This morning begins well. Most mornings do. Mornings seem filled with peace and promise (from the perspective of this one mortal life). Sometimes they go horribly sideways and end badly, mostly they don’t. A really bad day sometimes causes me to lose awareness of how few days are truly “bad” for me, these days. Bad days happen. Everyone has occasional bad days. What characterizes a lifetime, though, isn’t the presence of bad days, nor even how common or uncommon they may be, rather the ease with which a person can bounce back is what I find determines the character of a lifetime.
…I need more practice. Building resiliency takes time…
I breathe, exhale, and relax. It’s a lovely morning. I slept well and deeply. I woke gently, dressed, and left the house. I watched the sun rise as I drove toward the nature park. The sky was an impressionist masterpiece of color, the sun peaking over the horizon a bold orange ball, illuminating the streaks of clouds in hues of pink, peach, and lavender. There were mists clinging in low places, and soft fresh breezes fragrant with Spring flowers.
Today is new and wonderful. Well, definitely new, potentially wonderful. A new day (or new beginning) is filled with potential. That’s enough to begin again with, isn’t it?
Another breath. I walk the trail, content in my solitude. Yesterday was a difficult day. Yesterday is behind me now. Today unfolds ahead of me on the path, undetermined, undecided, full of potential joy and delight.
…It’s enough…
My Traveling Partner pinged me a good morning greeting and let me know he also got the rest he needed so badly. He lets me know I am welcome at home, and it’s nice to hear that. I feel loved. I make a plan to come home at lunchtime, and maybe even start the weekend early…
Everyone has bad days. I definitely do. You do too, I bet. It’s part of the human experience. Emotions can complicate an experience. We tend to catastrophize difficult moments and conflate one challenge with another. We’re prone towards being self-critical, and our thinking errors fill studious volumes. Still, bad days are as temporary as everything else, and they pass. The dawn of a new day is a new beginning.
…You don’t have to read this. In fact, I strongly suggest you skip it. I’m going to vent a bit, and share too much, and be too angry, and maybe you just don’t need that right now? Fucking drama, right? I know I don’t need this shit… I also don’t need to save it up to blow up over some even smaller bullshit later on. So, I just need to say words. You don’t have to read them, though…
Sure, it could be better, but it could also be a whole lot worse.
I didn’t get enough sleep last night. I woke with my headache “turned up to 11” this morning. My back aches with my arthritis. I’ve been dealing with a ton of “extras” – extra needs, extra tasks, extra negative emotions from people, extra calls on my calendar, extra email threads – and too little actual bandwidth to deal with it all comfortably, or easily, or with any particular measure of grace. Too much to do and I’m stretched to thin to be good at any of it. I’m just doing my best – and it’s clearly not enough to get the job done like a pro.
I catch tears welling up over and over again. Twice they dripped down my cheeks as I sat at my desk trying to focus on the task at hand. So… on top of all the other bullshit, I’m clearly also dealing with my own – while I sit in an open shared “public” professional (cowork) space. It’s awkward. Uncomfortable. Inconvenient. Inefficient. Distracting. (I’m still doing my best.)
…I even saw today coming, because it was pretty fucking predictable, and in no way actually “personal”…
On top of all that? The lights here are too bright. The office is too cold. My tinnitus is crazy loud. I’m noise-sensitive af. I broke a nail below the quick, and the broken bit snagged on the fabric of this office chair and tore right the fuck off – which hurts like hell, but nothing like this g’damned persistent now-going-on-11-years headache that follows me every-fucking-where, and for which no one (thus far) seems to have any useful insight on it, diagnosis of it, or treatment for it. It’s just there. Reliably. For 11 fucking years now.
My smile feels brittle when I have to interact with someone. It’s not real and doesn’t reach my eyes. I’m aware of it, and I feel self-conscious on top of being in pain. I want to do more, and do it better, and “be there” for everyone who needs me to be – especially my Traveling Partner, who’s dealing with his own misery today (and it’s probably worse than mine,) and who definitely needs my help, my love, and my care.
Why bother to drop this on you? Mostly because you’re here. Writing is a way I cope with complex emotion and shit that is overwhelming me. (Are you still reading this?? I did try to warn you…)
I breathe, exhale… I keep trying. I keep going. I just keep stepping through the various motions of various practices and waiting for something to click… for success to catch up with me… My results vary. Today, my results are not everything I need – they’re just all I’m going to get, apparently.
Hard is hard. The chaos and damage of trauma linger way past when we expect it to, and sometimes that really complicates things. It’s easy – too easy – to take all of it personally (it so clearly is not). My poor quality sleep impairs my thinking and limits my resilience. The work day limits my focus – but there, too, I’m struggling. It’s hard to focus. Hard to stay focused when I get there. I’m distracted by what’s going on with me and what’s going on with my partner and his health. Messy.
…Sometimes doing our best doesn’t get results that feel like enough, but it’s not actually possible to do “more than our best”. Frustrating. Enough has to be enough, but often it doesn’t feel like it is. Sometimes, our “best” is within reach, if we just reach farther, dig deeper, but g’damn… when does that ever end?
…I’m tired and I’m frustrated and I’m in pain. Still not personal. Still just sucks. So human. What is there to do about it besides take a minute to breathe, maybe time to meditate, stay on the path, and begin again? Nothing, I guess… but that doesn’t make it any more comforting when it doesn’t feel like enough, or any easier to practice when it doesn’t immediately feel effective.
This morning I woke gently, aware of what a good day yesterday was, in spite of its difficult beginning (which, honestly, “wasn’t all that”). I found myself musing briefly over how easily a day getting off to a good start can “go off the rails”, and how often a seemingly poor start nonetheless finds its way to a pleasant day. The beginnings do not determine the outcomes. There are so very many choices and opportunities along the way, it seems a poor practice to insist on an entire day being whatever some one moment happens to be.
The morning is off to a promising start. I don’t read anything into it, and refrain from setting myself up for failure by expecting all the moments ahead to be as this one pleasant moment happens to be. I’m also not looking for disappointment or anticipating chaos. It’s simply a moment and I am enjoying it as it is.
As I leave the house to head down the road to a favorite trail, I’m greeted by a peculiar piebald sky. Past daybreak, which comes quite early this time of year, the sky is pale, a faded blue-not-quite-white, and scattered patterns of small dark gray clouds that crowd the northern horizon. Stormy looking, off in the distance. As I drive, a pink and magenta sunrise peeks out from among the distant hills, and I delight in the boldness of the colors with each glimpse. It doesn’t last, and I never quite get a view of it that lasts long enough to snap a picture. Some experiences have to be enjoyed as they happen, and there is no opportunity to save these for later, outside our fleeting memory.
Perhaps rain later…?
I get to the trailhead, put on my boots, and step onto the trail with a smile and my thoughts and a promise to finish this later.
Nice morning for it.
The air is mild and the morning very quiet. I had the trail alone this morning – a pleasant luxury. I walked with my thoughts, which were mostly rather practical.
I began tidying up my studio yesterday, and there’s a bit more to do. Because I had the option of working from an office in the city over the past 8 months, (and with my Traveling Partner injured), necessity and convenience slowly turned my studio into something more like storage than a creative work space. lol It makes sense to get that sorted out, and my studio returned to a clean and tidy work space, now. No office to go to presently, and my partner’s son moving in soon (temporary and welcome), I need this space for artistic endeavors, but also for work (doubles as my office), and even as a “personal retreat”, when I just can’t deal with people and need some solitude. It isn’t intended to be storage space, aside from the closet, in which my stored artworks are kept until they sell or hang somewhere.
…Yesterday was a lovely productive day…
I walked and thought. Nice morning for it. I saw nutria playing along the marsh, at the waters edge. The young ones born this year are exploring their world with playful curiosity. I walked past a small herd of deer, which quietly watched me back as I walked past. (They were gone when I returned down the trail heading for the car.) There were little birds everywhere, squirrels too. The meadow flowers made the air sweet with their scents. The lupines are done blooming and are going to seed. Other flowers take their turn blooming. The trees are all fully leafed out now, and signs of summer are everywhere. Seasons change. Change is.
I get back to the car too early to head right home. I’d like to let my Traveling Partner sleep awhile. I take time to finish my writing and to meditate.
Sitting with my thoughts.
I think ahead to what my next bit of away time might be? I sigh impatiently when I recall I’ve never yet spent even one night home alone in our home. I yearn for that small luxury, but it hasn’t worked out any time my Traveling Partner has made plans to be away. Four years of projects, business, and camping trips cut short by inclement weather, or deferred by illness. Travel plans derailed by injury or circumstance. It just hasn’t worked out; I’ve never been home alone here for more than a few hours, and even then in steady contact with my Traveling Partner throughout. We may as well have been in the living room together. lol Sometimes frustrating. Sometimes disappointing. Mostly I just feel loved. I hold out hope that I may yet experience the luxury of solitude at home, here, eventually… I’m for sure not holding my fucking breath, though!
…I’m not even bitching, really, I’m fortunate to have other options to get the solitary time I need…
So… yeah… sometime in these upcoming summer weeks maybe another camping trip? Maybe a weekend on the coast in a favorite little hotel? Maybe a road trip to see distant friends, with the solitude being a nice interlude between visits? I know the busy-ness and chaos of getting my stepson moved in later this month will take a lot out of me, and potentially leave me scrambling for any kind of alone time at all, grateful perhaps to find even 10 minutes alone behind a closed bathroom door, or in my office during the work day during an uninterrupted hour. I know how such circumstances affect me. I also know to plan ahead in summer months.
…I think about late July and wonder…
…On the other hand, I don’t know that I will be free to travel, at all; my partner has surgery coming up, not yet scheduled but expected to be scheduled soon for a date as early as available (not an emergency, but a high priority)… could be I will need to be home to care for him (and of course that needs to come first).
I sigh and catch myself grousing silently about the inconveniences and difficulties of adulthood… but I silence myself; I’m fortunate that these are the challenges I am facing. It could be ever so much worse. I take a moment for gratitude. Happy to be in the partnership I’m in, with a human being who lives me deeply, and looking ahead to enjoying the summer at home, puttering in my garden, and living my life gently. It’s enough.
I smile, breathe, exhale, and relax, watching the blue sky spread from horizon to horizon. I look over my rather practical list of things to do today and add a reminder to cut back bolting greens in the garden and harvest peas for dinner. Looks like a lovely day ahead and it’s time to begin again.
As I left the house for my walk this morning, the scent of the Spring garden filled my senses. It was just barely daybreak. I could smell the roses, mostly, and hints of other flowers – the thyme is blooming, and some of the salad greens are bolting. Their wee delicate flowers are not particularly numerous, but they do have a lovely delicate fragrance that mingles with the scent of roses in the wedge where the front of the house meets the side of the garage. I love that spot, and often simply stand or sit there, breathing in the scents of the flowers in my garden. Later, when it is warmer, the sunshine will bring out the savory spicy scent of the curry bush. Delicious.
“Baby Love”, a favorite rose, a gift from my Traveling Partner the year we moved in together (14 years ago).
When I returned home, the scent of roses, fresh mown lawns, and spring breezes greeted me. I smiled at the roses blooming along the walk. The theme of my garden is “love and memory”, and I’ve tried to select the roses based on two criteria; will they do well in my climate, and are they a good fit based on their name (and to a lesser degree I consider their appearance, growth habit, and scent). Each rose in my garden has its own character. Some are related to each other. Some are apparently incredibly tasty (to the deer that wander through), others are less so. Some are quite thorny, though I’ve tended to avoid that painful challenge mostly. Nearly all of them are very fragrant.
“Baltimore Belle” trails lazily in her place by the walk, fragrant and lovely, she was planted just last year – one of my newest roses.
Any time I am in my garden, I find my thoughts wandering to love, and fond memories of friends, loves, and life with my Traveling Partner. It’s a lovely way to step away from the routine, and one of the most delightful advantages of working from home; I can take my break in the garden.
“Alchymist” blooms on the other side of the stepping stones into the garden, along the walk. Lovely and fragrant, bred from a wild-rose cross.
Every visit to the garden is a brief moment of rest, even on the days when I’m in the garden laboring over this or that (usually pulling weeds, of which there often seem many! lol). When I was a kid, gardening seemed to me rather more like “labor” than “rest” pretty reliably, and I faced my share of that work with considerable reluctance and some resentment – I could be playing! Wandering! Reading! Funny how my love of my garden developed in adulthood – and before I even had a “real garden”, still limited to plants in pots on rental balconies or patios. I smile, thinking about my very first roses – they were already in the landscape of the first home I ever owned, and I frankly tried to kill them (unsuccessfully). I was so impressed with their robust resilience, they were ever after a metaphor (for me) of beauty and survival and strength. I have, since then, always owned roses. Some in pots traveled with me over decades of living. When we moved in here, my oldest rose, with me longest, was Nozomi – which I’d had with me since 1993.
“Nozomi”, undisturbed by the neighborhood deer – likely due to her terrifying thorns!
My garden-as-a-metaphor delights my heart as well as my senses. The three roses planted in memory of my recently departed Dear Friend are unlikely to bloom this year. I plant only roses that are on their own roots (no grafted roses), and they are often quite “young” when they are planted. I try to give them a good start on building a strong root system, and I sometimes pinch off buds to prevent flowering the first year. That hasn’t been necessary for these three – they are not yet trying to bloom. I’m eager to see how they do as they mature. So far, “Celestial Night”, “Rainbow Happy Trails”, and “Whimsy” are strong and lush. I selected them with my Dear Friend in mind, to always remind me of her humor, her joy, and how she inspired me to live life eagerly and joyfully. She taught me much, and loved me dearly. I miss her greatly, but in the garden we are together, again, at least in spirit.
“Sweet Chariot”, a favorite bred by Ralph Moore.
When I first moved to California, many years ago and quite early in my relationship with roses, I had the good fortune to meet Ralph Moore in person, at his rose nursery in Visalia. He taught me a lot about miniature roses, and as I was still living in rentals at that time this was useful knowledge; minis fit in pots much more easily than larger climbers, vast sprawling ramblers, or large old garden roses. One of my first minis was “Sweet Chariot”, although the one in my garden now is not the one I originally purchased, which I rather foolishly planted in the ground in a community garden plot. It became so well-grown in that spot I couldn’t repot it at all, and I left it thriving there. It was some years after Ralph Moore’s death before I was able to locate a nursery that had Sweet Chariot for sale – but it was one I sought eagerly for all those years.
…There are metaphors buried in these details…
I sip my coffee and think about the garden, the roses, love, and memory. There are far worse ways to spend my time. In the garden, I’m often able to “let things go” and “catch up with myself” in a way I sometimes find difficult to do otherwise. Other times, the garden is simply the pure joy of being, in an uncomplicated way, surrounded by flowers, herbs, and veggies, listening to the breeze and the chirps of curious robins checking things out and looking for a tasty bite. Sure, I could find these experiences elsewhere – we find or make our own happy places – this just happens to be my way. My path. My garden.
A bee on the flowering top of an allium in the veggie garden.
…Where do you find your joy?..
There’s work to do in the garden (there always is). Weeds to pull. Bolting greens to pinch back. Peas to harvest for supper, later. Roses to deadhead, prune, and train. Tender herbs to pick and dry in the sunshine. Flowers to admire. It’s not a free ride, this sort of joy – it takes care and time and attention to cultivate a beautiful productive garden. There are choices to be made – what varieties? What vegetables to plant, and when? Does this or that spot need some kind of … object? A gazing ball? A wind chime? What will add a moment of wonder? What will feed the bees and butterflies?
I find the garden a useful metaphor. There are verbs involved. There are opportunities to succeed, to fail, and to begin again. It’s not about perfection so much as sufficiency, beauty, and balance. There are aesthetic concerns, and also practical concerns. There is learning what is “enough” and what is more than I can manage on my own. There is learning to ask for help, and becoming more self-sufficient through practice. There is love, and there is memory – and it’s all in my garden.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. It’s a lovely day to be in the garden. It’s a lovely day to begin again.
I got my walk in early. I started just at daybreak on this mild Spring morning. I walked a bit aggressively, lost in my own thoughts, eyes fixed on some point ahead, but without really seeing. I felt cross about the way my morning started (with my Traveling Partner’s aggravation over being wakened and struggling to breathe, as I finished dressing to leave).
…Took me awhile to let it go…
I had wished him well and expressed my hope that he could get back to sleep. He didn’t seem to think he would and expressed that in a way that kept our exchange on my mind as I walked along, over-thinking it unsatisyingly.
…I seriously could have done a better job of letting it go, and letting small shit stay small…
I didn’t really begin to enjoy my walk or adjust my attitude until after he pinged me a cute sticker of a little cat tucked in for sleep, indicating he was going back to bed. Damn, I love that guy. At that point, I was easily able to settle down and sort myself out, with a sigh and a smile and a feeling of gratitude. Shit could be a lot g’damn worse in life (and love).
…We’re each having our own experience…
When I sat down to write, I took a quick look at the “page stats” for this blog (it’s not about numbers so much as insights into what people choose to read, and I often find new relevance in old writing). I found myself re-reading a post from almost 18 months ago, and reflecting further on perspective, change, and the importance of self-care. It gave me real clarity on the morning, and restored my sense of perspective generally, and how good things truly are. Reading a relevant older post is another way to “be there for myself”, and practice good self-care, and another way to regain perspective. (I say a silent “thank you” to the reader who read that post yesterday; reading it this morning was helpful.)
…My Traveling Partner is on his own journey, having his own experience, and taking that at all personally isn’t a helpful approach to partnership…
Here. Now. Perspective. Sufficiency.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. It’s a pretty morning. The temperature here is a comfortable 50°F or so. The sunshine lights the blades of grass and the trunks of the oaks in the grove where I sit perched on a picnic table enjoying the sunrise. It’s still quite early and I am not rushing back to the house. I’ve got a cup of coffee and this quiet moment to myself and I am enjoying it.
…Sometimes the best thing I can do to take care of myself is to simply take a few quiet minutes to breathe and reflect…
Later today I will take my Traveling Partner to an appointment with a specialist. I hope there is promising news about what can be done and what the long term prognosis for his recovery from his December injury may be. It’s hard watching him suffer and struggle. I feel so helpless so often. I definitely want to do more to alleviate his pain and discomfort than I seem able to. It’s not about me, though; I just want this human being I love so dearly to be okay.
I sigh out loud and catch myself picking at my cuticles anxiously. Yeah… still human. Still prone to worry and stress. I breathe the fresh Spring air deeply and exhale slowly. I can smell the hedge roses that are on the other side of the parking lot adjacent to this park where I am sitting, and the scent of recently cut meadow grass. I enjoy the smell of Spring, grateful that my seasonal allergies are nothing like as severe as my Mother’s allergies, or my Traveling Partner’s. They’re mostly pretty mild, and seem very specific to certain local flowering trees. That time of year is already beginning to pass.
I am in rather a lot of pain this morning. It’s been an issue all week. I take the medication I have for it. I cope the best I can. I remain unwilling to let my pain call my shots and I try to “just live my life” in spite of it. My results vary. I make a point of not complaining much about it, to the point of generally mentioning it only in passing, if I mention it at all, in conversation. It’s not that I find this to be a helpful strategy, it’s just that there’s nothing to do about it, really, that I’m not already doing, and I am very much aware that my partner is in a great deal more pain than I am. I don’t want to make that about me. I just want to do my best to support and care for him while he’s injured and working on recovering. He knows I am in pain, it’s a chronic condition. No point making that “a thing” – right now it’s just a distraction.
I sit with my coffee and my thoughts awhile longer. Soon enough it will be time to begin again.
Evening Light 