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The map is not the world. The plan is not the experience. I’m chuckling to myself over my iced coffee, hastily prepared on my way out this morning. I woke at my usual time, but ahead of my alarm. I woke from a sound restful sleep that followed a deeply relaxing day of self-care and creativity.

… I woke thinking it was Monday, and that I was “running late”…

I rushed through my morning routine, quickly made coffee, and quietly left the house (very much in the usual way). I was heading to the office in dense traffic and a drenching rain before I remembered that I’m off work today (and tomorrow… and next Monday…), and that I’ve got very different plans than work. It is, however, raining quite hard, too hard for unfamiliar mountain roads in darkness, too hard for plein air painting with soft pastels, later.

…I hope the rain stops…

I head to a nearby familiar local park with a favorite trail to wait for daybreak, and (maybe) a break in the rain. I’ve got plans, sure, but I’ve also got backup plans (mostly amounting to alternate destinations). Rather than frivolously wasting fuel going all the way to one location then to another, I give myself some time to wake up properly, get my bearings, and wait for more daylight while I think things over. The whole point of this time off is to do with relaxing and indulging artistic inspiration. There’s no need to rush at all. No rules imposed on my decision making beyond being safe. No “timeliness requirements”, no “KPIs” or “SLAs”. If I wanted confirmation that I need this break from work, this morning’s somewhat panicked wake up certainly provided that!

It’s still quite early. The rain pauses long enough for a quiet walk in the pre-dawn gloom along the well-maintained partially lit trail. I gather my thoughts and consider the various locations I’d identified as being of particular interest this week. (Damn, yesterday was such a lovely day! Such a beautiful place!) I’m still inclined to head to the view points I’d selected (already a backup for my original plan, which is at high risk of snow and difficult to access under such conditions), but it’s not a route I care to drive in the dark on a rainy day. I sit with that thought awhile.

One point of view, and a pleasant recollection. Mt Hood in the distance, yesterday.

At some point, a spirit of adventure and eagerness to explore becomes a careless disregard of safety. At some point, a strict focus on safety becomes a fearful reluctance to experience something new. There’s a path between those choices. That’s the path I’m looking for, and hoping to find fulfillment, inspiration, and joy along the way. The “destination” may not actually be important to the experience. The journey is the destination.

I sip my coffee, grateful for the time I’ve taken for myself. Grateful to have recognized the need and acted upon it. Grateful for a partnership that supports and nurtures me. Grateful to see another sunrise. The sky slowly begins to lighten. Soon it will be time to begin again… I wonder where this path leads?

It’s already midmorning, still chilly. I’m warming up in the car between hiking and exploring trails, picnic tables, views and moments, and the planned purpose of this adventure; to paint. The honest underlying purpose has already been well met for this day; I have walked new trails, seen new views and new places, and experienced entirely new moments. My mind and my spirit feel refreshed and alive – so alive! It’s lovely. This is a beautiful place, and so early in the Spring (and the day) it is uncrowded.

A beautiful place for thinking and painting.

… There is a popular disc golf course adjacent to the picnic table I finally settled on, but it’s quite a chilly day, so only the most fanatic players are venturing onto the course this morning, and they are few, and no bother…

The sky is a soft featureless gray, at least for now. The river below the steep edge of the bank flows steadily past. It looks fast, deep, and cold. The geese bobbing along near the far shore don’t seem to mind at all. They call loudly to each other. Overhead a bird of prey surfs the air currents, circling a tall tree with a large nest near the top. I wonder if it’s theirs? Are there baby birds in the nest? I sit quietly, watching, listening, enjoying the moment grateful for the military experience of a lifetime ago that prompted me to bring spare socks. Cold wet feet are miserable. My feet are warm and dry, in spite of the muddy trails and occasional puddles.

One point of view.

There’s no reason to rush. I sit, warm, and filled with contentment and joy (and coffee). It’s a nice moment. I savor it. I am hoping the sun will break through for a little while, shortly. Regardless, I’ve found a nice spot for some painting and a chance to begin again.

Where does this path lead?

There’s a hint of daybreak on the eastern horizon. I’ll see the sunrise from this local trail near home, this morning. This is the first morning of several days off work, a whole week. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I’m in no hurry and have nowhere to be until later. It’s a nice feeling.

I sigh quietly, contentedly, and put my boots on. I savor the moments as they tick by, feeling both quite routine, and also infused with this feeling of “ease”. The morning is a chilly one, no great surprise; it is quite early in the Spring. Cold mornings followed by mild afternoons are common. It may rain.

I smile to myself, thinking about my garden. There are radishes and chard already coming up. The peas should sprout soon, too. I am impatient and excited about every small new thing in the garden. Spring has its own timing though, and won’t be rushed on my account. My smile persists. I enjoy Spring.

I take note of the Spring weather and consider my plans for each day in the week to come. I’ll definitely want to dress in layers. I’ll need the added warmth of a cozy fleece and a heavy sweater in the morning, but the afternoons may be far too warm for all that. I remind myself to get water to take with me, for making coffee, tea, or hot noodles for a quick bite. I’ll be going to some new places to hike and to paint. I’m eager, and I want to be prepared (and comfortable).

The sunrise begins, with hints of pale lemon yellow, and delicate apricot. My boots step onto the pavement next to the car with a soft crunch of unnoticed leaves left behind from the autumn. My thoughts are my own, and my stress falls away as I take the next step toward beginning again.

Some thoughts about things to do with being, becoming, and connecting with people (that I’ve mostly learned the hard way):

  • Chronic negativity isn’t “humor”, nor is it a useful way to connect.
  • An uncomfortable forced laugh is less engaging than authenticity, even when that means admitting “I don’t get it”.
  • Constantly complaining about common experiences doesn’t make a person sound cool, edgy, worldly or sophisticated.
  • I haven’t been everywhere. I haven’t done everything. I don’t know all there is to know about every topic of conversation.
  • It’s a safe bet that I have something to learn, and that listening may reveal things I don’t know.
  • A lot of things aren’t about me at all. Some experiences aren’t for me. I won’t be welcome in every space. This isn’t something that needs to be “fixed”.
  • Being annoying results in being alone. A lot. (And not missed even a little bit.) It’s just not fun to be around – definitely behavior to be avoided.
  • Consideration is often overlooked and very underrated, and when practiced consistently and sincerely can seem like a super power.
  • Manners still matter.
  • Intimidation is a “cheat code” in life, and although people around someone who practices intimidation may be willing to exploit that behavior, they don’t like the person who behaves that way, except maybe in spite of it.
  • Good character has lasting value and creates a stable foundation in relationships.
  • Some people are mired in their anger (it has become a practice more than an emotion), taking that personally is neither healthy nor helpful. Being that person is a poor choice with lasting consequences.
  • Hard decisions can slow me down. It’s worth considering other opinions and new options. Ultimately the choices I make are mine, and so are the consequences. It helps to ask questions and reflect on the answers.
  • Learning is a practice. Self-care is a practice. Listening is a practice. Consideration is a practice. Respect is a practice. Authenticity is a practice. It’s all practice. There are verbs involved. Work. Effort. Self-reflection. Commitment. Getting anywhere worth going happens in increments, over time.
  • We can choose change. We can choose to become the human being we most want to be. Ultimately we are responsible for who we are, and who we choose to become.

There are some seriously unpleasant, annoying people in the world. People who lack manners and consideration. People who are unkind, mean, petty, and (or) intimidating (sometimes for personal gain, sometimes purely as a matter of poor character). It’s worth doing my best not to be one of those people, and to do my best every day to be the person I most want to be. I’m not critizing you or telling you how to live, just sharing some of my own thoughts about my own life, things I’ve learned, things I’ve observed over time, things I still struggle with. Doing better today than I did yesterday isn’t easy; it takes work. Honest self-reflection. A willingness to change.

… Trust me, I’m not smug about any of this shit. I’m working my ass off to be the person I most want to be, to learn from my mistakes, and to do better today than I did yesterday – every day.

It was afternoon when I wrote those words. I was in pain. I slacked off some housekeeping in favor of self-care. Choices. Did it help? I don’t know. I got through another day, and held on to enough energy to cook a good meal. It was enough.

The darkness before dawn.

It’s a new day, now. I’m still in pain – I nearly always am. I’m not saying that to complain, and I’m not alone with that experience. Chronic pain is pretty common, actually. Learning to enjoy life in spite of it can be a pretty difficult journey (a lot of the really worthwhile things in life are difficult). My results vary.

I woke this morning already uncomfortable and in an unpleasant mood. No idea why, really. Maybe just dealing with pain has that result, sometimes. I feel cross with myself, with the world, with the seemingly endless list of shit that needs doing. I’m tired of all of it before I even get started…

I breathe, exhale, and relax, as I sit at the trailhead waiting for enough daylight to walk the trail easily. I don’t feel like walking in the dark this morning. I remind myself to let small shit go, and not to take things personally. I take my morning medication and sip my coffee and watch the moon set through the clouds.

When my mind wanders back to things that irritate me, I bring myself back to here, now, this moment. I make a point of practicing gratitude; it’s exceedingly hard for discontent and irritability to compete with gratitude, and I do have much to be grateful for. The internal resistance to letting my mood improve and allowing myself to enjoy a better experience is frustratingly persistent, but I keep at it. We become what we practice. It won’t always be easy to follow this path, but it is a choice available to me, and it’s the choice I make. My results vary, and there are verbs involved, but over time the outcome is predictably good.

Every day is a new beginning. My path is paved with my choices. The journey is the destination – and the clock is ticking. It’s time to begin again.

The work week finally ended. I got home tired and uninspired about home cooking, late in the afternoon. I wasn’t hungry, just thirsty and fatigued. My Traveling Partner had put in a full day in his shop machining parts to upgrade the lathe. He had overlooked having lunch. I made him a hearty sandwich and then put my feet up for a little while, taking the break I should have taken earlier in the day.

I never did feel like cooking a proper meal, and never had much of an appetite. I ordered pizza, instead of fussing. I did remember, at some point, that my beloved had asked me if I’d make banana bread with the last two bananas, so I did that. It turned out splendidly well. I used the Better Homes & Gardens recipe, with a bit more salt than it calls for, and being generous with the walnuts. I chuckled to myself about how often it has turned out that my Dad’s “secret family recipes” have been from that cookbook. It was definitely worth the effort. The pizza was good, too. It was a simple, quiet evening.

Simple joy.

This morning I woke from a sound sleep feeling rested, got up and started the morning. I’m sitting at the trailhead, waiting for enough daylight to see the trail on this rainy, muddy, morning and hoping for a break in the rain. The dense clouds overhead seem to tear themselves apart, a jagged gap opening to reveal the blue-gray sky of daybreak beyond. I lace up my boots.

I’m grateful for the simple joys in life. I’m grateful for these quiet morning moments of solitude and reflection. I’ve got a few days off work coming up, and I’m grateful for that too. I’m tired, and I am finding it harder these days to manage my pain; a couple days of leisure and creative time will do me good. I run my fingers through my hair, enjoying the softness of it, and watch the clouds moving away toward the horizon. No colorful sunrise this morning, but many beautiful shades of blue and gray and lovely soft shadows. I’m content with the morning as it is. It’s enough. The pain is a small detail, inconsequential compared to the beauty of the morning, just a thing to be endured.

Finding joy in a moment.

A soft rain starts and stops, again and again. That won’t stop me, either. Like the pain, it is a small detail; I grab my rain poncho from my gear tote.

I sit awhile longer with my thoughts, savoring the moment before I begin again.