Archives for posts with tag: self-reflection
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Banana Bread

March 15, 2025 //
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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.

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Categories breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, joy, Love, meditation, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Practices, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being

Perspective

March 5, 2025 //
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I’m sipping my coffee and enjoying this relaxed moment between the beginning of a new day, and whatever the next moment may hold. The sun is rising, and I see the edge of the sunrise beyond the window, the blue sky, the trees, the clouds, and – the reflections of the work day as images of office lights and the space behind me on the window glass. It’s a metaphor for perspective – and a reminder that I create a substantial portion of my experience based on what put my attention on.

Perspective on the day ahead and this moment.

Which is most real? The world beyond the window? The work in front of me? The chatter and hum of the office(s) behind me? Am I focused on this moment, or some other moment? I can choose to put my attention here, or there, or elsewhere. I can choose my point of view, and I can broaden my perspective to include experiences other than my own through my awareness, my ability to observe, my understanding, and my compassion. It is possible to understand more than my own limited experience, but there are verbs involved.

I sit awhile reflecting on perspective, as I observe the reflections in the window while the sun rises. I see that woman I am so familiar with gazing back at me. There was a time when I was chronically unhappy with her (and about her), and dissatisfied with her very existence. I’m in a different place with her these days – she is my best friend, my shadow, my constant companion, my past, present, and future. I see her smile back at me, aware that “it isn’t all about her“. Useful perspective. It’s a big world and there’s more than me doing my thing going on, on this strange mudball hurtling through space. We’re each having our own experience, and there are a lot of us. Each human. Each worthy of consideration and basic human decency. (Yes, “them” too; being considerate and decent even to some objectionable other is more about me being decent than it is about them, at all, isn’t it?)

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I feel content and comfortable with myself, this morning. Feels like a good start to the day. I gave myself a headstart on this good morning by not watching the president’s address to congress last night. I didn’t have the heart to be that disappointed in humanity just then. I put self-care first. Worth it. I’m not all spun up and angsty over the imminent demise of American democracy, or the horrific failure of our nation to be “great” (ever). Some things are within my control, some things are not; I can take care of me (with consideration and self-respect), and I can do my very best to be the best possible version of the woman I most want to be with the skills I have right now. It’s the best I can do to change the world; be my best self, and avoid being a jerk to other human beings. It’ll have to be enough. This morning, it is.

Pain is pain. This fragile mortal vessel has its limitations. Saw my doctor yesterday, got referred for imaging, and it’ll be a referral to a specialist from there, based on the imaging. Such is the way of things. If I could give my younger self any advice at all, it would be “take care of your body, you’ve only got this one”. That’s a pretty broad recommendation, covers a lot of stuff, and it’s not like she’d have listened – she was once in a very “live fast/die young” place as a human primate. That’s unfortunate – I wish she’d have given the future just a bit more consideration. lol I stretch, and breathe, and move around some, feeling the pain here and there as sore muscles expand and contract, and various arthritic bones grind one against another. The headache isn’t as bad this morning; I’m grateful for that. I chuckle to myself to have reached this place where some specific measure of pain (versus worse pain) is something to be grateful for. It’s not a merry or joyful or humorous thing, it’s just perspective.

I sip my coffee and contemplate “perspective” – and how mine has changed over the years, with age, with experience, with new information, with joy and wonder and bitter disappointments. I’m not the woman I was at 19, or at 27, or at 32. We’ve very little in common. Even the very cells of this physical body, one by one, have changed. I sit with that a while longer. This? Always a new beginning, each moment, a chance to do better, a chance to become the woman I most want to be. A chance to make better choices in my life. A chance to embrace wiser perspective and make room for an understanding of experiences that are not my own.

It’s time to begin again. What will I do with it? Where does this path lead?

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Categories 2024 Election, Allegories, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, inspiration, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, pain, Perspective, Practices, Spring, The Art of Being, winter

Gently Now

February 23, 2025 //
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I’m waiting at the trailhead for daybreak. It is a quiet Sunday morning, uncomplicated and ordinary. I’m okay with that. Everything does not need to be exciting all the time. Truly, it’s probably best that generally things are fairly mundane and without excitement or drama. Isn’t there enough of all that without going looking for it or creating it?

There is a big difference between “interesting” and “exciting”, and between “worthwhile” and “full of drama”. I am content with interesting moments and spending my time on things that are worthwhile.

Daybreak comes to the marsh.

There’s a hint of mist clinging in the low spots out on the marsh. The morning is drizzly and mild, and seems rather warm for winter. I don’t rush to head down the trail. I’m in no hurry, and I take time to properly enjoy the hint of a view in the pre-dawn dimness. There’s very little traffic on the highway beyond the trailhead parking. I feel almost alone in the world. It’s a pleasant feeling from the safety and comfort of not being truly alone in the world. (That would be a very complicated experience fraught with unanticipated dangers, as temptingly pleasant as it often sounds to me. Reality would not care at all about my expectations or assumptions.)

I smile and get going, boots crunching quietly on the path. Nice morning for it.

The drizzle persisted as I walked. I returned to the car quite damp, though I never felt the rain. Daybreak became dawn in the usual way, as I walked. Dawn became a gray somewhat dismal unseen sunrise, beyond the dense gray clouds. I enjoyed the walk nonetheless; it was never about the weather, only the moment.

Today I ache ferociously all over. Yesterday’s longer walk, and the time spent later moving heavy(ish) objects, and later still doing the planned housework stuff, was time and effort spent productively and well. I’m definitely feeling it, though. Today’s dampness isn’t helping. There’s a feeling of satisfaction to the pain, though, and a sense that fitness efforts are paying off, however sore I am this morning. Yesterday was a good day. I sit with the recollection for a few minutes, feeling grateful and fortunate.

Today? More housekeeping, very routine, and I am not in any hurry to get to it. It will wait, and my Traveling Partner enjoys having a little time to sleep in and wake up slowly. I sit listening to the sounds of birdsong as the morning minutes tick by gently. I have time for my thoughts, and time to run a couple errands. I probably have time to enjoy a cup of coffee, before my beloved pings me to say he’s up and ask if I would come home and make breakfast. I smile, heart full of love. It’s no great imposition to make breakfast on a Sunday (and he appreciates simple things that I make quite well), and he’s not yet sufficiently recovered to cook easily. He’s a good cook, though, and I look forward to him being back in the kitchen, inviting me to come home and enjoy the breakfast he prepares.

I sigh quietly, contentedly. I breathe, exhale, and relax. This is a pleasant moment of solitude and I linger here, savoring it. I’m grateful.

All manner of little birds call to each other, as I sit listening. I look but don’t see them. Some are in the meadow grass. Some are in the trees. Minutes pass. Soon it will be time to begin again. I’m okay with that, too.

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Categories Allegories, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, joy, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, The Art of Being, winter

Restless Presence

February 22, 2025 //
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I am waiting for the sun, a bit impatiently. I don’t have to wait; it’s a mild morning after a rainy night, and my headlamp is right here. I’m choosing to wait, and I’m not in any hurry. The sense of restless energy and impatience aren’t so much a choice as they are a temporary state of being. Feelings. Sensations. Emotions. I observe them, but don’t make decisions based on them. I choose the quiet waiting. I am eager for the day, and in pain, but neither of these things are decision-making details. They merely are what they are, part of the experience of this moment in all its unrepeatable richness. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I wait.

A smattering of raindrops falls briefly, tapping the roof and windshield of the car excitedly. The shower passes quickly. It’ll be another fifteen minutes or so until daybreak. I’ll start down the trail then.

I sip my coffee content with the waiting, thinking my thoughts, experiencing this moment. It is enough. Each sip of my coffee carries along with it the scent the barista wore today. Where her perfumed fingers had pressed the lid down onto the cup securely, the fragrance lingers. Flowers mostly, and a hint of something classic I can’t name, and each sip makes me wonder again what the name of the perfume is. It is familiar and I can almost remember it.

…At intervals, brief rain showers pass by as I wait…

I don’t bother looking at my news feed. This isn’t the day for that and it has no power over me. No anxiety. No chaos or damage. No anger, frustration, or drama. Just a quiet watchful moment, waiting. It’s a pleasant beginning to a new day and it is enough. Later I’ll run some errands, work on finishing the move from one storage unit to another, and get some routine housekeeping tasks out of the way, but none of that needs my attention now.

Eventually, a new day.

Day breaks, gray and rainy. An enormous flock of geese, uncountably large, passes overhead, unconcerned with the rain. Me, though, I continue to wait – grateful I’m not out on the trail already, caught betwixt rain showers out in open. Now I wait for a break in the rain, watching daybreak become dawn. I smile, content with things as they are. This too is enough.

I look over my writing. “First person, singular,” I think to myself, unbothered by that. I check for spelling mistakes, with care. I breathe, exhale, and relax. It is a new day, a new moment, and a new opportunity to make my choices and live my life. I am here, now, and it is enough. I smile and sip my coffee. This too will pass; moments are fleeting.

Soon it will be time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, joy, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Practices, The Art of Being, Uncategorized, Words

Pain & Winter Weather

February 19, 2025 //
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I’m sipping my coffee on a rainy winter morning, feeling cross and irritated and in considerable pain. It’s the pain making me so cranky, but it’s “only” my osteoarthritis (and my perpetual headache), and there’s not much to do about it, really. I live with this. A lot of people live with pain, that’s a real thing. I sigh to myself, as I pull my posture more upright. It helps a tiny bit, though barely noticeable in the moment. The moments add up. I’m grateful to have gotten a good night’s sleep. I’m grateful to have what limited Rx pain relief available to me that I do (and am willing to use).

My reflection stares back at me from the window; it’s not yet daybreak, and I see a middle-aged woman with slightly tousled carelessly-kept long hair, glasses, wrapped in a warm (if a bit frumpy) sweater, looking back at me. She looks pleasant and approachable, relaxed, with a soft smile hinting at a life well-lived, and maybe some interesting stories to tell. She looks just a bit… amused. I don’t see the pain, just the smile, which reaches her eyes. At the corners of her eyes and her smile, laugh lines, no frown lines. She looks… capable. She looks ready for the day and unbothered. I find myself liking what I see reflected there in the window. I sigh again and think “you’ll do”, and take another sip of my coffee. I’m not at all sure how I got “here” – it’s been a difficult journey in spots, and I’ve often wandered off my path – but I’m okay with where I am, and that feels like a win.

I sip my coffee thinking about friends. Thinking about love. Thinking about errands I need to run. I think about hearth and home and all the things that add up to this life I live. It’s not perfect; there’s the pain, obviously. That’s its own difficult experience. I try not to take it personally. Things could be so much worse. Instead of living with this pain, I could have rejected having the surgery to repair my shattered spine, and taken a chance on things “just healing up” more or less, and most likely ended up in a wheel-chair, unable to walk at all. It can be hard to trust the opinion of an expert; we live in cynical times. I’m glad I did – I walk every day, and often see the sunrise from some favorite trail. The pain seems like a price worth paying for that privilege, most of the time. My irritation slips away. I chose this with my eyes open. I may not have understood the full measure of the price I’d be paying when I lay there sedated in the ICU so many years ago, but I knew there’d be a price. TANSTAAFL.

One cold winter night 40 years ago, I ran from a knife wielding man to save my own life. I took the only route available to me, that I could see in the moment, which led me to dangling from a balcony rail, dangerously high above a beautiful tiled patio, slick with ice. That man was my then-husband, who rushed to the balcony to plead with me not to let go. I looked back at him in a moment of unexpected clarity and calm, aware of my agency in a new way. The choice was mine. “I have to,” I said, and I did. The explosion of light in my head and the sudden pain that shot through me and my breath knocked out of my body overcame me only for seconds before adrenaline and terror drove me to my feet to seek help. It was a moment of profound change. One choice. One moment.

I sit with my thoughts a while. “I had no other choice” is reliably a lie. We have choices (many) – I know I’ve made a lot of them. Probably the worst choice(s) I’ve ever made? Telling myself I’ve no other choice, and and following the path that took me down. The menu in The Strange Diner is immense. We choose, on our own, to keep it folded, and to narrow our options willfully. Refusing to consider all the options is also a choice.

We’re born “a blank page”, and although we have little to say about our introduction to life, we have so many choices as we grow, and more once we are adult and free to do as we will. What will you do with it? The menu in The Strange Diner is impressively vast. What will you choose? Will you make your world (and your life) a better place in which to thrive? Will you walk a path that leads you somewhere beautiful? Will you take the steps that carry you to becoming the person you most want to be? Who is that? What will your legacy be? You have choices. Choose wisely. Pay the price. Don’t take the pain personally.

It’s time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, The Art of Being, winter
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