The morning feels a little rushed and also a little… uphill. I slept well and deeply and woke one minute ahead of my alarm. I was at the trailhead with the sun just peeking over the eastern horizon, the western sky streaked with peach and pink hues. Sunshine was already lighting the treetops when I really got started. (My allergies hit hard as soon as I stepped out of the car.) It’s certainly a beautiful morning, and a beautiful moment.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
But for the allergies, this morning is as nearly perfect as most mornings can hope to be. My calendar feels full though and this feeling seeps into my awareness as “busy”. It’s not, actually. I’ve got a short work day ahead of a long weekend celebrating my anniversary with my beloved Traveling Partner (still a playful mischievous charming man after 16 years of sharing life and love as partners). I adore him. It’s a milestone worth celebrating. We’ve successfully exceeded my next longest romantic relationship, ever, and I think that may be true for him also.
The short work day feels a bit busy. It’s always busy as the month ends. It’s not actually a big deal. Coffee with a friend I don’t see often… A manicure… It’s not really “all that”, it’s just more stuff that shows on a calendar, and most of it weekend fun! I chuckle over my ridiculously variable sense of the flow of time. A lot of our stress as human beings is created in our own minds, and not really a true accounting of circumstances.
… I find myself thinking again that I’d like to return to a pen and ink to-do list, and “feeling busy” definitely reinforces that…
I breathe, exhale, and relax. I listen to the noisy robins and watch the squirrels play. I’ve got time for this moment, and I let myself slow down and lean into it. Presence is also a practice. This moment is enough, and making a point to savor it makes the recollection later much clearer and also more likely to positively influence my implicit sense of “how things are”. Handy. Useful.
We become what we practice. I definitely want to be a person who enjoys a beautiful moment, without rushing through it. I sit awhile longer, enjoying the sights and scents of a Spring morning.
It is a short work day, though. I sigh to myself, glance at the time, and prepare to begin again.
Breathe. Feel it? Lifeforce. Breathe in. Exhale fully. Feel the moment. Where are you now? What do you see when you look? What sounds fill the environment? Who even are you, when no one is with you, and no one is watching? Another moment comes and goes. Breathe, exhale, relax. Step onto the path that leads away, into the distance.
… Where does your path lead? You will decide. Choose wisely, and begin…
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
Spring is lush and green here, and the path past the vineyard and around the bend into the trees is strewn with soggy flower petals, blown to the ground and forming drifts at the edges of the path. I started walking at daybreak, quite possibly my favorite time to begin walking. No glorious golden sunrise this morning, instead heavy gray storm clouds fill the sky. Will it rain? Probably, but it isn’t raining now – and now is what matters when it comes to walking and the chance of rain.
Green and gray, and a path to follow.
I get to my halfway point and take a seat on a big landscaping rock that got dropped or placed in this spot some time long ago. I don’t always stop in this spot, but I usually consider whatever spot I do stop at to be “halfway”. 😆 It isn’t any sort of measured halfway point, it’s only the midpoint in my morning journey in the most approximate way. I stop, I write and meditate awhile, and I walk on. It’s the midpoint of the experience more than anything to do with miles.
…Your mileage may vary. 😆…
Your results, too, will vary. We’re each having our own experience. Each of us is walking our own path. We make our own choices. Experience the consequences of our own actions. We become what we practice. To a large degree, we really do “get out of it what we put into it”, as far as life goes. You’ll see so much more with your eyes open. Feel so much more if you heal from trauma and care for your heart with tenderness and consideration. Where does your path lead? What matters most toyou?
… How much of the menu have you even considered sampling?
I am sitting quietly with my thoughts when a small brown bunny hops from the brush, hesitating when he sees me. He watches me warily, nibbling a bit of something or other with small purple flowers. Vetch, maybe? He seems to be enjoying it enough to disregard my presence. I sit quiet and still, watching him. I slowly (so slowly) switch from writing tools to camera. Just as I have the shot setup, he quickly hops away. Oh well, he was too quick for me. I guess you had to be here, in this moment.
I sigh to myself. Present. Awake. Alive. I’m grateful for the rather obvious lack of bombs or drones. It’s beginning to seem as of most other places in the world are dealing with some kind of violence. Nothing like that here, now. Just green grass and brown bunnies, and the occasional noisy robin. I sit contentedly for some little while. Soon enough it will be time to begin again. For now, I’ll just breathe, exhale, and relax.
Yesterday was one of those lovely days that refresh and deepen an intimate connection through serendipity and shared experiences. My Traveling Partner wanted to begin Spring cleaning, now that the weather was warm and mild, and we’d completed the rearranging of rooms after the Anxious Adventurer had moved out. It made sense, and I had no reasonable excuses to decline. So. Housekeeping together.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
My beloved regaled me with stories of that aspect of military life that is cleaning. No servants for soldiers (or sailors) in these modern times, and we both have memories of tackling clean up as a group endeavor. Our recollections are very different. He recalls almost fondly the shared experience of cleaning work and living spaces with his Navy peers. My similar recollections of Army life are fraught with feelings of irritation, resentment, and sexual harassment. lol I held my tongue and enjoyed his stories and hanging out together. He kept the music coming, we took turns in some areas and supported each other when needed. It was honestly fun as hell.
G’damn I am glad to see him back to being his “usual” particular and playful self. He’s funny and forgiving, and relaxed, these days. He manages to balance being understanding and accommodating with also helping me gently push myself to do more better, when I’m able.
He’s sexy and funny, and he loves me, and we have history – shared and unshared – that ties us together with a depth that would be hard to describe in practical terms. “You had to be there.” We were.
There was this one moment, yesterday… A piece of music he’s played for me often. I… didn’t get it. Didn’t realize the significance. It’s strange that I didn’t listen closer sooner. I generally do. Yesterday I finally did. He was astonished, and a little hurt too, maybe, but as I listened, I realized how powerfully “us” (and me) this song really is, and we connected (again) over a shared moment. It became part of the soundtrack of love. I think back to where/when he first shared it with me. Even more meaningful in context. I played it for myself again quietly before bed, and again this morning.
Love binds us in the most beautiful way.
I walked with my thoughts, of love, of nearly perfect moments, of how good things can be – even housekeeping – together.
There’s more housekeeping to do. Neither of us have quite the energy and pure force of will to deep clean the entire house in a single day, even together. I’m okay with it; I enjoy the time I spend with my beloved. I spent a short time in the garden, too, and there’s still more work to be done there. The strawberries and blueberries are blooming. Will I get a good crop this year?
Love songs in my head and flowers in my garden.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. Meditation and a golden sunrise, later coffee with the Chaotic Comic, and it is a lovely morning. Strangely, all I can really think about is my Traveling Partner and the love song in my head.
The wheel turns. The clock ticks on. I’m grateful to share so much of this journey with this singular human being who is my Traveling Partner. I find myself wondering how many lifetimes we may have crossed paths and found love? It often seems too profound, too deep, to develop in a single lifetime. I breathe in the scent of Spring flowers. I watch the sun touch the tops of the trees.
It’s an interesting journey. I’m fortunate to have such good company along the way.
It’s a big world. Lots of options. Choose wisely.
I smile to myself. I’ve got a heart full of love and a mind full of daydreams. I watch the squirrels and robins in the morning sunshine. It’s a beautiful moment and I enjoy it awhile. I think of my beloved and my smile deepens. When I begin again, he’ll be there. It’s an amazing feeling.
It’s been awhile since I walked the marsh trail. I’ve mostly been staying closer to home, aside from an overnight trip to the coast – was that just last weekend?! It already seems like ages ago. My Traveling Partner woke me at 05:00, he was already awake. I got up, dressed, and headed for the trail. Lovely morning for it.
Lush green hues of Spring under a pink sky.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
As I stepped onto the trail and started down the path, I found myself preoccupied with war, and fretting about American aggression, Israel’s genocide of Palestine, Russia vs Ukraine, and continued flare ups of violence in the Middle East, Africa, and beyond. How is this not a world at war? I mean, seriously? What the actual fuck is wrong with humanity that we still tolerate (and foster) this kind of stupid violent nonsense? Why do we keep putting violent racist misogynist assholes into positions of power in the first place? How have we not, as a species, made the clear and obvious connection between global violence and its actual perpetrators? I just don’t understand how human beings can still be so g’damned violent and hateful, with so much historical evidence that it is destructive and wasteful and unlikely to achieve good outcomes. Fucking hell we are some stupid motherfuckers.
… Also, fuck Pete Hegseth and his ilk. He embodies the problem quite specifically with his hateful words, his misogyny, and his racism. Listening to this fuckwit trying to claim war is peace is so ridiculously “Animal Farm” and “1984” I just can’t believe he isn’t being mocked openly by far more people. Fiction masquerading as real life. This guy? Definitely not gonna make it to the heaven he says he believes in. He should RTFM. 😆 I shouldn’t laugh, because it isn’t funny. It’s terrifying and disappointing, and sad.
Do better. Do better than Pete Hegseth for sure. 🙄
It’s not hard to do better than a guy like Pete Hegseth; don’t kill anyone today, don’t fire people because you don’t like them, or because they are women, or people of color, or don’t share your religion. Don’t cut people down to make yourself feel large. Don’t pick fights. Don’t try to take what isn’t yours. You’d think people would learn this shit growing up.
I keep walking, and notice the Spring flowers along the trail. Beautiful and sweetly fragrant and unaware of the world’s unpleasantness and chaos.
Small purple flowers down in the grass.
I am delighted and distracted by the flowers. They pull me back into this moment, here, now. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I let the world go, and fill my senses with Spring, grateful that there are no bombs dropping here (not yet). I walk on.
I see meadow flowers, blossoms waving in the breeze.
I walk, watching the sunrise bring a new day to life. I smile and keep walking. The breeze is sweet with the scent of flowers.
I pass bushes covered in clusters of fragrant flowers and stop for a closer look.
I breathe in the scents of flowers as I walk, grateful that I didn’t inherit my mother’s terrible allergies. She loved flowers, but generally couldn’t be near even scentless florist roses and carefully selected bouquets suggested to be low allergen. I love to get close to the flowers and inhale the intoxicating scent, and feel uplifted. There have been times when I really felt as if the fragrance itself was getting me high.
Fruit trees, too.
I pass by a place that was likely a homestead sometime in the past. There are very old fruit trees in a neat little row at the edge of the meadow, where the trail bends towards the river. They smell delicious. I run my hand over the bark. Plum? Pear? Apple? I take another close smell, and look at the blossoms. I’m not certain and don’t really feel inclined to make more effort to figure it out. I walk on.
A pleasant stop along the way.
I finally get to my halfway point. It feels further than I remember. 😆 It’s only been a few weeks since I’ve been here. I laugh at my foolishness without any particular concern or criticism. I sit awhile watching the sunlight change the shadows and patterns of light on the meadow as the sun rises. I don’t have the trail to myself today, but passing photographers and walkers just wave or say “good morning” as they pass, barely noticing me, really. It’s fine.
I meditate and enjoy the breeze and the little birds flitting about. A large plump robin lands in the leaf litter near my feet and digs around for tasty morsels, pausing now and then to consider my presence. She gives a loud bit of song and flies off.
It’s a pretty morning. I’m glad I let my attention shift to the lovely flowers and I sit thinking about my garden.
In my garden the first rose has bloomed.
There is much to do – weeding and planting and taking time to sip a cup of tea and just be. Pleasant and peaceful moments wait for me in the garden. I yawn and sneeze, and sit enjoying the sunshine awhile longer. I’m in no hurry. I can begin again anytime. It’ll be soon enough, whenever I get to it. For now, “now” is enough.
There are moments of peace and joy in spite of a world rather pointlessly at war.
I started my walk on this beautiful Spring morning feeling rested and merry, capable and unbothered. The moment was as nearly perfect as moments ever really get. There’s no “but”, or “and then”, or “if only” – it was simply a lovely moment to be walking as the sun began to rise. I made a point of enjoying it as I walked.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
I get to my halfway point still feeling pretty lighthearted and still enjoying the spring morning. The grass is dewy and the morning a little chillier than it has been. I’m glad I wore my cardigan.
A new day, with new opportunities to choose, and to practice, and to begin again.
I smile, sitting here quietly enjoying this solitary moment. My Traveling Partner pings me a loving message. It adds to my delight. I find myself thinking about fairytales and happily ever afters. I enjoy a good story, but damn “happily ever after” is an enticing notion that fucked my thinking up for years and years, provoking me to chase happiness, only to fail to ever be happy, again and again. It compounded my misery for a long time.
There is no “happily ever after”. It’s a trap. The Happiness Trap. It’s so tempting and damaging, someone (Russ Harris) wrote a book about it. A worthy read if you are stuck on that treadmill. I was, for a long time.
Happiness isn’t really something to chase, I eventually learned. Through patient practice I learned to build contentment and resilience, and like sleep catching up with a toddler, happiness eventually caught up with me. Happiness, though, is like a moment; it is fleeting. Its intoxicating joy doesn’t last indefinitely, and what remains when the moment passes depends a lot on the path I’ve chosen to walk. Once upon a time, a moment of happiness left behind only misery and disappointment as it departed. Now, happiness can come and go as moments do, and I relish the intoxicating bliss and let it go without clinging when the moment passes. I rest in contentment between moments. Mostly.
See, there’s also no perfection – and no potential for it. The path we walk through life isn’t paved and well maintained in any reliable way. There is no map. No user’s guide. No “training game”. We try things and fail. We learn from mistakes, which we make plentifully (all of us). We walk on. Life is imperfect. People, too. One of the best things I ever did for myself was to stop clinging to the bullshit idea that I could perfect anything, including myself. Imperfect is fine. Imperfect is real. Authenticity matters more than “perfection”. This doesn’t stop me from seeking to become the woman I most want to be, just stops me from being frustrated when even she is not “perfect”. Mistakes will be made. My results will vary. It’s a very human experience.
I watch the sun rise, feeling close enough to “happy” that the difference can’t possibly matter, and it’s enough. More than enough. We become what we practice. Practice savoring each small moment of joy, and refraining from clinging to moments as they pass, and I find myself feeling joy more often, and really feeling it, in the moment (not just noticing as it slips away). It’s nice. Worth the effort. Worth the practice.
Here it is, another morning. Another moment. Another chance to begin again. I breathe, exhale, and relax, and welcome the joy of a moment in springtime before I begin again.
