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Have you ever thought about how few people leave any sort of lasting mark on the world, or the lives of others in an individual mortal lifetime? Humanity’s impact on the planet, other life forms, and each other, generally, is pretty obvious (and pretty reliably negative, which is unfortunate), but as individual human beings, by far the vast majority of us will pass through these mortal lives almost unnoticed, and leave no lasting legacy of the life we lived. Maybe, if we’ve worked hard and been quite fortunate, we’ll leave something of value behind, in cash or assets, that our heirs may or may not appreciate in the way that we hoped. Most of us will live, die, and be forgotten.

… That’s a huge downer, isn’t it? My own experiences of “existential dread” most commonly center on this awareness that it’s quite likely I’ll be forgotten once I’m gone…

The closest thing we human beings have that approximates immortality is to have some sort of lasting legacy that endures beyond our limited, all too brief, human lifetime. The written works of writers, philosophers, historians, and storytellers of all sorts may survive thousands of years. The paintings, drawings, and sculptures of visual artists working in durable media may survive many lifetimes beyond the death of the artist who made them. More modern art forms have yet to prove themselves, but recorded music, and film, endures – as long as the means to view them survives. Architects design buildings and crews of builders, engineers, and tradespeople work to bring them into being – where these survive, a name may survive with them, but only one (or few) of many.

I fret about what my own legacy may be, when this brief mortal life ends. Will my art survive? Will it be known, even to some few, or lost over time due to lack of appeal or discarded as lacking value? Will my small but thoughtfully selected porcelain collection become treasured by someone else, or be sold piecemeal as part of clearing out the clutter I left behind? What about my books? My written work? The contents of my email? Will the things that were important to me have lasting importance for anyone else? Will I be remembered? If I am, what will I be remembered for? That seems like an important question, although considering the likelihood that I’ll simply be among the vast forgotten multitudes as soon as I’m gone, the seeming importance of the question may be an illusion.

A sunny summer day, an oak grove, a meadow.

I walked down the trail this morning thinking about legacy and mortality, and meaning and purpose, and wondering again “what we’re here for”. How long after I’m gone will my beloved say my name with longing and love, before his memory begins to fade? Once he’s gone, what then? Who will continue to “say my name” and cling to their memories of me?

I’m not thinking about these things in a sorrowful way, just contemplating what it takes to leave behind an enduring legacy of love and high regard? I am asking myself what I hope to be remembered for? I have come to understand that it isn’t enough simply to be remembered. Some pretty terrible human beings are remembered through history, and I have no interest in being one of those. It’s more complicated than simply being remembered, isn’t it? Hitler is remembered. Andrew Jackson is remembered. Jack the Ripper is remembered. Saddam Hussein is remembered. No doubt Trump will be remembered. These people are not remembered for anything good they did. Their legacy is of trauma and crime, and how terrible human beings can treat other human beings. Their names evoke cautionary admonishments and document terrible deeds. There are worthier things to be known for.

What do you want to be known for? Are you even doing the things that have that potential?

One hot air balloon drifting across a blue summer sky.

I walked and thought. Later I’ll have coffee with a friend, run a couple errands, get the oil changed in my car, and return home to my Traveling Partner’s love. None of that holds any particular potential to leave a lasting “legacy”. These are moments in one human life. Perhaps it is enough to simply live authentically, and to love well, and treat people with kindness and consideration?

I watch the leaves of trees quaking gently in the morning breeze, and enjoy the feeling of sunshine on my back. It’s a lovely morning, and perhaps the best possible choice is to embrace this moment, savor it, and live my life as it is? Maybe it isn’t for us to decide what our legacy could, or may, be at all? I suppose it is eventually in the hands (minds) of others, regardless what we may do to influence or guide that outcome. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I keep walking. I can wonder, but I can’t know – funny to recognize and acknowledge that with such ease. The question of “legacy” now seems potentially an obstacle. A bit of misdirection. Perhaps it is far more important simply to become the person I most want to be, living well, loving deeply, and present, here, now?

I sigh and smile. I hear the clock ticking. I keep on walking. Regardless whether I am remembered or forgotten, I am enjoying this life, and savoring the many little joys in it. Each moment is uniquely its own experience, whether anyone else remembers or not; I’m here, now, living these moments. It’s enough, isn’t it? I think about it awhile longer. Soon, I’ll begin again, grateful for the chance, and the moments.

The ringing in my ears is loud this morning. I pay it no particular attention; it’s reliably always there and the only thing to do about it is to focus on other things. My hot coffee. The chill of the morning at the edge of a meadow surrounded by forest. The distant sound of traffic on the highway, faint but still audible. Voices. I sigh and lace up my boots. A walk after coffee sounds delightful.

… I slept poorly but it hasn’t caught up with me yet…

Light in the darkness.

I woke several times during the night to pee. I guess I’m adequately hydrated. 😆 Each time I stepped out into the darkness, I paused to gaze at the stars a little while. I could see the Milky Way. I would return, following the short path between my campsite and the restroom, guided by the merry string of colored lights that I hung around my tent, specifically to make it easier to find in the dark. The night didn’t begin to feel cold until shortly before daybreak and I was pretty comfortable, just not sleeping restfully.

… The night felt long…

My walk warmed me up more than my morning coffee did. It’s been mostly uphill, and I wound my way through the trees, stepping carefully where the trail was not well-maintained. I reached my goal; the day use area. It took me longer to get here than I expected, but I wasn’t going for speed, only solitude. Walking to leave the sound of voices behind me, and in this instance quite successfully. There’s no one else here right now. It’s lovely and quiet (except for the tinnitus, which no one else hears).

A new day.

My head aches and I am thinking about more coffee, though I certainly had my usual amount (more than). I look over the park map. This trail? That one? What about this other one? It looks new, since my last visit here (which was 2022, I think). It’s probably early enough to find parking at one of the trailheads for the BVT… I yawn and stretch. It isn’t nap time, yet.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. What is my purpose, here? Meditation. Self-reflection. Setting intentions for this next year of living. This, right now, it isn’t really any if those things in a useful way. The miles of trails do seem to connect me with my sense of purpose. I look out at the horizon and wonder how many miles to those hills? The map suggests that those are in the Tillamook State Forest, and about 16 miles away (as the crow flies). It would be more than an hour to drive there, and about 12 to walk it, according to Maps. I think about how often the thing we seek seems so near, but really isn’t near at all. That’s a useful bit of perspective.

The sun comes out from behind morning clouds and warms me. I remind myself to put my phone on the charger when I get back to camp, as I eye the trail heading back down the hill. I think about heading back, and take another look at the map. Time to begin again.

I slept in this morning, still waking quite early, but not early enough to catch the sunrise. I headed down the trail inhaling the sweet Spring-Summer air deeply; it smells of flowers, and vaguely of too-sweet breakfast cereal, which seems strange but not unpleasant.

The morning of a new day.

There are multitudes of goldfinches (or, perhaps, lesser goldfinches, I’m not certain) flitting about in the taller grass that separates the edge of the manicured park space from the vineyards adjacent to it. I try several times to photograph them, but they are much too quick for me.

What life reveals is often a matter of where we put our attention.

Since I can’t get a picture of the little birds this morning, I take pictures of the thistles blooming. I’m not disappointed or dissatisfied, each are interesting in their own ways. I listen to the little birds singing and chirping. The morning chill seeps through my sweater while I enjoy a moment at the side of the trail. It is my birthday, and this is how I am choosing to begin it, with the healthy practice of a bit of walking and self-reflection. It’s a lovely morning for it.

A moment well-spent.

I don’t know what today holds. I try to remember if I have “things to do” but my mind veers away from such practical matters in favor of birthday thoughts. Presents later. Cake too. Pizza for dinner maybe? Something different? I’m relatively easy to please, birthday-wise, more than anything else I just want the day to be mine, doing things I enjoy in the company I choose, and letting all of the hard work of life wait for another moment. 😁 The things it takes to delight me are not complicated and I still have an unspoiled childlike joy about birthdays.

I smile at the sunshine. I’m glad I took the day off from work. I hear a farm truck rattle past somewhere relatively close by. I already miss my Traveling Partner, and I’d really like a cup of coffee. lol I’m reluctant to disturb the little birds who have gathered around me in nearby grass and thistles, but there’s no coffee here and I’m beginning to feel chilly. I get to my feet and look down the trail. Seems like a good beginning for a new year. I wonder what 62 will be about? It’s definitely time to begin again.

I’m sipping my coffee after a short suburban walk around the neighborhood where the office is located. In one direction, it’s all residential streets and quite cul de sacs, filled with pretty landscaping and flowers in bloom, and it makes a nice walk in the cool of the morning. It’ll be hot later on, and it’s clear that summer is approaching. I dislike taking my walks in the heat of the day, in summertime, so this early morning habit becomes quite a practical thing this time of year.

“Sweet Chariot” blooming.

I enjoyed the garden yesterday, and new roses intended for the bare slope beneath the back retaining wall finally arrived. They’re waiting for their moment for planting, which looks to be Monday since I’ll need help with that, and in the meantime they sit on the deck in partial shade, getting used to the climate and being watched and watered until Monday comes. R. eglanteria is a favorite species rose (for me), and I love the apple scent of the foliage and flowers. In the conditions here, it should root firmly, spread nicely without becoming “invasive”, and do an excellent job of preventing erosion where they are planted. I’m hoping that perhaps as they grow they’ll also be sufficiently interesting to the deer to distract them from my garden. lol (“Good luck with that, Lady, the deer are probably still going to eat your damned roses.”)

“Rainbow Happy Trails” blooming, each blossom like a tiny sunrise.

I think about other garden projects while I sip my coffee, and think ahead even to the autumn gardening plan. It’s not really time to bother with that, but it’s good to have a plan in mind. I giggle to myself when I realize I’m thinking about where to put still another rose or two, as if I haven’t already wedged in a ridiculous number of them for the space I’ve got. Most of the roses in my garden are smaller varieties (some are miniatures), which make good use of the limited space, and are uncompromisingly beautiful. In this case, size does not matter at all. I’m more interested in the health of the foliage, the beauty of the blooms, and the quantity and fragrance of those flowers. I love stepping out the front door and being immediately surrounded by an invisible cloud of sweet rose fragrances, which tend to “pool” in the entry way.

“Nozomi” thriving, in full bloom; she’s so thorny it is very difficult to weed her as much as she does need it.

I enjoy the sanctuary of my garden when I’m a bit stressed out. I love the moments I spend there daydreaming and reflecting on life when I’m feeling a bit stalled. I enjoy the practical metaphor for living that my garden represents, too. My garden teaches me, nurtures my spirit, and produces yummy vegetables, leafy greens, and moments of rest in a too busy world. I still have to work at it. We become what we practice. We harvest what we plant. There are verbs involved in life and gardening.

A tiny bug on my romaine.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. It’ll be late in the afternoon when I am next in my garden, watering, maybe weeding, planning the weekend project for better protecting the vegetable bed. I’m already thinking about it, which isn’t at all “being present in the moment”, because right now I’m in the office, beginning the work day. lol There are other things to do. Other places to focus my attention. Human primates are hilarious. I smile at my flights of fancy and eagerness to be in the garden; I don’t actually prefer to do the amount of work it takes to keep the garden beautiful, but it is work that must be done if I wish to enjoy a beautiful garden. There it is – the secret sauce to living well; do the work.

There’s also a certain amount of luck and happenstance involved…

I smile at the thought that “all it takes is hard work” – it’s a very “Republican perspective” on success, and it is misleading. Yes, it’s important to “do the needful” to succeed in life (or work, or love, or gardening), but also – there’s the matter of luck, good fortune, and circumstances being in favor of whatever thing I’m attempting to do. No one truly finds success alone, and while there are surely verbs involved, and yes the work we put in does have a lot to do with the success we find, there’s also no getting around the idea that we are each also very dependent on luck, and often the help of others. Maybe things just don’t go our way? Maybe the deer eat everything in our garden down to the ground and we’ve got to start completely from new seeds or plants and do it all over again? Maybe our crops become blighted, or consumed by some tiny creature? Maybe we become injured and simply can’t do the work required? I feel fortunate; although the deer ate my bean plants, those plants are recovering, putting out flowers, and seem likely to grow some actual beans before the summer is over. The tomatoes are also recovering. That’s a win, although it’s still possible the deer will have another go at my damned vegetables before I have a harvest. lol (It’s a helpful metaphor.) I’m fortunate that I also have help when I need it – I need only ask.

I sigh to myself and sip my coffee. It’s a lovely morning to be in the garden. I’m in the office. There are things to do here, too, and at least for now my time is not my own. I glance at the clock and admit to myself that the work day has begun. I look over my calendar, and my email. It’s time to begin again.

I drove to the office with a love song in my head. Sweet, endearing, lingering in my memory as a recollection of a time when I yearned for the sort of love I enjoy right now – although back then I didn’t actually believe such love existed at all (it was just that far outside of my own experience of life and the world). I get to the office, pour some coffee, and put on my playlist of “silly love songs” to coast into the new day. (Every song on this list is deeply meaningful to me in some way, with regard to love and loving, but admittedly, some of my choices may not make sense to anyone else – it’s not about that, though, is it?) My reflection smiles back at me in the window. The morning sky is gray and threatening rain. I breathe, exhale, and relax. It’s a lovely morning anyway.

I woke from a deep sound sleep this morning, with serious thoughts still occupying my consciousness, left behind by my dreams. Something about choosing to be less negative, as a means of improving my quality of life, and sharing that thought somehow with those dear ones in my life who are reflexively deeply negative without really giving any thought to how that colors their experience over time. You know the sort, I’m sure (hell, maybe you are that sort – I once was, myself)? I’m talking about the folks whose humor is mostly pretty dark, often very sarcastic, sometimes self-deprecatory in a somewhat disturbing way to listen to? The folks who seem to complain at least a little bit about almost every experience they have? The ones who say “no” or reject ideas before an idea can be fully presented or a sentence completed? Yeah. “Those” people – the chronically negative buzzkills in our lives, who likely mean well, and may even think they are being “realistic” or humorous… How best to communicate to these people that the negativity they embrace with such firm commitment is not only a noteworthy “bring down” in any group (and potentially not as amusing as they may think), but potentially also the actual key to why they feel the way they do in the first place?

…I definitely get tired of chronic bitching almost immediately, and sarcastic “humor” and bitterness unleavened by real joy in life is exhausting to deal with…

What you plant in your garden determines what you harvest, but you’ve still got to pull the weeds.

I smile, listening to the love songs on my playlist – it’s hard to be annoyed while also wrapped in love. I sip my coffee and make room for gratitude; I’m fortunate to be so well loved, and to enjoy the opportunity to love so deeply in return. No doubt that colors my thinking. Certainly, becoming a more positive person generally (at least for me) followed falling in love with this singular human being who is now my beloved Traveling Partner. Sometimes it almost feels like that was some kind of shortcut or cheat code, but when I’m honest with myself, there was a fucking ton of work, and verbs, and practice of practices that also followed the beginning of this relationship – and those things could have been done, and occurred, and created the profound benefits that they did, without regard to being in love. They were choices. That the inspiration to make those choices was this profoundly deep emotion is mostly coincidental (although I wouldn’t change it for all the billions in the world). It’s doable without falling in love.

Bitter is not one of the flavors of Love.

How does one make a change from chronic bitterness and negativity to becoming a pretty positive and upbeat person day-to-day? Are there some “simple steps to being happy” that are being withheld from common knowledge? I don’t even know the answer to that question – I just know what steps I took, myself. Happy to share, I hope this is useful for you in some small way.

  1. If you need therapy, get therapy. How will you know? If you’re chronically miserable, you probably need therapy. If people around you are regularly suggesting therapy, or asking if you’re in therapy, or inquiring about your mental health and whether you’re okay, you may benefit from therapy. Just saying; sometimes we can’t make our journey alone.
  2. Be selective about the practices you practice. We become what we practice. If you practice chronic negativity, bitterness, sarcasm, that’s what you become, and what you fill your life with.
  3. Put your own self-care high on your list of things to do, every day.
  4. Be choosy about your media consumption – what you fill your head with will determine (often) what the content of your thoughts will likely be.
  5. Consider some sort of contemplative practice (like meditation) – make time in your day to “hear yourself think”.
  6. Embrace small joys and celebrate small wins. It just feels good – a lot better than feeling annoyed, disappointed, or bitter.
  7. Practice non-attachment. Clinging to expectations and assumptions is a fast track to being discontent and disappointed.
  8. Do good. Another way to feel good about life, is to contribute to the good in life.
  9. Live! Embrace change. Explore uncertainty. Try new experiences. Learn new things. Walk unfamiliar paths. The menu of The Strange Diner is vast – look it over.

Life is too brief. Don’t waste precious limited mortal moments on pointless performative negativity. Live authentically – and enjoy the joy you find (and create)! Just saying – you do have choices.

I smile and have another sip of my coffee. Good coffee. Good playlist. Good time to begin again. (Good luck on your journey!)