I time traveled in my dreams last night. I revisited a time and place and lifestyle so different than my life now it is hard to reconcile the experiences as being those of one singular individual human lifetime. Peculiarly, although I had not yet met my Traveling Partner at that time, my dreams rewrote the recollections to include him, sometimes as my partner, sometimes as a stranger met through circumstances. I woke feeling vaguely disoriented, wondering how I hadn’t recognized him then, before fully realizing I was dreaming.
I drove to the trailhead this morning, listening to music. Instead of the bluegrass and country-ish music on the thumb-drive my Traveling Partner made for me, I paired my cell phone with the car, loaded my “favorites” playlist, and rolled up the road bumping bass-heavy EDM tracks, and house music. How unlike me. lol I generally prefer to drive without any distractions at all, including music.
I found myself in a strange here-and-now moment sort of juxtaposed with a younger me, dark shades, fast car, soft black leather driving gloves – a “cool”, determined, emotionally disciplined me who only felt free when she was alone on the highway between distant destinations. She was broken, but hiding it pretty skillfully (a very lonely way to exist). Funny to remember her in such a visceral way, connected by the music we both love. Her “real life” was pure misery and terror, work, and those moments of blissful freedom out on the Texas highways, alone. I remember her. I’m thankful we don’t have much in common beyond the continuity of a lifetime. That thread broke, in 1995. I’m grateful to have moved on from there, then, and her.
My life now is so different. Mostly pretty pleasant. I might even say quite wonderful, many days (or moments). I still have my challenges. I’m still dragging around some baggage. The chaos in my head persists. I’m still damaged. Nonetheless, most of the time, most days, life is mostly better than okay. I’m good. Life is… good. Not “perfect”, and I don’t think “perfect” is a reasonable goal. Good is enough.
…”The journey is the destination”…
Driving with music on is a different experience. More relaxed? I think so, generally, and I silently agree with my Traveling Partner, still sleeping at home, who recommends it to me regularly for staying relaxed while I’m driving. It does tend to let “the driving part” of my brain handle the driving while giving the busy, excitable, chatty part of my brain something else to do. It also stops me from being too much in my own head. I get to the trailhead before dawn, thinking about dreams, and driving as a metaphor. I sit quietly thinking about a woman I once was, and the woman I have become over time. I think about the woman I hope to be… with more practice.
…Nice morning for thinking…
I breathe, exhale, and relax. I reconnect with here, now. I listen to the sound of occasional cars passing by on the quiet Saturday highway, and my tinnitus. I’m not in much pain yet, but it’s been a difficult few days of it. Walking doesn’t really help with my pain lately, not in any obvious way, but I still enjoy walking. I do it in spite of pain, and these days I reliably walk with my cane. The inevitable slow loss of progress vexes me sometimes. I know I have to keep at it though, walk on, keep practicing… the journey is the destination. We become what we practice and a lot of our skills and abilities are very much “use it or lose it” sorts of things.
I sit thinking about my Traveling Partner on his own journey to come back from what turned out to be a pretty profound injury. The time, dedication, and practice that requires is much. I’m proud of him for the progress he’s made so far, and impressed by his commitment to push on, in spite of the weight of his emotions. It’s a difficult, complicated experience. The verbs are many. The effort required is intimidating. It’s fucking hard. Hard to contemplate, hard to undertake. His persistence and pure will are certainly some of the things I love about him. I remember my own long-ago journey to recover from injury and physical trauma. I quietly consider ways I could be a more effective, more supportive partner, and a better friend, while he goes through all this.
… I’m tired, though, not gonna lie; caregiving is a lot of work and giving. Time. Effort. Attention. Care. So many verbs, and an endless 24/7 to-do list. I’m looking forward to my upcoming break on the coast to rest, care for this fragile vessel, and paint for a couple days. I definitely need it. I’m grateful for a partner who supports me taking care of myself. I am beyond grateful (and delighted) that he’s made sufficient progress that I can consider taking a real break at all. I need it more than I want to, and I have pushed myself harder than is ideal. I need some rest.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. Nice morning to walk the trail along the marsh and watch another sunrise. Nice morning for self-reflection and gratitude, for perspective and love. I wonder where the day will take me? I’m grateful for my Traveling Partner on this complicated journey that is a mortal lifetime. I’m grateful for quiet mornings alone, too. My heart fills with wonder and love songs as a deep orange smudge develops on the western horizon. I’ve got my boots on, and my cane in my hand… It’s time to begin again.
