It’s another icy morning. The fog is dense on the highway, and denser still on the trail, where it dips low towards the marsh and the river. Frosty ground is slick beneath my boots and branches and grasses sparkle white as my light passes over them. I’m thinking about hot coffee, grateful for warm gloves.
I won’t sit long at my halfway point. It’s too cold to write comfortably, and the fog obscures the view. It’s a work day, too, and timing matters.
I’m in a bad mood this morning. My Traveling Partner started my day with his annoyance over some small thing, and I didn’t need that on top of my tinnitus screeching in my ear and this fucking headache, and my arthritis. I keep trying to push past it. Move on. Let it go. It wasn’t my annoyance, after all. Pain sucks, though, and I’m cross about dealing with it. I’m hoping for a relaxed routine work day after a lovely holiday weekend.
I yawn in the cold morning air and see my breath mingle with the fog. It’s time to walk on. It’s time to start the day. It’s time to let small shit stay small and not take other people’s bullshit personally. It’s time to begin again.
I may be losing my hearing. I’m also still very “sound sensitive”. This seems like an incredibly cruel prank, and it’s hard to find the humor in it…but…I’m betting it’s there, somewhere, because this shit is too stupid, annoying, and also all too fucking real to be tragic, and I’m sick of it already. Irrelevant to the present moment, aside from the high-pitched whine and “static” in my ears all the time. (It seems much louder than it once was.) My Traveling Partner reminded me recently that it could be a byproduct of one or more of the medications I take. That’s it’s own annoying thing.
This morning is fine, though. I sigh and let go of my annoyance over the tinnitus and breathe. I woke on time, thought about resetting my alarm and sleeping longer, but wakefulness overtook me as quickly as the thought formed. The mild fever (probably caused by one of the vaccines I got on Sunday) that sent me to bed so early yesterday seemed to have broken during the second half of the night, sometime. I woke damp with sweat but feeling generally okay. It’s a new day.
Waiting for the sun.
New morning. New day. New opportunity to begin again. I breathe, exhale, and relax. The hint of chill in the air suggests a warm fleece and I am grateful to have left mine in the car. I put it on and feel more comfortable. I sit with my thoughts, waiting on the sunrise. Short walk today, maybe. I consider my energy level and the likely demands of the workday ahead. It was a good choice to take yesterday off. I definitely needed the rest.
I sit for a moment, quietly, wondering what I need today?
I take my morning meds, and sip my coffee. Cosmic jokes aside, it’s an ordinary day, likely to be filled with ordinary moments. I think about dinner, later… Can I reserve enough energy to cook a proper meal? I’d very much like to. There are so many careful choices to make between now and then, if that’s to be a thing. (When did it become so complicated?)
I breathe, exhale, and relax. Daybreak comes and I can see the trail sufficiently well to walk it (at least along the edge of the meadow and the vineyard), by the time I get to the denser trees along the creek bank, it’ll be past sunrise. I chuckle to myself; none of this requires planning or additional thought, this is a familiar trail, and a familiar experience. I only need to do the verbs. I change from my soft shoes to my boots and prepare to begin again.
Trite but true, it is a near certainty that things could be worse. I sigh out loud, annoyed by my persistent headache when there’s so much going on and so much to do (or prepare for). Thinking, planning, and doing, while also fighting through pain has difficult moments. I struggle to maintain focus on things that matter and routinely find myself distracted by things that matter just as much. lol I try not to be overly hard on myself over it, but it does vex me, especially when the task at hand is something intended to support my Traveling Partner.
… I breathe, exhale, and relax…
A new day
When I left the house it was still quite dark. The season is changing, as seasons do. Daybreak comes much later than it did weeks ago, when spring turned to summer. I was amazed and delighted to see meteors streak across the predawn sky as I drove to the trailhead, this morning. Then I started thinking about what it might mean should some unusually large meteor actually plunge through our atmosphere intact and impact the planet directly…my anxiety surges as I consider that. Then I let that shit go.
… Letting an imagined worst case wreck a lovely lived moment is a poor practice…
I breathe, exhale, and relax. Today is final preparations for my Traveling Partner’s surgery. Tomorrow. It’s a big deal, and one with a very good prognosis. I’m more eager than nervous on my partner’s behalf, which I guess is a good thing. I feel well prepared. I hope he does, too.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. I’d meant to bring my colored pencils and my sketchbook along this morning. I forgot them. There are really only one or two places, at home, where something can be placed, that reliably get my attention on the way out in the morning. I can’t count the number of times I have forgotten to grab something I meant to take with me, because it wasn’t in one of those places. lol Generally a harmless sort of oversight, and I don’t make it a big deal this morning – because it isn’t.
… I keep promising myself more time painting. I keep not painting…
I had the trail to myself, initially, and sitting here in the morning quiet at the halfway point it manages to feel strange to hear voices and approaching footsteps. A small group of photographers walks past. Cheerful greetings are exchanged as they walk by.
My mind wanders. I distractedly check my task list and my calendar. I check the grocery list. I try to identify needful things I may have overlooked. My mind feels very busy and chaotic. I’m not here for that. There’s time for lists and tasks later.
… I breathe, exhale, and relax. I make room for this “now” moment, present, observing, breathing. Only this. I let my thoughts come and go, like the clouds overhead. (I definitely need more of this calm time spent present, simply being.) My mind wanders, this time I bring it back to my breath. My tinnitus is loud and distracts me. I bring my awareness back to my breath. For an unmeasured time I reflect and meditate, bringing my attention back to my breath each time it wanders. Good practice.
It’s a good day for a quiet moment. After a while, I get to my feet to finish my walk and begin again.
The sun seems to rise slowly against the pastel shades of pink and peach. The sky is hazy with the disbursed smoke of far away wildfires. Summer. Fire season.
Outcome to be determined.
I walked with my headache, my tinnitus, and my thoughts. The sounds of traffic on the highway nearby, and construction somewhere, create a “fuzzy” nothing sort of background noise. My thoughts are not important, nor are they particularly coherent. I’m just walking and thinking. I let the thoughts come and go. I stop at a favorite view point to sit, meditate, write, and watch the sun rise. I’ve got the trail and the park alone this morning, so far. I breathe the meadow-sweet morning air contentedly. I enjoy this moment; whatever else the day may throw at me, I’ve got this lovely peaceful moment to enjoy.
Yesterday was a strange mix of pleasant and difficult moments. Very human. I don’t stay focused on the difficulties; those things were sorted out yesterday. Resolved. Corrected. I do reflect further on the pleasant moments, letting them fill my thoughts for some little while. Savoring those moments because they matter most. I let my heart fill with recollections of joy, love, and laughter. I smile. I have a good sense of what matters most (these days, to me).
The yellow and white meadow flowers bobbing back and forth in the slight breeze atop brown summer stems are a pleasantly fragrant distraction from my headache. I watch small birds picking at the ground next to the trail. The sun continues its slow journey upwards from the horizon. Mornings hold so much promise. I sit quietly thinking about the day ahead without forcing it to become more than this moment, here. The future is unwritten, undetermined, and full of potential. I let it remain so. I watch the sun rise.
Every journey, every new beginning, starts where I am.
I experience a moment of sorrow, and a stray tear wells up and spills over. I am missing people who are dear to me, now gone. It’s a lonely sort of moment; there is so much to share, so much that I would talk about… I quietly say “I miss you” out loud, to no one in particular, and cry a little. Poignant. Human.
…The journey is the destination. Loss is part of the human experience…
I breathe, exhale, and relax. I let go of my sorrow. It’s a new day, and it’s time to begin again. I get to my feet and stretch, and turn back up the trail…
What a day this has been. Spent mostly in solitary contemplation, reading, walking the beach here at Siletz Bay, I’ve enjoyed the quiet geniality of my own good company. It’s been lovely.
I sat for a long while on the beach listening to the waves breaking against the shore. It seemed as if I had no tinnitus at all, for a time. Oh, it’s still there, and if I pay it any attention, I hear it, but here on the shore I can let it recede into the background for awhile, more so than I ever can elsewhere. It’s a different kind of quiet, and these moments are precious. Restful.
Some of the people who have been most dear to me in this mortal lifetime have had strong connections to the sea, and this keeps me coming back to the seashore again and again. My Granny loved the sea and the shore so much that she and my Grandfather bought a sail boat and retired to the waterfront. When they moved to the West Coast, later, she regularly yearned aloud for the days of sailing the Chesapeake, and the feeling of freedom she felt being on the water. As a child, she took me to places like Cape May in New Jersey, Rehoboth Beach in Delaware, and Myrtle Beach in South Carolina. Later on, she also took me to Ocean City and to Assateague Island in Maryland, and Gold Beach in Oregon. When she lived on the Eastern Shore, her home was a refuge for me at a time when I needed it most, after I’d returned home from wartime deployment.
My recently departed dear friend loved the sea. She saw the ocean as our cosmic Mother, the wellspring of all life. Our one and only beach trip together was to the ocean beach nearest to Arcata, California, shortly after she had moved there, when she was still easily able to get around. We took a picnic lunch, and ended up eating it in the car, to avoid the strong wind blowing that day, and the aggressive gulls seeking snacks. lol
Even my Traveling Partner has a connection to the sea. He’s a Navy veteran, a submariner. His experiences of the sea are his own, and I know very little about them – but I know they exist in his experience and his memories. He took us on an anniversary trip a couple years ago, and we enjoyed the Oregon coast. Our hotel was a lovely spot along Nye Beach. It was a delightful time together, restful and playful.
I’ve spent many happy hours at beaches. As a child I found fossilized sharks teeth at Calvert Cliffs, in Maryland, and as a young soldier I partied at Padre Island in Texas. I walked the beach in Carmel California and the dunes near Fort Ord, as a deeply unhappy woman with a lot on her mind. I’ve restlessly walked along the beach and explored the tide pools at Cannon Beach Oregon, and sat with a quiet coffee on the beach near Brush Creek, Oregon, thinking my solitary thoughts. The beaches of Lincoln City have been fond favorites of mine for 4 years now; they’re very near by, and an easy getaway for a day or a weekend and I return to them often.
…Funny thing about me, and the seashore… I don’t even swim. lol Maybe that’s not the point at all, I just think it’s a bit comical. I rarely swim even when I have the opportunity, and when I do find myself tempted into the water, it’s generally a swimming pool, and I mostly just enjoy being in the water without actually doing any swimming. I’m honestly not much of a swimmer, although the Army makes a point of ensuring soldiers are “drown proofed” (handy skills, not the same as being able to swim). I dog paddle a bit, if I must, but mostly… if I’m honest… I don’t actually swim. lol I’m certainly not ever going to venture into deep enough ocean water to need to swim. Ever.
At some point, this morning, on my way to the beach, I decided to grab a coffee. I had something rather specific in mind and ordered it with some anticipation. I was eager for the taste – a rare treat – and I ordered it anticipating the experience. By the time the line moved around and I was able to receive my coffee, it had mixed and settled in the cup, and wasn’t at all what I was going for (which was a rather fancy layered drink that looks beautiful in the cup). I was… disappointed. Then I felt like a shithead – because it was thoroughly delicious, it just wasn’t what I wanted. lol It reminded me that there is no guarantee on the experiences we seek; reality will be what it is, and there’s no arguing with that. I sipped that coffee and reflected on the foolishness of being disappointed by what was actually quite a pleasant experience – if only I’d enjoyed it in that moment, precisely as it was, instead of weighing it down with baggage and bullshit to do with my expectations. A moment with a lesson.
Eventually, I became chilled as I sat on the beach with my coffee and my thoughts. The raindrops that spattered me hinted at the potential for a real rain shower, and the storms on the horizon suggested it might be time to return to the hotel for a time. I sat awhile longer, watching the waves break on the shore, flinging sea spray into the air as they did. I breathed the ocean air and enjoyed the breezes and the sounds of the shore birds, gulls, and crows. I finished my coffee, and returned to the car, and eventually to the hotel.
Later on in the day, as I stood on the balcony watching the tide change, I watched the gulls sailing on the breezes. I noticed them as individuals – one for each departed dear one no longer traveling life’s journey: family members, friends, lovers… the fallen ones that are now beyond any words of affection reaching them. No more time for “thank you”, “I love you” or “I’m sorry”. They exist now as memories. I stood with my thoughts, my memories, and my love for a long while, just watching the gulls soaring past, again and again.
I don’t know that the seashore is “my happy place”… it’s certainly a happy place, and a place that I turn to for solitude, when I need to step aside and allow some measure of time to pass me by, in a sense, while I gather my thoughts. I feel connected to the seashore because the sea meant so much to so many that I have held dear to me. Fond memories. Shared moments. So here I am, enjoying my own good company, in the company of my thoughts and memories, finding my path.
Maybe this isn’t “inner peace”, but it’s a handy facsimile and it serves my humble purpose. This is what I need for now – soon enough, I’ll begin again.
Evening Light 