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Hiking Without a Map

December 27, 2015 //
2

I am at home now, slowly warming up enough for a hot bath to be comfortable, sipping tea, looking forward to clean dry clothes, and catching up on calories and medication.

The only picture all day isn't of anything much; the photos are not the experiences.

The only picture all day isn’t of anything much; the photos are not the experiences.

I hit the trail at mid-morning with my hydration pack and emergency gear carefully checked off, map in a side pocket within easy reach. I felt utterly prepared for the hike ahead of me – new trails to explore, and a good plan for 6 to 8 miles of beautiful forested winter countryside, and considerable solitude along the way. I hopped off the bus with a smile at the trailhead most convenient to both mass transit and miles I had not yet walked. I crossed the street and headed up the trail – which in this case was rather literal, as the trail headed steeply upward, renewing my appreciation for my anti-shock hiking staff. I spotted the first snowflake as I neared the hilltop, and the drizzle carrying it along to the ground was quickly becoming more tiny snow flakes than drizzle. I wasn’t discouraged in the least, and visibility was not particularly impaired, except at a distance. There would be no distant vistas to view today. I walked on.

As I walked I contemplated how very prepared I felt when I departed for my hike – and how little my preparation seemed relevant in the present moment, unplanned snowflakes falling all around me. I considered this other solo journey I am taking – the one we each take, every one of us, through this wilderness territory called life; I am my own cartographer. Another way of saying that is – I don’t actually have a map. Yep. I’m making it up as I go along, aren’t I? Aren’t we all?

I turn the ideas on their heads a few times and consider things I do each time I hike to depart as well prepared as possible for all those many things that may come up along a journey, unplanned. Even the snow – I didn’t expect it, and in that sense I didn’t plan, but I did take my day pack, and checked my emergency gear quite carefully before I left, removing the Deet that isn’t needed in December and adding things that seemed more likely to be necessary for a winter emergency, then checking off my basics: a compact emergency shelter, bivy sack, an emergency blanket, first aid gear, water, fire – and my map. I hadn’t planned for snow – but I had done my best to plan for ‘whatever’ might come up that could find me out in the cold over night, and maybe lost or injured.

I hike solo most of the time, and being prepared is one of those things that is about more than me; my traveling partner relies on me to depart prepared to come home safely. Getting home safely may very well be dependent on preparation handled before I ever leave the house at all – and there’s no way to know in advance if this is the hike on which it will matter that I had my _____. With my injury, my PTSD, and the implied potential limitations of each, and both together, I take my time preparing for new trails. I study maps. I read trip reports by other hikers, and articles from the Forestry or Park service overseeing the area. I outline the route, and study alternate routes and connecting loops that may offer scenic opportunities also worth exploring. I make a plan, and share it with my partner. I pack, inventory my gear, re-pack, try it on for size, and double-check my choices against recent experiences in similar areas – I’ll ask myself what I have overlooked, more than once. I’ll ask friends to share stories of recent camping or hiking outings to glean likely circumstances I may not have considered from my own experience. When I am finally ready to put boots on the ground, I generally feel very well-prepared, and by day’s end sometimes find myself wondering why I ever bother to take some of the things I do – like an emergency shelter. Really? Even hiking a nearby park, wrapped entirely in suburbia? More than once I’ve laughed at myself for being over-prepared.

Some time after noon, the snow flakes had plumped to the fat fluffy sort that splat on impact, my glasses were no longer helping my vision, and I had removed them. Visibility – with or without my glasses – is about the same forward, as it is looking down at my feet, and the muddy trail beneath my feet is slippery – another opportunity to be very happy to have my hiking staff; I really need it as the trail turns, twists, and heads down hill. This is no time for photographs – and I had already determined some time ago that the wet cold was not ideal for camera or camera phone – I stay focused on the trail, a dark line ahead too muddy for snow to stick to. I stop at a trail crossing, rest a moment, check my map and finish the last of the still-hot coffee in my hydro-flask (another piece of gear to appreciate today). My hands are not cold; my gloves keep them warm and dry. My feet are not cold or wet; I chose my hiking boots with great care and they serve me well. My rain gear keeps most of the rest of me dry, too, but the flakes of wet snow have begun to sting my cold face, and I think of gear I don’t yet have that would do nicely right then, and even consider whether I am prepared, at any point, to admit I can’t proceed and take shelter. I breathe the winter air deeply and smile; if I need to set up an emergency shelter, I’m ready for that, too. I walk on.

I stood some wet tedious minutes waiting for the bus that would take me out of the woods. I exchange messages with my traveling partner so he knows I am safe, and heading home. I keep thinking about life; it’s a hell of a journey to have to take without a map, without ‘all the right gear’, without feeling prepared…without even the certainty that our experience is a shared experience that will be understood in the telling of the tale; we are solo-hiking through life, and we do it without a map, making it up as we go along, and hoping for the best. Hell – sometimes we start the journey without having even a destination in mind at all! It’s no wonder life can be so confusing, so surprising, so difficult sometimes.

The tea has taken the chill off me as I write. I smile, and think about the ‘gear’ I now ‘pack’ on my solo journey through this wilderness, life: mindfulness practices, meditation, a healthy approach to fitness and to food, an understanding of my physical needs day-to-day, and some ideas about what it takes to be the woman I most want to be, like emotional self-sufficiency, critical thinking, perspective, and an understanding that contentment is an excellent stepping stone to happiness, and more sustainable. I still don’t have a map – but this journey isn’t going to take itself, and it’s time to get going; the journey is the destination. The map is not the world. One year ends, another stretches out in front of me, an unexplored trail – it’s time to plan the next hike! 🙂

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Categories Brain Injury, Free Will, Healthy Living, Logic & Reason, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, solo hiking, The Art of Being, winter, women, Words

Moments

August 23, 2015 //
0

I’m on my second coffee. I am enjoying it with local low-temperature pasteurized non-homogenized half-n-half, and half a teaspoon of date sugar. The beans are a freshly roasted medium-roast Brazilian, ground immediately before making use of them. The music in the background is rather louder than many people prefer their ‘background’ music to be. It is later in the morning than I generally write; I slept in this morning, and took my time with waking up. I enjoyed my first coffee before meditation, letting the cup warm my hands, breathing the scent of it deeply, and simply being right here. It’s that sort of morning, on a weekend filled with moments.

Yesterday, after planting the one full-size rose that will be in my patio garden, I sat quietly letting the morning unfold around me, and feeling the chill morning air tickle my bare toes. The air, then, was soft and still. I enjoyed the distant, uninvolved companionship of the neighborhood squirrels, robins and crows, enjoying their morning repast. They are aware of me, but unconcerned.

One of my neighbors enjoying breakfast al fresco.

One of my neighbors enjoying breakfast al fresco, on another morning.

Later, in the evening, I again sat on the patio, wrapped in the strange golden light of evening, distant wildfires coloring the evening light, and changing the taste and scent of the air. The leaves rustled gently in the breeze that brought the smoke. I listened to the rustling for some longish time. A pair of ducks lands in the swimming pool just across the lawn. I watch them awhile. The female hops out of the pool, and slowly makes her way my direction. I sit quietly, surprised to see her being so direct about it. She steps up on my patio, and up to my feet. She looks at me. I look back. She turns and nibbles some bugs off a potted plant at the edge of the patio, looking at me over her shoulder as if wondering if I mind sharing. She sat a moment, observing me, then headed back to the pool. I sat awhile longer as the golden glow of evening became twilight, and the rustling of leaves became a chorus of peeping tree frogs in the distance.

The sky filled with the haze of distant wildfires.

The sky filled with the haze of distant wildfires.

This morning, after my first coffee, sometime before my second, I stood in the patio doorway, closed this morning because the haze of smoke from distant fires continues to present a modest health concern. I watch the morning light brighten to day, and notice a squirrel on  my patio, checking each pot for hidden goodies in the soil. She looks at me over the rim of a blue and white china pot with a miniature rose in it, and for a moment we hold each other’s gaze as she thinks over whether to stay or go, having noticed my presence. I stand very still – stillness is where my head was, anyway – and she gets back to the business of checking each pot, rummaging through the dirt, moss, leaves, and bits of things that have fallen. Now I know why some of my plants are regularly uprooted in some way; I had had my suspicions, but now there is no doubt. As I continue to watch, she reaches up and grabs a young, newly opened rose, and appears to rifle through the petals, turning it this way and that, and finally nibbling at…something. I watch intently. She pauses, and standing tall looking at me, I see that she has a small green worm or caterpillar in her tiny adept hands. She quickly munches it, then bounds away.

Each of these moments lingers with me, and I allow myself the joy of savoring them, letting them become a more permanent part of my recollection, and sitting contentedly with the feelings; the more time I spend immersed in positive emotional experiences, the less negative bias exists in my thinking, and my implicit assumptions.

An excellent source of information on this and other good practices to improve one's experience.

One source of information about the practice of savoring positive experiences.

There’s not a lot more I know how to say about this. There’s science to support the practice of making a point to savor positive experiences, and linger in those moments, as a method of reducing negative bias…but…even if it was 100% bunk pseudo-science, when I simply consider the feel of it, as a practice, and how it enriches my quality of life to actually make a point to enjoy living, I find that I no longer need to ‘prove it’ to myself – and certainly, there is no requirement to ‘prove it’ to you. You can give it a try as a practice, or don’t, or already are…and the decision you make to continue, or disregard, will be your own. I’m okay with all that; results vary, and you are having your own experience. I’m just saying, as choices go, I do enjoy making a point to really feel the lovely moments that happen so often.

Today is a good day to enjoy each moment. Each moment we enjoy changes the world.

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Categories Brain Injury, Free Will, gardening, Healthy Living, Love, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Summer, The Art of Being, The Big 5

What’s the Word I’m Looking For?

July 1, 2015 //
0

I am sipping my coffee, listening to the demands of crows beyond the open patio door. The aquarium, behind me here, trickles softly; I almost don’t hear it moment-to-moment, I am so used to the sound of it. The sound of distant traffic is a hushed murmur still farther beyond, and not a disruption of the still morning – although when I am most stressed out the sounds of humanity are more than I can bear, even at a distance. I sift through ideas, and notions, musing contentedly about this-n-that, unconcerned about the passage of time and the still blank page. There is no point hurrying life, really, is there? Eventually the passage of minutes will take me to the edge of some moment that requires action, but that is not now.

“Now” is for hot coffee, birdsong, and words if I find them.

I have lived alone for a bit more than a month. Thinking about the date reminds me that I must pay the rent on my way to work…and that marijuana became legal in Oregon today. I’m not sure which is more directly relevant to me, today; I will spend the day at work, and certainly neither cannabis nor rent factor in that experience. It’ll be nice to come home to a home, though – so rent is clearly important. I’ll be coming home to cannabis as well, inasmuch as it remains the only medication that eases many of my PTSD symptoms, especially if I am in crisis. I don’t write much about it. I’m not sure I know how. I do know it works, and as of today being a consumer of cannabis is just a little bit less stressful in Oregon.

Worth paying for. The sticky note on the inside of my front door this morning says 'don't forget the rent!'

Worth paying for. The sticky note on the inside of my front door this morning says ‘don’t forget the rent!’

This morning I continue to experience a feeling that has been lingering in the background for a couple of days now; I feel a bit ‘over loaded’… or something. Maybe a bit distracted…by something…or something. I’m not sure quite what the feeling is, but I notice that what eases it most is solitude, and stillness. I get the solitude fairly easily by canceling plans and choosing to be alone. The stillness seems a tad more problematic, lately. The world throws distractions at me almost continuously, and I am again facing mindfulness as a beginner – perhaps I always must? No stereo this morning, or yesterday – I love music and dance, but those are not stillness. The last couple evenings I have struggled to choose wisely, often finding myself flipping on a video that I then do not actually watch, instead restlessly doing other things, and half listening to it. Sometimes I sit down to read, and manage a page or two before sleep finds me…or distraction pushes the book beyond reach and I pursue some other activity, but without real focus. I take steps to paint, and find myself hanging paintings instead, or only sketching rather distractedly.

I am frustrated in a small way by my lack of focus, but I don’t view it as any sort of personal failure or character flaw; more likely my broken brain is working on something I can’t quite get at directly, and the overwork in the background of my thinking fractures my conscious direction and intent. The stillness is needful, getting to it requires verbs, and more verbs after that – particularly some verbs that give every appearance of lacking actual action. Meditation. More meditation after I meditate, and perhaps, some more meditation after that. No, I’m not kidding, but I’m also not certain that I quite have the well-developed adult will and discipline to do this simple thing that I need for and from myself. I am a child. I am a beginner. I am unrealized potential. The choice is in front of me and there are most definitely verbs involved. There will be more practice. Everyday practice, every day.

I am not feeling critical of myself, and I am not disappointed with my choices thus far. I am keeping a lovely home for myself, and I have been enjoying cooking for one – and in some cases taking on some rather more complicated recipes that I might have, had I been concerned about the needs or expectations of others. It’s been fun playing house with myself. I tend my beautiful garden, and eat healthy food. I practice good practices and keep good company. I am enjoying my experience – but on another level I have been sort of ‘taking it easy’. There is more ‘work’ to be done sorting out the chaos and damage, and I have been, in a very real sense, taking a break from all that to settle in here, and get a feel for living solo. My recent level of distractibility – and willingness to be distracted – has been an emotional vacation of sorts. This morning I recognize it so clearly, and with the good-natured tolerance of any parent, I am ready to look into the face of the child within and remind her there is work to be done. There will be no shortage of healthy meals, good rest, excellent self-care, and fun – but there is a purpose to choosing this lifestyle that goes beyond contentment, and it is time to get back to work.

"The Shelf" - everything I need for being and becoming.

“The Shelf” – everything I need for being and becoming.

I suspect that my sudden urgent desire to organize the books on my book shelves was fueled, in part, by my recognition that it is time to get back to the demanding work at hand of healing, and nurturing this broken brain, and this fractured soul. The shelf nearest me while I write holds all the most critical [to me] reference material on which I rely for information regarding my brain injury, mindfulness practices, cognition, language, and relationship building (with self and others). No book ‘makes the shelf’ unless it proves itself worthy – otherwise, there is plenty of room on other shelves along the wall. My kindle also has ‘the shelf’; a collection of similarly prized and limited tomes, some of which are duplicated in real books in my library, others which I could not so easily afford to own in any format besides digital. (Some of the science books are quite expensive.) I am ready. I am capable. The trick, of course, is that there is only ever ‘now’ during which I can work on me, effectively. 🙂

The sweet fruit of commitment, will, and action await me.

The sweet fruit of commitment, will, and action await me.

It is a lovely summer. I have everything I truly need (and more). I am safe in my home and free to pursue any endeavor I care to. I have ‘now’, and I have all the words in the world. I have any measure of stillness I am capable of embracing, and sustaining. Today is a very good day to get back to work on this amazing project I call ‘me’.

 

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Categories art and the artist, Brain Injury, Free Will, gardening, Healthy Living, Logic & Reason, Love, Menopause, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women, Words

Between Choice and Outcome

May 11, 2015 //
2

It’s a Monday morning. This has only whatever significance I choose to give it. Does my choice to face Monday differently (than ‘Oh, damn, not another Monday’, for example) also determine the outcome? Will I most certainly enjoy a lovely calm Monday without any challenges or stress simply by changing my assumptions going into the day? Realistically, there are no guarantees – I might have a terrible Monday however positive I feel going into it.

When I started down this path, I held onto the fairly childlike notion that good choices, and being open to success and positive outcomes would be enough to ensure the successes and positive outcomes would occur. It was incredibly disappointing the first many times I had a straight up no bullshit bad day – I’d chosen so well! I’d been so positive! I’ve learned a lot more since then. I’ve learned that my will is not the only will that is involved in my outcome – and that whatever the outcome, itself, I still have opportunities to enjoy what is enjoyable, to savor things that nurture me, and to learn from what wasn’t so pleasant. Those good choices all still matter – even if the day goes sideways, or ends poorly – because they determine more than merely the outcome. They say something about who I am, and build memory and experience. All of that matters.

Yesterday I had planned to go for a solo hike in a nearby park I’ve never visited. I planned to get there on transit, and it looked pretty easy to do. I checked my route again on Friday. I woke ready to go, yesterday, and was out the door at the time I had intended to be. The day was beautiful. I got downtown to my transfer point, and checked the bus timing; there was just one bus listed as going to the park I had in mind. Right – Sunday. I had checked the bus schedule on a weekday and failed to account for Sundays. No matter, I check my map again and notice the Sunday bus would still get me within a half an hour’s walk of the park itself. Close enough…right? (Can I pause to observe how convenient this technology is? This powerful computer in the palm of my hand can do so much!) A closer look reveals the walking portion of my route is along a detour – with no pedestrian space. Well…that’s a plan changer, right there. I might walk a few feet along a busy road without a sidewalk or pedestrian easement, but doing so for half an hour, early in the morning seems foolish without at least wearing reflective gear of some kind – and I wasn’t prepared.

A change of plans requires a change in perspective.

A change of plans requires a change in perspective.

As little as 3 years ago, I might have been frustrated to the point of being sensitive and easily angered, and disappointment would likely have been a companion for some hours, at least. A year or two ago, I’d have taken a few minutes to let that go, and moved on with my day with acceptance – probably returning home to ‘start over’ somehow. Yesterday was different – and delightfully not at all ‘special’ in this regard – I was barely disappointed enough to register the emotion as being part of my experience, and took time to enjoy quite an exceptional coffee at a favorite cafe, and a well-chosen pastry to complement the coffee (ensuring the low blood sugar didn’t complicate disappointment; it was time for some calories). I didn’t waste time fussing that my plan had fallen apart – the park exists, there are more days in the future (as far as I know), and there is so much that can be done with a lovely Sunday. I sipped my coffee, munched my pastry, and watched people come and go while giving the day some thought, without stress or anxiety.

Taking care of me.

Taking care of me.

Back to the wonder of the technology in my hand…I used it while enjoying my coffee to determine what other area attractions of interest to me might be a good ‘plan B’ for my Sunday adventure. Thank you, Science! Thank you, HTC! Thank you, Android! Thank you, Google! Thank you, DARPA and all the contributing developers of the World Wide Web and the Internet! I don’t say thank you enough, but I do benefit every day from the device you have put in my hands.

I observed on the map that a short walk, followed by a short bus ride, would put me on a trail to the International Rose Test Garden located in Washington Park, and felt the excitement of surprise and delight that goes with discovering ‘a better way’ to get somewhere I really like to go. The Japanese Garden is located nearby, too…and miles and miles of the Wildwood Trail, which I have walked very little of in the years I’ve lived in the area…my Sunday quickly began to take on its new form. I’d take this new route to the Rose Garden, visit the Japanese Garden, too, and enjoy the trails to, from, and between, along the way.

New path, new perspective.

New path, new perspective.

I made good choices, and the outcome was pleasant and worthwhile. I’m not sure how connected our choices are to our outcomes, though – sometimes more than others, it would seem, and I admit to being a bit confused by that sometimes, even now.  Acceptance of change is a big piece of the contentment puzzle, and it surely helps to be flexible and adaptable in the face of change. Perspective has a say in my outcomes, too, providing me an opportunity to build a different understanding of my experience, and perhaps a moment of calm in the face of the turmoil of change or an experience of disappointment. My assumptions, and the way I define the elements of my experience, will also have a say in my perception of the outcome; we are creatures of both emotion and reason, and my will can be applied to my thinking as well as my choices. I think what I am getting at is that I have a new understanding of choice and outcome. There’s a gap between them, filled with opportunities to learn, grow, consider, observe, enjoy, adapt, accept…and that gap is a worthy moment to be present and engaged, and to savor life. Or something. Your results may vary.

Why, yes, I think I will, thanks. :-)

Why, yes, I think I will, thanks. 🙂

Today is a good day to make good choices, and roll with changes. Today is a good day to enjoy the journey. Today is a good day to be my own cartographer; perhaps a good map can change the way I see the world?

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Categories Free Will, Healthy Living, Logic & Reason, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Oregon Trails, Perspective, solo hiking, The Art of Being, Words

Even the Longest Journey…

August 30, 2014 //
0

…Is taken one step at a time. That’s not one I can argue with, refute, or change.

wXG

“Each time for the first time, each moment, the only moment.” Jon Kabat-Zinn

We are each having our own experience. Also completely true, also out of reach of argument or persuasion. We make choices. Choices to participate, choices to pull away, choices to nurture, choices to disengage – we even attempt to make choices about whether we make choices, which is nonsense and foolishness; we have no choice but to choose. 

Sometimes choices are obvious.

Sometimes choices are obvious.

I enjoyed an exceptional day yesterday, end to end quite a nice day. The evening was spent in the company of one of my partners, providing a listening ear, and a supportive heart. People suffer, even people who love well and deeply will suffer in the course of a human life. Suffering isn’t avoidable; we have choices to make regarding how we handle our suffering, and how we treat others while we suffer. 

Before we go farther, I’ll say I’m still practicing, myself, and one of my own challenges is indeed learning to treat others – and myself – truly well in the face of my own suffering. I am acutely aware of the suffering of others, and I observe their choices and behaviors attentively, asking myself all manner of questions about how what I see applies to my own experience, what I could choose to do differently, were it my choice, to find my way out of that darkness, and to treat my loves well in the face of pain or rage. I definitely don’t want to set expectations that I find it ‘easy’ or that it is a simple matter to change lifelong poor behavior, or rewrite bad programming. I will spend my life becoming the woman I most want to be; the challenges are real, the rewards can’t be overstated. 

Resuming my narrative, I return to last evening. We’d had plans as a family. Those didn’t work out. It happens. I managed to enjoy an amazing connected intimate evening with my partner, simply by listening, being supportive, and allowing the time spent to have real value and intimacy, in spite of the OPD at the heart of all that pain. I ended the evening feeling warm and whole, and knowing that my partner was supported and cared for to the best of my ability. We all want to feel heard. 

We each have our own struggles, our own challenges and doubts, our own fears – and our own nastiness to address in the silence of solitude, staring into the face of who we are in the moment with honest desire to do more, better…or finding a way to be at peace with the person we see. It took me many years to come to terms with some pretty shitty behavior I’d learned, and to recognize how significant my own role is in my contentment and happiness. It took even longer to acknowledge that I alone have the power to change me. Having gotten there it seemed almost cruel that I also had to decide what to keep, and what to change, for myself…and have to be accountable for the outcome when I choose poorly. 

I don’t think this is the sort of journey that has a proper destination. I am doubtful that there’s a nice ‘rest area’ at the end point, a place to sit and relax, and celebrate the finish line. No trophy. No report card. No certification. Life is not the sort of journey that ends with ‘mastery’ or an obvious ‘win’… Except… There are moments when I feel something different about that; when the journey itself is the trophy, the goal, the big win at the finish line. No matter how long the journey, it is still taken in steps, and in moments, and each one contains that tremendous power to choose. Each of those moments, itself, is precious – incredibly precious; there are no ‘do-overs’.

Some thoughts over my coffee...

Some thoughts over my coffee…

What will I choose today? It’s a lovely morning… Today is a good day to change myself, and the changes I make within my own heart, and my own experience, have the power to change the world. Today, I am a more experienced, more skilled human being than I was yesterday. Today I am a handful of  moments closer to being the woman I most want to be. Today is a fresh start and a new opportunity to choose well. Today is a good day to choose change. 

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Categories Anxiety, Brain Injury, Love, Metaphors, Mindfulness, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, Summer, The Big 5
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