Weird morning. Routine, I guess, but my head is in a different place. This morning my tinnitus is crazy loud. My sleep felt interrupted, and my dreams were surreal. “Begin again,” I remind myself, but I feel a bit as if I’m standing on a narrow ledge in darkness.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
I sigh to myself as I walk. The darkness of the predawn sky is already beginning to lighten. Daybreak soon. I feel strangely separated from my experience, like I’m not quite connected to the moment. I breathe the summer air, inhaling deeply, tasting the scents of summer, exhaling until my lungs empty. I keep walking. I pull my attention back to “now”, this moment right here, again and again. A few steps later, I’m lost in my thoughts to no useful purpose all over again.
… Some people call it “ennui”, rather poetically. A therapist might call it “anhedonia”. A simpler soul might admit that they “just don’t really give a shit”, and move on from there. I don’t think it matters too much how I label the experience this morning. That’s even part of it. The vague sense that “nothing matters”, was the characteristic that alerted me of “where I’m at” most clearly. So, okay, now what…?
I stop at my halfway point to write and reflect and meditate. My head is stuffy this morning, and the feeling of being somewhat breathless probably contributes to the unsettling background anxiety. I reach for my tissues, deal with my sinuses, and return my attention to the moment. Meditation is hard this morning. I’m used to caring deeply about these details and this precious quiet time. This morning? I don’t much care one way or the other. I’m here. I exist. I seem to serve no clear purpose. I sigh again, a little frustrated with my bullshit.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. I repeat that again, and still again, and I sit quietly with my breath, letting that be enough. It doesn’t make me suddenly care about everything all over again, but it also doesn’t demand it of me. I let myself exist. I let that be enough. Another breath, another moment, and the clock keeps ticking.
I run my fingers through my hair. It feels soft. I watch the sky lighten slowly. I sit listening to my tinnitus, and feeling the physical sensations of being human. Sometimes the best I can do is just be, and to do so without creating problems for someone else. This moment will pass, and then I can more easily begin again.
Pretty morning. Quiet. I’ve got a manicure appointment later, and maybe I’ll spend time in the studio working on a new piece. My approach to painting is slower these days, contemplative and unhurried, and inspired by thoughtful slow consideration before turning my attention to the easel and beginning the work. This is a profound change from large abstractions executed quickly from a passing emotion. I have three unfinished canvases from my acrylic work that may never be completed; the feeling has passed, and I no longer understand the work from the original perspective. I’ve lost those moments. In each case, this is a good thing, for me, subjectively.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
Another sunrise, another day, another moment to begin from.
I arrived at the trailhead in darkness. I waited long enough to make out the trail without a headlamp; I need to replace my old one, which finally gave up on me while I was camping last month. I can’t complain; it was a cheaply made headlamp I didn’t pay much for, and it lasted for a decade (more?) with just one change of batteries. I won’t be walking in darkness for awhile though, until I replace my headlamp.
Alone but not alone.
Shared experiences are strange. They don’t all happen simultaneously. As I start down the trail I see that someone has placed a pair of child-sized sunglasses on a rock. No doubt lost by some child. A bit of human experience left behind by some human being who shares the experience of walking this trail with me, though we have never met. We each have our own experience of this trail, our own recollection of it, and our own understanding afterward of what it meant. Same trail. Different moments. Shared but different experiences. I think about that as I walk.
I enjoyed a quiet pleasant evening with my Traveling Partner yesterday. We shared the experience of our life together from different rooms doing different things for most of the day. No harsh words or hard feelings, we were simply doing our own things. We both had difficult nights, and the fatigue (and steps taken to address it) kept us both wary of missteps that could cause drama. We were gentle and careful with each other. I hope he felt as loved as I did when the day ended.
“Human” is messy and difficult sometimes. It is worth it to give people room to fuck up, fail, make it right, and grow from the experience.
… I wonder what color to get my nails done this time..?
I sit at the river’s edge, on the bank well above a wee bit of something beach-like that shows signs of being favored by fishermen, thinking my thoughts and watching the water flow past, still and glossy on the surface, reflecting the trees of the far bank. There’s a bit of mist visible, as the sun rises.
Summer morning perspective on a moment.
Minutes later, sunlight illuminates the treetops, changing shadowy greens to bright green and gold. Time passes without a clock, like the river flowing past below me. I sigh to myself, ignoring the awareness of the sense of a ticking clock. I have a better relationship with time than I did in my twenties. I can mostly ignore that fucking clock and just enjoy the moment as it is. I smile to myself and watch as a single yellow leaf falls slowly from somewhere above.
…Time still passes, whether I watch or not…
I smile to myself a little wistfully, fragments of memories tap at my consciousness wanting my attention, but I’m not interested in swimming in those nostalgic waters this morning, choosing instead to leave the surface of my consciousness untouched, calm, instead.
A new dawn, a new day, a new moment; where does this path lead?
I breathe, exhale, and relax. Plenty of time for meditation. I’ve got the day ahead of me. I hope my beloved got the rest he needed and enjoyed a gentle night. I breathe the summer air deeply. I consider the day and the path ahead. “Choose wisely,” I remind myself.
The morning mist caught me by surprise. No reason it should, I suppose; the temperature warmed in the wee hours after several cool Spring days, and today is expected to be hot (27C/80F). Tomorrow is forecast to be even hotter, and there is an extreme heat advisory.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
The sunrise began with a ferocious heat-threatening diffuse orange. Pretty, although I’m not looking forward to the heat or increased wildfire risk. I remind myself to drink plenty of water.
Beautiful sunrise, hot day ahead.
The mist clings to the low places, gathering in near the rivers and creeks mostly. It envelopes me as the trail turns to wrap around the vineyard, leading me down closer to the creek that runs adjacent to the trail. As I walk I wonder if maybe I should have worn a fleece or my cardigan? It’s not hot yet. 😆 I’m chilly, in spite of walking.
I get to my halfway point and stop to write and reflect. It is Thursday. (Already?) Tomorrow is my birthday, 63. (Already?) I’m taking a few days off, an entire week. My Traveling Partner is in the middle of an important work project. He encouraged me to consider fucking off for a couple days, and I make plans for a couple nights on the coast. It’s nice to have that kind of freedom. I feel very loved. So far this is an extraordinary birthday celebration. Yesterday he gave me another book – and I’m thoroughly delighted – Barbara Walters “How to Talk With Practically Anybody About Practically Anything”, which I’ve wanted for a long time. It was a surprise that it is also a first edition in excellent condition.
There is so much more to find within the pages of a book than mere words on pages.
… I’ve got a lovely stack of books to read…
…63?
I don’t “feel my age”. I’m not sure I gave much thought to what being 63 would feel like, though. I feel more or less as I’ve always felt. The feeling of age or aging only hits me when I notice my capacity for manual labor is less than in my twenties, or I happen to take a longer look at my hands. “Aches and pains” don’t signal age for me; I’ve lived with serious chronic pain since my twenties. There’s some gray in my hair. Arthritis that was limited to my damaged spine for a lot of years turns up in my joints now, too. But, generally speaking, 63 feels like any other year. I will probably enjoy it every bit as much as I’ve enjoyed 62. 😆 The clock is ticking, but mostly I don’t notice.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. Pretty morning for meditation. The morning sun lights the trees along the trail. The mist begins to thin and fade away. There’s a whole new day ahead, then my birthday.
I happily contemplate a couple days on the coast as the weekend wanes… I’ll set off early, after I water the lawn in the morning. I’ll pack light, maybe bring my pastels, and load the car the night before. I’ll be gone just as the sun rises, probably, and I know my Traveling Partner will miss me – that’s part of the point. Having that chance to miss each other prevents us taking each other for granted, over time. I anticipate the joy of walking miles of beach in the cool morning breeze, and enjoying an iced coffee at some choice spot to sit and listen to the waves caress the shore, and the gulls calling to each other overhead. There’s a fantastic bagel shop near a beach I like, and I look forward to a fantastic bagel on the beach. It’s the kind of small delight that I savor. They add up to an immense quantity of joy, over time.
I smile contentedly. The best part about a couple days of solitary time away is returning home to a cozy life filled with love. I’ll never be wealthy but I feel rich; I have love.
I take a deep breath of the cool morning air and taste the scent of flowers. Summer is coming. I look down the trail amazed by how far this journey has taken me. 16 years ago I could not imagine being actually happy, like, at all, ever. I figured settling for surviving my life would be the best I could do. I’m grateful to have given myself a chance to continue on. I would not trade this life as it is for any other. My first real glimpses of happiness left me more confused than appreciative; I was ignorant of real lasting love, and certainly had no skill at being happy when happy moments turned up. It took practice just to accept the possibility of happiness. There was still so much chaos and damage to sort out. So much to learn about love and loving. There’s still more to learn even now. I’m okay with that. The journey is the destination and I’m traveling in very good company.
I glance at the time and the clear blue sky. It’s time to walk on. It’s time to begin again.
This morning I’m sitting alongside the trail, feeling the hint of a breeze tickle my face. It is a vaguely unpleasant sensation, and I brush my hair back from my face, irritated by the sensation. It passes. I watch the strange sunrise. A dense faraway bank of clouds along the eastern horizon obscures the view, no sign of Mt Hood, and a strangely uninteresting dawn unfolds as I watch. It’s not colorless, but it’s also not worth photographing. The moment itself is very much worth living.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
My birthday is coming up. I think about that for some little while. What do I even want? 63 this year… not exactly a milestone birthday. I chuckle grimly to myself; I’m no actuary, but even accounting for good fortune, modern medicine, and family history, it is a fair bet I’ve only got (at best) another 47-50 years left, regardless how I carefully I live them. The recognition that however one might approach the math, I’ve lived longer now than the time I have left feels a little heavy. That ticking clock ticks on.
What does an oak see in a lifetime?
I sigh as I sit with my thoughts. The slow steady exhalation feels pretty good, like letting go of a heavy weight – was I holding my breath (or just not breathing)? I take another deep deep breath and blow it out slowly. How is it that the simple act of breathing can feel so good? I breathe, exhale, and relax, and adjust my seated posture for better comfort. This is a good spot for meditation.
I am pulled from my reverie by farm workers driving through the vineyard, calling instructions or greetings to the workers making their way down the carefully planted rows.
…Beautiful sunny morning…
It’s almost June. My Traveling Partner has more or less redecorated and rearranged the entire house since the Anxious Adventurer returned to Ohio to live a life he understands from a computer chair, through a screen. Me? I’m still trying to finish unpacking into my studio and still haven’t finished returning things to book shelves that had gone into storage. I don’t see it as laziness or lack of commitment, there are simply a lot of things competing for my time and attention, and I kill forty hours every week working for someone else. Pretty ordinary, and I’ve only got so much energy to work at all (like anyone else). My results vary. 😆
…63…
Weird sort of birthday. I wonder what I actually want? I sit with that thought. Cheesecake would be nice. Maybe brunch out together, with my Traveling Partner? Books. I love holding a new book in my hands that I have not read. I still read. Maybe a really nice bottle of sherry, something sweet, that tastes of raisins and aged oak? I smile at my foolishness. I drink so seldom and so little that a bottle of sherry is a delight for a year or longer. It is more enticing as an idea than in practice. Books make more sense from a purely practical perspective.
Generally speaking, I have what I need in life. I let my mind roam my mental map of the house. Anything missing? Not really. I’m fairly content and satisfied with my life most of the time. I haven’t got much to complain about or yearn for. Nothing obvious lacking. Granted, I’m pretty easily pleased, and satisfied with sufficiency… but one might expect I’d have at least some idea of something more I might want.
… Cheesecake and books to read? That’s all I can come up with? 😂 Maybe a watch? I like a nice timepiece with an automatic movement…
Time. I want more time. Not exactly a practical item for a wishlist.
… That ticking clock vexes me. There is still so much to see and do in this life, and so many more miles to cover on paths I haven’t yet walked. I’m certainly not bored with it.
I watch the sun rise, and get ready to begin again.
I’m sitting at a favorite spot on the coast. Beautiful coastal forest, nicely private cove with a beautiful beach and a rock formation with great tide pools. I’m not on the beach; too crowded. One end is crowded with loud families doing beach-y family things. At the other end, some gathering of a … tribe?.. of fundamentalist looking folks of one variety or another, the women inappropriately dressed in heavy ill-fitting sack dresses and bonnets, thick stockings and uncomfortable looking very plain shoes.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
The two groups don’t mingle. In between there is almost some sort of understood zone of bare beach, by way of which a random neutral party could make their way from the parking lot to the water’s edge. I got close enough to see the arrangement. I’m not here to feel crowded or scrutinized. I go back to the car and park in a shady spot well away from anyone else.
I grab my coffee and my power bank, and sketch book. Turns out I don’t feel like sketching. I sip my coffee listening to the birds and savoring the breeze. It smells of ocean and forest flowers. It’s quiet here. I like that about this place. Every passing stranger feels like an encroachment on my consciousness and I’m eager to check into my room. Check-in time is not until 16:00. I’d hoped for an early check-in, but the hotel let me know that would not be available today, after all.
Well, shit. Today has been like that, generally. Plans? Let me welcome you to reality. I’m not bitching, I’m just being reminded that plans or no plans, without any consideration for expectations, wishes, or hoped-for outcomes, reality is what it is.
Lovely day on the coast feeling loved and grounded? Nope. Not this morning.
Pleasant brunch at a favorite breakfast bistro? Sure, if I’m okay with being elbow-to-elbow with other customers. Popular morning for brunch, I guess.
Soul-healing walks on favorite beaches wrapped in solitude? Um… not exactly. It’s a beautiful day; the beaches are crowded.
… I also don’t feel like dealing with my bullshit, and apparently I brought that with me…
Early check-in and feasting my eyes on the gorgeous ocean views at a hotel I’ve long wanted to try… Well, I’ve got the room reserved, but no early check-in. I won’t know what the room itself is like until later. (If I had come expecting to paint I’d have been disappointed.)
I had hoped to do a bit of shopping, but retail spaces are also crowded and my mind recoils from the contact. I really just want to be quite alone for a little while. I don’t find what I’m looking for.
…My fucking left foot is already hurting (plantar fasciitis)…
I sigh to myself and sip my coffee. It’s cold now. I don’t really care. It’s fine. I’ve now gone from Road’s End to Fogarty Creek, and two things are demonstrably true; everywhere I stop there are other people, and everywhere I go, I’ve still got to deal with the woman in the mirror.
Reality does not care about my plans, my needs, nor my beliefs. It’s just real. A smile breaks through; I’m okay for most values of okay. I’m finding enough solitude to recognize patterns in my thinking, and to process shit that has been on my mind, and to meditate and reflect without interruptions, even from my own wandering primate mind. A chance to unpack some baggage maybe, or find a clearer sense of direction in life. I breathe, exhale, and relax. Enough has to be enough, at some point.
I think about my Traveling Partner and let myself wonder frankly and without evasion whether our paths have begun to diverge, has paths often do. I think that would break my heart. I would probably bounce back, eventually, but I doubt i would ever be quite the same. This relationship has changed me so much. It has become a defining part of who I have become over time and has influenced what I choose to practice and how I see the world. I’m suddenly aware of my back pain, amplified by the moment of sorrowful contemplation.
I love this man too much to let this partnership just fall apart. Funny thing, on the subject of reality, this partnership – this love – sometimes doesn’t “feel real”, even after 16 years. I don’t mean that it feels somehow insincere or performative, I mean that it is often like a fairytale, at least from my perspective. We have to work at it, we’re human beings after all, but so often I feel as if I am living a romantic story. It’s beautiful. I reliably feel like a jerk when I break that spell.
I’m human, too.
I move the car to a different beach. There are still “a lot of people” here, but this beach stretches seven walkable miles when the tide is out, and people in small family groups tend to spread out.
My idea of “a lot of people” has my own desire for solitude as it’s comparison. This may not be accurate for most values of “a lot of people”.
I watch the waves crest as they near the shore and listen to the sound of seagulls mingling with the sound of children laughing. I make a lot of choices that influence my experience (and thus my subjective experience of reality), and I have a lot of control over how I react to, and interact with, that experience. Can I do better? Yes! I keep practicing. I still fall short of my expectations of myself, sometimes. I learn from it and keep going. That’s enough.
My heart fills with love for my Traveling Partner. Living with my chaos and my human foibles and failures has to be hard. I hope it is worth it to him, the way I find loving him as he is worth it to me. We’ve grown a lot together over the years. I still choose him.
I sigh to myself and look at the time. It’s a little while until check-in. I pull my sunscreen out of my purse – seems smart today – I’ve got time for a walk on the beach before I begin again.
Evening Light 