Archives for posts with tag: perspective

Yesterday went sideways fast, mostly a byproduct of pain (mine, and his), and associated emotional volatility. Mine. His. It sucked and generally speaking the entire day was pretty much wrecked by it. Oddly, from an outside perspective, apparently, the details of the day amounted to “a great day” characterized by numerous successes, but the emotional qualities of the experience were wildly out of touch with any of that. Being human is complicated sometimes.

As bad as the day seemed, generally, it began and ended well. Not my usual experience, and it seems (on reflection) somehow associated with the addition of the Anxious Adventurer to the household dynamic. Interesting. Looking back on the day it “doesn’t seem so bad”, but good grief I am glad it’s behind me and I am hoping for better today. I’m in less pain… A promising start.

Here comes another opportunity!

I hit the trail just at daybreak. The morning had a slight chill to it that felt refreshing. The sunrise began as a smudgy streak of a reddish hue, like a wound becoming infected. The air was still, and hazy in the distance. My tinnitus was far louder in my ears than the sound of distant traffic. I walked along, listening to my own steps, thinking my solitary thoughts.

…10 days until my coastal getaway…

The case I purchased to hold, protect, and transport my pastels arrived yesterday and I took a moment to put the delicate sticks of colorful pigments into their new home. No more small boxes – just one tidy case. I’m delighted with the result, and feel more prepared for my upcoming trip to the coast to paint. I sit at the halfway point of my walk, thinking about art, love, and inspiration, and watching the sun rise. The work day will begin soon enough, and I’ll turn my thoughts to work when it does. For now, my time is my own.

I’m looking forward to the weekend, though it seems likely to be quite a busy one. I’ve got a number of boxes set aside, filled with small objects and items quickly packed and moved out of the way to make room for the Anxious Adventurer. Now that things are settling down, it’s time to take a closer look, to dispose of what lacks value, to display noteworthy curiosities and decorative things, where space permits, and more carefully pack those things worth keeping but for which the time is not now. Then whatever boxes there are will go to storage for a while. It’s a process that can be a bit emotional, and although I am not dreading it, I’m also not looking forward to it.

I breathe exhale and relax. The sun is deep luminous orange as it rises above the horizon. I save my draft and turn back up the trail. The sunrise dazzles my eyes as I walk through the oaks.

Don’t stare into the sun!

The air is already warming up. I’m thinking about coffee and new beginnings, and change. I’m feeling pretty good this morning, aside from the headache that accompanies me most days.  Getting to the car, I sit on a nearby picnic table to finish my writing, change my boots for softer shoes, and sit for a moment, just being. I watch the sun through the trees and contemplate how I would compose the scene on paper and how that might work in pastel. Old thoughts, new medium.

…Fuck, my tinnitus is so loud. I make a point to listen to myself breathing, which helps “put the tinnitus in perspective” and anchor my awareness to externally audible sounds.

…My Traveling Partner pings me…

It’s hours later. My plans were upended pretty quickly. My morning walk had served to give my partner a bit more time to get the rest he needs, but the Anxious Adventurer has his own routine, and his own work hours, and his own plan, and my partner was awake earlier than he’d hoped, with no likelihood of getting more rest if I were to be working from home, as I’d intended. It was early enough in the morning to make a change, easily, with no particular stress and I offered to do so, and hastened home to grab my laptop and head to the office. It’s nice to have the option. My day ends up starting a bit later than I planned, which means it will end later than I’d like, but if my Traveling Partner gets the rest he needs, it’s a win for both of us.

…The necessity to begin again comes in a lot of forms. The willingness to make a change based on circumstances is a useful first step. Then, by beginning where I actually am, I can proceed to the next thing, the next need, the next plan… the next moment. So far, it’s still a lovely day – and all I had to do was begin again. 😀

Human primates are peculiar. I got so thoroughly involved in my delightful morning, yesterday, I completely forgot about my physical therapy appointment, which was planned to be my next stop after my walk. Instead, I went home and began enjoying my lovely morning further, with my Traveling Partner and the Anxious Adventurer. lol Costly mistake; the clinic phoned me to ask if I was “on my way”… Nope. Miles away, content at home. The caller politely reminded me I would be charged for the missed appointment. I replied that I understood and moved on with the delightful day, and spent it in relatively little pain.

It was a very pleasant and thoroughly relaxing morning. I enjoyed it. I spent much of the day exploring my new pastels, and reading, and some little bit on grocery shopping and helping my partner with this and that. I got some of the rest I have needed so badly.

Today there is laundry to do and errands to run, and housekeeping, but having some help is already significantly lightening the load and I face the day with real joy and enthusiasm. I sigh contentedly, sitting here by the side of the trail, at an”halfway point” I like that has a comfortable spot to sit down for a few minutes. The sunshine is warm on my back. The morning is mild and not yet hot, (but I can feel that it will get there again today). It’s summer, sure, but I can easily remember summers being cooler in this part of the Pacific Northwest than they tend to be now. I frown for a moment thinking about how thoroughly we’ve fucked up this planet. We could do better. It may be too late…

A beautiful morning in a beautiful place.

I think over my list of things to do and add some small tasks that make big differences. I’ve got more to offer, today, and I feel rested and strong. Funny how much difference the thought of having help makes. I don’t feel the need to plan ahead for exhaustion at the end of the day.

I sit awhile with my thoughts, watching the light through the trees change as the sun rises. I watch and wonder how I would capture the qualities of light and the various hues of green with my pastels. I feel content and centered. I breathe, exhale, and relax. It’s a good beginning for a new day.

It’s going to be another hot summer day. I remind myself unnecessarily to drink enough water (meaning, specifically, more than usual). Seems likely that the remaining summers ahead for human kind will continue to be hot and then hotter, unless something changes. Stay cool. Take care of yourself. Avoid punishing manual labor in the heat of the day. Be alert for signs of heat-related illness and take steps sooner than later.

Another hot summer day ahead.

I woke early and slipped away into the earliest hint of dawn. The morning air was still and felt somehow warmer than the 67°F than it was. Yesterday the morning felt warm at 60°F. Tomorrow it’ll no doubt feel warmer still at some higher temperature. The nights are not cooling off completely and the days are getting warmer, too. Summer.

The sun rose an irritable looking orange at the edge of a hazy pink horizon, as I drove to the trailhead. It was vivid and beautiful, particularly the view as I came around a bend in the road, with Mt Hood silhouetted a deep smudgy lavender against the vibrant colors of the dawn. I love that particular view, and I am forced to enjoy it in the moment; there’s no place to stop, there, so no opportunity to get a picture, and I never know ahead of time what beauty may appear – and quickly disappear – as I come around that bend in the road.

So here it is another day. Another hot one. I walked my walk, taking note of the increasingly warm temperatures as I walked. Drinking water. At my halfway point, I sit awhile watching and listening. I update my list of things to get done today. I drink more water. I write these few words. The warm humid morning and sense of sharing the trail (though I don’t see anyone else) push me to maintain a brisk pace, and I am eager to get home and have a shower. I’m unpleasantly sticky with sweat.

I walk on, thinking thoughts of balance, perspective, moderation, and sufficiency. I breathe, exhale, and relax, grateful to have remembered to take allergy medication this morning. I watch the sun rise as I walk, and now I am distracted by having to pee. Still drinking water.

I approached the parking lot (and the restrooms), unsurprised to see it nearly full. It’s clearly time to begin again.

… Stay cool. Be safe. Drink water. Know your physical limits. Wear sunscreen if you’re going outside. Take care of yourself; you matter. Be careful with those spoons…

An update, some time later, same day…

My Traveling Partner woke shortly after I arrived home, and not in a good mood. His sleep was interrupted and less than ideally restful. He’s had a change of medication, too, and it’s causing considerable irritability. He’s aware of it, and alerts me (and the Anxious Adventurer) of the situation, asks for our patience, and suggests we keep our distance as much as possible. Practical advice, and I plan to take it. There’s little about my to-do list that requires participation or even input from anyone, so I figure I can keep myself productively occupied for much of the day.

…First things first, a healthy breakfast salad, and a nice cup of tea…

I queue up my art video playlist for some study time over a bite of breakfast. A good beginning, suited to the day ahead, beating the heat. Next, after breakfast, I’ll tackle the housekeeping chores while the day is still cool… I may even paint with these new pastels, today! 😀 I sip my tea and hope that my partner’s experience of the day improves once he is fully awake, and has had his coffee. If not then, I hope he finds a suitable opportunity to begin again, and finds his success there.

My choice of trail this morning is a bit crowded. Summer mornings often find me sharing the trail, even at this early hour. I can already feel that it’s going to be a hot day, too. Things cooled off during the night quite a lot, but it was warmer when I stepped out of the house than it has been, by several degrees. I’ve a few things I’d like to get done while it’s cooler, before the heat of the day settles in.

A new day.

I finally got started on my soft pastel adventure yesterday afternoon. A change of preferred artistic media is… complicated (at least for me). I’ve been a painter in acrylic for decades. It feels comfortable and natural to me. Pastels are new, novel, and unexplored previously. I’ve got my pastels ready, and for me the next step is study. This is much easier than it was back when I began with acrylic, or even further back in time, to my watercolor origins. Now I can easily queue up some YouTube videos of artists working in pastels and just watch them work. I sometimes find that even a very artistically “fluent” artist may not really understand what they are doing as they do it, and the discussion is a distraction. I finally turned the sound off and just watched various artists (whose end result spoke to me), while I listened to music. I greatly value watching an artist work in their chosen medium.

… I learned a lot through observation…

This morning the world “looks different” as I walk along the trail between river and marsh. There’s a mist clinging to the ground in the low land at the water’s edge, and the early morning sunshine is dazzling, illuminating leaves and stalks of meadow grass. I look at my surroundings in the context of painting the scene using pastels instead of acrylic. My perception and understanding of what I see is altered. I walk, eyes open with wonder and curiosity. “How would I capture that?” Is an unspoken question, repeated frequently.

… I keep walking…

The sun rises higher. The light becomes brighter, bolder, harsher. Shadows shift. Colors change. I walk and watch.

Voices approaching from behind me startle me from my reverie. I pause and let a small group of photographers walk past. I stop where I am to write and reflect, finding myself eager to “get on with things” in order to knock out my list of crap that needs doing, so I can get back to my studies and subsequently take advantage of this wellspring of inspiration welling up from within me. I’m eager to give the new pastels a proper exploration and see where they take me creatively.

More voices. More people. The trail is too crowded for a creature such as I. lol I stand up and prepare to head back to the car to begin again.

I survived yesterday’s chaos with reasonable grace, I think. I’m okay with the recollection of the day, and the outcomes of various moments. The steady process of handling tasks to do with my Traveling Partner’s son moving in is well-underway, everyone doing their part to get everything done reasonably quickly. It’s a lot to do, and there’s still more. It’ll all get done in due time.

I am finding it quite interesting to see so many things learned over time reflected back at me through the lens of seeing these experiences and practices through observation of someone who has had quite different experiences in life, having not yet learned these things at all. My stepson seems to me a bit of an “anxious adventurer”, willfully and deliberately seeking new experiences and growth, by choice, while also finding the novel situations this puts him in quite uncomfortable and anxiety-provoking. (His results vary.) I’m impressed by his adventurous nature. I’m impressed by his will to fight through his anxiety. I’m concerned by his lack of specific life skills and his lack of exposure to some fundamentals of resilience and emotional wellness. Those concerns are in no way his “fault” and it’s not about blame anyway. He’s a fellow traveler and for the time being, also a family member residing with my partner and me. There’s a lot to learn, to share, to consider…and there’s time for all that. It’s the sort of thing that does take time – and practice.

For my part, the work involved in compressing my personal space to make room for The Anxious Adventurer is sometimes quite poignant. I worked so hard for so long to have some of the luxuries I’ve been able to enjoy these last four years… but my small library uses an entire bedroom (it’s also my meditation space). My art studio, doing double duty as my office, takes another. Somehow, just due to practical logistical considerations, I’ve ended up compressing most of these things into the smallest fucking room in the house. Since it’s not actually possible to do that in a literal sense, the books and shelves of my wee library will be relocated to the main bedroom. It’s fine. It’s all fine. None of this is intended to be permanent (as my Traveling Partner regularly reminds me).

… I do know how reality works, however, and I am familiar with the vagaries of “temporary” arrangements…

A new day

Mostly, I’m just looking forward to whatever the new normal may be, and figuring that out won’t happen until the moving and shuffling around of various things is really finished (likely some weeks after my Traveling Partner has his surgery and has subsequently also recovered).

I woke quite early this morning, ahead of the sunrise entirely. I have a Saturday appointment in the city which I already wish I had cancelled due to the inconvenience of its timing, but it’s an appointment for care with a provider who reliably actually helps. Seems foolish to cancel that, when my day-to-day pain would benefit from it so much. It’s the sort of foolishly short-sighted choice I am prone to make. I’m mostly glad I didn’t cancel, but my anxiety nags at me for “being so selfish” or “letting everyone else down”. (Which is one of the many lies my anxiety tells me.)

… I still find it quite difficult to make my own self-care a high priority, in spite of knowing how important it is…

I slipped quietly out of the house far earlier than necessary, this morning, but I think I managed to do it without waking either my Traveling Partner or the Anxious Adventurer. Win! I arrived at the trailhead just at daybreak. I walked the trail between river and marsh, listening to the birds and the sound of distant traffic (and my tinnitus). It’s been lovely. I had the trail to myself. I took my time. Stopped here and there for a picture or a moment. It’s been quite satisfying and joyful, and a delightful use of my time.

… I needed the break and the solitude…

I got back to the car too early to head to the city. I write a while. I meditate. I think about coffee. Maybe breakfast? In any case, it’s time to begin again.