I got home from work yesterday, grateful to have survived humanity through one more commute. Fuck, there are a lot of stupid people “out there”… Each homecoming at the end of a work day in the office feels worth celebrating.
Carrots from the garden
I began the evening by picking some carrots from the garden to roast for dinner. They’ll make a nice side dish for the tarragon chicken I plan to make. I’ll use tarragon from the garden, too. This a real treat, because the tarragon is relatively young (planted this year, back in March I think) and still getting established.
The evening was lovely. We hung out awhile, listening to music, watching videos, and enjoying some “family time”. Pleasant. I ended the evening at more or less the usual time, in more or less the usual way. I had a plan to sleep in, have a walk, and go to a morning appointment, and do grocery shopping on the way home. (So far so good, I suppose. I didn’t sleep in at all. I woke without an alarm, at some ridiculous hour, for no obvious reason. Definitely no sleeping in, though I was groggy for the entire drive to the trailhead.)
The morning greeted me with a fat full moon hanging low in the predawn sky. I watched it set, and the sunrise begin, as I drove. Lovely.
A last glimpse of the full moon setting, from a favorite mid-point on my walk.
The summer air is fragrant with a spicy floral scent of something blooming. I can’t describe it, and don’t know for sure what the fragrance is. I breathe deeply. I walk the trail marveling at the dense mist clinging to the ground. The sunrise is hues of peach and pink, edged in delicate gold. I feel fortunate to see such splendor with my own eyes.
Here’s the thing… I’m not in a great mood. I’m cross and fatigued and in pain. Yesterday evening, my shitty mood from sleeping poorly the night before continued to linger. Shitty moods and difficult moments are part of the human experience, but they are not all of it, even in those difficult moments. What I remember most about yesterday are those beautiful carrots from the garden and how delicious they were. What I will remember about this morning will more likely be the scents of summer and the beautiful sunrise, not my headache or my crappy mood. Learning to savor (and be present for) the small joys in life has tended to make life more pleasant, generally.
I sit, smiling, in this favorite spot, watching little birds and chipmunks and squirrels enjoying the morning. I watch the sun rise. I watch the shifting mist flow over the ground, moving with the air, almost as if it were liquid. I watch the moon set, disappearing below the edge of the western horizon. I’m not in any rush. Lingering over this pleasant moment is more than enjoyable; it is restoring my joy and merriment. Each pleasant moment, and each breath of fragrant summer air brings a sense of joy, and my mood slowly improves. My irritation diminishes. I’m still tired and in pain, but it matters a little less with each passing moment of enjoyment in this place. We become what we practice. 😁
I reach a point of quiet contentment and general satisfaction with the moment, and with life. Nice place to find myself. I breathe, exhale, and relax. Sunlight fills the meadow and lights the tree tops. I sigh as I get to my feet. It’ll be time to begin again by the time I get back to the car.
I’m sipping my coffee grateful to have it, and grateful to be done with the budgeting and payday stuff. I didn’t sleep as restfully as I’d have liked; my sleep was interrupted by my Traveling Partner (I think? Was I dreaming it?) who woke me up for some reason, in the wee hours. My sleep after that was less than ideal, restless and plagued by strange dreams of stress and failure. I woke up feeling cranky and anti-social – and I’m grateful that so far the office is empty of other voices. It’s just me, here, now. I’m good with that. I’m not really “fit for company” quite yet.
…So cranky…
I sip my coffee and find myself vexed by “what ifs” and “if onlys”, and this headache (which is reliably worse when I sleep poorly). I’m cross with myself for doing such a shitty job of adulting when I was younger, and I’m annoyed that I failed completely to “look after” my future self, from that youthful vantage point. I didn’t make much money back then… Hell, I don’t “make much money” now – just an amount that covers the expenses with some small amount left to protect against emergencies to come, and I’m grateful for it. It could be worse. I do okay these days, though I’ll never be “wealthy”. This morning, I find myself wishing and yearning and frustrated that I’m not in a very different place (for example, already retired and living contentedly in my “leisure years”, spending my hours painting, writing, reading, and gardening). These are the sorts of thoughts and feelings that often develop out of restless nights, fatigue, poor self-care, and the sour moods that result from those experiences. They aren’t any more “real” than the dreams that plagued my sleep – and certainly they have no power over me that I don’t give them myself. They are the sort of thing that can generate a fuck-ton of “second dart suffering”, or become the kernel of discontent that can later become a major meltdown or moment of drama “for no reason”. I breathe, exhale, and relax, and do my best to let that shit go. There’s no value in letting it fester.
Breathe. Exhale. Relax. Repeat as needed.
I sigh to myself. Things are not “perfect”, but they’re okay for most values of “okay”, and I’m fortunate – and grateful for my good fortune. I’m also pretty cranky, and I’ve got a headache. I work on keeping those experiences separated from each other, in my emotional experience of the moment; they are not in any way actually related to each other. Human primates are weird. When we’re cross or frustrated there’s this odd tendency to make it about “everything”, connecting dots that aren’t really connected, conflating one thing with another, and blowing shit way out of proportion over… nothing much at all. No doubt it served some evolutionary purpose intended to ensure our survival as a species, but it sure as shit isn’t very helpful now. lol
As with any choice, there are verbs involved.
I drag my consciousness back to this moment, right here. This moment in which I am 100% fine, thanks. It is an ordinary enough Friday morning, an ordinary enough summer day, the beginning of some new moment unrelated to the moments I’ve left behind – a new beginning. I’d honestly like to begin it with a damned nap – or some sort of notable relief for this fucking headache – but realistically, there’s this work day ahead of me, and I’ve got shit to do. “Nap time” is not now. I sip my coffee and remind myself that resources are always limited in this finite mortal life (for most people). It is the nature of resources to be limited. Time or money, or precious goods cultivated or dug from holes in the ground. Limits exist. So, we budget, and plan, and do our best to make all the pieces fit in our lives. It’s a very human experience.
The clock ticks off the minutes. I sigh again, frustrated by life’s limitations. Frustrated by feeling tired and cross with the world. Vexed by humanity.
…I let all that go, again…
Finding a pleasant distraction in recent photographs can help lift my mood.
I flip through pictures from my camping trip to distract me from my irritability. I feel my face soften into a smile, and my shoulders relax. Some moments feel harder than they really are. We make so much of our own stress, and behave as if it is external to us. I know I can choose differently – it’s just not always easy to shift from intention to action. The effort matters quite a lot. The choices too. It’s necessary to accept that things can change – and that I can change them.
…I’m almost out of coffee…
Each time for the first time, each moment the only moment. ~Jon Kabat-Zinn
The clock ticks on. Limitations do exist. Choices and opportunities for change exist. The journey is the destination. In practical terms, I create my path as I walk it – the route is mine to choose. So… yeah. I’m cranky right now, but I can choose differently. Fuck I wish saying as much made it easier to do the verbs! There’s real effort involved, and I’d frankly rather just take a nap and begin again later… that’s not on today’s “menu”. lol It’s already time to begin again – and I’ve got choices to make, and verbs to do.
I have a garden. I find it a useful metaphor in life… for life, love, and living well. These things take real work, and benefit from planning, and a consistent effort to practice healthy practices, like the garden does. There are choices to be made regarding what to plant, where, and how to tend the garden through changing seasons. These requirements are basic to living well, too, and the lessons I learn in my garden are handy for living my life. I sip my coffee and think about my garden from the vantage point of my desk, on a completely ordinary Thursday morning.
…I’m not in my garden right now, but I kinda wish I were…
I learn a lot from my garden, practical things that guide my future decision-making like learning that timing, placement, and careful choices can really make a difference in the outcome. An example? I planted hollyhocks in front of the kitchen window, but behind a small Japanese Maple. They finally flowered this year, for the first time, and revealed what a terrible location that is for them; they grow taller than the rain gutters – or the little tree. lol
It matters where something is planted.
I’ve learned, in the garden, not to take planning too seriously. The plan is not the experience. Sometimes there’s joy to be found in an impulsive moment. A potted geranium purchased on a whim can become an eye-catching moment of beauty that brings real joy each time I pass by.
An impulsive choice can become a moment of beauty.
Choices have consequences. It’s not always obvious what those consequences will be. Something as small as an herb in a 4″ pot can become a “delightful monstrosity” that encroaches on the lawn, falling well outside the confines of the flower bed, and requiring constant pruning and attention to keep it within boundaries. Setting healthy boundaries is a useful skill, in the garden and in life.
It’s easy to misjudge the outcome of a choice. The consequences are non-negotiable.
In the garden, I’ve even learned that life isn’t always “about” me; we’re all in this together, each having our own experience. Every bird, bee, spider, worm, and visitor to the garden plays some part in the beauty of the garden.
It’s not always about me.
By far the biggest lesson I’ve taken from my garden is that I’ll rarely get more out of it than I am willing to put into it. The effort I make often determines my results. I harvest what I plant. My harvest is larger or smaller, depending on how skillfully I tend my garden, and how wisely I’ve chosen the cultivars I’ve planted. Timing matters, and seasonality too, but the thing that reliably matters most is the time I spend tending the garden.
The results in my garden are tied directly to the work I put in.
There’s no rushing the garden, really, and no real “short-cuts” to avoid the work required, or the time it may take to find some specific plant or variety that I most yearn to see in my little garden. I may know what I want (or think that I do), but lacking availability I may be tempted to compromise and settle for something different… or “less”. Are the things I want most worth working towards? Are they worth waiting for? (Sometimes they very much are!)
I once saw I rose that I instantly fell in love with, growing as a cascade of bold orange fragrant miniature roses that spilled over a short wall, covering it in beautiful blossoms. So pretty! I’d never seen an orange rose that I liked so much, and I really wanted that one in my garden…but it wasn’t part of my plan at that time, and years passed. 33 years, actually. I missed my opportunity – the nursery where I saw it closed. The breeder of that rose died. I moved, and moved again, and often did not have a garden at all. Then, I had a little garden and my own little home, and I searched high and low for this one rose that I wanted for so long… and found it.
Some experiences and moments are worth working towards, and waiting for.
Another thing I’ve learned in the garden is that there’s going to be bad weather now and then. There’s going to be rain. There are going to be storms. There may be damage to clean up. Sometimes things don’t work out ideally well. I’ve also learned that storms pass. The garden, and its near-infinite ability to recover from harm and continue to grow is a powerful metaphor for resilience, and a lesson about impermanence and the value in practicing non-attachment.
There are going to be rainy days – but they won’t be all the days.
And, like it or not, my garden teaches me to be humble. I can plan all I want, and I can do the work the garden requires in order to thrive. I can enjoy the fruits of my labor and find joy in the garden. In spite of all that, sometimes – without regard to my efforts and commitment and sense of purpose – the deer show up and eat my garden. It is what it is. So many lessons. So many changes of season in a lifetime. So much weeding and watering and sweat and work… and still, the deer may eat my garden.
Sometimes things don’t work out as planned. Sometimes the deer are going to eat the garden.
I smile and sip my coffee. The metaphors of camping and hiking give way to the metaphors of the garden. Tending the garden of my heart isn’t so different from tending the garden in which I grow my vegetables, herbs, and flowers. There are verbs involved, and my results vary. Sometimes I’ve got to begin again – and my choices (and the effort I make) really do matter. 😀 I smile to myself thinking of my Traveling Partner, and the work he’s been getting done in the shop lately. I find myself wondering if he takes life lessons from the shop, in the way I do from my garden?
…In a more practical way, I find myself planning to be in the garden this weekend, or even after work today; there is work to be done (isn’t there always?)…
I breathe, exhale, and relax. It’s a new day. Dinner on Tuesday included tomatoes and onions from my garden. I find myself wondering what may be there for tonight’s dinner? I think about the weekend ahead. I think about love. The clock is ticking – it’s time to begin, again.
I’m sipping this excellent cup of coffee and enjoying one more morning off of work before resuming the day-to-day routine of work-errands-chores-cooking-sleeping, and hoping to keep up on everything before something unexpected goes awry. Real life. It’s nice to get an occasional break from the routine.
A new day, a familiar view.
I woke to a rainy morning. No surprise; it was the rain in the forecast that brought me home a day early. “Good fold”. My walk was slow and careful this morning – the hiking miles of the previous days have left me sore and aching, and my arthritis has flared up painfully (predictably enough). I still got out on the trail; it just doesn’t do to let good habits slide (for me) even for a couple days. Actions have consequences, and I try to choose wisely and work around my limitations.
…My results vary, of course…
Practices are about repetition – sometimes even things that I feel I’ve “mastered” need reinforcement, and frankly, when I think about those tasks I feel I’ve acquired some mastery over, I often find there’s more to learn. Practices are also about effort and will and consistency, and overcoming my own reluctance to change or inner resistance to coming face-to-face with things that really just don’t work, however much I may favor them. Humans being human, we tend to cling to what we think is right or true or useful, without examing our results too closely. It’s an unfortunate characteristic of human cognition; we like to take shortcuts. Sometimes I fail myself or fall short of my expectations. Human. When I do, I begin again.
“We become what we practice” is so very true it almost goes without saying, except that by not acknowledging that truth, I create the risk of stepping into some trap that is built on practices that are less than ideal. Doesn’t matter what I’m practicing; the more I practice that thing, the more it becomes characteristic of who I am. True for you, too. Unavoidably true. What are you practicing? Does it lead you to becoming the person you most want to be? If it doesn’t, then why are you practicing that?
Sometimes it helps to look beyond the obvious.
I sip my coffee and reflect on self-reflection, and the value of incremental change over time, for some little while. There is no one walking this earth who is utterly perfect without potential for change or growth. The journey is the destination, and if it were “easy” a lot of people would still manage to fail, somehow. Practicing the practices that make any one of us the person we most want to be still requires work, real work, with effort. This is more effective when we practice in a willful, self-aware way. This further requires self-reflection – an examination of our successes and failures, independent of the opinions of other people, reliant on our understanding of ourself and our goals. Each experience thus examined and understood, and explored for potential to learn and grow becomes another step on a path. The map is not the world. The plan is not the experience. We each have to walk our own mile – wherever that takes us. It’s easier to make a journey – any journey – with eyes open, and some light on the path.
Like it or not, you’ve got to walk your own path – and get somewhere.
When you stumble – begin again. Examine your failure, learn from that, do a little better than you did yesterday. Over time, you will have made a journey, and gotten yourself somewhere. Where does your path lead? This is your experience. Your life. Choose wisely. Keep practicing.
It’s an interesting question, isn’t it? Look around you, contemplate the things you have accumulated over the course of a lifetime, things you value, things you treasure, things you worked hard to be able to acquire… what does it all mean, though? What is of earnest and heartfelt value to you personally may have little value to others around you. If you had to “start over” completely, and could only take from all of your possessions two or three items, what would they be? If you were fleeing a wildfire or some sort of disaster, what would you most hope to find had survived when you return to your home? What would you try to take with you? What matters most?
…And when you’re gone, and what remains of your life are only those memories you’ve left behind in other hearts, and this accumulation of goods and trinkets, what do you suppose will be done with “all of that stuff”? Do you imagine your heirs may value it all as you have valued it? Do you imagine collections remaining intact, art becoming prized in other households, and items of value being cherished fondly as mementos of times shared? You do know you have no control over that outcome at all, right? You’ll be… gone. What matters to you is about you – and the framework falls apart once you’re gone. If what becomes of those things is actually something you care deeply about in any practical way, maybe have conversations about that with people you hope may wish to “carry on” your “legacy” in some way. Better to know now, isn’t it? Then your plans at least have some connection to some potential real outcome… though there’s no avoiding the underlying basic fact; you have no control over that at all. Not really.
Why do I even care? I don’t know, maybe the display of carefully selected antique porcelain demi-tasse cups and saucers is worth caring about (maybe not). Maybe the many dozens of art works on canvas are worth making some attempt that they end up in the hands (and on the walls) of friends and loved ones who will really appreciate them, and take real delight in seeing them each day (and perhaps thinking of me as they pass). There’s so much bullshit and stuff that accumulates in one ordinary human life. Paperwork. Books. Mementos of places and people. Dishes and small appliances and tools. Art. Plants. Sachets of tea. Socks and undies and camping gear. Photos.
…I’m pretty sure I could let quite a lot of it go, myself, before I ever shed this mortal form, and save my loved ones quite a lot of tedious and emotional work. Isn’t grieving already difficult enough…?
I sip my coffee and think my mortal thoughts. If I were fleeing dire circumstances (and I’ve had to do so once or twice), what would I take with me? I suppose it depends on the nature of the dire circumstances, and whether I would be limited to “what I could carry”, and how much time I had to prepare, and what my state of mind happened to be. I know that when I left home at 14, despairing, sorrowful, angry, and emotionally wounded, I took just one bag with a strap. I put a change of clothing in it, my journal, my wee address book, some cash, and walked away from my life as I knew it. I learned a lot about what “being prepared” actually requires (cuz that wasn’t it). These days, my “go bag” (a well-equipped backpack) lives in my car full-time. It’s there for camping or for emergencies. I could survive a lot of circumstances with just what is packed in that pack. I check it each year and udpate it. If I were fleeing some emergency, I guess I’d also grab my handbag (ID, etc). If I had time for rational thinking and a bit of planning, I’d likely snatch a couple of favorite paintings from the walls and try to protect them from harm – but I have images of all of my work, and in the abstract, I think I could let it all go, if I had to.
…Could you walk away from your whole life if circumstances demanded it, and just start over again?
I sip my coffee and reflect on disaster and on life, and on my good fortune, generally. I’m grateful that I don’t consider these things because I have to in this moment. They are only abstract reflections on legitimate real-world potential concerns. It’s an exercise in anxiety management, actually. My own most common sort of existential dread has to do with being displaced, or faced with one of life’s terrifying unexpected “rug pulls” and being entirely unprepared. “Losing everything I’ve worked for” is a terrifying idea. When life feels pretty comfortable and safe and good, my anxiety flares up (sometimes severely) and keeps me spun on the “what ifs” that are not now, and for me the most effective practice for dealing with that is to look those fears in the face and ask the question (some version of “what would I do, if…?”) – and answer it.
Sometimes a change in perspective relies on a change of scenery.
Camping next week. I’m excited to spend some quiet time out in the trees, walking new trails with old thoughts, and finding new perspective on what matters most. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I’m grateful for a loving partnership that supports my wandering trails alone, and welcomes me home at the end of each adventure. I’m grateful to have a partner who loves me as I am, and understands (or at least accepts) my need for time alone. We aren’t all the same in this regard, and we’re each having our own experience. My Traveling Partner misses me terribly when I’m away, and I know he must sometimes worry about the “what ifs” that trouble him most when I’m gone, himself. I love that each camping trip is framed with his loving embrace and encouragement, and followed by his sincere interest in where I’ve been and what I’ve seen.
Perspective matters. Is it a forest, or some trees?
Every time I go camping, I reflect on what to take along with me and whether I’ll actually need that thing. I’m prone to overpacking and being “too prepared”, dragging along shit I’m just not going to need, want, or use, but could imagine some remote potential circumstance that might require some item that makes no sense otherwise. I chuckle at the recollection of past camping trips with an assortment of items that just got left in the car, untouched. Each camping trip, each year, I leave some of that baggage and bullshit behind, and do a little better to plan for the most likely circumstances, only, no “extras”. I think of a camping trip when I packed my camera bag (my “real camera” is a nice Canon with several useful lenses), and also my journal and some books to read, and also my paint boxes for some plein air painting… and I didn’t do anything that trip besides hike, meditate, and gaze into the fire in the evenings! I didn’t paint anything, never even took my camera out of the bag, and never opened any one of the (several) books I’d taken with me! I still laugh at how ridiculous that seems, even now. My aspirations far exceeded my will or my capabilities. lol These days I plan more skillfully, and work to be honest with myself about both my intentions and also my capabilities.
Plein air on a drizzly Spring day – no camping required.
…Being weighed down by useless excess and unnecessary baggage is a tactically poor decision in most circumstances (real or metaphorical), just saying…
I’ve wandered far from my original topic, perhaps, but these thoughts are connected. How much baggage can I really afford to carry through life? It’s a worthwhile question, I think. I sip my coffee and wonder how to answer it. I’m grateful that I’m not fleeing some sort of dire circumstances, because I for sure don’t feel prepared for such in this moment, right here. lol
When I sat down this morning and logged into my computer the first thing I saw was a picture of my Traveling Partner and I, taken the day we got married. We’re holding the marriage certificate in our hands, together, and laughing with such visible delight that I’m immediately transported back to that moment of love and joy and celebration. My face hurts from smiling all this time since that moment. It’s almost time to begin again, and although I definitely don’t have answers for all my questions in life, I feel pretty confident that I definitely do know what matters most (to me). It’s a good place to begin.
Evening Light 