Pretty morning. Mild. Quiet. I got to the trailhead ahead of the sunrise.
Perspective on a new day
I walked the trail in solitude, enjoying it greatly. Nice morning for it. Seems like I’ve got it all to myself today. I get to a convenient stopping point, about halfway, more or less. An imprecise measure, but in this case accuracy isn’t a requirement. I sit watching the sky change colors as the sun rises. I see headlights sweep across the vineyard that covers the distance between this part of the trail and the oaks and the parking lot beyond. Farm workers arriving for the work day. This is no wilderness trail. It’s well-maintained and reliably walkable in almost any weather, and conveniently located when I work from home. Nothing fancy, but it is safe and familiar, and I enjoy the walk. It’s enough.
In just two days my feet will walk other trails, new to me. I’m excited about it. My thoughts are filled with camping gear and trail maps, and fresh coffee at sunrise. I’ve got my site reserved, and all that’s left is to pack my gear and go. Well, that and the final details about glamping or camping… Carry more gear? Pack fewer options? Take this? Take that? The most difficult bit of planning is keeping my enthusiasm in check and planning based on my capabilities and limitations, not just my daydreams and wishful thinking!
I think about the drive out… I’ve deliberately planned a slower far more scenic route (no freeways, no major highways) through farm country. The journey is the destination and the entire point is the time spent with my thoughts seeing things from a new perspective. I definitely don’t want stress related to the drive itself to be any notable part of the experience. 😂
… Looking forward to this break from the routine…
I sigh to myself. The sun is up. I shield my eyes and look to the east, back the way I came. Lovely morning. Already time to begin again.
In much the same way as “the clothes make the man”, the sunrise makes the day. To be most brief; it doesn’t. At all.
I say this after driving to the trailhead this morning watching a sunrise so colorful and splendid that it obscured all possible awareness of what tends to make such beautiful displays as dawn becomes day (which is typically some sort of terrible pollution in the air, or wildfires, rarely anything good).
I tried to snap a picture of this morning’s unbelievably beautiful sunrise. The sort of bold magentas and subtle lavenders that I feel inspired to paint. They seem unreal even in a photograph. The magenta and lavender hues gave way to bolder oranges, and tangerine and gold, and a vaguely bilious yellow green strip along the horizon as the sun began to rise above the hilltops. In between the streaked clouds, a delicate cerulean blue peaked through. No photograph could capture this tremendous display of beauty and color. I did try. lol
You had to be there.
By the time I reached the trailhead, the sunrise was over. The morning is quite cloudy and hints at rain. The ferocious heat has abated somewhat, and it is cooler than it has been, pleasantly so. The morning is quiet, but here in this place, I do hear the traffic on the adjacent highway as I lace up my boots. I listen to little birds chirping and carrying on, and I wonder what they are so excited about first thing?
Yesterday was interesting. Most of it was quite lovely, and spent in the good company of my beloved Traveling Partner. There were some moments that I will reflect on fondly for some time to come and I feel very loved. There were also a couple of moments that I could have done without, and I feel my expression change when I recall them. Humans being human. The moments don’t define the day.
I set off down the trail. I hear distant voices. I see hot air balloons in the sky, visible but quite far away. I walk the marsh trail, more meadow than marsh this time of year. I walk along the river. Somewhere nearby a duck quacks. A chipmunk darts across the path, as it turns and winds through the oak groves.
The map is not the world.
The journey is the destination, and the map is not the world. Our plan is not our experience. What we choose to wear, the words we say, the things we have or yearn for, these are not the essence of who we are. It’s closer to the truth to say that we are the path we walk, the choices we make, and the accumulated outcomes of those choices. We are the lived expression of our values – our real values, not the ones we say are dear to us, nor some trendy popular sound bite. A flag sticker on a vehicle doesn’t make the driver a patriot, nor does a catchy slogan make a responsible citizen (or a good leader). We tell the world (and those dearest to us) who we are through our actions, everything else is more like something we’re wearing, I think. Still chosen. We are, more than anything, the sum of our choices.
… Choose wisely…
I smile thinking about precious lived moments of love with my Traveling Partner. We’re unquestionably human, both of us, but g’damn do I ever love this particular human being with all my heart. I easily forgive and overlook little hurtful moments because they are few and only moments. No one moment defines the profound enduring love we share. He “gets me”. We know each well and deeply. Our lives have become so entwined over time I can’t imagine what life would be like without him. My smile deepens, recalling the unexpected gift he gave me yesterday, a small figure of a favorite anime character. Doesn’t matter why this character is among my favorites, but it certainly says something about me to see them there on my desk together: Wonder Woman, Major Kusanagi, Professor Chaos, and now Kento Nanami joins them. Aspirational role models? Avatars? Totems? I don’t know… little godlings perhaps, standing as light posts on a quiet street on a dark night. They represent qualities I seek and embrace within myself, or acknowledge and work to overcome. Definitely a bit of both; our heroes are as flawed as we are ourselves.
Who are your heroes? Why them?
I sit at my halfway point thinking and writing. Realizing that I don’t actually know who my partner’s heroes are. Not explicitly. I don’t think I’ve ever asked, though we share more of our inner lives with each other than most people likely do. Interesting. What an odd thing. I could guess, but guessing is a pretty poor way to gather information. I think I’ll ask sometime.
I sit awhile thinking about this man I love and who loves me so dearly in return. We’ve traveled some miles together. I hope we share many more. He has become part of me. This love we share is one of the best parts of who I have become over time.
If the sunrise doesn’t make the day, what does? No one moment is the entirety of a day unless we allow it to become so. A day is not the entire lifetime, any more than a step is the whole journey. We have so many opportunities to begin again if things go sideways or we step off the path.
What does “make the man”? For me? His values. His lived values. It’s not necessary for someone to tell you what they value with their words, their actions tell you all you need to know. What are you telling the world about who you are and what you value, with your actions? Are you satisfied with the picture your actions paint? If not, you have choices, and you can begin again.
I sigh and glance at the time. There’s this trail, and the day, ahead of me and the clock is ticking. I smile and stretch and get to my feet.
My last “proper day of vacation” began with some sleeping in – what a delightful luxury! I dressed and slipped out of the house without waking my Traveling Partner (as far as I know). I decided, yesterday, that today I’d make the drive to the coast and head down to Fogarty Creek, which has easy access to a small private feeling beach enclosed by steep rocky hillsides. The Oregon Coast Trail passes through there.
… Stormy clouds followed me, and I figured it might rain at some point, but I drove on, unconcerned, enjoying the absence of traffic (not another car on the road going my way, at all)…
Kite flying on a stormy morning seemed like a good idea to someone.
I parked with my coffee at a favorite spot with a great view of the ocean. The tide is coming in, and in a few more minutes it’ll be high tide, according to the tide table, but not the highest high tide today. That’ll be later, shortly before sundown, and long after I’ve returned home.
The first rain drops tap the windshield gently, and then it’s just straight up raining. Last time I made Fogarty Creek my destination, it also rained (a drenching deluge blown sideways by fierce storm winds). Today I can see breaks in the storm gray clouds overhead, so perhaps the rain will pass quickly. No matter. I actually don’t care much about the weather today, I’m enjoying my time (and my coffee) anyway. I sit watching a man on the beach persisting in trying to fly his kite in spite of the rain.
The drive over to the coast was beautiful. The roadside slopes and ditches were in bloom with plentiful pink foxgloves and purple vetch, and blackberry brambles covered in clouds of pretty white flowers. The air smelled fresh and sweet. No traffic at all was a nice treat. No traffic = no stress. It was fun.
…So this is 62? So far so good…
I sip my coffee, sitting contentedly with my thoughts on a rainy morning, listening to the raindrops on the roof of the car. I’m enjoying the pleasant relaxed vibe of having nothing specific to do and nowhere I need to be. I savor the moment, because this too will pass; moments are fleeting, and a mortal lifetime is brief. It’s enough to enjoy the moment as it is. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I think of my Traveling Partner and hope he has a lovely day relaxing or working, whatever suits him most.
I sigh to myself as the rain slows to a few random drops. Soon enough, I’ll finish the drive. There’s no rush, and the journey is the destination. It hardly matters whether I drive further down the coast or sit contentedly right here. What matters most is simply to enjoy the moment…
I’m drinking hot coffee from a sunny vantage point in the otherwise empty day use area. I deliberately parked my black Mazda in the sunniest spot I saw. I got a short hike in, steeper than I remembered from last time, and great for warming up.
See, the thing is, it was below 40° F (around 4° C), and I woke feeling a bit cold (if nothing else, aware that the temperature had dropped notably) shortly after dawn. I got up feeling stiff, and colder still after walking to the restroom and back. I considered going back to bed, but made coffee instead.
A little bird enjoying the sunshine.
I sit with my thoughts in the sunshine. I’m warm through now, and eager to begin the day. Three things on my list today: pack up camp, get another hike in, and get safely home. Now I’m thinking noodles and a tin of smoked salmon might be a good way to “begin” the morning. My experience here has been quite rich and even profound or illuminating in spots. It’s also been nothing like I planned.
At this point, my legs ache from walking the steep winding trails, even without camping at a more distant hike-in site. My neck and back ache, more from my arthritis itself than from the drop in temperature or the rain that seems very likely. My tinnitus is loud. Ah, but I’ve taken steps to manage my pain, and later today I’ll return home.
…omg, the packing…
I sigh to myself. There are now hikers on the trail visible to me. I’m not interested in conversations with strangers this morning. lol I sip my coffee and consider the packing. I’ll use the opportunity to toss out items that have exceeded their approved shelf life, and finish the trip more organized than when I began it.
…I feel like I could go back to sleep…
I’m glad I prepared for likely deviations from my original plan. The outcome ended up being just what I wanted. Now it’s time to begin again.
There is a future, and the details of the specifics are unknown. Mostly, things will probably be fairly ordinary, because generally speaking, they are. I think about that as I walk, and wonder, and plan. No amount of planning and thinking will directly change the future, but it may lead to better choices.
Blue sky afternoon in Spring
I think about my garden as a metaphor. I can calculate the average yield of each plant I’ve planted, and plan ahead to do the necessary work, but these actions don’t determine what my harvest will actually be. My plans won’t determine what I actually get done. Circumstances will be what they are. I’ll know the outcome when I get there, and weigh the harvested produce. Will it be abundant? Will it fail to be sufficient? I can only guess, do my best, and hope to be prepared for all of the most likely outcomes.
Yesterday was sunny and pleasantly warm. I spent time in the garden in the evening after dinner. It felt like summer approaching. I planned to do some gardening on my breaks today (working from home). I woke to rain. It’s not raining heavily or steadily, though it obviously rained quite a lot during the night. I still manage to enjoy my walk. Drizzly now, but not raining hard. It’s not a good day for gardening though. It is sloppy and muddy and my arthritis is giving me a bad time. Yesterday, my view of today was obscured. I didn’t see this rainy day coming.
Spring in the Pacific Northwest
I sigh to myself as I walk, and I’m all the way back to the car before I take a moment for meditation and writing; my favorite stopping point on this trail was soaking wet and surrounded by mud.
I definitely don’t know what the future holds. Probably a lot more of all of the usual, which could be a bit of a buzzkill, until I consider how much of that future is within my control to at least some degree, all the time. I may not be certain of the outcome, but I do have a lot of choices. I can create and embrace change. I can hold space to succeed and to fail, and to find my way regardless of the circumstances. I can practice and build emotional resilience, contentment, and joy. Being present in this moment makes the journey a slow pleasant walk into a future I feel mostly pretty prepared for. Practicing non-attachment ensures that the bend in the path ahead is part of the journey, and not a cause for anxiety.
I smile to myself. My awareness of pain doesn’t make the morning less pleasant, only more human. I breathe, exhale, and relax, and prepare to begin again. The clock ticks. The sun rises. The rain falls. The journey continues.