No point taking any pictures this morning, not yet anyway. It’s a foggy, chilly autumn morning, before daybreak. Everything seems supernaturally quiet and still. The air seems motionless. There’s no traffic on the nearby highway. On my way out, this morning, my Traveling Partner wishes me well, commenting that “it looks shitty out there,” and reminding me to “be careful”. He loves me and wants me to return home. It’s nice to feel his love follow me on the journey.
I hit the trail with my headlamp on, creating a spooky effect in the darkness. I’m glad I have my cane and regret, at least a little bit, not waiting for the sun. I just really wanted to walk. The moon peeks at me high overhead, through the fog. The trail crunches under my footsteps, gravel and leaves. I hear something in the brush, alongside the trail as it passes by the river. Probably racoons or a possum, but I can’t really see anything but the fog. This is a suitably spooky walk for an October morning, I think to myself and involuntarily quicken my pace. I have the trail to myself. Me, and everything else that lives in the meadow, or on the marsh between the creek and the river. lol
I get to a favorite halfway spot and stop. It’s chilly. There’s a bench here and a view out over the marshy meadow. With the moonlight I would be able to see across to the highway on a different day, but this morning there’s only fog. I write a few words, then jam my cold hands into my warm pockets for a few minutes, laughing at myself for leaving behind the gloves, scarf, and much warmer fleece that are in my gear in the back of the car. It’s there for a reason, obviously, and left behind thoughtlessly in my eagerness to hit the trail this morning. I roll my eyes and remind myself irritably, “that’s how people die in the wilderness, idiot”. Autumn has come. I won’t forget next time, I promise myself.
I sit quietly with my thoughts in the fog. The sky is beginning to lighten on the eastern horizon. I finish my writing. Daybreak soon. Then I’ll finish this walk and begin again.
I’m sitting quietly in the pre-dawn darkness, waiting for the sun and sipping my coffee. I was up earlier than planned, earlier than I needed to be. Early. Laying around restlessly seemed more likely than going back to sleep, so I got up quietly and dressed, made coffee for my Traveling Partner, who was (probably still is) sleeping, and slipped out of the house and down the road to this nearby trail.
Long exposure with the night settings reveals a hint of purple in sky I wouldn’t see otherwise.
This morning I am feeling aggravated over nothing. I’m not certain why I feel this way. My headache, maybe? Maybe the lingering irritation over yesterday’s attempt to relax at home and paint while I did the laundry. That didn’t go well, although I did do a bit of painting, I gave up on it rather quickly rather than deal with my headache and my partner’s irritation with me. It was just too hard to create a comfortable creative space so I said “fuck it” and put it all away, and laid down for awhile hoping to also put the headache to rest. I wasn’t successful at that either. The headache is with me still.
Tears well up as I think about it. There’s more going on here, maybe something that needs more thought and care? It would probably be helpful to have a better understanding of what is actually causing this feeling of hurt.
“Why do you do this thing that you love?” I ask myself. It’s a question worth knowing the answer to, isn’t it? I’m not what would be considered a commercially successful artist. I sell pieces now and then, but I don’t invest energy (or time, or money) in representation, or the business of art. Definitely not “why I do it”, like, at all. I paint because it’s another way to communicate things I don’t have words for. I paint because the process itself meets an emotional need, and satisfies something within me. I love to see my work hanging in my home. It’s always been “about me” – by me, for me. I’ve always been okay with that, too, though I definitely get great joy from the experience of someone else enjoying my work.
Even in my least comfortable, unhappiest relationships, my partners at the time made room for my art, and for my creative process (and the occasional mess). My boundaries and needs as an artist were respected (and even in my terrifying violent first marriage). I felt valued as an artist even when I didn’t feel valued as a human being. Maybe that’s odd? It “felt right”. The people in my life, regardless how they seemed to feel about me, personally, in a given moment, seemed to appreciate my artistic work.
… Things have been feeling different, lately. Artistically, at least at home, I often “don’t feel heard”. I sometimes have a peculiar sense that “nothing I do” (artistically) matters at all, and that the art is, itself, a nuisance or an inconvenience. As if it’s somehow just “in the way” or taking up space. It’s a very strange and very unpleasant sensation.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. I sip my coffee and wonder what there is to learn from this feeling, and this moment. I work on fitting it into the context of life, right now, with so much else going on. It’s been a while since I have been this productive as an artist, and although that is definitely meeting needs for me, what effect does that have on my Traveling Partner, I wonder? He’s certainly got his own shit to deal with right now, and any time I spend artistically is potentially time I am not spending focused on caregiving. Does he have feelings about that?
I am eagerly embracing the joy of feeling inspired by a new medium, and wanting to spend more time on painting (and savoring the feeling of satisfied inspiration), but I’m missing feeling a sense that my partner is enjoying it with me… and I don’t know why. Maybe he honestly just doesn’t care for the paintings I’m doing right now, but doesn’t want to hurt my feelings? Maybe my notion of what enjoying them looks like is a poor fit to the reality of it? Landscape paintings are probably less cognitively demanding of the viewer than abstraction, perhaps they don’t lend themselves to prolonged conversation?
… Maybe it isn’t about any of that at all…
I sit quietly with my thoughts. This isn’t going to be worked out over a single cup of coffee before the sun rises. It feels important, though. It’s a good time to remind myself that I paint to satisfy something within myself. The person who really needs to hear me is…me. Am I listening?
I have been here before. Self-reflection is a process, and a practice.
I sit thinking about the many hours over weeks, months, and even years that I have gazed thoughtfully at my paintings, hanging here or there. I’ve barely gotten started in pastel. Have I truly taken enough time with each new work, once completed, to really “get the point”? Am I feeling as if I were shouting in an empty room because I have not given the new work enough of my own time and attention? This feels relevant and real.
I’ve been painting in pastel for just 96 days. Over 96 days, I’ve painted 25 new pieces. That’s not my most intensely productive pace, but it’s damned close…am I spending enough time appreciating the work, reflecting on each new piece, and understanding what I’m going for? Maybe not. I think I’ve been tending to finish them, take some pictures, and move on to the next piece – sort of the artistic equivalent of talking without letting anyone else get a word in. The art isn’t being given enough time to really “speak to me”, I suspect – and I have to wonder if this is a bigger deal than I understood?
A new day dawning.
I sigh quietly, and wonder what to do about it. I drink my coffee pensively, looking at the hint of daybreak approaching on the eastern horizon. I shift uncomfortably, pain (arthritis, headaches) isn’t helping my mood. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I’ve got this day ahead of me. Things to do. Things to think about. I prepare to begin again.
I woke too early. I definitely would have slept longer. I got up and started my day, anyway; I was awake. At the trailhead, I sit waiting for the sun, sipping coffee and trying to recall the significant seeming thought I’d had on the drive…or was it yesterday in the evening? I no longer recall the timing or the thought.
Daybreak came while I was still reflecting on lost ideas and missed moments.
A new day.
I sit wondering if I’ll be able to see the comet this morning. Probably not until later, if at all. I saw it yesterday (I think), as I was leaving this place. I noticed the odd number of people standing around watching the sunrise (many people, very specifically staring toward the eastern horizon). I looked out that direction, wondering why there were so many more people milling around than usual, and saw the small streak, low on the horizon. I didn’t know what it was, and didn’t think to wonder. I drove on. There’s something to learn from that.
The sunrise begins.
New sunrise. New day. I think I’d rather be sleeping. lol I try to remember why the fuck I get up so damned early in the first place and promise myself a nap later.
The bold orange, peach, and apricot hues of the sunrise hold my attention while I lace up my boots. This trail isn’t going to walk itself. I mutter something to myself under my breath about early mornings and this mortal lifetime, but the thought is gone as the words are uttered, and I don’t really notice and mostly don’t care. I’m watching the colors change on the horizon. I grab my cane, stand and stretch and lock the car. I begin again.
I’m sitting quietly at the trailhead, waiting for the sun. The car parked behind me is rather annoyingly playing their radio loud. Talk radio. Super annoying. I mean, I sure don’t care that they’re passing the time listening to their radio, but for real? Turn that crap down so no one else has to listen. I’m not here for that.
I sigh quietly and think about what it takes to “find peace”. It isn’t really a “finding”, is it? It’s more of a creating, building, and sustaining. There are verbs involved, rather a lot of them. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I focus on me, and this quiet moment. I listen to the passing cars on the highway. I chuckle when I think about “instant pudding” as an analogy. The point being that it isn’t actually “instant”, at all – just pretty quick, and relatively easy. (It’s also not very good.) I sit with that thought awhile.
My thoughts wander to my Traveling Partner, and I wonder if he finally managed to get some good sleep? He’s been progressively reducing the dosage on medications he’s working on discontinuing, and the process sometimes leaves him restless, cross, or unable to rest (or all of those things together). What a shitty experience! Night after restless night… I often wake briefly when he wakes, but last night the only thing waking me was myself, when I changed positions and inadvertently wrapped my CPAP hose around myself awkwardly.
The first hint of daybreak begins to light the edge of the eastern horizon; a new day. I sigh contentedly and, grateful to move away from the noise of the parked car behind me, I drive through the now-open gate, up the hill and park there instead. Time to swap soft shoes for supportive boots, and grab my cane. My knees have been giving me grief recently, and my ankle aches with every step more often than not. I don’t risk the walk without the cane these days. I’m still walking, though, and I am grateful.
I think of the powerful lesson of my late Dear Friend’s example; walking can prove to be a regretfully “use it or lose it” sort of thing, and over time, she lost her ability to walk with any ease, which discouraged her and caused her to walk less (and shorter distances), which caused the situation to worsen. That’s an oversimplification, and surely there’s more to it than that. Aging. Injury. Illness. Nonetheless, I think of her often, and our conversations about the lasting value of “staying on my feet”, and the very real risk if I were to stop walking. I keep walking, in spite of pain.
I lace up my boots, sighing and resenting the pain I’m in, as I stare at the smudgy beginning of this morning’s sunrise. I “turn my head wrong” and my headache reminds me rather quickly how rarely it’s not there. Fuck this headache. I’m grateful that I have an appointment for some care of my neck, later this morning. I know it helps.
I think about my Traveling Partner again, and hope that he’s sleeping. No good morning ping, yet. Rare for this time of morning, recently, and it seems an encouraging sign… but it could just mean he’s awake and grumpy as fuck and just not wanting to interact at all. Maybe he’s up, but only long enough to take medication before going back to bed? I wonder, and the wondering serves as an excuse to think longer about my beloved, though I don’t really need an excuse.
I sigh and stretch and look towards the horizon. It’s definitely time to begin again.
Nice break from the day-to-day, and I definitely needed it. Now it’s back to life, back to reality…. and, oh, hey, there’s a song for that. I add it to my playlist, queue it up, and sing along as I drive to the trailhead feeling grateful that I took today off to “reacclimate” to real life after I returned from the coast.
I slept deeply last night, the first really good deep sleep I’ve had in days – since before my trip to the coast. I rarely sleep really well in a hotel. I often sleep poorly at home. I don’t take it personally or fret much about it anymore; I have sleep challenges and I’m pretty accepting and real about it. Sleep disturbances have been “a thing” for me since I was a child. I’ve experienced multiple parasomnias, some of which persist to this day, and some that I seem to have “grown out of”, or recovered from with medication or therapy. I don’t think of them as “part of who I am” so much as relatively commonplace challenges I happen to endure. I’ve long since given up seeking a root cause or wanting to assign blame. It just isn’t about that. I’m generally grateful to sleep well and deeply. It’s quite a wonderful experience when I do.
Watching the traffic pass by, waiting for the sun
The morning is dark and foggy. I watch the traffic pass by on the highway and sit quietly with my headache (which is a 7 out of 10 this morning) and my tinnitus (which seems to be turned up to 11). Unpleasant, uncomfortable sensations on an otherwise pleasant morning. My head is filled with the remnants of surrealistic dreams of running down forested paths between festival tents and brightly painted caravans, and strangers doing strange things. I was playfully evading a group of my friends for some reason, and woke before I could figure out why some angry old man was hucking tangerines at me. lol
… How’s that for having nothing at all to do with reality?…
I breathe, exhale, and relax. I am vexed by this headache. I feel certain I have “things” to do today… but for the moment I don’t recall what, and there’s nothing on my list to guide me. What am I forgetting? Anything? Is it just that nagging feeling, unattached to anything real? I sip my coffee, and wait for the sun.
…Fuck this headache, though…
My Traveling Partner definitely missed me while I was gone. The reality of having me back home, in his presence, with all of my issues, and very authentically me, this woman that I actually am, wasn’t embraced with the same enthusiasm, or so it seemed to me. I’m sometimes quite frustrated by the sensation that the woman he loves so deeply may not actually be the woman I am. I’d love to be able to see myself through his eyes…both the version he holds in his heart when I am away, and the creature who vexes him so when I am with him. I wonder what I might learn about myself – or about my partner?
Daybreak comes.
The gate to the parking lot finally opens with a familiar rusty screech and a quiet clang. The timing has changed. I take note. Reality legitimately does not care about my expectations one bit, and it’s a useful practice to reset expectations with new information. I try to do it often.
It’s still early. Chilly morning. I’ve got a warm shirt on, and a comfy zip-up fleece. The sunrise is orange through the mist. I lace up my boots and grab my cane. Good morning for walking and for self-reflection, and a good morning to begin again.
Evening Light 