I overlooked writing at all yesterday. I mean, to be clear, I “wrote” quite a lot, as a function of the work I do for a paycheck. A lot. What I failed to do was any other sort of writing: introspective, meditative, creative, nothing of that sort. I arrived home from work wholly exhausted, brain fatigued, dragging myself along on pure willpower alone, and the awareness that if I didn’t do this or that task, no one else would either.
… I managed to hold enough in reserve to make dinner…
I’m still tired this morning. My last several nights have been restless and my sleep interrupted and full of nightmares and stressful dreams of failure, futility, and pointlessly chasing unachievable goals. Hell, Elon-fucking-Musk even made an appearance in one of my unpleasant dreams and he was just as big a clueless out-of-touch douchebag in my dream as he is reported to be in life. Bleh. G’damn I hope I sleep better tonight.
I’m in a ferocious amount of pain and filled with resentment at insurers who don’t want to cover long-term services that maintain better quality of life and reduce pain, but without “fixing” anything. My occipital neuralgia flared up some days ago after quite a long time of only dealing with it occasionally; it’s clear that the additional care I had been receiving was actually reducing my pain. “Fuckers,” I snarl quietly, but I don’t know who I am most angry with – my insurance company or the rich assholes who built this stupid entirely profit-focused system. This is a fucking dumb way to approach medicine.
I sigh quietly. Let it go. I’m paying out of pocket for the care I need, today. It’s not a sustainable choice. I can’t do it often, but I definitely need some help managing the pain right now, after three exhausting work weeks that I am happy to put behind me.
Dawn on the marsh
It’s a new day. Boots on, cane in hand, this trail isn’t going to walk itself. For now I’ve got the place all to myself, a treat for my fatigued consciousness. Solitude. No people. No need to speak or hear words. I breathe, exhale, and relax. Today, self-care first. Then, I’ll begin again.
Chilly morning, but not cold. I’m groggy again this morning and eager for the weekend. I woke early and headed to the local trail I favor. The sliver of moon on the horizon was rising, the sun not yet peeking over the edge of the world.
A sliver of moon.
I set off down the trail. There are already birds singing in the pre-dawn darkness. I listen to them as I walk and try to identify them. Seems likely it’s mostly robins. Busy morning for creatures, apparently; I am startled by a raccoon at the edge of the trail (and had myself startled a different one as I left the house, earlier). We look each other over and mutually decide not to be bothered. lol I walk on.
I breathe exhale and relax. Stopping at my halfway point, I sit for a moment with the sunrise. Peach and pale orange hues remind me to stop at the store for oranges for my Traveling Partner on my way home. Yesterday’s work day invades my thoughts, and I let that go. Somewhere distant I hear morning traffic. I’m actually not far from the highway, and when this trail winds back through the vineyard adjacent to this strip of creekside forest, the highway will be easily visible. This is not an exciting or remote trail. It is convenient and very well maintained.
I sit with my thoughts awhile longer before getting to my feet to head back to the car. There’s a new day ahead and it’s time to begin again, already.
I’m sipping my coffee and reflecting on my journey, and things generally. My sleep was restless and filled with peculiarly realistic dreams of places, people, and circumstances that were in no way actually real in my own life. It was a bit unsettling to wake as if from an altogether different life into the life I live. It’s not the first time I’ve had such dreams, and I doubt it will be the last.
I made the drive to work watching the night sky transform at daybreak. Venus was bright above the horizon, and the sky was smudged with orange and rusty hues. I caught glimpses of Mt Hood from a couple vantage points that don’t offer a convenient place to stop, and struggled a bit to avoid being distracted by the beauty. Safety first! I have places to be, and loved ones who would like to see me again when I return. That was a pleasant thought in the moment. Something about the morning kept reminding me of “home” – not my home, now, but some long gone time and place that I can’t return to. It only exists in my memory. A spring afternoon, the buzz of insects, a screened in porch, and the hum of a fan, Easter shoes that pinched. A summer morning, the heavy scent of southern blossoms, the thick humid air, the clink of ice cubes in cold glasses, and sweat that doesn’t dry. Only memories, now – even most of the people are…gone. I sighed to myself as I drove, letting the thoughts drift through my mind like clouds. Nothing to be concerned about, just the morning of a new day, and some thoughts to get me started. It’s funny – I often “do my best writing” while I’m driving, and can’t jot down the words. lol An interesting challenge is finding them again, later. I rarely do. I find other words, other thoughts.
Strange journey, life, isn’t it? We each walk our own path. We’re each having our own experience. We persist in sharing our advice with other travelers as if they could ever truly make use of what we have learned ourselves – maybe, sometimes, in rare instances we really can learn from the experiences of others. I often wonder how true that really is. We are our own cartographers, and these “maps” we make aren’t very helpful to anyone else, generally. The moments and the journeys are uniquely our own. What do you actually get from reading these words? When I point out that we become what we practice, do you understand what I’m pointing out to you? How it applies to your own practices? The ways it could be useful to change your experience? How easily leaving dishes in the sink “now and then” becomes dishes in the sink more often? How difficult it can be to adopt a new better habit without committed practice? How easily anger becomes a character trait instead of a moment of emotion, when we yield to our anger and relish “venting” our frustration instead of steadily practicing some other approach? When I suggest practicing self-care, do you consider it and take action? When I observe that my chronic device use quickly became hard-to-resist doomscrolling and that I had to change my practices to preserve my emotional health, did you reflect on your own, and the effect it has had on you? You have a moment to make a change, to become the person you most want to be. What will you do with it?
I’m not telling you how to live – I’m just wondering what you get from my observations over time, or if it is merely an entertaining distraction?
We’re each walking our own path. Each tending our own garden. (These are metaphors.)
I’m just one human being, walking my own hard mile, facing my own trauma, and even the consequences of my own actions and choices. I’m grateful (and fortunate) to be where I am now, but there are no promises I’ll “always” have it like this – I’ve lived through far far worse. We are mortal creatures. We’re fortunate any time we can share the journey. I sip my coffee and think about love. Our choices in life only get us so far; some of it is also pure luck and the timing of circumstances. Each moment is precious – and unrepeatable. I reflect on Ichi-go ichi-e, and vita contemplativa – useful concepts. I practice non-attachment, and seek a sense of contentment and sufficiency. Along the way, I’ve found (often but not always) real actual no bullshit happiness. This surprises me, and I embrace the moments as I find them. Chasing happiness never got me there. Funny how that works.
Each moment as temporary as a flower.
My coffee is almost gone. The waning moon is faint in the cerulean blue of the morning sky. I’m okay right now – for all the values of okay – and I’m grateful. Nice moment. I breathe, exhale, and relax, and think about weekend gardening to come. There are strawberries to water, and arugula to plant. There are radish seedlings to thin, and a clematis vine to plant in a pot. There are new moments to live, and new thoughts to think. I smile to myself, grateful to have the chance to share words with you over my coffee, however you choose to use them. I wonder for a moment where your path may lead? Then, I get ready to begin again.
The drive to the office was relaxed and routine. My coffee isn’t bad (neither is it actually good, it’s just coffee). The view from the office window at dawn hints at a warm afternoon, later. A good day to be in the garden.
I’m in the office.
The waning “pink moon” setting as the day begins.
I sigh to myself. Breathe, exhale, relax. I take a few minutes for meditation before work begins. I plan the day ahead. I do a thoughtful body scan, and consider how best to manage my pain and the stiffness that results from the combination of sore muscles and arthritis. I seek the one, and try to avoid the other, but ultimately pain is pain; managing it as well as I can is a good practice. Not letting it run my life is an important choice. They both require a committed effort; there are verbs involved, and a steady willingness to care for this fragile vessel with a full measure of consideration, and my whole heart. I stretch and sigh again, before wondering “at what point is a sigh just a deep breath?” I let all that go and watch the moon set.
Yesterday was lovely. My appointment with the surgeon I was referred to went well, I guess, for some values of going well; I got referred to a different more specialized surgeon. lol Progress? I guess so. The Anxious Adventurer set up two more of the small raised beds for me in my new “west side garden”. It’s small space, and sure, it’s narrow, and limited, and the big A/C unit is right there, but… it’s also just outside my office window, and rather private (not visible from the street the way the front garden is). The first bed is already planted in strawberries, and since I started those from mature plants in 4″ pots, there are already flowers. I smile at the thought and yearn to feel the soil under my fingers as I fill the other two beds with soil and plant them with… something. I don’t know yet. It’s a spot that only gets afternoon sun, and I haven’t yet decided what else to plant there. Maybe just more strawberries? Something with flowers? Perhaps a clematis in that extra large black plastic nursery pot left over from when all my roses were potted (so many years, so many roses)? I smile, feeling my shoulders relax. I get so much joy from my garden I easily forget how I loathed the time I spent gardening as a kid. It felt like an obligation. A demand. Manual labor, nothing more or less, and I was sure that I had better things to do with my time. It felt like indentured servitude, then, and I longed to be 18, and master of my own affairs and decision-making.
What have you planted? How well do you tend your garden? (It’s a metaphor.)
…I’m grateful now for the time I spent in my parents’ garden; I use those experiences a lot, in my own garden, now. I’m still doing most of the labor. lol I don’t resent it any more. I appreciate help when I have it, but I love the work and my only resentment is that aging has robbed me of considerable strength and endurance for it… I have to choose my tasks wisely, and plan the work thoughtfully.
I hope the work day passes quickly. I’m eager to be back in the garden. I think about love and gardening awhile longer. I’d plant honeysuckle or jasmine instead of clematis, but either of those has serious potential to aggravate my Traveling Partner’s allergies rather a lot. I’ll miss them, maybe, but clematis offers lovely dramatic flowers, and will be less likely to be unpleasant for my beloved. I would not willfully choose to harm him. I think about how much I adore him. How my love is returned in equal measure; everywhere I turn in my home I see his love in the little things he has done or made for me. Even yesterday. New work skills, hobbies, creative endeavors, tools and materials, are often tried out or put to use the first time in some new something or other for me. I feel so loved.
A token of his affection, 3D printed, using Hue Forge.
The journey from being mired in trauma, sorrow, despair, or ancient pain is not an easy one. There’s no map. There is no sherpa to carry the baggage accumulated over a lifetime. There’s no handy tutorial. It’s a hard mile and we have to walk it ourselves, but every step, every moment, every sun rise is a chance to walk on, and to begin again. We become what we practice. We have choices. Sure, it’s a lot of work, and it’s often slow going. We stumble. We fall. We fail. It’s human – all of it, so very human. When I began this journey years ago, I only wanted to “be mostly okay” – to feel something good, at least as often as not. I wanted to manage the chaos in my head and to silence my nightmares.
I find myself, now, in a very different place – mostly thriving. Contented. Joyful. Even happy, rather a lot of the time. I wasn’t trying to get “here” – but once I got there, I just kept on walking. Kept working at healing. Kept practicing practices. Kept making better choices and slowly becoming someone more like the woman I most want to be. The journey is the destination – this isn’t new-age-y bullshit, although it is as metaphorical as it is practical – it’s quite real and you can make the journey yourself, from wherever you are now, to that place you most want to be, or at least someplace much better than where you feel you are. Keep walking. One day at a time. One practice at a time. One moment of studious self-care at a time. Making the decisions that the journey requires isn’t always effortless or obvious or even “painless”. Sometimes adulting is hard. I’m not telling you how to do the thing – I’m just saying it can be done, and hoping to provide some measure of hope and encouragement on what is admittedly a difficult journey. Life. Healing. Becoming. It’s not a journey of miles or moments, or hours or days – it is a journey frankly measured in years and decades. A lifetime. But the time does pass, and the miles do add up – and we do get somewhere as we go. Incremental change over time adds up. We become what we practice.
What are you practicing?
If I stopped writing today, I don’t know that it would be missed. There is so much life to live… I enjoy taking a moment to reflect on it, though, and doing so brings me great joy and peace. What about you? What are you doing to cultivate contentment? To find joy in your experience? To build emotional resilience? To become the person you most want to be? It’s not too late to make that journey – you only need to begin again.
I went to the usual trailhead of my favorite weekend morning hike. Pretty morning, but… the trailhead is busier than usual. A parked vehicle (vacant but with hazard lights left on), an especially disreputable looking old van (windows covered by foil), and an old RV with signs of being someone’s long-term dwelling, are in the parking lot. My skin crawls, and I experience a sense of “stranger danger”. I could be overreacting, but by the time I could be certain that I am or am not, it could easily be too late, eh? I move on, and go to the western trailhead of the park, on the far side, nearer to my usual “halfway point”. I’ll walk the trail in a different direction, approaching the views from the other side, and I’ll take a route that doesn’t approach the other trailhead at all (skirting the marsh instead of crossing it).
A calm sentinel.
It’s a lovely morning, and I’ve no regrets over the change of direction. I walk the trail contentedly. I see geese, and nutria, robins and squirrels. I walk along the river for a while. I look across a different bit of meadow, at a different stand of trees on the other side.
A change of perspective.
The morning is chilly but not cold, and I am warm from walking. I feel relaxed and rested, and my (quite minor) seasonal allergies are not vexing me; I remembered to add allergy meds to my morning medication. I feel comfortable in my skin and merry as I walk. I am supported by my cane (it’s actually a very strong, lightweight Leki trekking pole with some shock absorbtion), and my ankle does not yet ache from the walking, nor do my feet hurt. I would be walking in spite of those things, but it’s nice not having to fight that pain, this morning.
I think about the day ahead, but my thoughts are scattered, fractured by distractions: birds, flowers, movement in the underbrush. I walk on, enjoying the scents of Spring. I try, briefly, to recall whether I have errands to run, but I fail, and for the moment I don’t actually care. I’m wrapped in this moment, now, and it’s quite enough.
I walk, thinking about my beloved Traveling Partner, sleeping at home. He’ll likely be quite sore today after physical therapy yesterday. I resolve to keep myself occupied until he alerts me that he’s up and about for the day, to do what little I can to ensure he gets the rest he also needs. I smile. My heart is filled with love and my thoughts with fond memories. He is so much part of my life and experience after 15 years together. May 1st is our anniversary, but “that moment” that he truly became part of my life and my future was actually on his birthday, in December, at the end of 2009. By February we were the best of friends, by June he had moved in with me. Even then, I don’t think either of us anticipated marriage being part of our journey (less than a year later), we were both pretty sour on the notion from our past experiences. Still, here we are. Feels almost as if we’ve “always” been together. It’s easy to forget what a short time it has been. I grin to myself as I walk. He could not be more dear to me, nor further entangled in my heart. I am wrapped in his love every moment of every day. I sigh happily, and keep walking.
An enormous flock of Canada geese pass overhead. I think about my Granny, and wish that she could have met my Traveling Partner. I think she would have liked him. I know my Dad would have. I chuckle over the ways of men, and wonder what it might have been like had my Dad and my partner had a chance to enjoy each other’s company? I walk on wondering when I stopped being angry at my father? When had I truly forgiven him? It’s clear that I have… How strange. I once thought I never could.
Time passes, and the passage of time heals a lot of hurts, given a chance. Forgiveness isn’t for those who have hurt or wronged us, my Traveling Partner was right about that; forgiveness benefits most the one who forgives. Forgiveness is a letting go of the terrible weight of lasting pain and lingering rage. Forgiveness is another way to begin again.
My footsteps on the path are regular and even, steady like the tick of a clock. The clock is ticking. I walk on, with new perspective, toward the next curve on the path, the next opportunity to begin again. It’s time. It’s always time. I’m okay with that.
Evening Light 