I’m thinking about moments. So many moments make up a lifetime, eh? Opportunities. Chances. Choices. Sometimes I stumble down life’s path, sometimes I stride down the path feeling confident that I am heading in the “right” direction. Wherever the journey takes me, it is my own.
Stuck in summer construction traffic, I take in the view.
I watch the mostly full moon setting as I lace up my boots. I’m at the trailhead. I remember that I have an appointment this morning, and that timing matters. I add things to my shopping list; that matters, too. Small details. Steps on a path.
Trying to capture the full moon as I head out this morning, a mostly unsuccessful endeavor; it’s the wrong camera for this shot.
Sirens in the distance remind me that life is fleeting, and moments pass quickly. My tinnitus is loud in my ears. In an instant, I am aware of my mortality, and the passage of time. These precious mortal moments so often pass by unnoticed, uncelebrated, and unshared. “Is there anyone even out there?” I wonder to myself. I think about bots, algorithms, and attempts to create artificial intelligence…to what actual purpose? “Efficiency?” Profit? I don’t think these things are actually meaningful or worthy, really, and it is so human to get that shit so very wrong.
I keep walking.
How long does it take for the moon to set on a summer morning?
I sit at my halfway point thinking my thoughts and considering my path, “in real life” and as a metaphor. I breathe, exhale, and relax, enjoying this moment, right here, now. It’s a fleeting fragile thing, a moment. It exists, and then it is gone, leaving behind only a memory (and sometimes not even that).
I watch little birds for awhile. Swallows so swift in the air, and little reddish birds on the fence rail chirping merrily. I wonder if they are aware of moments? I sit with my thoughts and my breath, on the edge of this path, between moments.
Soon enough it will be time to begin again, in some other moment…
I’m sipping an iced coffee and readying myself for the day ahead. I’m also browsing the pictures in the “gallery” app on my phone, and enjoying pleasant recollections of my recent day trip to the coast. I am thinking about goals and intentions, and forward momentum, and how different an object on the horizon looks compared to what I may see up close when I arrive at that destination – and how easy it can be for something along the way to distract me as I travel.
The horizon, a distant smudge. How far away is that?
I sigh out loud and rub my neck. My headache was with me when I woke this morning. It’ll probably be with me all day. Doesn’t matter, really, and there’s not much I can do about it. I breathe, exhale, and relax, and let that go.
A destination, a goal, and idea – what does it take to get there?
It’ll be another hot summer day, today. I’m okay with that. I’m grateful for the air conditioning that makes that a comfortable idea, at all. I’m fortunate to have that luxury available to me, and I sit with my gratitude for some little while, thinking about other times and places when I was not so fortunate.
Where we thought we’d like to go may be less achievable than we anticpated, or require more of us to reach than we planned. It’s okay to change our path – or to work for our goal. The choice is ours.
I feel a little tired before the day even begins, which surprises me, until I realize that there is this subtle awareness in the background of my thoughts of a world in chaos: genocides, acts of war, terrible cruelty, lives lost, lives wasted, and terrible people doing terrible things. Is my fatigue simply the unavoidable awareness wearing me down, or a sign that I am fighting that awareness too much with too little positive result? I think about that awhile, too, and ponder the critical need for skillful self-care. What do I need from myself this morning to nurture this fragile vessel and this valiant heart?
When I take a closer look, I am sometimes surprised by what I find. Definitely look closer (it’s a metaphor).
…For starters, I would do well to drink more water than coffee on such a hot day, eh? (I remind myself to get some water when I finish this.)
…Maybe make a point of getting up from my desk every hour and stretch or walk around a bit rather than sit here hyper-focused on work that absolutely can wait on a wee break. (I put a couple break intervals on my work calendar and mark myself “busy” for those, and set reminders so I don’t forget.)
…My mental and emotional health will benefit from reconnecting with distant friends, and checking in with those dear to me who are nearer, too. (I smile and think of people I enjoy and who are dear to me. I’m grateful there are so many.)
I sip my coffee content to have a forward path and some idea what sorts of things will nurture me and lift me up, that also easily fit into a busy work day. It’s a start. More often than not, a beginning is enough to get me going – if nothing else, it’s where I begin (again). 😀 That’s enough. The clock is ticking… it’s time to get on with it.
Big or small, we choose what we put our attention on – and our choices matter.
Are you fed up with the deluge of “AI slop” being pushed at you on pretty nearly every platform you look to for information or entertainment, everywhere, all the time now? I know I am. AI “art” isn’t art. AI writing isn’t literature (nor, generally, is it worth reading at all). AI summaries of search results are highly prone to inaccuracies and are often quite ridiculous in spots, and sometimes unreadable. AI content is very often IP theft or plagiarism. It’s pretty awful. AI doesn’t catch its own mistakes; it can’t think, comprehend, or reason.
Hey, good news; there’s no AI here. I’m an actual real person. A human primate. My spelling mistakes, grammatical errors, poor syntax, and occasionally meaning-obscuring overuse of ellipses are 100% human and my own! I sit somewhere in some moment of self-reflection, and compose my actual thoughts, such as they are, using my own words, and I share them with you. Wow. My photos and images are generally my own (at least since I began bringing a camera along with me everywhere and viewing so much of my life through that lens). Music I link to isn’t mine, but I selected it myself, inspired by my experience, and chosen to enhance my writing in some way. I share my own art with you. My “unfiltered” take on life is offered up relatively fearlessly, too. I don’t need AI to do my thinking for me (and neither do you).
It is still possible to choose the content you consume with sufficient care to avoid AI slop, generally. (I block pages and content that are AI generated, once I recognize it – and I’m reliably seeking to determine that quickly. I’m not a fan.) I personally find garbage AI slop seriously cringe, and also don’t want to undermine the value of human content creation by encouraging that crap. I’m an artist. A writer. A photographer. It matters to me to differentiate between created works and “generated” works.
Anyway. No AI here (aside from the one use of it on my About page when ChatGPT launched). Oh, I’m aware of the potential inherent in AI, and professionally I stay current with what AI tools are capable of, presently. I just don’t prefer (or need) to use AI to write. 😆
The world is a fucking mess, eh? It’d be easy to shrug off AI concerns as unimportant, considering everything else going on. If you’re in a safe place, be sure to go outside. Take healthy breaks. Enjoy a moment with a friend. Take a walk. Watch clouds scoot across the sky. Smell flowers. Try a new recipe. Read a book. Learn a skill. Sit in a beautiful garden. Make something. You can live an actual life and form thoughts about those experiences. AI can’t. Enjoy your moments. These mortal lifetimes are fleeting.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. I sit with my coffee, grateful for a new day, and a new opportunity to begin again. I watch the sun rise as the clock ticks on this mortal lifetime. My thoughts are my own, an idea I greatly enjoy.
… I notice the time… already a new moment… already a new beginning… What will I do with it?
Have you ever thought about how few people leave any sort of lasting mark on the world, or the lives of others in an individual mortal lifetime? Humanity’s impact on the planet, other life forms, and each other, generally, is pretty obvious (and pretty reliably negative, which is unfortunate), but as individual human beings, by far the vast majority of us will pass through these mortal lives almost unnoticed, and leave no lasting legacy of the life we lived. Maybe, if we’ve worked hard and been quite fortunate, we’ll leave something of value behind, in cash or assets, that our heirs may or may not appreciate in the way that we hoped. Most of us will live, die, and be forgotten.
… That’s a huge downer, isn’t it? My own experiences of “existential dread” most commonly center on this awareness that it’s quite likely I’ll be forgotten once I’m gone…
The closest thing we human beings have that approximates immortality is to have some sort of lasting legacy that endures beyond our limited, all too brief, human lifetime. The written works of writers, philosophers, historians, and storytellers of all sorts may survive thousands of years. The paintings, drawings, and sculptures of visual artists working in durable media may survive many lifetimes beyond the death of the artist who made them. More modern art forms have yet to prove themselves, but recorded music, and film, endures – as long as the means to view them survives. Architects design buildings and crews of builders, engineers, and tradespeople work to bring them into being – where these survive, a name may survive with them, but only one (or few) of many.
I fret about what my own legacy may be, when this brief mortal life ends. Will my art survive? Will it be known, even to some few, or lost over time due to lack of appeal or discarded as lacking value? Will my small but thoughtfully selected porcelain collection become treasured by someone else, or be sold piecemeal as part of clearing out the clutter I left behind? What about my books? My written work? The contents of my email? Will the things that were important to me have lasting importance for anyone else? Will I be remembered? If I am, what will I be remembered for? That seems like an important question, although considering the likelihood that I’ll simply be among the vast forgotten multitudes as soon as I’m gone, the seeming importance of the question may be an illusion.
A sunny summer day, an oak grove, a meadow.
I walked down the trail this morning thinking about legacy and mortality, and meaning and purpose, and wondering again “what we’re here for”. How long after I’m gone will my beloved say my name with longing and love, before his memory begins to fade? Once he’s gone, what then? Who will continue to “say my name” and cling to their memories of me?
I’m not thinking about these things in a sorrowful way, just contemplating what it takes to leave behind an enduring legacy of love and high regard? I am asking myself what I hope to be remembered for? I have come to understand that it isn’t enough simply to be remembered. Some pretty terrible human beings are remembered through history, and I have no interest in being one of those. It’s more complicated than simply being remembered, isn’t it? Hitler is remembered. Andrew Jackson is remembered. Jack the Ripper is remembered. Saddam Hussein is remembered. No doubt Trump will be remembered. These people are not remembered for anything good they did. Their legacy is of trauma and crime, and how terrible human beings can treat other human beings. Their names evoke cautionary admonishments and document terrible deeds. There are worthier things to be known for.
What do you want to be known for? Are you even doing the things that have that potential?
One hot air balloon drifting across a blue summer sky.
I walked and thought. Later I’ll have coffee with a friend, run a couple errands, get the oil changed in my car, and return home to my Traveling Partner’s love. None of that holds any particular potential to leave a lasting “legacy”. These are moments in one human life. Perhaps it is enough to simply live authentically, and to love well, and treat people with kindness and consideration?
I watch the leaves of trees quaking gently in the morning breeze, and enjoy the feeling of sunshine on my back. It’s a lovely morning, and perhaps the best possible choice is to embrace this moment, savor it, and live my life as it is? Maybe it isn’t for us to decide what our legacy could, or may, be at all? I suppose it is eventually in the hands (minds) of others, regardless what we may do to influence or guide that outcome. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I keep walking. I can wonder, but I can’t know – funny to recognize and acknowledge that with such ease. The question of “legacy” now seems potentially an obstacle. A bit of misdirection. Perhaps it is far more important simply to become the person I most want to be, living well, loving deeply, and present, here, now?
I sigh and smile. I hear the clock ticking. I keep on walking. Regardless whether I am remembered or forgotten, I am enjoying this life, and savoring the many little joys in it. Each moment is uniquely its own experience, whether anyone else remembers or not; I’m here, now, living these moments. It’s enough, isn’t it? I think about it awhile longer. Soon, I’ll begin again, grateful for the chance, and the moments.
I slept in, like, properly slept in, waking a couple hours later than I ordinarily would, feeling well rested, and ready for a new day. Being home feels good.
A familiar view from a favorite trail.
My legs ache. It’s just sore muscles, from recent days of more than usual walking. I mostly ignore it, and walk on. The blue skies of recent days have yielded to encroaching gray clouds gathering overhead. The air feels heavy with higher than typical humidity. I keep on walking, through oak groves and alongside meadows and vineyards. I pass by a creek, and lush dense weeds and wildflowers that grow along the banks, edged by trees. Farm workers in the vineyard eye me warily as I pass. I wave. They wave back. We have nothing to fear from each other. I continue walking.
It was an ordinary walk on an ordinary morning. I hope I have many such walks (and mornings) ahead of me. Gray skies or blue, the details matter less than my ability to walk on, and my freedom and opportunity to do so.
I sit quietly after my walk, on a convenient picnic table tucked among the oaks trees that line the beginning of this particular trail. It’s not remote or exotic, and lacks any sort of features that might attract crowds. It’s just a convenient local trail, well maintained, paved and mostly level, and even lit in some sections (which is nice for very early mornings before sunrise). It feels safe and familiar, and long enough to be satisfying (it’s about a mile and a half all the way around), but short enough to be quite manageable even when I’m having some difficulties. This trail is rarely crowded, which is a nice bonus.
My tinnitus is annoyingly loud in my ears. I do my best to focus on other things. I breathe, exhale, and relax. It is a pleasant morning and I am happy to be home. I remind myself to stop at the store on my way home, but can’t recall what I need to get. I chuckle to myself; I have an app for that. I probably rely on that too much.
I sigh contentedly, savoring this pleasant moment before I begin again. The clock is ticking on a new day. It’ll soon be time to begin again…
Where does this path lead? What will I see along the way?
Evening Light 