I’m sipping coffee and taking a moment after my morning walk. I’ll head to work, next, but this quiet interlude is mine. I’m sitting quietly, looking out into the view beyond and contemplating how I might capture this view in acrylic, in watercolor, in oil, or in a wholly new medium for me – in pastels.
Light and shadow, and an ordinary view.
I am content to sit here with my thoughts, even for hours. This is a pleasant moment.
I’ve tidied up my studio such that I can actually make use of it. Along the way I found an old cigar box with an unexpected treasure within – two small sets of pastels, an assortment of neon colors and an assortment of iridescent colors, looking very much unused since whenever they were purchased. I don’t recall buying them. The shoebox itself is one that one of my parents had used to send me something… sometime around 1995? Older? Old, for sure.
A fun surprise.
I continue to feel inspired by the thought of exploring a new medium, artistically. I picked up a selection of good quality pastels at the local art store, and some appropriate paper, and ordered some woodless colored pencils and pastel pencils. A small price to pay for the joy and growth yet to come.
Colors. Joy in a box.
For a moment, I feel impatient to begin, then chuckle at my human foolishness, because I have already begun! This moment, right here, now, is part of the experience. I smile and breathe it in. Inspiration. Joy. Enthusiasm. Eagerness. Delight. Wonder. It’s quite delicious and I am grateful to enjoy this moment.
I take time to really savor this pleasant moment, and to really “fill my cup” with this quiet joy.
The sun continues to rise. The clock continues to tick. It’s already time to begin again. I’m ready.
Well, here it is… my birthday. 61. I’ve made it another year! Well done, me. lol
…I’m glad I’ve made it this far…
At birth, my cohort life expectancy was 73.4 years, although my familial longevity hints at my potential to be around much longer. (I’ve also got family members whose lives were much shorter… It definitely matters to take care of one’s health and avoid high risk activities.) My individual circumstances being what they have been, I wasn’t confident I’d get this far (in spite of my aspirational notion that I would like to see 2083…).
…I’m glad to be here…
No elaborate plans for the day, aside from quietly celebrating my survival thus far, and spending the day more or less doing what I’d like. I took the day off. My Traveling Partner is still on the injured list, so definitely available to enjoy the day with me, and also needing me to be available to help out and provide care. Managing an intimate connected balance being present for each other will probably guide the day. How else? We’re in this together.
…Maybe takeout from the French restaurant in town for dinner?..
I watch the sun rise from a local trail, walking with my thoughts, pausing to sit in the sunshine and write, before heading back to the car. I’ve survived 61 years of sometimes hard living and considerable trauma… but also joy, love, wonder, happiness, and an adequate measure of prosperity and success sufficient to see the here and now of my life become mostly pretty good. I’m loved. It’s a lovely day. Pretty good one for a birthday, for sure.
I think about the years to come… how many more, I wonder? 15? 20? 35? I walk along considering what sorts of things I can (or must) do to see the other side of 100 with my faculties and abilities intact. 40 more years of life as it is now would be pretty fucking splendid…
…Change is, though, and I have no idea what the future holds…
…It’d be pretty cool to make it to 120, I think, and to see how the world has changed…
I sigh, exhaling a deeply drawn breath of fresh meadow-sweet air. It’s time to begin again… Another year of practices. Another year of putting miles on these boots. Another year of living. It’s worth celebrating.
This is the sort of morning I would happily spend some time emailing my recently departed Dear Friend…
The sunrise from the trail this morning.
I would certainly share a picture of the sunrise, probably commenting on its beauty. Recent years found my Dear Friend to have very limited ability to get around without help, and she wouldn’t see such a sight without pictures shared by friends. She often asked for details and anecdotes about my unassuming local travels. (I miss her, greatly.)
Tomorrow being my birthday, and having already received (and opened) gifts from my Traveling Partner, I would share those details with her, too. The context, the sentiment, why each gift delights me so, and the “back story”, if there is one, would all be shared and talked over together. She’d tell me why celebrating this birthday matters more than I think it does, and remind me that I am precious to her. She’d embarrass me a bit with praise, and point out how easily we can lose our abilities through disuse. She would encourage me to do more and go further. She would cheer me on and share my joy. If I were feeling beat down or defeated, she would laugh at my dark angry humor and give me her own wise perspective.
…She would slyly say nothing about some handmade delight she had sent my way, that would surprise me the day of my birthday with something more to open…
…Fuck I do miss you, my very Dear Friend…
Of the roses I planted this Spring with my Dear Friend in mind, one has bloomed. I grinned to see the colorful flower. I took a picture to share with her, forgetting for just an instant… I shared it, instead, with another friend who was similarly close (closer, for years longer) with my Dear Friend, hoping it might bring her a smile, too.
“Rainbow Happy Trails” blooming in a corner of my garden.
I walked the trail this morning, watching the sun rise and the morning take shape. I breathed in the scents of Spring flowers and meadow grass as I walked along between river and marsh. I’m not really “sad” this morning, and the moment of poignant recollection passes without tears. I honor my Dear Friend through these memories and I am okay with missing her; she meant a lot to me, and our friendship got me through some hard times when I sometimes felt I had no one else to turn to. We could count on each other’s good will and affection, and we were there for each other through joy and hardship. That’s a beautiful thing.
…61, tomorrow… it is a bit weird not sharing it with her…
I walk on down the trail. I’ve got it to myself for now. I walk with my wandering thoughts. The work day will begin soon enough. When it does, I’ll begin again. Soon enough. Soon enough. No reason to rush. In the meantime, I walk with my thoughts and my memories, stopping at my halfway point to meditate, reflect, and write a few words about a very Dear Friend of mine. Time well-spent.
I finish up my writing and sit quietly awhile. Photographers coming down the trail purposefully remind me that this is a work day. I check the time, happy to see I’ve got time to spare. Lovely morning.
Restful night. Pleasant morning. Good walk down a familiar trail. I feel prepared for the day ahead, organized, calm, and comfortable in my body. It’s a good starting point for the (day and the) week. The weekend was a good one, although nothing stands out as noteworthy; it was well-spent in the good company of my Traveling Partner. I got a few things done without exhausting myself.
The colors of morning.
A colorful sunrise greeted me as I reached the trailhead. The parking lot was empty (it generally is at this hour). I enjoyed the trail to myself and watched the sun rise as I walked. It’s a lovely Monday morning, two days before my birthday.
…There’s no significance to this particular birthday (61), and I have no particular plans. I’ve already received my birthday presents; my Traveling Partner loves making me smile and seeing my joy, and it’s hard for him to wait for the actual day. lol I don’t mind at all. I feel very loved.
I sit with the sunshine at my back, perched on a picnic table a short walk from the car, writing, thinking, and enjoying the start of this new day. We don’t know how many beautiful sunrises we may see in one mortal lifetime… I hope I have many more, and take time to appreciate them all!
…Monday…
…A lifetime goes by so quickly…
The season is beginning to be more summer than Spring. This morning I’ll begin watering the lawn and garden on a summer schedule. Working from home makes such things pretty easy to stick with. Last week I took some of my meetings (remotely) in the garden, and it was delightful. It also brought my attention to a couple tasks I’ve fallen behind on; I’d let the salad greens bolt, and the weeds are getting out of hand. I spent some weekend time putting things right. I brought in a noteworthy harvest of fresh peas.
…Time spent in the garden seems to run on a different clock…
An ordinary enough life, on a contented joyful Monday morning, feeling purposeful and prepared. This is an experience built over time. Built on carefully chosen practices, and principles of resilience, sufficiency, self-care, mindfulness, and non-attachment. I work at this, and my results vary. I’m for sure going to enjoy it when things are truly going well, and I am feeling good. Pain? Not relevant this morning, and it fades into the background as I enjoy the moment. (“This too will pass.” Change is.)
…So much of my day-to-day joy and contentment is built on steady practices and incremental change over time. It’s achievable. Reliable. There are verbs involved…but it is possible to get from “there” to “here” through those means. Start. Practice. Fail. Begin again. Repeat. Don’t take the required effort personally, just do the needful.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. I feel the shadows of bad dreams in the night dissipate in the morning sunshine. I’m here, now, and it’s a lovely morning to begin again.
I got my walk in early. I started just at daybreak on this mild Spring morning. I walked a bit aggressively, lost in my own thoughts, eyes fixed on some point ahead, but without really seeing. I felt cross about the way my morning started (with my Traveling Partner’s aggravation over being wakened and struggling to breathe, as I finished dressing to leave).
…Took me awhile to let it go…
I had wished him well and expressed my hope that he could get back to sleep. He didn’t seem to think he would and expressed that in a way that kept our exchange on my mind as I walked along, over-thinking it unsatisyingly.
…I seriously could have done a better job of letting it go, and letting small shit stay small…
I didn’t really begin to enjoy my walk or adjust my attitude until after he pinged me a cute sticker of a little cat tucked in for sleep, indicating he was going back to bed. Damn, I love that guy. At that point, I was easily able to settle down and sort myself out, with a sigh and a smile and a feeling of gratitude. Shit could be a lot g’damn worse in life (and love).
…We’re each having our own experience…
When I sat down to write, I took a quick look at the “page stats” for this blog (it’s not about numbers so much as insights into what people choose to read, and I often find new relevance in old writing). I found myself re-reading a post from almost 18 months ago, and reflecting further on perspective, change, and the importance of self-care. It gave me real clarity on the morning, and restored my sense of perspective generally, and how good things truly are. Reading a relevant older post is another way to “be there for myself”, and practice good self-care, and another way to regain perspective. (I say a silent “thank you” to the reader who read that post yesterday; reading it this morning was helpful.)
…My Traveling Partner is on his own journey, having his own experience, and taking that at all personally isn’t a helpful approach to partnership…
Here. Now. Perspective. Sufficiency.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. It’s a pretty morning. The temperature here is a comfortable 50°F or so. The sunshine lights the blades of grass and the trunks of the oaks in the grove where I sit perched on a picnic table enjoying the sunrise. It’s still quite early and I am not rushing back to the house. I’ve got a cup of coffee and this quiet moment to myself and I am enjoying it.
…Sometimes the best thing I can do to take care of myself is to simply take a few quiet minutes to breathe and reflect…
Later today I will take my Traveling Partner to an appointment with a specialist. I hope there is promising news about what can be done and what the long term prognosis for his recovery from his December injury may be. It’s hard watching him suffer and struggle. I feel so helpless so often. I definitely want to do more to alleviate his pain and discomfort than I seem able to. It’s not about me, though; I just want this human being I love so dearly to be okay.
I sigh out loud and catch myself picking at my cuticles anxiously. Yeah… still human. Still prone to worry and stress. I breathe the fresh Spring air deeply and exhale slowly. I can smell the hedge roses that are on the other side of the parking lot adjacent to this park where I am sitting, and the scent of recently cut meadow grass. I enjoy the smell of Spring, grateful that my seasonal allergies are nothing like as severe as my Mother’s allergies, or my Traveling Partner’s. They’re mostly pretty mild, and seem very specific to certain local flowering trees. That time of year is already beginning to pass.
I am in rather a lot of pain this morning. It’s been an issue all week. I take the medication I have for it. I cope the best I can. I remain unwilling to let my pain call my shots and I try to “just live my life” in spite of it. My results vary. I make a point of not complaining much about it, to the point of generally mentioning it only in passing, if I mention it at all, in conversation. It’s not that I find this to be a helpful strategy, it’s just that there’s nothing to do about it, really, that I’m not already doing, and I am very much aware that my partner is in a great deal more pain than I am. I don’t want to make that about me. I just want to do my best to support and care for him while he’s injured and working on recovering. He knows I am in pain, it’s a chronic condition. No point making that “a thing” – right now it’s just a distraction.
I sit with my coffee and my thoughts awhile longer. Soon enough it will be time to begin again.
Evening Light 