Archives for posts with tag: we are mortal creatures
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Missing a Friend

June 11, 2024 //
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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.

…It’s the last day of being 60…

…I guess I’ll begin again…

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Categories Allegories, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Practices, Relationships, Roses, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being, turning 60, women

Reflections

March 17, 2024 //
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I’m relaxing after my morning walk on a nearer more local trail. I slept in this morning, and slipped out of the house after daybreak, leaving my Traveling Partner to sleep awhile longer. I’ve got a plan to make waffles later, and for now these quiet moments of morning watching the sunrise become a new day are mine to enjoy alone.

A new day, a new beginning.

I am sitting on one of the picnic tables that sit along this stretch of the trail, watching small birds and reflecting on past and current commitments to myself, and my successes and failures over the years. I consider progress I’ve made over time, and how different “a good life” looks to me at 60, compared to 14, 23, 30, or 45… My thinking and my understanding of what I want in life has changed quite a lot over time. Certainly, at 14 I had no idea how much pure effort is involved in “living well”, let alone how I would come to define that after I had experienced some living.

I still find myself yearning for “easy”, far more than I ever yearn(ed) for recognition or fortune, and it amuses and humbles me to finally find myself having to acknowledge that, like a lot of life’s sweet treats, “ease” is best taken in moderation. The more of it I have, the more often I indulge, the more likely I may also find myself struggling later on to maintain my wellness or health in some other area of life. There’s a balance to be struck.

I sit feeling the effects of physical exertion. Feeling the rising sun on my face. Breathing the cool morning air. A small bird stops on the table, very near to me. I hold quite still to avoid startling her into flight. She looks me over and picks at unseen crumbs while I wonder how hard birds must work just to survive. I think I must have it relatively easy, by comparison. Useful perspective.

I’ve been working towards increasing the amount of effort I put in day-to-day, without exhausting myself or breaking down this fragile vessel. This isn’t new; I’ve “been here before”. I’m hoping to improve my fitness and my wellness, generally. I’d like to be around a good long time more… In spite of the chaos of the world, my own wee slice of suburban paradise is rather nice, and I enjoy life and love and time spent with my Traveling Partner and my friends. I’m not interested in “going out with a bang”, nor do I want to quietly fade away. I want most to live well, and live simply, and enjoy the life I live for all the days I can. Recent reminders that we are mortal creatures are less depressing than they are simply a reminder that the clock is always ticking.

… I wonder what the future holds, as I take off my hiking boots and put my sneakers back on. I think about the garden and wonder if I would do well to pick up a watering can for watering the seedlings in the veggie bed. These questions strangely seem to have similar significance and magnitude for me on this relaxed Sunday morning. I suppress a laugh and the little bird flies away.

… I remember that I’ve planned to drain and clean and refill the hot tub today and wonder if I actually will… Have I got it in me? Should I give myself a break and do it next weekend?

I take a breath and exhale with a sigh and a smile, and prepare to walk back to the car, wondering if I have everything I need to make waffles…? I know I have what I need to find satisfaction, joy, and contentment in my life. There are verbs involved…

… And it’s time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, gardening, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, inspiration, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being, turning 60, weight loss secrets

Pause

February 24, 2024 //
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I’m waiting for the sun. Waiting for the gate to the park to open. Waiting to get a walk in, before the many hours of driving ahead of me today. I have a headache, but I wouldn’t have missed the moment by choice; the luminous full moon hung over the marsh, lighting the mists that clung to the ground and the lakes. I sat on the hood of my car in the morning chill, listening to the peeping frogs somewhere in the grass, and smelling the scents of Spring approaching.

One beautiful quiet moment.

The gate opened, and I moved the car and got my boots on and got going. Walking with my thoughts is a practice I know soothes my heart and calms me. Yesterday’s tears become today’s resolve.

Later, I’ll head to the store and do things to ensure my Traveling Partner is comfortable while I am away and mostly able to see to his own needs for a couple days, then I’ll hit the road. It’s not a ridiculously long drive; a few hours, about the length of a work day. I’ll take breaks and put no pressure on myself to manage any particular timing. I’ll just drive, get there, and deal with the circumstances with as much grace and love as I am able to bring to it.

… Saying goodbye can be so painful…

I plan to return as I departed, patiently, with care, and cutting myself some slack on time and timing. I’ll get home and resume living life, and doing all the little things that are part of that experience. I’ll hold my partner tightly and make a point to show him how much I love him. Time is short and we are mortal creatures.

I am so grateful that I have my Traveling Partner to come home to. The thought anchors me and gives me a feeling of safety and wholeness.

Knowing that each ending is also a new beginning doesn’t make saying goodbye any easier. But… I’ll go. I’ll say goodbye. I’ll return home… Then I’ll begin again.

Each dawn a new day, each day a new beginning.

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Categories breathe, gratitude, grief, Love, meditation, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, women

Is This Good-Bye? So Soon?

February 23, 2024 //
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Is this good-bye, old friend? So soon? I’m not ready.

I’m sitting at my desk crying for no reason; it’s not time to mourn. Not yet. It just feels potentially imminent, and I’m not ready for you to go. How selfish of me, I know. I sit here in this sort of quiet space, listening to the city noises beyond these windows and I wonder what you see, and what you’re aware of, right now. I wonder if you are in pain, and if you’re “okay”… for some values of okay… and I wonder what fills your dreams as twilight comes.

…We are mortal creatures…

You’ve been one of my truest and dearest friends for so long… missing you will be hard. I know you are surrounded by family and people who love you. I know you are not alone. I sit here with my face wet with tears and wonder if there’s time enough yet to see you again, and say good-bye properly, and if I were to do so, whether you would know.

We’ve shared many things. Experiences. Words. Laughter. Moments. You’ve “been there” for me through so many experiences. You’ve been honest, and you’ve been kind. You’ve been a mother, a sister, a best friend, an ally, a teacher… quite a package. You’ve been angry with me. You’ve loved me. You’ve offered me all the wisdom you’ve had to share, and a few jokes, too.

Letting go will be hard. I’ve got decades worth of emails and letters exchanged over time, and I cherish your words… but my life will be diminished in some detectable way, when you have gone. I can’t help but feel it, already. I find myself wondering what was the last post, here, that you read… I don’t know that it matters, at all. I wonder which one meant the most to you, and perhaps that matters a little bit… but… what matters most is simply that you’ve been such a dear friend, for so long, through so much, and I will miss you terribly.

I still catch myself hoping you’ll feel better, make a good recovery, and we’ll perhaps laugh about it later…

…It just feels too soon to say good-bye.

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Categories breathe, grief, Love, Moments, pain, Relationships, women

Restless

February 22, 2024 //
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I’m having a restless sort of morning. I’ve stepped through the details of my morning routine, my commute, the start of my work day, and I feel… restless. Like there’s “something more” “out there”, or as if I am unsatisfied with life, generally. It’s an illusion, as much as it has any basis in reality. Emotional weather. I breathe, inhaling deeply, and exhaling slowly, feeling my subtle anxiety lurking in the background fall away ever so slowly with each breath. It’s a practice that works to reduce my anxiety, before it can get out of hand, but it does nothing much to change this strange feeling of restlessness.

…I could plan a camping trip… It’s a bit early in the year for (me to be) sleeping on the ground, but I enjoy the exercise of planning, and I don’t mind planning well in advance – in fact, some places I might wish to camp require quite a bit of long range planning (they’re just that popular, I suppose). On the other hand, I’m not feeling any sort of urgent need to be away from home (quite the contrary). This feeling of restlessness is inconveniently timed. I sip my coffee and think about it for some minutes – what am I “running from”? Something? Anything? Am I tussling with unaddressed urges? No doubt I’ve got my share of those…

The morning sky has clouds, and broad streaks of blue between those. The sunrise surprised me with it’s earliness, and was gone before I gave it much thought. It’s definitely morning, bathed in daylight diffused by the cloudy sky. Pretty. I gaze out the windows awhile, watching the streetcar make the trip around the block, from one stop to the next, heading the other direction. As early as it is, there are already people in the park below me, walking, sipping coffee, sitting on a bench. The water features are bland brown blocks of earth tones, not yet reflecting the sky above in any visible way from this distance (and angle of view). I wonder to myself when the Koi fish will be there, again, and where they go when they are not in the pond. I don’t care enough to look into it further, I’m just momentarily curious.

I breathe, exhale, and relax, taking stock of my pain and considering how best to manage it. I sip my coffee, and pull myself more upright, correcting my posture (again). I think about my Traveling Partner, his recovery, and how much I adore him. It’s hard being injured and being patient with the tediously long time recovery can sometimes take. Some injuries don’t heal quickly. I feel for him and kind of regret coming into the office, when I could be working from home where I could easily do things to care for him and make life easier. I sigh and shake my head when I realize I’d also very much like to just go back to bed and maybe nap awhile… Fucking hell? Really? The day has hardly begun…

…I hear a flurry of negative self-talk comments begin to develop in my thoughts, and put myself on pause; there’s literally nothing whatsoever wrong with wistful thoughts of sleeping in and napping, especially for a woman who struggles to get adequate healthy sleep! I laugh out loud in this quiet room and remind myself silently to “be nice” and treat myself with care and kindness – to do otherwise puts me at risk of losing sight of how I treat others. If I’m a dick to myself, how can I expect to treat others gently and with compassion? It’s something I’ve been working on a lot, lately.

Another sip of my almost-cold-now coffee, and my thoughts slide towards far away friends, and a dear friend struggling with mortality. Maybe that’s really the thing driving my restlessness, I realize; I miss far away friends, and I know I will regret not making time to see them (more often than I do). I find myself wondering if I should simply plan a trip to see my ill friend, and make a point of doing so while I can. It clearly matters enough to fuck with my head. I think that over quietly, and the restlessness begins to ease. Okay, so I got there, eventually. Now to do something about it, I suppose…

…I finish my coffee and get ready to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, Love, meditation, Mindfulness, Moments, pain, Perspective, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Spring, Summer, The Art of Being, winter, women
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