Archives for posts with tag: what are you practicing?

Well, here we are, another morning, another moment, another chance to begin again and to do better than we did yesterday. A little at a time, our actions and experiences, and the things we choose to practice, will change us. Choose wisely. 😁

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

Today feels better than yesterday, although neither experience of a lovely morning offers me real insight to the difference. This morning I feel calm, kind, and unbothered. Yesterday I was cross with myself and the world and didn’t really have any more reason for that than I have for feeling quite differently now. I say that as an observation that our subjective emotional experiences are sometimes not directly connected to some obvious cause – they simply are what they are in that moment.

…Sometimes what we do about how we feel is more important than the feeling itself…

I slept pretty well, and woke a little startled when my lights flashed on before slowly brightening. I woke seriously groggy and had to slow down and make a careful point of going down my morning checklist to avoid making some small mistake that might wake my Traveling Partner or mess with his morning when he wakes a bit later. I appreciate a good routine, settled, reliable, predictable. This one isn’t that, yet. It needs more practice.

The sunrise from the trailhead already hints at autumn. It comes later, and the colors are a bit different. I consider whether or not to get another camping trip in, maybe after Labor Day? (Less crowded, fewer kids.) I don’t know if I really want to, or if I’m toying with the idea instead of something else. Life’s menu is pretty big, and there is a lot I’d like to do or try or see.

… My mind wanders on…

This year is already half over. Seems strange that it has gone by so fast. Subjectively, in this moment, I feel as if I have “achieved nothing”, which would be a huge bummer if it were objectively true. Oh for sure, I haven’t cured a major disease, changed the trajectory of world events, or solved homelessness in my community, those achievements were never within my reach as an individual. Not my path.

I’ve been painting, working, and supporting my Traveling Partner’s return to working, too. I’ve walked a few miles (about 600 or so, I estimate). I’ve started and finished some projects. I’ve started and failed to finish a few projects, too. I enjoyed one celebratory evening out with my beloved that is still lingering in my memory fondly. I tried out drone flying as a hobby. I got an RC car and happily drive it (it suits me better than flight). I don’t know, none of that seems odd or particularly noteworthy, just snapshots from one human life. Still, isn’t it enough for most of us to live and love and hope to learn to do those things with some measure of skill, over time? Doesn’t that amount to an achievement on its own?

…I feel fortunate…

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I’m grateful for the job I’ve got that supports the life I share with my partner. I’m grateful to be able to say I was able to provide caregiving to my beloved that helped see him through a major injury and recovery, to see him working in his shop once again. (Now that’s an achievement!) I’m grateful for our little house in a small town situated between suburbs and farm fields. I’m grateful for this well-maintained trail available to me each morning and for the sunrise I am lucky enough to see. Maybe it is all quite ordinary, it’s the experience I live, and I feel fortunate for the highs, and I try to learn something from the lows. It’s a very human experience. It’s enough.

I smile and breathe the summer morning air deeply. It smells nicely of mown grass and meadow flowers. The air is clear and still. The temperature is mild. It’s a nice pause before I begin a new day – again.

Walking with my thoughts at daybreak. I have a Benjamin Tod song stuck in my head. The refrain is direct and deeply meaningful for me.

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

Life is defined by decisions
You may burn bridges you ain’t got time to mend
You’re too old to be in this condition
You’re too young for the lord to take in

Real. Life is defined by our decisions, or at least shaped by them significantly. We are shaped by circumstances. Shaped by trauma. Shaped by our decisions. When I give it too much thought I begin to feel the mighty fist of fate squeezing and molding me with as little regard for me individually as a toddler with Play-Doh. Here I am.

Yesterday was “defined by” decisions, for sure. A lot of words come to mind, but I still have a lot to consider and process and put into future decisions. Verbs.

My beloved reads my writing (almost every day). One of the most delightful things about my Traveling Partner reading my writing is that I feel very “seen” – visible. Understood. When I make some point very well, he takes a moment to let me know and sometimes shares my writing. It’s something I appreciate.

One of the most uncomfortable things about my Traveling Partner reading my writing is that I am very visible; he sees where I am falling short on good self-care, and when I let some critical practice fall by the wayside. He points out hypocrisy. He calls me on my bullshit. When I’m struggling with something I’ve dealt with before, he observes the pattern and redirects my attention to some previous bit of writing with which I can support myself and get back on track. This too I appreciate – but it is uncomfortable as hell. I’m grateful. We don’t grow from comfortable experiences.

…If I were a better person, perhaps I would find a more gracious approach to accepting his support. I sigh to myself. I can be a resentful defensive asshole about feedback sometimes. I can do better. I’ll practice…

Our conversations yesterday were powerful, raw, deeply meaningful, heartfelt, frank, and vulnerable. I’m not going to call it a good time – but it was needed and I feel more deeply connected with my partner as a result. That’s good stuff. The discomfort doesn’t last. The feeling of connection can, if I feed it some verbs.

The sun lights the treetops, looking a bit like autumn.

The morning is cloudy. It feels like it may actually rain. After I finish my walk, it’s another day of laundry, and chores and housekeeping. My pain feels pretty well managed. I’ll work on keeping it that way.

… Life is defined by decisions…

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I’m still more questions than answers. Still a student of life, practicing practices, doing my best, and taking this journey without a map one step at a time. Incremental change over time really does add up, but it is a slow process, and we definitely can’t expect the promise of future progress to satisfy every circumstance. It is what it is (which is to say slow and uncomfortable, but worth the effort).

I smile thinking about enjoying a cup of coffee with my beloved before I set off for my walk this morning. Vulnerable is hard. Connected is supremely beautiful. These experiences are related; connection requires vulnerability. I am good at neither of these. I sigh to myself at the admission. Okay, now that I’ve said it, where does that leave me? Standing on the edge a beginning, I guess.

Summer meadow flowers

I sit watching a new day begin. It’s time isn’t it? We create a lot of our experience. Our lives are defined by our decisions. Choose wisely. Do the verbs. The clock is ticking. Fuck it all up? Well, shit, learn something and begin again. Learn what matters most. Decide who you most want to be. Do those verbs. Didn’t work out? Do something different. Incremental change over time will continue to shape and define you. It’s a process.

I sit awhile longer reflecting on the progress I’ve seen my partner make in the lifetime we’ve spent together. He’s certainly playing the game on advanced settings. We’ve traveled a long and difficult journey together. It is an adventure I hope to continue all of my mortal days (and whatever may be beyond them).

It’s time to begin. Again.

I woke early, in spite of wanting to sleep in. I got up, dressed, and left the house. Filled my gas tank. Got coffee on my way up the highway to the nature park to walk the marsh trail, more meadow than marsh at this point in the summer.

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

Scene from a summer walk, we choose what we pay attention to. Mostly.

I sigh to myself as I walk. My left ankle has decided for me that this spot, right here, is “halfway”. It isn’t. Not at all, but it is definitely where I am stopping!

There is a convenient viewpoint with a bench only a little further. I take the next few steps slowly and carefully, grateful for my sturdy trekking pole that is my outdoor cane. I sit down, grateful, relieved, and content to be here in this place. I have the trail to myself – or did when I got started (first to arrive, pulling in just as the gate opened with a screech). It is quiet and cloudy. Looks and feels like maybe rain later… the forecast disagrees. Another heatwave soon. I am reminded to add a “hose” to my shopping list to replace a section that split and began to leak just a couple days ago.

The meadow grasses are dry and brown, with the white flowers of wild carrot or maybe Queen Anne’s Lace seeming to float above the waves of brown. The yellow clusters of wild St John’s Wort here and there add a bit of color. The wild roses are mostly done blooming, but don’t yet have hips. The lupines are long gone, even the seed pods have split and spilled their seeds, and withered. I breathe the scent of the summer meadow, exhale, and relax.

… It’s a good thing I’m not in any hurry today, the walk back will be a slow one…

I think about the day ahead. There’s housework to be done. I can probably fill the day with it. I feel myself shrug, an involuntary gesture of acceptance. I guess I’m okay with it. I’ll put on a playlist and dance through the chores until my body just can’t do more, and maybe get caught up a bit.

My mind wanders to RC cars, N scale railroad, Barbie dolls, and painting cast figurines… “hobbies”, past, present, and considered once or often. The clock is ticking. How do I pass my time, find joy, and indulge in play as an adult? A healthy life isn’t built on chores, wage earning, and sleep – there’s more to it. Isn’t there? I have choices and options.

…We shape our experience with our choices…

I breathe, exhale, and relax, and think about the way I have shaped my life, and what shape it might take if I choose differently. Small changes add up. It’s a lot to stay on top of, seeking to make willful changes… Verbs. Choices. Repetition. Reminders. Self-reflection. Incremental change over time, moment by moment, experience by experience, action by action. We become what we practice. (This is serious and powerful, because it is true both of what we want to become, and also of what we loathe, but persist in practicing.)

I’ll finish my walk. Do some grocery shopping, and head home to shape the life I want to live through the use of some well chosen verbs (meaning to say, doing some housework). Where the path may lead me from there, I don’t know. It is the path I choose, but I’ve still got to walk it. I have to begin again.

I woke early, with my alarm. I dressed quickly and quietly, and watered the lawn before heading for the trail. I arrived just at daybreak – ostensibly when this park opens – and as I drove into the park to the trailhead, I passed one, then another parked car. Imagine my surprise (and, frankly, my irritation) to see random cars parked willy-nilly on the narrow access road. These were no early morning hikers, either, these were over night visitors or people parked out of view, sleeping in their cars.

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

I sigh crossly, grateful I don’t speed down this road in the twilight of dawn. I easily could have hit one of them, parked well into the road (there being no parking at all along the access road and no pullouts).

I get to the trailhead parking. Another overnighter parked in just the stupidest fashion in a spot very much outside the actual parking and blocking the path down to a lovely river view. I swear to myself, thoroughly vexed by this bullshit. I start down the path, stepping around the truck quietly, and find myself startled by the guard dog chained beneath the truck, who lunges at me barking furiously. Well fuck that shit. I turn back even more annoyed, but not wishing to risk a dog bite.

…G’damn, fuck rude people abusing park spaces with their entitled bullshit…

I turn down a different path as I wonder “who even does this shit?!”, but I don’t really want to know – I just want my peaceful morning walk. Disappointing start. I inhale the fragrant summer air as I walk down the path into the meadow. It had been dense clover, blooming with sweet smelling purple flowers only a couple weeks ago. It has been mown since then. The tidy arrangement of rows makes me wonder what sort of farm equipment was used for the purpose. The view isn’t as lovely as when the meadow is lush and blooming. An altogether disappointing start to the day.

I get to my halfway point on this loop trail.  The rock I generally sit on has a fat pile of dog shit dropped right next to it. Gross. “Fucking hell, people, clean up after your g’damned dogs”, I mutter crossly as I walk on. I have the recollection of a convenient rock or log somewhere along here… Now my walk becomes a vigilant search for somewhere to sit, instead of a peaceful, mindful, meditative progression of steps on a path. 

…I feel my awareness of my own disappointment begin to evolve into seething irritation, almost anger, that sits at the edge of becoming a feeling of entitlement…

I sigh and stop. I just stop on the trail and stand for a moment, listening to the birds chirping, peeping, and singing. I lean against a large-ish maple of some kind, resting my feet. My back aches already, today. My tinnitus whines loudly in my ears, and I focus on the birds singing to assure myself that the tinnitus isn’t “real” and hasn’t actually deafened me. I breathe, exhale, and relax.

… It’s a beautiful moment, in a lovely spot along a wooded trail, on a cloudy summer morning. It’s worth redirecting my attention to here, now…

I let my irritation and disappointment dissipate. I watch robins foraging in the leaf litter at the edge of the trail. It’s a beautiful quiet morning. I hear Spring Valley Creek trickling past nearby, unseen beyond the thicket of shrubs and berry vines. Young chipmunks chase each other through the trees. The leaves of the trees shake and rustle in the breeze. The clouds hint at rain that may not come and I find myself wondering why I am in so much pain this morning? I have no enthusiasm for the work I committed to helping my beloved Traveling Partner with, today, but maybe I’ll feel more like it later. I don’t dwell on it, or on my pain.

I walk on down the path, and find myself in a pleasant glade near a bend in the path. There is an old picnic table tucked back away from the trail, in a regrettable state of disrepair, but adequate as a place to sit that isn’t on the ground (harder to get back up at 63 than it would have been at 30).  I sit awhile. I write. I meditate. I wait on a moment that hasn’t yet arrived. I breathe, exhale, and relax. It’s so easy to take shit personally that isn’t personal at all. Reality isn’t going to bother with correcting our mistakes for us, it will simply punish us when we’re incorrect. I sigh to myself and remind myself to do something about my pain when I get back to the car.

I don’t bother with the news today. Why would I? Ads. AI slop. Sponsored content. Cookies. Paywalls. Slanted opinions instead of clean emotionally neutral factual reporting, or honest authentic and explicitly stated personal biases revealed openly. All of it on repeat, and supplemented by copies of copies of copies shared across media groups and individuals. Completely pointless, and all of it seriously joy destroying crap targeted at getting all of us to pay someone for something. Bleh. No thanks. I sigh, feeling a little impatient even having the thought, and pull my attention back to “now”.

“View of the Willamette River” “7 x “9.5”, soft pastel on Pastelmat

It’s not reliably easy to find, make, or preserve our peace or our joy. There are verbs involved, and a willingness to persist. I’ve been finding it helpful to spend more time in my studio, painting. I smile to myself; the view I missed this morning is the view I painted from memory last night. I find some little bit of comfort, joy, and peace in that idea.

I take a deep breath of the cool summer air, smelling the scent of recently mown clover mingling with the scent of wildflowers. A bird of prey somewhere nearby screams about whatever is on their mind. The chipmunks all vanish. This moment may not be “perfect” (what ever is?), but it is mine, and it is enough. I think about the day ahead and wonder if my partner is also in more than usual pain this morning?

… Sometimes the best I can do is to keep walking, putting one foot after the other, until I get somewhere. Each day offers a new beginning, and each moment is a new chance at peace and joy. What will I do with it (besides “my best”)? The clock is ticking – today I feel it more. The clouds overhead are definitely threatening rain now – I guess it’s a good time to begin again.

I have a splitting headache and my sleep was interrupted. I’m tired and cross, and feeling very much that I’d like to be left alone. I’m grateful for these few moments of solitude in the morning.

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

I’m sitting at the edge of this trail wondering. I take a welcome sip of the coffee I carried down the trail with me. The morning feels chilly. It’s probably me, not the weather. The coffee is warm in my mouth and down my throat. I’m grateful for the moment of self-consideration that directed my groggy decision making this morning. Coffee sooner was a good choice this morning.

Tears fill my eyes and threaten to spill over. I brush them away angrily. “I don’t have time for this weak ass shit this morning,” I snarl to myself softly, “and fuck this headache, too.” My tinnitus is loud in my ears. I didn’t get enough restful sleep (haven’t for days) and my thought processes are slowed way down. My pain is poorly managed. I’m feeling very human and very fragile. My eyes sting from tears that finally begin to fall. Too much? Not enough? I feel broken and out of alignment. Out of step. Faltering on a path that has seemed certain and clear on other days.

… Moments pass…

I’m finding little reassurance in aphorisms and platitudes this morning. This morning I am uncomfortable with uncertainty and impermanence, and I feel myself clinging. Wanting certainty so much. Yeah… good luck with that shit. I take a deep breath in, and as I exhale I find myself weeping. Just fucking crying by the side of this trail, sitting in the summer sunshine on some random Thursday morning. Wondering.

…Is the sky still blue…?

I begin again. Breathe, exhale, relax. I shift gears. Meditation. Failure. Breathe. Repeat. The morning is not off to an ideal beginning. I’m struggling with my demons, and although for the moment I’ve got some sort of tearful stalemate, I still feel pretty shitty. My pain meds begin to kick in. So does the coffee. Eventually, I’ll “mask up” – put my work face on – and begin the work day. I don’t know, maybe the utterly disappointing ordinariness of it all will anchor me to here, now, and I’ll feel less hopeless.

… The clock is ticking…

The sunshine in the oak trees is beautiful. The air smells sweet. Songbirds sing merry songs. The tidy vineyard rows are a playground for so many little birds. I watch them flitting about, and try to identify as many as I recognize, but don’t put much effort into it. I am distracted and preoccupied. I keep letting this shit go. I breathe, exhale, and relax… and find myself back in the mire again and again.

I sigh out loud, frustrated with myself and the shitty start to the day. (And also? Fuck this headache.) I watch the dawn become day. Sooner or later, I’ve got to begin again… only I don’t know where this path leads, and I lack enthusiasm for walking it.

…

…

… This too will pass. Everything does. Change is.