I woke up quite early, ahead of my alarm. My Traveling Partner was already awake (woke me inadvertently), and in pain. We hung out for a little while before I left for work and for my morning walk. I almost left without my laptop, and did entirely overlook grabbing a fleece, sweater, or hoodie. Did I mention it’s chilly this morning?
I hate seeing my partner in pain. He hates being in the pain he’s in, and even more than that, he hates the limits pain places on his activities and cognitive abilities. There’s so little either of us can do about it. We wait together for his surgery, angry about a medical system that places so many limitations on doctors and patients and the medical care available to people in need. It’s inhumane and ineffective, inefficient and frankly terrible. We endure. Surgery soon, then the painful and annoying recovery journey can begin.
…We travel together…
Sometimes shit is hard. Sometimes less so. Life is complicated. I feel fortunate to have my Traveling Partner on life’s messy and painful journey. We’re in this together.
The morning chill caught me by surprise and I hustled down the path briskly to warm myself. There’s a mist clinging to the low places along the marsh. I walk on with my thoughts.
Misty morning.
This mortal life has limitations imposed by circumstances and events or enterprises beyond our individual control. We often place additional, unnecessary, limits on what we do, don’t do, can or can’t do, or have, or be, or experience. It’s a bit strange, isn’t it? I walk thinking about self-imposed limits. I remember a much younger me, talking myself out of trying pastels, when I was first “developing my voice” as an artist. Why? I judged myself (in advance of practical experience) to be “too messy” for pastels. I never gave them a chance, in spite of being fascinated by the luminous purity of the pigments. Life would later place other limits on my artistic endeavors, but truly? I got there first with my own. (Why?! Dunno. It’s very human, I suppose.)
I walked along thinking about the journey that life has taken me on. The journey I share with my partner. The limitations of the paths we’re on, individually and together. Sometimes it’s not at all clear where the path leads, or why we face the limits we do.
… Next weekend, some solo time on the coast, with my pastels, my tinnitus, and my thoughts. I don’t know what will come of it, and I find myself wondering if I am being a dick to go, with my Traveling Partner suffering as he is. The Anxious Adventurer will be home, and providing caregiving… But is that even reasonable to ask, really? I’m suddenly overcome with self doubt, even though I know how much I need the downtime.
… It’s an endurance race, not a sprint…
… Self-care really matters…
… I turn back up the trail to head to the car. It’s time to begin again, again… already…
Sometimes change is hard. Sometimes change arrives rather quickly, and instead of evolving gradually over time, it pulls up out front in a moving van and unpacks over a weekend. 😂
…We managed to get most of the necessary move-in basics handled and the truck returned on time…
Getting the Anxious Adventurer moved in was the priority for the weekend, other than caring for my Traveling Partner, who was effective and handy, supporting various tasks with thoughtful guidance. The whole chaotic endeavor was considerably improved by how we each embraced the circumstances (no doubt each for our own reasons). We’re all in it together and it was obvious.
I’m definitely feeling the strain of the aggressive pace of the weekend’s activity in sore muscles and lingering fatigue. “A new normal” begins with this quiet, pleasant Monday morning. I’ll work from home with much more freedom to focus on work with my Traveling Partner’s son now available to help out, too. Hell, I might have enough left in me at the end of the day to cook a proper meal! There’s more to do, but now it can be handled within the context of the day-to-day living of life, which feels pretty good. I even got to spend some time reading last night!
There’s more to do. The work of adjusting to the changes required is not yet completed. There are boxes to go into storage. Things to change or “fix” about how the household is set up, to be better suited to three people, where there had been only two, before. The living room, though, is no longer filled with the contents of a moving van, and no one is sleeping on the floor. Progress. Today will be my first day working from my completely rearranged office-studio-creative space, which still needs a bit more fine-tuning. I chuckle to myself, still amused and astonished that I managed to move a full-sized couch into such a small room (with the help of the Anxious Adventurer and the guidance of my Traveling Partner giving instructions from down the hall). Funnier still, it manages to be more “cozy” than crowded. It will force me to be quite mindful of the space and keep it very neat, though; there is no room to tolerate clutter. Not one spare square inch of space is left for being careless or messy.
I while away a few minutes thinking about change and wondering when my Traveling Partner’s surgery will be? Scheduling that should happen today. Once we’ve got the date settled, I’ll also schedule some away-time for myself, for a date maybe a couple weeks after the surgery. Damn, it’s good to have the help of the Anxious Adventurer! I feel incredibly grateful and very fortunate. I finally have the emotional “room” to breathe and reflect and consider and exist outside the constraints of holding myself constantly at the ready to handle any/every task, every moment, all of every day… That was a lot of pressure, but I didn’t know how else to handle things.
… I’m so tired…
It’s a new day. A new opportunity to begin again. There’s more to do (nearly always is), but life has “less weight to it” somehow and I feel pretty good, generally. I woke at my usual early time, and I’ve had the trail to myself this morning. I watched the sun rise as I walked, and these quiet minutes to write and reflect don’t feel snatched from the limited time available for everything else that needs doing. It’s nice.
I don’t yet know what the new normal looks like, but I’m on this path and I’ll know soon enough. I stretch and yawn and smile. It’s time to begin again.
Great beginnings don’t always lead to great journeys. Today is hard. I’m struggling with my own bullshit, and juggling work and caring for my partner with that. It’s a mess. I’m in pain. I’m cross. I’m feeling “crowded” and vexed and inconvenienced by having to be a fucking adult at all – and I don’t feel like I’m very good at it in the first place.
…Breathe…
I know not to take this shit personally; it’s just “emotional weather”. For most values of “okay”, I’m okay – and for all the most important ones this is true. I’ve got a good job. A roof over my head. A nice little home that feels safe and secure. Potable drinking water. Electricity. Internet connectivity. A well-stocked pantry. A partner who loves me (even when he’s out of sorts, in pain, and struggling, himself). It’s still a beautiful Spring day. The only thing in the way of me enjoying this moment as any other lovely moment? Me. My lack of resilience. My pain. My “issues”.
…I can choose differently…
I made a nice cup of tea. Made sure the bills were paid. I’ve got a manageable list of a couple things to get done this weekend. Really all that I need to do with greater skill is to take more shit less personally, care for myself and my Traveling Partner… and begin again. Again.
…My confidence and sense of self reliably take a hit when I’m having a rough moment, and this is certainly that. A well-practiced practice doesn’t reliably result in needing less practice – or shit getting any easier. Sometimes it’s just fucking hard dealing with everything. For now? One moment, one step, one task, one meeting, at a time… eventually the clock runs out on the day (and maybe also on this shitty mood I find myself in, feeling wholly misunderstood, and fairly “invisible”… which sucks).
…Breathe. Exhale. Relax. Begin again. And again. And again…
…Nice cup of tea. It’s at least a place to start….
Tomorrow is for sure my last work day in this lovely office space. I’m not changing jobs; we’re leaving this space. Feels… strange. It’s okay. Not a sorrowful moment, just a moment. I sit quietly, looking out these windows at this view, and wondering what my day-to-day experience will be like after I return from my camping trip to a new, different, routine? Probably still pretty routine; that’s how I tend to live, mostly. lol
…I didn’t have to commute to this place to do the work I could as easily have been doing at home. I embraced the commute, and this space, as an opportunity, and I’ve enjoyed it for these past 8 months or so. Change is. I’m okay with that. I’m also okay with giving up the cost of fuel for the commute, and parking in the city, and all the vexing details that go along with all of that…
Traffic.
I’m counting down the days until my camping trip. My Traveling Partner was frank last evening that he’ll miss me, that it’s hard to do everything for himself when I’m away right now (while he recovers from an injury), and that he’s also a bit jealous to be stuck at home while I am camping. That’s real. I feel for him – and I feel fortunate to be so loved as to be missed when I’m gone. That’s beautiful. We both get something out of missing each other now and then, and I know I’ll miss him too. I also yearn for this time away, which I will spend in a solitary way, quietly among the trees, on the trail, or by the campfire. I need this solo time much the same way he needs the joyful camaraderie of our union as lovers and traveling companions on life’s journey – we do our best to strike a healthy balance, so we each thrive individually and together. He probably gets more time alone than he needs (I often find myself a bit jealous of that), and I don’t always get the solitary time I need – but we know the needs are there (his for steady, close companionship, mine for interludes of aloneness), and we work together to meet them (all). Funny how much love makes that matter – and how hard love can make it to achieve. It’s a peculiar puzzle.
“Life Sparkles (with the love we feel)” 11″ x 14″ acrylic on canvas w/glow and glitter 2018
I think about the here and now, and contrast it with daydreams of other places, other lived experiences, over the course of this one lifetime. There are so many experiences that I will likely never have, that I’ve often considered, or even yearned for. We make choices, and follow the path our choices take us down. Some choices take a few items “off the menu”, and some choices open grand vistas of new opportunities to consider. There’s a lot of variety in the human experience. I sit with my coffee, considering my choices, and where they have lead me. I couldn’t always say so, but it is very true today; I am walking my own path. That feels pretty good. I’m okay with where I am standing in life, presently. It’s a good place to be, although the world often feels like a pretty seriously fucked up mess on a terrifying order of magnitude (when I zoom out to consider that)… up close, this one life, this moment here, is pretty good. I’m okay… contented. Even “happy”. Deeply in love with my partner. Working a job I find satisfying, alongside people I respect and enjoy as both people and as colleagues. Living fairly simply in a little home I can call my own. I’ve got a veggie garden, beautiful roses, a small library of books I love. I’m fortunate. I can’t attribute all of my good fortune to my exceptional decision-making… because frankly, that’s not been the case for me. I’ve bungled a ton of shit, and made so many awful choices in life… but… I’m here, now, and this is a good place to be. I’ve gotten lucky, a lot, and I’m grateful for the circumstances and friendships that have paved this path, and continue to light my way.
Like a potted rose slaking its thirst on a gentle rain; I’m grateful.
I sigh contentedly. Be here, now. Good suggestion, if you like where you’re standing. If that’s not the case, it’s time to begin again, perhaps, and choose differently? So many choices. They aren’t all easy – and mistakes will be made. Results will vary. Verbs will be involved. The best plans still require attentive follow-through, care, and action. Sometimes adulting is hard. Sometimes life is filled with sorrow. We fail, we fall, we hurt, we struggle… and then we begin again. No do-overs, really, but we can pick ourselves up, brush the dirt off our knees and the tears off our cheeks, and walk on. Mostly it’s enough. The journey is the destination. We become what we practice.
…What are you practicing?…
I chuckle when I notice how filled with aphorisms and purpose-built slogans this particular bit of writing happens to be. I’m okay with that, too. “Repetition is learning.” I heard that first from a monster, many years ago, under circumstances I don’t care to repeat (or share in any detail). The source of useful information has nothing much to do with the usefulness of the information, itself. Another good lesson learned.
Change is. Choose wisely.
I look fondly out the windows to the park below. It’s a lovely view and I’ll miss it, but it’s time for change – and time to begin again.
My coffee is hot this morning, after weeks of taking it iced first thing in the morning. It’s just that I woke so very early that there was no coffee to be had on the route to work, and honestly it just didn’t really matter. I’ve been growing less dependent on having it with any “first thing in the morning” urgency, which is a nice bit of freedom. I brewed a cup of coffee when I got to the office, after a very relaxed drive (no traffic at all), and made myself a breakfast salad of fresh greens with a handful of cashews, and some lovely plump blueberries quite cold from the fridge. The combination of timing and circumstances has started the morning quite well. I heard from my Traveling Partner on my way into the city; he’s up early too, looks like.
The weekend was a lovely one. I got quite a lot done. My Traveling Partner and I shared an unfortunate bit of stress on Saturday, late in the morning; I’d managed to overlook taking medication that does affect my emotional volatility (or potential for it) if I don’t take it, and there we were dealing with my bullshit unexpectedly. I feel fortunate that I did notice relatively quickly, and grateful that he understood. He gets it. We successfully moved on from that moment, and the weekend was otherwise quite nice.
I got a few things done in preparation for my camping trip… just 5 days away now (okay, 6 if I count today). I do worry just a bit about how easily my partner can handle things and take care of himself while I’m gone. He’s recovering from his injury, and that’s been a slow process. He manages most stuff pretty well without much difficulty, but still appreciates help with a lot of things. I sip my coffee and think over ways I can “be there for him” while I’m gone. Things like making sure the bathroom is stocked with fresh towels, the linens on the bed are fresh, there’s plenty of iced tea made, and providing easy to prepare food options that don’t require a bunch of complex kitchen work or standing around, all seem like pretty standard things I can do… but… is it enough? Is there more, or other things, that I can do to make the experience a good one for him? The one inescapable challenge is that he’d definitely rather be with me than without me, even for a few days. At some point, I have to be okay with that, accepting, understanding, and grateful to be so loved. The away time is good for me, and I for sure need the rest and the solo time for meditation and self-reflection – I just want to also make sure it’s not a hardship for my beloved, as much as I can.
I didn’t see the aurora borealis over the weekend, though it was apparently visible in my community; too many of my neighbors have aggressively bright outdoor lighting on their homes and decks and the light pollution made it impossible to see the colors in the night sky from my home. The warm weather we’ve had (that may or may not be associated with the ongoing solar storm) certainly did splendid things in the garden! The salad greens are a dense and tasty assortment, ripe for harvest, the radishes are plump and spicy, and there are peas on the vines nearly ready to be picked. The roses – those mature enough to flower – have plump buds ready to bloom, and it looks like a good year for roses (if only the deer will please stop eating the tips of the new canes off!). “Baby Love”, a rose my Traveling Partner gave me after we moved in together back in 2010, is already blooming like crazy, and is nearly always first to bloom (and last to stop).
“Baby Love” in bloom.
One of the tasks on my list for the weekend had originally been to drain, clean, and refill the hot tub for the season. After the planning conversation with my Traveling Partner late last week, though, we decided to “decommission” the hot tub in favor of having it removed, repairing the deck (much easier without a 6 person hot tub standing on it!), and then replacing the hot tub with something more modern, quieter, and more energy efficient. I do love having the hot tub, and for just a moment I worried a bit that we might not ever get to that “replace the hot tub” place… it’s a costly sort of luxury, and resources are finite. That’s just real. I let myself think it over with greater care over the weekend days, and found myself comfortably acknowledging that I’m in a different place in life, in a more results-focused (and successful) partnership, with a human being who shares most of my values and goals. We both want this, and we planned the project together. Doesn’t seem likely to “just fail”, unless we change what we want to do, or what our priorities are. So. I drained the hot tub. It wasn’t a particularly poignant moment, just a bit of a chore that needed to be done to move on to the next step (which is to get it gone, ideally without destroying the lawn on the way out).
Change is.
“Benchmark-wise”, on my Ozempic journey, things seem… fine. It’s time to get a refill on the Rx. I’m still seeing steady (slow) progress, with no obvious side effects aside from mild acid reflux now and then (most often when I take other prescriptions on an empty stomach). I feel fortunate that this is turning out to be a “good fit” for me, as a treatment choice. I don’t yet see anything much in the mirror that looks any different, but my jeans are fitting a bit more comfortably, which is a win, and I’m not expecting to wake up a size 6 tomorrow with the blood pressure of a 21-year-old athlete, and the A1C of someone who’s never been at risk of diabetes at all. Incremental change over time is something I understand. 😀
…Another day, another sun rise. Another opportunity to become the woman I most want to be (with some practice). Another chance to begin again…
I had a peculiar thought about mortality the other day. Something along the lines of “you can’t take it with you”… but reconsidered. We also “can’t leave it behind” in a very particular sense; our memories and our experiences are ours alone. No one else has an identical experience of life to the one we each live, ourselves. Our memories – the record of those experiences, our perspectives, our thoughts and understandings – live in our own heads. There’s no real way to leave that behind for anyone else to enjoy once we’re gone. Sure, they have their memories of us, of shared experiences, of who they understood us to be, and what they recall of what we’ve said or done…but… this singular human experience that is mine? That is our own individual journey? That’s ours. Ours to keep. Ours to enjoy. Ours to attempt to share or communicate… but, ultimately, ours alone. Even for those prone to autobiographical endeavors, what’s left behind in those words on a page is filtered through edits, consideration of other points of view, and simply the limitations of seeking to share that are so difficult to overcome. Artists create art; the viewer sees it through the lens of their own experience. At some point, the artist’s own perspective is entirely lost. There’s so much of who we are that we can’t actually leave behind. What I’m saying is… enjoy your life. Do you. Be the person you most want to be. Keep practicing; the journey is the destination. You are here, now. It’s what you’ve got to work with – don’t let the moment pass, expecting your legacy to be something worth leaving behind. Maybe it will be. Maybe it won’t be. You won’t be here to know – or to share. Share while you can. Use your words. Connect. Love. Care. Choose your words and actions as though they will be what you are remembered by (because, mostly that’s what will remain; the thought of you, in the memories of someone else).
I sigh out loud and sip my coffee. I think of my Dear Friend, and other dear friends distant or who have passed. Time is short. The clock is ticking. Do your best to be the person you most want to be. Let go of petty resentments and bullshit and anger and hate – do you really have time for that crap? Love. Love because you can, and because it feels good. Care because it really matters. Make choices that improve your life, the lives of those you care about, and your community, your society, and the world. We’re all in this together, and this ball of rock hurtling through space is surprisingly tiny to support so many. Play nicely. Be a good neighbor. Apologize freely. Accept (and offer) help graciously. Do your best. Be kind.
…Keep practicing…
I think of far away friends and ticking clocks and how best to be the woman I most want to be. I watch the sun rise. I’ve no way of knowing how many sunrises I may have ahead of me. It’s time to begin again.
Evening Light 