Archives for posts with tag: sufficiency

One moment of many, and fairly insignificant. I’m at the midpoint on my morning walk, mind mostly empty, the flow of my thoughts kind of random. Definitely not any version of “productive”. Good grief, sometimes it’s hard to care about that, anyway. Too many details and too many demands on my time and attention… sometimes I just want to “pull back” from all of that and find a quiet corner somewhere alone. This walk will have to do, I guess. I’ve got the trail to myself. That’s something.

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

The morning is cool and mild, and the forecast suggests the temperature will be below 20C (68F). I happily decide to wear one of the sweaters my Traveling Partner has given me as a birthday gift. I feel wrapped in comfort and love.

“Baltimore Belle” blooming in the darkness.

I watered the lawn on my way out, which is my routine during the months when watering is needed now that the Anxious Adventurer has gone. With my walks and my work location both being very local and near home, this isn’t any sort of inconvenience. I enjoy the smell of petrichor as the water begins to soak into the soil. Noisy robins, also early risers, sing their noisy song at me, and I imagine that they are calling “you missed a spot” or “a little more over here, please!” or similar helpful instructions.

Overcast sky at dawn.

I get to the trail just after daybreak. There’s no one else here when I arrive. Pretty typical, it’s really early. I walk until I reach this spot, this moment. I don’t actually have much to say about it. I’m here. The moment is now. It’s pretty routine and ordinary and generally okay. Sprinkles of rain drops tap at some leaves, and a few land on my face. It doesn’t amount to rain. Like the scattered contents of my mind this morning, which reach me, but don’t amount to “thoughts”, really. They’re just snapshots and fragments. Scraps.

… Nice morning for meditation…

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I’m not complaining – there’s nothing to complain about, just now. I’m not really doing anything, just sitting here by the trail with my thoughts, just as they are. I feel as if I’m between moments, although this is moment enough on its own. I sigh to myself, “nothing to see here”, I think. I let my attention wander, as if seeking something from nothing.

I stretch and yawn, and begin again.

I slept okay. I woke up okay. The morning seems a relatively ordinary one. The weekend was generally good, although I feel like I didn’t get much done due to swapping out a notable portion of the time I would have spent on housework for self-care, and I still somehow manage to feel uncomfortable with that.

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

I watched the moon setting as I watered the lawn.

It’s forecast to be hot today. I watered before I left for my walk. I ended up going back into the house for a warm cardigan. The forecast may say it’ll be a hot day, but it is quite chilly now. Funny how that sometimes happens.

It’s not important, just an observation on an ordinary Monday, for which I have no particular enthusiasm. That seems odd to me, but even that is pretty ordinary; people feeling some reluctance and lack of enthusiasm for the beginning of another work week is nothing new at all. We’ve probably all been there however much we may enjoy our work. I shrug to myself as I walk this familiar trail. There’s so much I’d rather be doing than working, but working is what pays the bills and unlocks the opportunities to do those other things, often. It’s unfortunate that we spend so much of our lives on this fucking hamster wheel.

Get off the hamster wheel now and then.

Yesterday’s hike was a lovely one. I enjoyed it enough to wonder if I could make it there and back on a workday… I’d be pushing my luck on the timing in a way likely to trigger my time hang-up, and cause me stress, undermining the value of the walk. Probably not a great idea. I’ll have to settle for weekends. This too, is ordinary. Most things are.

My allergies are vexing me, even this is nothing noteworthy. Human beings and spring allergies are a known thing. There’s an entire industry involved in dealing with allergies, and and whole field of medicine devoted to treating them. Mine are not bad relative to how bad they can be. I can enjoy flowers and walks among the trees, and petting cats… but there are a couple things that trigger my allergies, and they cluster in springtime. Tree pollen, mostly. Something about specific foods causes me to break out in sneezing and immediate sinus congestion and a runny nose. Wool against my bare skin can make me break out in hives. Bee stings are the most serious. Bee stings can cause anaphylaxis for me, and this time of year I carry a bee sting kit everywhere.

I’m grateful that I can enjoy the scents of flowers.

I sigh to myself at the halfway point on my rather ordinary walk on this ordinary Spring Monday. I’m not complaining. I’m grateful. Ordinary is okay, and for most values of ordinary, this is pretty good. My lack of enthusiasm isn’t nearly as important as this beautiful morning. I enjoy it for what it is. I enjoy it as I am. It’s enough.

Sunshine and oak trees, and a path; the way ahead is obvious, if not exciting.

I’m just saying, I suppose, that there’s no reason to expect that a healing journey or a journey to become the person you most want to be will lead to an exciting, eventful life of adventure and wild delight. Sometimes – mostly, perhaps – the big win is the relative lack of excitement, and the increase in ordinary pleasures.

Yesterday in the evening, things went sideways for a short time. My Traveling Partner and I stepped all over each other’s trauma and baggage. While that was thoroughly unpleasant, I’m impressed by our ability to recover from it, bounce back, and enjoy the remainder of the evening together. He impresses me. I’m grateful for the work he puts into a relationship. I smile and swing my feet from this bench, kind of wishing I’d worn the new sweater he gave me yesterday (an early birthday gift). I feel very loved. Not just because of the sweater.

What will you find if you slow down to see more?

I breathe, exhale, and relax. Sure, it’s an ordinary Monday, and I’d rather spend it with my beloved than spend the day working. That’s real, and it’s nothing special or extraordinary, just very human. I’m okay with it. I sigh and look at the time. I’ve a few more minutes before I have to begin again. I’ll make a point to enjoy them.

This morning I’m sitting alongside the trail, feeling the hint of a breeze tickle my face. It is a vaguely unpleasant sensation, and I brush my hair back from my face, irritated by the sensation. It passes. I watch the strange sunrise. A dense faraway bank of clouds along the eastern horizon obscures the view, no sign of Mt Hood, and a strangely uninteresting dawn unfolds as I watch. It’s not colorless, but it’s also not worth photographing. The moment itself is very much worth living.

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

My birthday is coming up. I think about that for some little while. What do I even want? 63 this year… not exactly a milestone birthday. I chuckle grimly to myself; I’m no actuary, but even accounting for good fortune, modern medicine, and family history, it is a fair bet I’ve only got (at best) another 47-50 years left, regardless how I carefully I live them. The recognition that however one might approach the math, I’ve lived longer now than the time I have left feels a little heavy. That ticking clock ticks on.

What does an oak see in a lifetime?

I sigh as I sit with my thoughts. The slow steady exhalation feels pretty good, like letting go of a heavy weight – was I holding my breath (or just not breathing)? I take another deep deep breath and blow it out slowly. How is it that the simple act of breathing can feel so good? I breathe, exhale, and relax, and adjust my seated posture for better comfort. This is a good spot for meditation.

I am pulled from my reverie by farm workers driving through the vineyard, calling instructions or greetings to the workers making their way down the carefully planted rows.

…Beautiful sunny morning…

It’s almost June. My Traveling Partner has more or less redecorated and rearranged the entire house since the Anxious Adventurer returned to Ohio to live a life he understands from a computer chair, through a screen. Me? I’m still trying to finish unpacking into my studio and still haven’t finished returning things to book shelves that had gone into storage. I don’t see it as laziness or lack of commitment, there are simply a lot of things competing for my time and attention, and I kill forty hours every week working for someone else. Pretty ordinary, and I’ve only got so much energy to work at all (like anyone else). My results vary. 😆

…63…

Weird sort of birthday. I wonder what I actually want? I sit with that thought. Cheesecake would be nice. Maybe brunch out together, with my Traveling Partner? Books. I love holding a new book in my hands that I have not read. I still read. Maybe a really nice bottle of sherry, something sweet, that tastes of raisins and aged oak? I smile at my foolishness. I drink so seldom and so little that a bottle of sherry is a delight for a year or longer. It is more enticing as an idea than in practice. Books make more sense from a purely practical perspective.

Generally speaking, I have what I need in life. I let my mind roam my mental map of the house. Anything missing? Not really. I’m fairly content and satisfied with my life most of the time. I haven’t got much to complain about or yearn for. Nothing obvious lacking. Granted, I’m pretty easily pleased, and satisfied with sufficiency… but one might expect I’d have at least some idea of something more I might want.

… Cheesecake and books to read? That’s all I can come up with? 😂 Maybe a watch? I like a nice timepiece with an automatic movement…

Time. I want more time. Not exactly a practical item for a wishlist.

… That ticking clock vexes me. There is still so much to see and do in this life, and so many more miles to cover on paths I haven’t yet walked. I’m certainly not bored with it.

I watch the sun rise, and get ready to begin again.

Yesterday was… complicated. A busy, vexing work day kept me at it much later than usual. Rare for me. The afternoon’s timing was thrown off by what seemed like a very poorly timed manicure appointment, when the day had come. The evening was mostly pleasant, but neither my Traveling Partner nor I were great company. I retired early, slept deeply, and woke to a new day.

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

I started down the trail just as daybreak started to become sunrise.

A new perspective, a new chance to begin,  again.

The sunrise got a beautiful start. I took a moment to watch the colors develop, then started down the trail.

Mt Hood in the distance.

I walked with my thoughts, breathing in the scents of Spring. I’m still yawning. I keep walking.

Staying relaxed and mostly unbothered yesterday was helpful. “Routine chaos,  nothing to see here” mostly describes the day pretty well. “We become what we practice,” I think to myself with a smile. Perspective matters. I keep walking.

I walked on past my halfway point this morning, and stopped a bit further on. There is an unpaved “not a road” bit of an agricultural access road through the vineyard and today I stopped there, to write and watch the sun rise. I’ll take that path through the vineyard (is there a precise word for the opposite of a “shortcut”? this path makes the walk slightly longer) and come out on the far side, which is between the main access road into the air museum grounds and the highway. Walking back towards the car will be an interesting difference (I mean, for some values of interesting).

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I meditate. I write. Good morning for it. I get to my feet to begin again. I don’t know what today holds, and I’m okay with that uncertainty. It’s a lovely moment in an all too brief mortal lifetime, and it is enough.

Why do I keep coming back to this place? Surely it isn’t just convenience, ritual, or nostalgia? (I mean… but it could be though…)

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

I think about it for a long while, maybe instead of the thoughts I may have thought brought me here. Too long, maybe, between chapters of “A Canticle for Leibowitz”, which I was finishing, and pages of “The Conspiracy Against The Human Race “, which I am only just beginning, both of which feel significant and well-timed. Cycles and patterns in life and living occur often in this mortal experience. I watch the waves of the ebb tide reach the shore, and return to cross and mingle with the next row coming in. It is late afternoon.

Waves against a rocky shore.

I consider the phenomenon of the double slit experiment, and of watching the ripples of water expanding out from a stone cast into the shallow water at the edge of my grandfather’s pier on Weems Creek on a summer morning. Interference patterns fascinate me endlessly. Interference is a subtle thing, natural and irresistible, and perhaps that is why I come to this place, to listen to sea breezes whisper truths that might escape my awareness in the busy-ness of life, as I contemplate the patterns in the waves as they reach the shore?

Sometimes I just need quiet and solitude – some time alone to “hear myself think”. I have been needing it so much lately, I guess, that any effort to do something else has been met with a feeling of profound discontent, and a sense of resisting what is needful, as if I were interfering with my own sense of purpose. What feels useful and right is to sit gazing out at the sea, or to relax with a coffee by the fire. My initial reluctance to fully yield to “wasting my time” on nothing more (or less) than my own thoughts quickly passed once I yielded to it without reservation (or interference).

I sit with my thoughts. That is, after all, what I come here for. What I came here for this time, too.

The medium brown strands of my hair fall in waves down my bosom. There’s not much gray. The auburn highlights sparkle where the afternoon sun reaches me through the window, hinting at red-headed-ness in my ancestry. One notable indulgence on this trip will be a long overdue haircut with a stylist I really like. I didn’t plan ahead, and I am grateful she was willing to make an appointment for me on a Sunday morning, just before I return home.

… Shit. I miss my Traveling Partner. The poignant feeling of loss and absence strikes me hard, abruptly. Yeah… I come here alone also to escape the subtle interference patterns of love, too. It’s a bit harder to focus on me when my heart is focused on my beloved. Here, for a couple of days, my thoughts are truly my own, entirely. At home, and this is not a criticism, my thoughts and the very fabric of my life is woven and intertwined with his. Every thread connects the two of us. My heart shifts gears now, from missing him to feeling incredibly loved. His love gives me ample room to step away, care for myself, and return more whole and more capable, and more able to partner with him in this life we share. That’s so beautiful…

I smile and set aside writing for some other moment, and return to my thoughts.

(Some time later)

My thoughts became, at some point, an unexpected nap listening to the waves through the open window. I woke, soon enough to think about some dinner and a bit more reading. I exchange welcome words with my beloved. He misses me. I am missing him too. Tomorrow is soon, and I’m looking forward to his embrace when I get home.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I sit in the evening light, watching the day dwindle away to night. Tomorrow I’ll begin again.