Archives for posts with tag: walking my own path

I’m waiting for the sun. The morning is chilly, hinting at autumn ahead. I’ll get a walk in, then head home to start the work day. So far this feels like a fairly ordinary Wednesday.

Perspective and a new day.

My Traveling Partner has a project going that he wants some help with. There are errands to run, including a trip to the grocery store. There are housekeeping tasks to get done sooner than later. And work. I’m not even bitching. I’m grateful to have the life I do. My quality of life is better than average and by far better than I’ve known in my own life at many prior points. There’s just a lot of real work involved in maintaining hearth and home and staying caught up on “everything” with very little help (right now). If nothing else, my Traveling Partner’s injury, surgery, and recovery, have served to emphasize his day-to-day efforts (and value), and his contributions to our life together. I definitely miss having his help around the house! He’s really good at some things I absolutely suck at.

Life is busy and the verbs are many. Some days I have been so tired. For now I seem to be managing to get the rest I need, mostly. Having some help from the Anxious Adventurer is an improvement (although there’s also a lot of guiding, coaching, and pointing out things which seem obvious to me, which adds to the emotional labor involved). Improving my self-care has been helpful, but also requires effort and attention from me, moment to moment. It all requires focus, balance, effort… practice. A lot of fucking practice. Sometimes, rather discouragingly, I feel as if I still very much suck at all of it, though I suspect this is bullshit created in my own head. I let that go whenever it turns up, as soon as I notice.

… I really want to be painting…

Yesterday I checked in with my Traveling Partner about his recovery from surgery, and whether he thinks he may be ready to handle things without my help every day by the end of September? I’m eager to take the pastels out to the coast again, and get another camping trip in before the nights are once again too cold for my comfort. I get his loving encouragement and find a campsite, and make reservations. New location. New perspective. New things to see. No way to know what the weather will actually be like this far in advance, but the historical details look promising and I feel enthusiastic and filled with anticipatory joy.

… I pause to hold on to the understanding that if my partner still needs me, I just won’t go…

Non-attachment isn’t about not caring about things. Non-attachment isn’t built on cynicism, bitterness, or disappointment. Practicing non-attachment, as I understand it myself, is more a matter of not clinging to events and ideas that are not happening as planned, or not happening at all, and it is a practice about letting go, generally. Non-attachment lets me more easily endure hard times by making me less likely to take shit personally. Big or small, life’s disappointments hit so much harder if I am gripping my expectations and assumptions tightly and trying to force reality to do my bidding, instead of mindfully observing my experience and the world around me, and just being okay with things as they develop. I’m not intending to “tell you how it is” or what to do with your life, I’m just saying my own experience is greatly improved when I can avoid getting trapped by my expectations and assumptions, and can simply be, as life unfolds ahead of me moment by moment.

…It still takes actual practice

Being skillfully human takes so much work and practice sometimes. It’s harder than it looks to become the person I most want to be, and then to simply exist as that individual, living the values that matter most to me. I keep practicing. It’s a worthy journey.

I sit with the sunrise ahead of me at the halfway point of my morning walk, writing these words and thinking my thoughts. It’s a good morning for meditation, for mindfulness, for being and becoming. It’s a good morning to walk my own path. The journey is the destination.

… It’s time to begin again.

I woke with the alarm this morning. It almost felt like sleeping in. I stepped out onto the trail just at daybreak. The morning air has a chilly quality and the sky was clear and starry. Nice morning for walking. I’m glad I wore a warm sweater. Feels like fall is just around the next bend.

The sunrise begins with hues of orange and a hint of lavender down low on the edge of the horizon. Pretty. I walk on, watching the sky lighten and the colors change as the sunrise continues.

There’s a lot of promise in a sunrise.

Most of any “free time” this weekend has been spent on quality of life improvements like building new bookshelves for my Traveling Partner, and running routine errands or doing chores. I wouldn’t call it restful at all, just different kinds of work than what I would be doing on a work day. With my partner still needing post-surgical recovery support, there’s not room for much else in a day besides work… and other work.

I sigh as I walk, feeling the depth of my frustration with the limitations of a 24-hour day. I’d really like to be painting. I feel inspired by my walks, and by my thoughts, and there just aren’t enough moments left over in a day by the time all the errands and housekeeping are done. Having the Anxious Adventurer on hand is no small thing and I am grateful; I’m no longer facing exhaustion moment by moment, I just don’t have time for anything but essentials, aside from a few spare minutes here and there when I can pick up the book I am reading, and read another page or three (rarely more than that before someone wants my attention). It’s not ideal, but it’s temporary and I am managing to mostly make it work.

…I stop at my halfway point to write and reflect…

I’m looking forward to a return to some kind of normalcy when I can read, paint, camp, and be – on my own terms, doing what I love, for myself. Another sigh and a big breath of fresh morning air. Being real about things, it’s probably weeks or months away, and then the busy holiday season will be here.

… Well, shit. My Traveling Partner pings me a greeting and a request to come home and make coffee. Maybe I’ll get a second walk in later today. Looks like, for now, I’ll need to begin again. I finish this sentence and head back to the car.

We become what we practice. Prove me wrong. When I practice being calm, I become a calmer person. When I practice listening I become a better listener. When I practice kindness, I become more inclined to be kind, generally.

…If I practice being angry, I become more easily angered, more often, and more likely to react with anger to circumstances and people that may not warrant such a reaction at all…

When I practice perspective and consideration, my perspective on life deepens, and I become more considerate.

The next conversation you have with someone may determine whether you continue to have the relationship you do. Good or bad. More connected or more distant. The words you choose and the emotions you embody become reality. A real experience being experienced. A memory being made.

Who are you? Who is that other person to you? If you live as the person you most want to be, how will you behave? What are you choosing to practice?

The way ahead is not always clear. It’s still your path, and you choose your direction and your steps.

You have choices. Choose wisely.

I reached the trailhead before daybreak, park gate still closed. I’m okay with that. I find the quiet solitary time necessary to my well-being and sometimes hard to snatch from a busy day. I enjoy every quiet moment that I happen upon. I sit awhile and reflect before I ever reach for my device, listening to the sound of traffic on the highway, and the ringing in my ears that never ceases and rarely diminishes.

A morning well-suited to solitary reflection.

The gate opens with a sort of screeching creaking sound. This morning my plan is to walk the entire loop trail around the marsh, (3 miles), then cut over to the river trail, and walk that out and back (1 mile each way) for a 5 mile walk. Goals. I change into my boots, remembering to grab my water bottle, my cane, my lightweight collapsible 3-legged camp stool, and a beautiful tangerine for later. The sky begins to lighten, and the fog begins to lift. Nice day for a walk with my thoughts.

I stand ready at the beginning of the marsh trail, listening for a moment, before  I begin. I breathe the meadow-sweet air at the edge of the marsh. I feel vaguely sleepy under the cloudy gray sky. I sigh to myself as I step forward; no beautiful sunrise this morning and it looks like rain.  As an afterthought, I grab my lightweight rain poncho and stuff it in my back pocket, “just in case”, and head down the trail.

Weed or wildflower? It’s largely a matter of context and perspective.

Sometime later, I stop at my decision-making point, where the marsh trail and river trail intersect. Walk on? Three miles or five? I unfold my little camp stool and take a seat to rest a moment. The air is cool and fresh and scented with something that seems at once both floral and spicy. I breathe, exhale, and relax. This moment is mine to enjoy however I wish. I choose gratitude, contentment, and joy, sitting here with my solitary thoughts.

…It really doesn’t have to be more complicated. Choose. Practice. We become what we practice…

I can’t tell you how to live your life. I’m just pointing out that you have (and make) choices. If your emotional experience of life is characterized by anger, frustration, and disappointment, which definitely sucks, you have the opportunity every day to choose (and practice) something very different. Life isn’t something inflicted upon you; you are living your experience. You choose your words, your actions, and to a large degree even your thoughts. If you don’t enjoy life as you live it now, choose to live it differently. The choices (and consequences of those choices) are yours.

… Sometimes growth and progress are uncomfortable. Sometimes we have to work harder, and go farther. Sometimes we have to chuck out what hasn’t worked and begin all over again. I look down the trail ahead of me. Five miles. I choose to walk on, and go further. I collapse my folding stool and sling it over my shoulder. It’s time to begin again.

He said, almost as an afterthought, “I forget about your brain damage sometimes, because you generally handle things so well.” I don’t recall where that conversation went, now, but the remark itself lingers. A compliment? I think so…? It’s complicated, like finding the right balance between just living life and reminding people now and then that there is brain damage, and that it is very much a part of my day-to-day experience.

… I continue to think about my Traveling Partner’s loving words. Those. Others. 14 years together. We’ve been through some things. This bit of chaos, here, now? Part of the journey. Opportunities to grow, to do better, to become better partners, are plentiful right now. I hope to take advantage of many of them. I see my partner embracing those opportunities, too. We’re both very human, and this is a very human journey.

New beginnings, new perspective.

I started my walk just before sunrise, at first light. My pace is improving, my strength, too. Staying on top of my self-care requires diligence and focus. Sometimes I feel like I’d rather just… sleep.  Yesterday evening, I chose (with my partner’s encouragement) to go to bed early and get a proper night’s sleep. I woke feeling rested and started the day feeling pretty good. Yesterday I also tried a capsaicin patch for a particular pain that seems caused by my neck, and is intensely distracting at its worst. I’m surprised, but it actually did really help. (Please don’t tell me if this is a placebo effect! I’d rather have the relief.)

At some point yesterday, it was difficult to dismiss my partner’s assertion that I was “holding my breath” in response to my pain. I clearly was. I caught myself several times. Annoying. It’s not at all helpful to stop fucking breathing! As I walked this morning I focused on “staying with my breath”. It seems irritating and silly to have to practice breathing for fucks sake, but here I am. Then I laugh out loud; skillful, practiced breath work is part of so many things! Why do I even fuss about it? I sleep with a CPAP machine, because I frequently stop breathing while I sleep. Why would I expect that this concern would somehow just not be a thing simply because I am awake?

A momentary traveling companion along the way.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. My anxiety isn’t bad this morning. My recent “11” is a more manageable “2”, today. Win. I finish my walk, and prepare to begin again.

The past 48 hours are mostly a blur of smudgy unclear recollections and emotional impressions. Keeping up with my Traveling Partner’s care, particularly making sure medications are all taken on time, at proper intervals and dosages, is keeping me pretty busy. Juggling those details with work, and the self-care required to keep up with “all the things” has resulted in interrupted sleep, emotionality, and a generous helping of “stupid” moments. This too will pass; it’s a temporary situation. It’s generally enough to do my best.

… The tl;dr is that I’m tired, so tired, and haven’t slept well, deeply, or for more than a couple hours at a time these past couple of days…

Sunrise and a new beginning.

I woke ahead of my alarm this morning and watered the lawn, and helped my partner with his medication. I’d have rather gone directly back to bed and tried to get more sleep, but I also knew my partner had a difficult night of interrupted sleep himself. Better for his ability to rest for me to give him some quiet time. I slipped away to catch the sunrise on the trail, and the Anxious Adventurer left for work moments later.

… And here I am…

The sun rose a bold magenta betwixt thunder clouds. Once or twice lightning flashed across the sky. By the time I got here to the trailhead, thunder was breaking the quiet of the morning, frequently. No rain. Not right now, anyway, though it appears that some rain fell during the night. I find myself wishing for rain. (Thunder storms without rain this time of year are a deadly threat of wildfires.) I sit for a moment before lacing up my boots for a walk.

My head aches ferociously this morning, a combination of my “usual” headache, and lack of rest. I breathe, exhale, and relax. It’s less than ideal to let it become the focus of my day; I have too much shit to do.

My longtime friend, The Author, had planned to visit this weekend, but got COVID and if he makes it at all, the timing is yet to be determined. Disappointing. My Dear Friend’s celebration of life memorial is today, but I won’t make it; I’m not up to the long drive at the last minute, and regardless, my Traveling Partner needs my care and support. While I am considering these circumstances, a drenching tropical sort of rain begins to pound the car (I pull my feet back into the car and close the door). I think about the recent (Wednesday, 3 days ago) death of my Aunt…

…Then the tears begin to fall, with the rain…

Sometimes it just all feels like too much. I sigh, letting the tears fall without taking them personally. No reason to fight the moment. This is “my time”, and if this is what I need right now, okay. After some minutes, I blow my nose and just sit listening to the thunder and the rain, wondering about the lightning strike risk on the trail… It wouldn’t do to get hit by lightning today, I just don’t have time. lol

This morning I feel very mortal and very much aware how temporary it all really is. Life. So brief. So precious.

… I didn’t come prepared to walk through a drenching downpour, but I am sure enjoying just sitting here listening to the storm…

A different sort of quiet moment.

I sit listening to the rain, fighting the confusion and dimwittedness of fatigue. I could probably get a couple things done, since it doesn’t look like I’ll be walking… My mind feels numb. What is on my list, anyway? I scrounge around in my consciousness rather halfheartedly, instead of just looking at my damned list. The growl and loud crack of thunder along with a dazzling flash of very close lightning startles me. It seemed “just over there”, visibly, identifiably nearby. Scary. Distracting.

G’damn beginning again is easier when I get the rest I need… I don’t quite manage to laugh, and sigh again instead. I decide to quietly take my time sorting myself out, before tackling some task or another. There’s no reason to rush. I’ve got time to take care of myself. Self-care matters, too.

I sit for some unmeasured amount of time, reflecting on gratitude and joy. Thinking over the best of recent moments and savoring the recollections. I feel so grateful for my Traveling Partner, and the enduring love we share. It gets us through a lot. We’ve managed to snarl at each other far too often the last few days, as pain, fatigue, and frustration overcame our good nature in some difficult moment. We get past it. Exchange apologies. Make amends when we can. Our hearts know the way, even when we go astray – very human. All things considered, I guess we’re doing pretty well, generally. It’s hard sometimes, but there’s no lack of love. Humans being human; sometimes it’s complicated.

It’s probably time to begin again, but…

… I’m enjoying listening to the rain fall. That’s okay too.