It’s early. Pre-dawn. I’m waiting for daybreak at a favorite nearby trailhead on a drizzly chilly-but-not-cold Winter morning, on a Saturday morning, a day before this year ends. I enjoy walking as a metaphor for forward progress, for momentum, and for pursuing a path. Good morning for it. It’s even seeming very likely that the rain may hold off long enough to get a proper walk in without returning home quite sodden and chilled, which is a nice bonus this morning. I’d be here, now, even if conditions were colder and wetter, but I am glad the weather is relatively mild.
I rub my eyes and sip the iced coffee I picked up as I headed up the road to this place. Good morning for that too; I’d hoped to sleep quite a bit later, and I am tired. So tired. I suppose I could nap in the car until the sun peaks over the horizon… but… I’d miss watching the sunrise. lol I do enjoy a sunrise. Another beautiful living metaphor, a sunrise speaks to me of change and renewal and new beginnings, and I enjoy each one I am so fortunate to see.
… Fuck… I could be sleeping right now, though… only I’m not. Nothing much to be done about that, however , so I make the best use I can of these precious minutes of mortal lifetime to do something nice for/with myself. That’s how I find myself here on this trailhead so many mornings, waiting for the sun. I’m okay with it. I’ve waited on the sunrise for far worse reasons in this life.
This iced coffee is very good. The barista did a great job pulling the shots for it. “Shaken espresso”, but without anything to flavor or sweeten it, and no milk or cream, just coffee and ice. On a colder morning this wouldn’t be an ideal choice, because I’d want to be able to warm my hands with the cup. lol This morning it’s 48°F, and an iced coffee seems fine. I sip it contentedly, as the waning moon overhead perks through the clouds and a gentle rain spatters the moon roof of the car intermittently.
It’s a good time for meditation and quiet contemplation of the year that is almost over. It’s a good time to reflect on what has worked and what hasn’t worked so well. It’s a good time to look ahead and wonder, question, dream, and plan. Later, the sun will rise, and it will be a good time to begin again.
I’m relaxing. Enjoying the evening. I’ll probably be up rather late; I collapsed into a foggy, dreamy, lush nap shortly after I got home from work (and after making a short trip to a favorite local pie spot to pick up a pie – why not? I like pie…). I woke refreshed, and found my Traveling Partner had slept through the time I was napping, himself, relaxing on the couch. We must have needed the sleep. Dinner was simple, nothing fancy.
…There’s nothing about this that is significant, important, or, probably, even interesting. It’s just a quiet evening with nothing much going on. It’s pleasant, and that’s enough.
I’m in a lot of pain tonight. It’s not “new pain”. Just my arthritis. Chronic. Predictable. But not new. I mean, shit, I first started feeling the twinges of what would become my “constant companion” in… 1988? 1989? Something like that. About 35 years ago. At first I thought there was “something seriously wrong” with my spinal fusion – no one explicitly warned me about the likelihood that osteoarthritis might set in, in the adjacent vertebrae, or gave me any idea what to expect when it did… until after it was part of my experience. Not much of a fucking “warning”, but what could have been done? It’s not like a warning about arthritis would have caused me to decline the surgery that lets me walk, stand, and get around as well (and go as far) as I do. So… I hurt. I mostly don’t mention it out loud to other people. I probably minimize it more often than I should when I’m talking to my Traveling Partner. I don’t like him to worry, or stress over it, and for fucks sake, what could he even do about it? Basically nothing. So… why bitch? I just deal with it and try to move on. Take medication when I need it. Keep myself moving (because being too still too much of the time definitely makes things worse over time – a lesson learned decades ago). Sometimes it’s hard. Life, too. So… yeah. So what?
I distract myself with entertaining videos. I write. I listen to music. Play video games. Read books. I enjoy life. It’s already likely to seem far too short. 🙂
No one likes to hurt. Pain sucks. I remind myself how common it is that we do. For sure there are people who have it much worse, more of the time, than I do. Perspective; it is so much more profound to experience contentment and joy, because I definitely do know what it feels like to be mired in pain and misery. Maybe it’s enough.
…Be kind to people. It’s not always obvious how much pain someone is in, and how it defines their experience. We’re all just people. Pain is part of being human.
When the rain began to fall, so close to the forecasted time it may as well have been a plan, rather than a weather forecast, I was long gone. Already home. Already showered. Already astonished to feel the bone-deep fatigue that had set in once I got home. My Traveling Partner seems glad to see me. We both get something out of these opportunities to miss each other.
Site 146, C Loop
I had originally planned to be camping Wednesday through Sunday, home on Sunday afternoon. Instead, I got started a day later (bills to pay, frankly, and needed the work hours), and then called it “done” a day early, when the weather forecast became pretty insistent on the chance of rain going from “possible” to “probable” to “count on it”. I am decently well-equipped, even for camping in the rain, but… I didn’t bring the extra overhead cover I’d need to make cooking outdoors comfortable in a downpour, and didn’t look forward to breaking down my camp in a rainstorm, either. I woke this morning having already coordinated with my Traveling Partner, who seemed more eager to see me than inconvenienced by my early return. The sky threatened rain before day break, but the forecast stayed true; no rain fell. I had coffee and a bite of breakfast, tidied up, and got started packing up.
Looking like rain.
I got in some good walks. Got some good pictures. Got some solo time thinking my own thoughts and being master of my time, my intentions, and my effort from the moment I woke each day until sleep took me down each night. I meditated. I watched the fire grow cold on a chilly evening alone with the woman in the mirror. I picked up my sketchbook to sketch or paint, and put it down without doing anything with it at all. I picked up a book to read, and put that down, too. Turns out, this trip was me, with my thoughts, and little more than that. I cooked. I tended the fire. I listened to my inner voice, and reflected on my experience.
…It was an amazing time to spend with myself…
“hearing myself think”
I don’t want to mischaracterize my camping trip; I was in a colossal managed state park that has some 400+ individual sites, arranged in loops A through H. This place is huge – and popular. Jessie M. Honeyman Memorial State Park is on the Oregon Dunes. It’s an amazing place, with several activities available, including ATVs on the dunes, kayaking or paddle boating on either of two lakes, fishing, swimming, hiking, biking, or joining the merry oldsters in the Welcome Center to work on the latest jigsaw puzzle. Popular + activities = crowded. I wasn’t surprised that most of the sites seemed full, even on a Thursday. This fucking place looks like an outdoor gear convention. It was hard to “be alone” surrounded by people – I got most of what I needed fireside in the evening, or out on the trail during the day. It’s a friendly place. And noisy. So noisy. I can’t even go hard enough on this point; it’s fucking noisy. ATV’s. Packs of shrieking kids. Wailing babies. Adults who should know better yelling to each other across multiple sites worth of distance. Loud trucks and loud talkers. It’s fucking noisy. It’s not a great choice for camping if quiet is what you’re looking for, is what I’m saying. I was regularly approached in camp by strangers asking questions about my solar panels, or the fridge, or some other piece of gear or something else that caught their eye. Like I said; a friendly place.
…I’m not really “approachably friendly” with strangers, though, so this tested my ability to be polite and gracious, which are skills worth cultivating…
I’m glad to be home. I slept poorly. There were too many “feral children” running about loose without supervision in small packs of “new best friends”. There were too many dogs on leashes (and a few that weren’t, which was worse) and many of them barked. Like, a lot. People camping in family groups taking several sites were common… and loud. Very loud. “Rambunctious” seems like a good word for it. In spite of all of that, I had a good time, and got a lot of what I needed out of the time spent more or less alone. Worth it.
…The drive was lovely, both directions, and felt very much as if I were the only car on the road at all. It was quite wonderful.
Anyway. I’m home. There’s more to say about it, more to process. Pictures to look over. Anecdotes to share when the context and timing are right. I sit here listening to the rain fall (on a video, as rain falls outside), happy to be home. Happy to be.
A frown crosses my thoughts briefly…some bad news shared by a friend taking the form of a facial expression as I recall it. I breathe, exhale, and let that go for the moment. I’ll come back to it, later.
It’s a metaphor.
I sit here with my feet up, feeling grateful, contented, and loved. It’s enough. More than enough. It’s a firm foundation for all the many new beginnings to come. 🙂
I’m sitting in the waiting area of a local tire place. No coffee. I mean, I could, but… it’s late in the day, and the coffee here is probably quite dreadful, so… no.
Generic tire place.
The smell is “shop” and tires. It’s a bit noisy, but the sunshine streaming through the big windows feels nice. Tomorrow I leave for my camping trip… Tonight, apparently, I need to get a tire repaired. Shit. Well, at least I already got the grocery shopping done and the car is packed. Really nothing left but the morning… grab my camera bag and go, if my Traveling Partner is sleeping when I get up. Have coffee together before I leave if he’s already up.
….Easy…
It already seems rather silly that I stressed about this tire.
I’m pretty excited about this camping trip. Enough to overlook the pain I’m in. Headache. Arthritis. Fuck pain. I’m going camping anyway. I really need a couple days alone with my thoughts, my camera, and some trails I’ve never walked. Maybe I’ll write. Maybe I won’t. I know I will listen to the wind through the trees and the squawking of the jays.
This damned tire though.
…The mechanic turns up to tell me it’s fixed. A bit of paint on the rim prevented a good seal on the tire. Easily fixed. I head home.
I woke this morning peculiarly unaware that I was tethered by my CPAP and airline to the machine perched on the bookshelf near the bed. It feels strange to have become so thoroughly used to this thing that is my “new normal”. I woke, showered, made coffee, and joined my Traveling Partner in the living room. After a handful of his observations about my “energy”, my facial express, my relative state of relaxation (or, more to the point, his perception that I was appearing tense in some way), I took my coffee into the studio to chill and wake up without encroaching on his chill time. I’m pretty sure he hadn’t been awake long, himself.
After I have my coffee, I’ll most likely put on clothes more suited to the weather and go for a walk. Whether or not I have energy to burn, it’s a good practice, and contributes to my wellness. 😀
Pleasant morning so far. I eagerly did the pre-registration for my upcoming camping trip, and surprised myself that I’d reserved the space for one more night that I thought I had… I could go on Wednesday, if I wanted to (I do, but… work, money, expenses… etc etc etc; adulting is full of compromises). This does mean, though, however early I arrive on Thursday, my space will be ready for me to set up camp. 😀 I’m excited. The car is mostly packed and ready. I’m even taking the portable fridge and a small solar set up, and glamping in style, even planning to cook real meals (instead of my usual practice of snacking on grab-n-go whatever and eating freeze-dried backpacking meals)! I remind myself to check the air in the tires, and turn on the power to the portable fridge sometime on Tuesday so that it is cold and ready-to-go when I leave on Thursday morning. I probably won’t depart before dawn (though I easily could), but I’ll likely head out after morning coffee with my partner and some chill time together.
…I’m so excited about this trip…
I’ve got my gear together. I’ve got my camera, my sketchbook, my yoga mat, a book to read… and I definitely need this solo time. 😀 I sip my coffee and smile to myself; I’ve still got to pick up some grocery items for the trip, although some of what I need I’ve already got here at home. Preparedness feels very good.
…I think that last sentence over again, “Preparedness feels very good.” – It definitely does. How did I get here to this place where I’m mostly prepared for most of what I want or need to do, most of the time? Was it my survivalist-ish, prepper-y, upbringing? Was it the emphasis on self-reliance in crisis that I learned at home? Was it the Army and those Army ways and practices? Was it hard lessons learned in life over time? Was it this partnership that is so thoroughly grounded in practical means of supporting good quality of life over time? Probably all of that. It’s not something that’s out of reach for anyone else. It’s a matter of understanding what you want, what it takes, and ensuring the basics for those needs are generally available, or within reasonable reach. It takes time to get there. It takes self-reflection (because it can be astonishingly easy to slide from “prepared” to “hoarding”, and that’s not a good end result). It takes practice, and efficiency, and knowing what matters most. It takes patience. It takes a certain commitment of mind, will, and action. It’s not “all that”, though, and I suspect anyone could be “more prepared” if they choose to do so, and make the necessary actions common practices.
…An example? All summer long our camping gear is basically ready-to-go – we load it into our vehicle, pick up any desired perishables, and head out. When we get back, we launder clothes, clean gear, and repack everything and put stuff away for next time, but conveniently so we can easily grab it for the next trip out. When our season ends (neither of us really enjoy cold weather camping), we put it all completely away in storage until next year. New season? We get everything out of storage, do a “gear check” and examine every tent and line and tent spike for damage, repair or replace items that are too worn for safe use, and restock any non-perishable consumables that we’ve run low on. It’s a cycle that works for us.
For me, having a reliable practice (or many) helps me stay on track of this busy life. I chuckle, looking around my studio; my pocket of chaos in a life that is mostly pretty orderly. LOL I could do better. It’s within reach. I just need to begin again. 😀
This journey just isn’t about perfect. It’s always practice. My results vary. That’s fine – I know they will. I just stay on the path… and begin again.
Evening Light 