Archives for posts with tag: walk on

This morning as I drove in to work, I found myself behind the #17 bus as I entered the city. It sparked memories of commuting on that bus line for so many years. Recollections of an altogether different life. A moment of nostalgia swept over me… then I began to recall what those years were really like. I stopped feeling that soft fond sense of “a simpler time” – because it was not simpler, at all, and it was complicated, messy, and deeply unhappy rather often. It was a time of struggle, and of limited resources, and sometimes even of hopelessness and a sense of futility. I’m quite glad those years are behind me now.

I arrived at the office and got the day started. It’s a payday, and I took time to look at the budget and communicate numbers to my Traveling Partner and to get his thoughts.

I remembered an unfinished task from yesterday; it’s time to renew my “special access pass” with the State Park system (a really wonderful benefit for disabled veterans). As I moved through the new online workflow last night, I hit a requirement to provide an updated benefit letter from the VA and this stalled me doing the renewal easily from my phone, so I put it off for today. It was much easier on a browser from my laptop. Then I actually looked at the letter. How the fuck is this thing still using my previous married name from my first marriage?? Gross. I don’t use that name. I don’t like that name. That name holds reminders of a terrifying dark time in my life that I really don’t care to revisit if I don’t have to. 😦 My skin crawls with revulsion and loathing and residual fear just reading the name. I sigh out loud. Stand up and stretch. Work to explicitly let the moment go, within myself. My defenses are all up and I’m suddenly incredibly tense and wary. What a bunch of bullshit. Fuck that guy. Fuck that life. Fuck that name. I survived, and I’m here now, and this is not then.

…I take a moment to breathe, exhale, relax, and let it go…

…I look out the big office windows onto a city that never knew me then, on a beautiful Spring morning as the sun rises…

Crazy how long the damage can last, how long trauma can linger…

…I sip my coffee and begin again.

I’m waiting for the sunrise and for the park gate to open. It’s a quiet, pleasant Saturday morning. There’s nothing much unusual about these circumstances, although there are obvious differences,  and subtler ones too. One obvious difference; I drove the pickup instead of my Mazda this morning, at my Traveling Partner’s request (so it isn’t just parked for weeks at a time). Subtle differences include things like the changing timing of the dawn, and changes in my subjective experience resulting from recent changes in medication.

…I snap a couple pictures of the sunrise…

A picture barely captures the experience.

The gate clangs open. I move the truck into the parking lot. Time to set this aside for later and hit the trail…

…Some time later…

The mild Spring morning delights my senses. The air is fresh with only a hint of chill that I don’t feel at all after a couple minutes of walking. The trail crunches under my feet, and small twigs snap when I step on them. Canada geese overhead call to each other. I hear the sound of traffic on the highway, near but unseen. The sound of the river soon drowns out the sound of traffic. The flowering trees have me sneezing and stuffy pretty quickly, in spite of taking allergy medication this morning. I don’t really care about that, but I notice. I enjoy the scents of the various flowers mingling in the fresh morning air. The somewhat heavy cloying fragrance reaches me in spite of my stuffy-then-runny-then-stuffy nose. I manage to be delighted by the scent of Spring in spite of the allergic reaction.

I walk on. Small mammals scurry across the path. I see migrating birds, and a small herd of deer. I spot nutria playing along the edge of the marsh. I have the trail to myself this morning and I savor the experience as I walk. I breathe in the Spring air. I exhale, relax, and continue to walk. My tracker buzzes me when I hit one mile. Again when I reach the next quarter mile. I’m  pleased with my progress and head back toward the parking. 2.5 today. Nice. 90 minutes with occasional stops for views or pictures. I’ve been working on improving my pace and increasing my distance and I feel pretty good about the walk this morning.

…By the time I reach the truck my ankle is aching, and I am grateful for good boots with ankle support and a good quality trekking cane. I may pay for my progress with some discomfort but it’s a worthy tradeoff, I think.

I sit quietly with my thoughts for some little while. These solitary minutes are precious to me. I drink water and consider my shopping list and errands I need to run, later, and things I would like to do in the garden. Looks like a lovely day for it.

The blue sky overhead reminds me that it’s time to begin again.

I’m sipping my morning coffee and thinking my thoughts. The weekend was a pleasant one, comforting, healing, and nurturing. The time spent with my Traveling Partner in his steady comforting presence has gone a long way toward processing my grief over losing my dear friend. I’m still stricken with a moment of sadness when I think about the loss of her presence in my life, but it’s more poignant and less acute, and that’s progress.

A little March snow.

The peculiar March weather continues, with occasional passing snow showers, and strangely icy mornings, and mild rainy afternoons. I never made it into the garden over the weekend. Between the pain of my arthritis, and a rather long list of other shit also needing to get done, and also wanting to spend time with my Traveling Partner, I chose differently, although I did get the compost I need to get started with Spring planting. The days are noticeably longer, already, so perhaps one day after work this week…?

I’m not feeling any sort of regret over not getting into the garden. I spent plenty of time there “in my head”, thinking about flowers, and roses, and vegetables, and Spring. Time well-spent. Time planning the season ahead is still time “in the garden”, and besides, I got quite a lot done this weekend, and I’m coasting on that sense of accomplishment as the new work day (and week) begins. (I finally got all of my laundry folded, hung up, and put away that had piled up – ignored – after my Traveling Partner was injured and needed a lot of my “spoons” to be available to care for him. Laundry in a basket was not my highest priority!) Being able to put so much attention and energy on quality-of-life-maintaining tasks without finishing the weekend completely exhausted was a win. I’ll take it.

…Do the things, when and if you can. Yes, there are verbs involved. Yes, your results may vary. For sure, you may not always achieve your goals, or get the outcome you were hoping for, but the doing itself is a worthy achievement, and the clock is always ticking…

Last night, after a day of doing load after load of laundry, and even putting it all away, and also finally properly and fully unpacking from my last trip away from home, I cooked a proper meal at home. No cheats. No convenience foods. Real home-cooking. Hell, my lunch today will be leftover stir-fry from last night, and it was yummy. 😀 I’m pushing myself harder on the trail when I go walking, too; more distance (a little at a time) and picking up the pace. One byproduct of saying goodbye to my dear friend was the visceral reminder of how fragile this mortal form actually is, and the unfortunate potential to lose an ability over time through lack of continued use. One injury, one prolonged period of recovery, can become a major fitness setback – to the point of potentially losing the ability to do something basic like walk easily, or pick myself up off the floor. Scary. As was the case when my Mother died, I’m feeling a renewed sense of commitment to my own fitness and wellness – and I don’t plan to waste that momentum. I’d like to be around for a long time more, enjoying life with my Traveling Partner, seeing and doing new things, and enjoying the things that I love.

Do something. Keep doing things. Fail or fall, and begin again. And again. It’s just another practice…

…My legs ache this morning, from yesterday’s efforts. I’m okay with this, and I’m feeling it in the context of progress. I raise the sit/stand desk to standing height and get on my feet for awhile – it’s time to begin again.

I “slept in” this morning, still waking well before sunrise. My Traveling Partner was already up, and we enjoyed a cup of coffee together before I left for my morning walk. It was a pleasant moment together.

One perspective on the morning.

I arrived at the trailhead before the gate opened. There was a drizzly rain falling, but by the time the gate into the park opened the rain had stopped. Convenient.

I hit the trail happily, and watched mumurations of birds rising from the marshy lowlands, and flocks of geese moving on to their next stopping point on their journey. I listened to peeping frogs, unseen in the weeds at the water’s edge. I felt the morning breezes on my face along with an occasional raindrop. It’s a lovely gray cloudy morning with mists clinging here and there, looking rather mysterious. I walked along in solitude, content to be alone with my thoughts, still reflecting upon the dreams that had filled my sleep, and seem somehow relevant and worthy of further consideration.

When I got back to the car, it was still very much the start of a new day. I’ve got a short list of things to pick up at the store and a plan to go to the local nursery for some gardening items and inspiration. (It’s already time to think about Spring!) I feel an extra bit of relaxed delight with the day; it’s a three day weekend and I am in no hurry.

I sat for a moment after changing back to sneakers from hiking boots, just thinking my thoughts. The misty rain began to fall again, as if that pause in the rain had been just for me, to get my walk without being soaked. lol I enjoy the happy coincidence with a helping of whimsy before I begin again.

I’m sitting at a favorite trailhead, listening to the quiet of these predawn moments, and waiting for daybreak to illuminate the trail enough to walk without a flashlight. It’s the last day of the year.

An occasional car passes as I wait for the sun.

This nature park is only open from dawn to dusk, but there’s also parking near the gate. I wait to hear the quiet “clang!” of the gate opening, which reliably occurs just at daybreak. There are a couple other “regulars” who turn up to walk or take pictures as early as I often do, but this morning it’s just me. I’m okay with that; I’m not here to make conversation. None of the early morning people are. lol

2023 is over. What a year. So many lives lost to conflict or genocide. Humanity can be so terribly disappointing. The amount of violence and trauma left behind by 2023 would be shocking if we weren’t all so numb. I sit quietly, in solemn reflection and acknowledgement; we’ve got to do better if we’re going to survive ourselves at all.

2024 is just about here… I think about the year behind me. The challenges. The successes. The failures. The unrecognized opportunities. The missteps and course corrections. Work. Life. Love. Change. I consider how fortunate I am to enjoy the relationship I have with my Traveling Partner. I reflect on my current job and how much I enjoy it… And how little my enjoyment of my work ultimately actually matters, inasmuch as it has very little correlation with my longevity in a given role, at all. I think about the books I’ve read this year and the books I hope to read in the year ahead. I think about how wretched and poisonous corporate greed is, and the way it taints just every-fucking-thing. I think about hearth and home, and how much difference love makes, day-to-day. I reflect on how fortunate I am to have this life and another year to live it.

One more walk in 2023.

It’s daybreak and I can see the trail. I take a moment to move the car past the gate into the parking lot.

I sigh. Finish my coffee and lace up my hiking boots. It’s time to begin again.