I’m sipping my coffee and thinking about delight and awe, and captivating small wonders that press “pause” on some random moment, infusing it with something more than the ordinary.
Mushrooms in the lawn.
I strolled around the garden yesterday evening, taking a moment for myself to adjust to being home at the end of a very busy workday. The moment was carved out of the time between dinner and relaxing with my Traveling Partner. I could have been busy on housekeeping but chose, instead, to delight my senses with the garden in Spring. I turned a corner into the side yard, and laughed out loud with pure joy to see a rather large number of small mushrooms had popped up. This is the first Spring for the lawn that my Traveling Partner put in last summer. I’m still smiling about the mushrooms. They aren’t particularly significant or important (or useful to me in any obvious way), they just … please me. It’s enough.
I sit sipping my coffee thinking about how difficult I find it to carve out these small moments of delight for myself lately, and wonder what I could be doing differently to make that easier, and these moments more common. I read something recently about the experience of “awe” or wonder being very good for us cognitively. I know I enjoy those experiences, very much. The joy is reason enough to pursue the experience of awe, wonder, or delight, isn’t it?
I remind myself to start “taking a minute” to really sit with my thoughts, uninterrupted, after work. It’s a helpful practice that reduces how much small shit I’m likely to forget, and that matters.
The weekend is almost here. I think back to a delightful relaxed moment of solitude and thoughtfulness during my recent coastal getaway. I sat alone in the car, as the rain battered every surface. The noise of it was impressive, but not the sort of thing to interrupt my thoughts, quite the opposite; it was easy to focus on my inner experience with the rain drowning out all else.
A moment with my own thoughts.
It’s sometimes difficult to get those moments of solitary thoughtfulness. Doing so often requires explicit expectation-setting, and actually speaking up about the need. For some reason, I find myself reluctant to make a point of doing so, seeking instead to “find” those experiences of solitary reflection arising naturally from the flow of things – and that has proven time and again to be a poor choice. Unreliable at best. I sip my coffee and think that over for some quiet minutes. There’s a real need here. It’s clear I need to “use my words” to meet that need. Why would that make me so uncomfortable in the moment? I sit sipping coffee and thinking…
…The sun rises beyond the windows of the office. The sky is a pale blue streaked with white clouds high in the atmosphere, and dotted here and there with fluffier grayer clouds nearer to the rooftops. I wonder what the weekend weather will be like, and whether I’ll be able to get a hike in, and work in the garden? There is so much to do, too…
Things begin. Things end. My time away is pretty much finished, as I wake to a new day. This morning, I’ve got cold brew left from yesterday (which is a step up from the hotel coffee), and this quiet moment to reflect, before I finish the packing and head home. I’m eager to be home, again. There’s no need to rush, though – my Traveling Partner is likely still asleep, and I don’t want to wake him if I can avoid it. Still… it’s time to be home. 🙂
I sigh quietly to myself, and pause for a moment to go open the balcony door to let in the fresh sea air. It’s before dawn. Daybreak is still a way off. For now, it’s just me, this cold coffee and this quiet moment, and I’m quite content with that.
This wasn’t a weekend about doing so much as it was about being. It ends with a feeling of such contentment and quiet joy as is hard to describe in “just words”. It does end, though. “This too shall pass” isn’t just a reminder that our troubled times will eventually fade, but also the good times. Things begin. Things end. We are mortal creatures and our time is finite. I’ve tipped the scales, though, and now my feelings of missing my partner are at the forefront of my thoughts – definitely time to return home. 😀
Where the bay meets the sea.
I sip my coffee, listening to the waves breaking as the tide goes out. Low tide this morning at 06:31 PDT… the sun will rise minutes later, at 06:44 PDT. I’ll get a couple more pictures, maybe… I’ll get to see the sun rise from beyond the hills on the other side of the bay. I’ll be long gone before the tide comes back in. Still, there’s time to enjoy that before I go. Worth it. It does seem strange, though, to let go of counting the hours by the tides (until next time)…
I glance at my half-packed bags. I can finish packing before daybreak, then watch the tide go out, and the sun come up, in a leisurely way. I smile to myself; my eagerness to be home again is beginning to overtake my enthusiasm for the sun rise. lol Once my bags are packed, it’ll feel so much more like a good moment to begin again… 🙂
There’s no stopping the ticking of the clock. No halting the flow of time. (Not in this here and now, anyway, not as of 2024…) I sip my iced coffee, thinking about time and listening to the rain fall.
A steady rain falling doesn’t trouble flocks of seabirds.
I watched seals (sea lions?) playing in the channel as the rain fell. I listened to the raindrops on the water. I felt the soft pelting of rain on my face as I stood on the balcony drinking in the cool fresh sea air. The clock still measures the time that still flows, but I have no interest in attending to it, and it mostly goes unnoticed. I’m just being.
I enjoyed breakfast at a local breakfast spot. Their coffee was good, and breakfast was exceptionally well-prepared. My appetite was ready for it; I woke early and got a walk on the beach before the rain started. It was a lovely early morning moment (the walk, yes, and also the breakfast). There’s nothing about this that is extraordinary. “Woman on vacation dines at local breakfast hotspot!” is hardly an attention-grabbing headline. lol
Even the gulls are just chilling, today.
Returning to the hotel room after breakfast, I arrived along with the rain. I stood on the balcony awhile, listening and feeling and thinking my thoughts… then… I napped. lol My intention was to read, and to finish the book I brought with me. Instead, sleepiness overcame me and I dozed for an hour or so, although I did not need the sleep. It was luxurious, and I woke feeling that deep satisfaction and rested-ness that a good nap can provide. Now, I’m back to the iced coffee I picked up on my way out for my walk and never finished. No clear agenda, no plan, no goal for the day ahead besides relaxing, resting, and “refilling my tank” – apparently there are naps involved. 😀 So far my results are excellent – I am relaxed, and calm, and contented. I feel merry and deeply satisfied in life. I’m ready to get back to routines and requirements and structure and habit, and all the day-to-day details that need my attention.
I needed a break. I took a break. I have gotten what I need from this break. Feels very successful.
I’ve the day ahead of me, yet, and another night of sleeping by the seashore, listening to the wind and the waves. Another day to listen to the rain fall, and watch the gulls riding the air currents over the bay. Another day to relax and read and nap and walk on the beach.
What a day this has been. Spent mostly in solitary contemplation, reading, walking the beach here at Siletz Bay, I’ve enjoyed the quiet geniality of my own good company. It’s been lovely.
I sat for a long while on the beach listening to the waves breaking against the shore. It seemed as if I had no tinnitus at all, for a time. Oh, it’s still there, and if I pay it any attention, I hear it, but here on the shore I can let it recede into the background for awhile, more so than I ever can elsewhere. It’s a different kind of quiet, and these moments are precious. Restful.
Some of the people who have been most dear to me in this mortal lifetime have had strong connections to the sea, and this keeps me coming back to the seashore again and again. My Granny loved the sea and the shore so much that she and my Grandfather bought a sail boat and retired to the waterfront. When they moved to the West Coast, later, she regularly yearned aloud for the days of sailing the Chesapeake, and the feeling of freedom she felt being on the water. As a child, she took me to places like Cape May in New Jersey, Rehoboth Beach in Delaware, and Myrtle Beach in South Carolina. Later on, she also took me to Ocean City and to Assateague Island in Maryland, and Gold Beach in Oregon. When she lived on the Eastern Shore, her home was a refuge for me at a time when I needed it most, after I’d returned home from wartime deployment.
My recently departed dear friend loved the sea. She saw the ocean as our cosmic Mother, the wellspring of all life. Our one and only beach trip together was to the ocean beach nearest to Arcata, California, shortly after she had moved there, when she was still easily able to get around. We took a picnic lunch, and ended up eating it in the car, to avoid the strong wind blowing that day, and the aggressive gulls seeking snacks. lol
Even my Traveling Partner has a connection to the sea. He’s a Navy veteran, a submariner. His experiences of the sea are his own, and I know very little about them – but I know they exist in his experience and his memories. He took us on an anniversary trip a couple years ago, and we enjoyed the Oregon coast. Our hotel was a lovely spot along Nye Beach. It was a delightful time together, restful and playful.
I’ve spent many happy hours at beaches. As a child I found fossilized sharks teeth at Calvert Cliffs, in Maryland, and as a young soldier I partied at Padre Island in Texas. I walked the beach in Carmel California and the dunes near Fort Ord, as a deeply unhappy woman with a lot on her mind. I’ve restlessly walked along the beach and explored the tide pools at Cannon Beach Oregon, and sat with a quiet coffee on the beach near Brush Creek, Oregon, thinking my solitary thoughts. The beaches of Lincoln City have been fond favorites of mine for 4 years now; they’re very near by, and an easy getaway for a day or a weekend and I return to them often.
…Funny thing about me, and the seashore… I don’t even swim. lol Maybe that’s not the point at all, I just think it’s a bit comical. I rarely swim even when I have the opportunity, and when I do find myself tempted into the water, it’s generally a swimming pool, and I mostly just enjoy being in the water without actually doing any swimming. I’m honestly not much of a swimmer, although the Army makes a point of ensuring soldiers are “drown proofed” (handy skills, not the same as being able to swim). I dog paddle a bit, if I must, but mostly… if I’m honest… I don’t actually swim. lol I’m certainly not ever going to venture into deep enough ocean water to need to swim. Ever.
At some point, this morning, on my way to the beach, I decided to grab a coffee. I had something rather specific in mind and ordered it with some anticipation. I was eager for the taste – a rare treat – and I ordered it anticipating the experience. By the time the line moved around and I was able to receive my coffee, it had mixed and settled in the cup, and wasn’t at all what I was going for (which was a rather fancy layered drink that looks beautiful in the cup). I was… disappointed. Then I felt like a shithead – because it was thoroughly delicious, it just wasn’t what I wanted. lol It reminded me that there is no guarantee on the experiences we seek; reality will be what it is, and there’s no arguing with that. I sipped that coffee and reflected on the foolishness of being disappointed by what was actually quite a pleasant experience – if only I’d enjoyed it in that moment, precisely as it was, instead of weighing it down with baggage and bullshit to do with my expectations. A moment with a lesson.
Eventually, I became chilled as I sat on the beach with my coffee and my thoughts. The raindrops that spattered me hinted at the potential for a real rain shower, and the storms on the horizon suggested it might be time to return to the hotel for a time. I sat awhile longer, watching the waves break on the shore, flinging sea spray into the air as they did. I breathed the ocean air and enjoyed the breezes and the sounds of the shore birds, gulls, and crows. I finished my coffee, and returned to the car, and eventually to the hotel.
Later on in the day, as I stood on the balcony watching the tide change, I watched the gulls sailing on the breezes. I noticed them as individuals – one for each departed dear one no longer traveling life’s journey: family members, friends, lovers… the fallen ones that are now beyond any words of affection reaching them. No more time for “thank you”, “I love you” or “I’m sorry”. They exist now as memories. I stood with my thoughts, my memories, and my love for a long while, just watching the gulls soaring past, again and again.
I don’t know that the seashore is “my happy place”… it’s certainly a happy place, and a place that I turn to for solitude, when I need to step aside and allow some measure of time to pass me by, in a sense, while I gather my thoughts. I feel connected to the seashore because the sea meant so much to so many that I have held dear to me. Fond memories. Shared moments. So here I am, enjoying my own good company, in the company of my thoughts and memories, finding my path.
Maybe this isn’t “inner peace”, but it’s a handy facsimile and it serves my humble purpose. This is what I need for now – soon enough, I’ll begin again.
I’m sipping my coffee and savoring the sun rise. I’m not complicating the moment with stress or worries, or leftover emotions to do with past experiences (recent or otherwise). I’m just… here. Now. Being and breathing. Sipping coffee, black, iced. The local murder of crows has begun the day, too, and I hear their calls to each other before I see them singly or in groups taking flight and heading for wherever crows go when they’re not in the trees along the park. There were signs that it had rained during the night, as I drove into the city, and the clouds scattered across the sky suggest there may be more rain to come. I’m okay with that.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. I let go of hints of lingering stress and anxiety lurking in the background. I breathe in deeply, and exhale slowly; I definitely need this break I am taking, and today is my last work shift before I go. I’ll have the evening, and much of the day tomorrow, with my Traveling Partner, then… two days for me, for self-care and reflection. “Downtime.” Much needed downtime, actually, and I’m glad I didn’t wait on it. I don’t have the resilience I really need for some of what life throws at me lately, and it’s an important matter to “refill my tank” and prepare for whatever may lie ahead on life’s path, as much as I can.
Another day. Another beginning. Another set of choices upon which to act. There are verbs involved, and my results vary. I just keep practicing, though, because incremental change over time is a thing I have learned I can count on – if I just stay on the path. 🙂
Evening Light 