myself and my writing, briefly. I find this a challenging but sometimes useful exercise. We exchange names, and a few pleasant words. She returns to the work at hand, I turn my attention back to my writing, and this morning moment.

My momentarily dark mood seems to have mostly lifted. As it passes, my arthritis pain begins to return. These experiences are not related directly in any way but timing, and that is coincidental. I sip my coffee marveling at how easily we conflate unrelated events or see causality where there is none, simply due to timing. Human primates are interesting. (We aren’t as smart as we think we are.) I definitely don’t want to be around them all damned time. I sigh, and sip my coffee, daydreaming about getting in the car and just… driving toward the horizon. Alone. I feel a bitter smile twist the corner of my mouth; human primates are social creatures. My love of solitude is a reflection of trauma, of chaos, and damage. I’m not unaware of this, and it is part of “who I am”.

I stretch and sigh, and get ready to begin again.