I’m grateful for the terrible cup of coffee in my hand as I walk this morning. I switch hands with it, warming each in turn, walking and watching the sun rise. There’s mist in the low lands along the marsh, but it looks like blue skies above, so perhaps a sunny day ahead?
I stop and set down my coffee to take an occasional picture.
I walk and watch the dawn become day. The air is crisp, clean, and cold. Frost edges the shrubs and dry grasses. The gravel of the path crunches under my footsteps. Lovely morning for a walk along the edge of the marsh, in spite of the cold.
The path beyond me beckons.
I walk with my thoughts. My heart is filled with love and gratitude. What a pleasant holiday my Traveling Partner and I shared! The meal was excellent. The day was merry, and we delighted in each other’s company all day long. We each exchanged holiday well-wishes with friends and loved ones over the course of the day. We had everything we needed and more, and it wasn’t necessary to go out into the world or run any errands. We enjoyed the day at home.
It’s a new day now. I’m enjoying this quiet time on the trail on a chilly Autumn morning. I wonder if my partner went back to bed for a bit more sleep? I smile and finish this dreadful cup of coffee before it goes cold, and drop the cup into a trash can on my way back to the car. It’s already time to begin again.
Sometimes life throws a curve ball. Our path may take a detour we didn’t see coming. Sometimes unexpected circumstances are a big deal, with a lot of upheaval or moments of adversity and tears. Sometimes it’s just a rainy morning that makes an early walk less feasible (or at least less pleasant).
Waiting for a break in the rain.
I woke early and tried to slip away without waking my Traveling Partner. It wasn’t raining when I left the house, but it clearly had been. By the time I got to the trailhead and parked the car, it was raining pretty steadily. I sat contentedly listening to the rain fall, spattering the car, meditating and watching the dawn become day.
I managed to get a half mile in, between rain showers, then another after warming up in the car. It’s somehow very satisfying and I find myself thinking “nice morning for it”, in spite of the rain and the autumn chill. What a lovely weekend.
I think of a distant and very dear friend who is ill, and wonder if I should make the drive down to see her again, very soon? I worry. She’s going through a rough time and has COVID on top of that. 😦
The sky continues to lighten. I watch the few soggy leaves still clinging to branches flutter in the breeze. Now and then a gust of wind rocks the car. I wait for another break in the rain and think about love.
I’m sipping my morning coffee and reflecting on recent thoughts after a lovely early morning walk. I hit the trail shortly before sunrise, in the pre-dawn twilight. It was chilly, but I knew hot coffee would be waiting for me on the other side.
The starting point of a favorite trail.
I walked, alone with my thoughts, watching the slow changes as dawn unfolded into a new day. I watched an interestingly apropos video yesterday evening, and I thought about the insights shared. Aside from the Autumn chill, it was a lovely morning for walking.
I returned home after a time, and got myself sorted out to commence the work day. My coffee was already made, and waiting for me. My Traveling Partner, awake when I got up, had returned to bed to get some more sleep. I quietly headed to the studio – my office – and set up for work, managing to do so without disturbing my partner’s rest, apparently, and I contentedly listen to him snoring softly on the other side of the wall adjacent to the bedroom. I feel contented and relaxed. No idea what the remainder of the day will hold, but this bit right here? Quite lovely and peaceful.
I sigh contentedly, sip my coffee, and start the work day.
I’m sipping my coffee and thinking about love. I’m listening to jazz in the background – nice change from the insipid pop tracks that are often playing in the co-work space. I am reminded of a quote attributed to Miles Davis, “It’s not the note you play that’s the wrong note – it’s the note you play afterwards that makes it right or wrong.” Sometimes love is like that. Some moment of miscommunication, or a misstep in the way we treat each other, feels “off”, like a “wrong note” in an otherwise beautiful piece of music… and it does very much seem to matter greatly what comes next, maybe even more so than that “wrong note” itself.
I sat down to write this morning grateful for the quiet time to reflect and write before this morning’s unusually busy Friday meeting calendar; back to back for about 4 and half hours. Ouch. My phone rang – before 0600, which was entirely unexpected, but… it was my Traveling Partner. I hadn’t replied to his text messages, of which there were… several. My “do not disturb” settings go to 0600, though, so I didn’t get notifications on those, and didn’t expect to hear from him either. He was alarmed that I didn’t respond, so he called. Fair enough. He expressed surprise that I was already at my desk, and concerned that I wasn’t out walking. I felt surprised that he didn’t remember me bitching about my meeting calendar and that I planned to go into the co-work space since my meetings would begin quite early compared to most days. Somehow, the interaction was less affectionate than it was… something quite different than that. lol Shit.
The morning is a chilly one, and I ache. After the “off moment” with my Traveling Partner this morning (which managed to feel rather “parental” in tone), I’m sort of cross. I know I can move past it. I’m just annoyed to have started the day thinking I’d have this quiet time “entirely to myself”, only to become mired in ruminations, anxiety, and finding myself juggling my baggage. Human, I suppose. Pretty annoying though.
…It’s bizarrely difficult (for me) to get even an hour of completely uninterrupted quiet time for reflection and writing, sometimes, which is it’s own self-care issue worthy of consideration… some other time, perhaps.
Here’s the thing – back to that quote I started on – it matters more what follows that “off moment”, than the moment itself. Whether I react. How I respond. What I say in reply to what has been said. How I choose to take the circumstances as they come. I can do/say/think about it in ways that aggravate things further – or I can “let small things stay small” and practice compassion, openness, empathy, and non-attachment, and move on to enjoy the day as it unfolds. No, I’m not saying it’s “easy” – there are definitely verbs involved, and the effort is “all mine”, at least inasmuch as I only control my own actions, words, and thoughts. My results vary. A lot. I’ve got room to grow and improve. I can do better. So…
I am sipping coffee on a Sunday. Good coffee. Pleasant Sunday. I am reflecting on what makes some moments “special” and others so seemingly “ordinary” and wondering if there is really any difference outside my own subjective impression of each moment.
I recently went to the seashore for “a bit of a break” and some “me time” away. I walked the beaches and nature trails. I took pictures. A lot of pictures. Many of those were pictures of entirely ordinary birds standing or walking along the beach, or parking lot, or some strip of not-quite-lawn. Why did I bother? They weren’t special or fancy birds… just gulls, crows, jays, and little brown birds of a variety of sorts. What’s so special about those birds? Nothing, right? It was getting the picture at all that was special (to me) – taking pictures of birds is hard. lol
A dandy gull strolling along in a parking lot. He was aware of me, and unconcerned, just walking along.
Were the moments themselves particularly “special”? I don’t actually recall them as unusual moments in any way, aside from being part of this particular beach trip. If I were to glance quickly at one of the many hundreds of beach photos I’ve taken over the years, I’m not sure I could easily identify one trip from another. They illustrate a more general experience of “going to the coast” and “being at the seashore”. Special inasmuch as it is not the routine day-to-day experience of life…but often very similar to each other (if for no other reason that I am always me when I go do these things, and generally I am doing them with similar motivation and goals in mind).
This crow was not interested in being photographed and quickly walked away when it noticed my gaze.
In a certain sense, isn’t every moment “special”, in that there is a predictably finite number of them for any one of us? We don’t even have the advantage of knowing in advance how many there will be – only that they will eventually just run out, often unexpectedly.
Even for little brown birds on mellow summer days; moments are finite and limited.
It seems far more likely that all moments are special than to assume no moments are special – it’s easy enough to identify one or two special moments (just look for lingering significance or fond memories!), which immediately debunks the proposition that “no moments are special”. So… moments are special in a quantity somewhere between “some” and “all”. Tough to know going into a particular moment how special it may prove to be, even immediately afterward. Some moments are so spectacular it’s probably obvious that those will become lasting fond memories for someone (or recollections of profound tragedy – “special” isn’t always “good”, right?).
Thoughtful? Distracted? Just having a moment?
This last beach trip was special, for sure. I was out on the coast giving my Traveling Partner room to work on complicated CNC build details without me being underfoot, or becoming a distraction. That’s not what was special about it (for me), although it is always wonderful to know I am missed when I am away. What made it special was the combination of finding new awesome locations to take pictures, new trails to wander, and also – that’s where I was when I got the call from my new employer with their offer, and knew that I would be returning to work soon.
I got the news sitting in my car, parked, watching the waves roll in, just after getting off the phone with my partner, after receiving an automated rejection email sent in error. lol
When I was mired in the worst of my bullshit, baggage, chaos and damage, I often felt as if “nothing is special”. That feeling (and experience) has a name, anhedonia. Life feels gray, meaningless, and very much as though nothing matters and no effort will change that lack of meaning. It’s grim. It’s bland. It’s very hard to pull oneself out of that pit. I had it wrong. I mean, obviously (anhedonia is an experience of disordered thinking/feeling). It’s just that I’m sort of blown away by how wrong I’d gotten it (as a result of poor mental health) – because it’s apparent now that the truth is so much closer to “everything is special” (even to the point of potentially numbing us to the “specialness of the ordinary”).
I smile and finish my coffee. I’m happy to be where I am these days. I delighted with the pictures I’ve been getting of birds. I’m okay with the birds themselves being entirely ordinary. Most things are. Moments, too. I’m done with insisting that anything “special” also be entirely out of the ordinary – that seems, now, to be a needlessly high bar to set for what is special to me. Sure – love is special, and very much out of the ordinary… but a great cup of coffee, a picture of a bird that turns out well, or a gentle relaxed Sunday morning are all pretty ordinary experiences – and also comfortably special. I’m good with enjoying the specialness of the ordinary, and embracing contentment and joy.
Evening Light 