Beginnings are pretty easy. I enjoy a beginning. Momentum can be difficult to sustain, though, and practices do need practicing. Failures are a thing human beings have to deal with. Beginnings come in handy as a way to follow-up on a failure. Just begin again. Ideally having learned from that failure, of course; it’s not super helpful to repeat the same failure and learn nothing from it. lol Steps on a path though; every beginning, every failure, every new attempt, each practice practiced takes us further on down the path we’ve chosen. Walk on.
Where does this path lead?
…I love a good metaphor…
The path isn’t always easy. It’s not always paved or level, it won’t always have convenient points at which to stop to catch your breath, it won’t always be illuminated, and sometimes – often – there’s no map to guide you. It’s a complicated journey in that sense, but in another very practical way it is as simple as taking another step. Incremental change over time is reliable, just slow. We do become what we practice – whatever we practice. 😀
I breathe, exhale, and relax. My walk was short today; there was a somewhat sketchy stranger on the trail, and I let my discomfort guide me back to the car a little early. Safety matters. The day stretches ahead of me, mostly unexamined and so far utterly routine. Just a day in a life. I’m okay with that. Working from home means taking my breaks in the garden, and I’m looking forward to it. First though? Coffee. Then? Then I’ll begin again. 😀
My birthday is coming up, just weeks away. 21 days actually. Huh. Not a major milestone sort of birthday, other than being one I couldn’t see reaching from the vantage point of my 20’s. I struggled to put items on a wishlist to make things easy on my Traveling Partner. There’s not much that I want in life that I don’t have, and my needs are fairly simple. (There are plenty of ludicrous extravagences that I don’t have, but few of those hold even passing appeal.)
…62 doesn’t “feel old”, and doesn’t necessarily feel like a moment worth a notable celebration…
I walked the local trail this morning, grateful to be walking. It’s a gray rainy Pacific Northwest Spring morning. My ears are ringing, my tinnitus is bad enough to be a distraction this morning. My back aches with arthritis pain, but my legs aren’t so sore and I definitely feel an improvement in freedom of movement since starting on the elliptical machine every day at home. (Hell of a good find at an affordable price, and I’m grateful for the timing that brought my Traveling Partner’s eyes to that ad for a used elliptical machine!) Incremental change, one step at a time. Due to pain, my walking pace rarely gets my heart rate up, and the elliptical machine has already proven its worth for cardio benefits.
The meadow grasses and weeds are lush and green along the edge of the vineyard. The hills on the horizon are shades of blue gray, with white patches near the tops that are either snow or clouds clinging to the hillsides. It’s barely raining at all, not even a drizzle just occasional fine misty droplets I see on my glasses but don’t feel on my face. I breathe, exhale, and relax. Long Memorial Day weekend ahead. I sigh contentedly. This is a nice moment right here. I make a point of enjoying it.
I think about my birthday again, doing a mental inventory of things I like and enjoy generally that I might want more of… I chuckle to myself. I have what I need and it’s enough. Fucking hell that’s got to make gift giving a bit complicated for the giver! Fortunately, I’m also pretty easy to please, delighted by the thought of being held in sufficiently high regard to be the recipient of a gift in the first place.
A small brown bird is scuffling through the bits of leaf matter and the weeds near my feet, unconcerned with my presence. The raindrops on my face are more obvious now. I sigh again, aware that the clock is ticking (metaphorically) and get to my feet to head back to the car; it’s time to begin again.
My ears are ringing like crazy this morning. I focus my attention on the sound around me, and the songs of early morning birds (mostly robins). I listen to my steps as I walk the paved section of trail near home. I am walking westward. The sky is gray, densely cloudy, and the air smells of recent rain.
I squint at the newly planted section of vineyard alongside the trail, as I approach it. Something red is blooming at ground level, and I can’t quite make out the grape vines in the gloomy early light. Red clover? Vetch? Last year this was meadow (or fallow fields), and I reflect on the feeling I had the first day I came to this trail after the meadow had been plowed under and replaced by vineyard.
One perspective of many possible perspectives.
Here and there wild blackberries encroach on the edges of the vineyard. They aren’t the native sort, they’re an invasive non-native. The blackberries themselves are tasty nonetheless, but it will be many weeks before blackberries dangle ripe from the thorny canes. I walk past some wildflower blooming – or is it a weed? So close to the planted vineyard, I guess it’s very much a matter of perspective. I walk past reflecting on that.
Wildflower or weed?
Breathe, exhale, relax, and keep walking. I am having my own experience, walking my own path, and quietly enjoying this gray rainy morning.
… The clock is ticking…
I pause at my halfway point and sit for a few minutes, listening to the sound of geese overhead and distant traffic. Breathe, exhale, relax. My tinnitus is still pretty bad, but it’s no longer dominating my attention. There is forest around me and I can hear the nearby creek bubbling past. A small brown bird stops near me, hopping here and there in the grass at the edge of a the trail.
This is a lovely quiet morning, suitable for walking. I get to my feet and begin again.
The sun is up as I return to the car. I’m at a less frequented trailhead tucked away on the far side of the nature park. Different approach to the park, different views (more meadow than marsh), and that provides me with a different perspective.
A meadow of fragrant wildflowers.
I’ve been feeling a bit “stuck” now and then, recently, especially with regard to my fitness progress. Realistically, I know “the math”, and the basic truth of it is that I need to get more exercise and cut back on caloric intake (without reducing nutritional value). Such easy words to put on a page. Harder to live them in practice, primarily because I’m living with chronic pain, have some underlying metabolic concerns that complicate things by drastically reducing the amount of energy I can reliably make use of in a given day. Those things don’t prevent me from making progress over time, they just tend to slow me down and discourage me. File under “adulting is hard”. lol
I’m not complaining. Just saying these are real circumstances and sometimes I feel “stuck”. I often find a change of perspective very helpful for getting “un-stuck”, and so this morning I followed a favorite trail from a different direction, at a different starting point, and walked my difficult miles from a different perspective. Helpful.
A different point of view is sometimes the only difference needed.
I walked along as the sun rose, listening to the noisy robins in the meadow grass, and the geese calling to each other overhead. The air was filled with the scent of Spring flowers.
The sun rising beyond a grove in the meadow.
Feeling stuck? Maybe it will be helpful to change your point of view, to adjust your perspective in some way, even if only as a matter of taking a different route to a familiar destination? I know I find it helpful, and almost without noticing, I find myself walking farther at a faster pace (in spite of stops to snap a picture or two along the way). Sometimes beginning again is more effective if we begin from a different starting point, or heading in a new direction, or by entirely changing our approach to a challenge or journey. Your results may vary, but if you’re feeling stuck, isn’t that the desired effect?
Where does your path lead? What is beyond the next bend?
My Traveling Partner suggested, out of love and a desire to be helpful, that maybe I should consider using an elliptical machine at a nearby gym, or some lower-impact means of getting more miles in. It’s an idea I’ve considered (and tried), but I thoroughly dislike the gym environment and the mindless tedium of walking a treadmill to the point that I just don’t stick with it. It’s not a good choice of practice for me, generally. I’m willing – even eager – to be out on a trail at dawn walking a couple miles, happily alone with my thoughts, feeling the moment, enjoying the sights, and I do it day after day, without a miss. It’s time to pick up the pace, though, and challenge myself to go further more often. It’s time to increase my “non-negotiable distance” from 1 mile to two, then from 2 to three. It’s time to spend less time meditating at some beautiful halfway point, and more of my time steadily on my feet. (This is where my thoughts were as I walked this morning.)
Reflections and mist.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. I guess I needed a change of perspective (and a change of direction). I certainly feel less stuck, sitting with my thoughts after my walk, feeling my muscles relax, and my heart beat slowing down as I write. There’s an entire day ahead of me and a couple of errands to run. The clock is ticking – it’s time to begin again.
I woke rested and feeling comfortable and awash in a feeling of contentment. I got through my morning routine without making some sort of loud noise. I made it to the trailhead before sunrise, but just after daybreak.
I caught a glimpse of Mt Hood and the beginning of a colorful sunrise.
It’s a beautiful morning. I sigh contentedly and lace up my boots. The trail is dim but not dark. There are little birds everywhere, and the air smells of flowers. I’ve got my cane, my camera, and this moment. It’s enough. There’s a work day ahead, but that’s later. I need to remember to water the garden, but that time is not now. I’ve got an appointment to keep in the afternoon, but that requires no attention from me, yet. It’s just me, this trail ahead of me, this moment, and a glimpse of the sunrise.
I grin happily to myself and grab my cane to get started. The clock is ticking and it’s time to begin. Again.
Evening Light 