The sunrise was over by the time I reached the trailhead this morning, but I watched it as I drove. Beautiful. The bold orange streaks of cloud seemed gilded, the golden edges feathering across the baby blue sky. The mountains on the horizon were a lavender silhouette, and the colorful scene evolved, changing hues as the sun rose. Tangerine. Magenta. Pink. Lemon yellow. It was lovely.
I chose the farthest of two trailheads for the park; it’s usually empty. Not this morning, there’s only one parking space left. I get it. It’s a beautiful morning for a hike. The meadow flowers fill the morning air will the scent of Spring. The birds fill the air with their songs and chirps and screeches. The gravel trail crunches beneath my steps. The sunlight illuminates the meadow grass and the leaves of the trees.
I walk and keep walking, until I get to my preferred halfway point and stop to write and reflect. I listen to the sounds of the Tualatin river from my convenient vantage point, reflecting on this and that. Breathe, exhale, relax…
One point of view among many, one moment along the way.
“What’s the point of any of this?” I find myself wondering, and sitting with that thought for awhile. It’s a question. I don’t have an answer, really. I guess there’s a chance that there’s no point at all… We’re born. We live our finite, ordinary, mortal lives. We learn what we can. We accumulate objects and mementos that we will inevitably leave behind. We eventually die. Some of us may make some profound mark on society or advance human progress in some way – most of us won’t. Some few of us will pass on, unremarkable, unremembered, and unnoticed. So… What is the point? I breathe the Spring air deeply, listening to the breeze and the birdsong. Is this enough? Is it enough simply to be?
I think about it for awhile. Even recognizing that the journey itself is the destination, I sometimes do wonder what the actual point of it is… Perhaps there isn’t one. Maybe we simply live and die and there’s no point or purpose at all? If that’s the case, any purpose in life is one we choose for ourselves, each of us, having our own experience, and deciding for ourselves what the point may be. This isn’t a grim thought for me, and it doesn’t cause me any stress or agitation, I just sit here on a Spring morning wondering for myself what that point may be.
There’s time for wonder, and wondering, and asking questions. Maybe that’s even the point? I smile and wave at a passing stranger who calls out a “good morning” as they pass.
Sunshine through the trees.
It’s a new day. I wonder what I’ll do with it? I wonder where this path leads? I breathe, exhale, and relax. The clock is ticking, and it’s time to head on down the trail and begin again.
I’m sitting quietly in the pre-dawn darkness, waiting for the sun and sipping my coffee. I was up earlier than planned, earlier than I needed to be. Early. Laying around restlessly seemed more likely than going back to sleep, so I got up quietly and dressed, made coffee for my Traveling Partner, who was (probably still is) sleeping, and slipped out of the house and down the road to this nearby trail.
Long exposure with the night settings reveals a hint of purple in sky I wouldn’t see otherwise.
This morning I am feeling aggravated over nothing. I’m not certain why I feel this way. My headache, maybe? Maybe the lingering irritation over yesterday’s attempt to relax at home and paint while I did the laundry. That didn’t go well, although I did do a bit of painting, I gave up on it rather quickly rather than deal with my headache and my partner’s irritation with me. It was just too hard to create a comfortable creative space so I said “fuck it” and put it all away, and laid down for awhile hoping to also put the headache to rest. I wasn’t successful at that either. The headache is with me still.
Tears well up as I think about it. There’s more going on here, maybe something that needs more thought and care? It would probably be helpful to have a better understanding of what is actually causing this feeling of hurt.
“Why do you do this thing that you love?” I ask myself. It’s a question worth knowing the answer to, isn’t it? I’m not what would be considered a commercially successful artist. I sell pieces now and then, but I don’t invest energy (or time, or money) in representation, or the business of art. Definitely not “why I do it”, like, at all. I paint because it’s another way to communicate things I don’t have words for. I paint because the process itself meets an emotional need, and satisfies something within me. I love to see my work hanging in my home. It’s always been “about me” – by me, for me. I’ve always been okay with that, too, though I definitely get great joy from the experience of someone else enjoying my work.
Even in my least comfortable, unhappiest relationships, my partners at the time made room for my art, and for my creative process (and the occasional mess). My boundaries and needs as an artist were respected (and even in my terrifying violent first marriage). I felt valued as an artist even when I didn’t feel valued as a human being. Maybe that’s odd? It “felt right”. The people in my life, regardless how they seemed to feel about me, personally, in a given moment, seemed to appreciate my artistic work.
… Things have been feeling different, lately. Artistically, at least at home, I often “don’t feel heard”. I sometimes have a peculiar sense that “nothing I do” (artistically) matters at all, and that the art is, itself, a nuisance or an inconvenience. As if it’s somehow just “in the way” or taking up space. It’s a very strange and very unpleasant sensation.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. I sip my coffee and wonder what there is to learn from this feeling, and this moment. I work on fitting it into the context of life, right now, with so much else going on. It’s been a while since I have been this productive as an artist, and although that is definitely meeting needs for me, what effect does that have on my Traveling Partner, I wonder? He’s certainly got his own shit to deal with right now, and any time I spend artistically is potentially time I am not spending focused on caregiving. Does he have feelings about that?
I am eagerly embracing the joy of feeling inspired by a new medium, and wanting to spend more time on painting (and savoring the feeling of satisfied inspiration), but I’m missing feeling a sense that my partner is enjoying it with me… and I don’t know why. Maybe he honestly just doesn’t care for the paintings I’m doing right now, but doesn’t want to hurt my feelings? Maybe my notion of what enjoying them looks like is a poor fit to the reality of it? Landscape paintings are probably less cognitively demanding of the viewer than abstraction, perhaps they don’t lend themselves to prolonged conversation?
… Maybe it isn’t about any of that at all…
I sit quietly with my thoughts. This isn’t going to be worked out over a single cup of coffee before the sun rises. It feels important, though. It’s a good time to remind myself that I paint to satisfy something within myself. The person who really needs to hear me is…me. Am I listening?
I have been here before. Self-reflection is a process, and a practice.
I sit thinking about the many hours over weeks, months, and even years that I have gazed thoughtfully at my paintings, hanging here or there. I’ve barely gotten started in pastel. Have I truly taken enough time with each new work, once completed, to really “get the point”? Am I feeling as if I were shouting in an empty room because I have not given the new work enough of my own time and attention? This feels relevant and real.
I’ve been painting in pastel for just 96 days. Over 96 days, I’ve painted 25 new pieces. That’s not my most intensely productive pace, but it’s damned close…am I spending enough time appreciating the work, reflecting on each new piece, and understanding what I’m going for? Maybe not. I think I’ve been tending to finish them, take some pictures, and move on to the next piece – sort of the artistic equivalent of talking without letting anyone else get a word in. The art isn’t being given enough time to really “speak to me”, I suspect – and I have to wonder if this is a bigger deal than I understood?
A new day dawning.
I sigh quietly, and wonder what to do about it. I drink my coffee pensively, looking at the hint of daybreak approaching on the eastern horizon. I shift uncomfortably, pain (arthritis, headaches) isn’t helping my mood. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I’ve got this day ahead of me. Things to do. Things to think about. I prepare to begin again.
I talk a fair bit about journeys, paths, traveling, my Traveling Partner… these are literal experiences, and also metaphors. I figure mentioning that is worthwhile, now and then. I use these concepts to give context to bigger questions. “Journey” is pretty vague… by intent. There are so many sorts of experiences of journeys, you see, everything from paved freeways with plentiful amenities along the way, and handy GPS, to unmarked trails through wild spaces, no map, no milestones, no safety net – you need something, you better bring it. The options are numerous, as are the choices.
How we prepare, and what we bring – as tools or baggage – matter to every journey we take, and ever day we live life.
Maps are handy… definitely bring one of those along on any journey… if one exists, at all. Sometimes, some journeys, there is no map and we’re utterly on our own, blazing our own trail through life’s wild spaces. It often feels that way, even when we have an actual usefully accurate map in our hands. Think that one over. How often has someone given you useful worthwhile truly helpful advice, or recommendations, that you disregarded… discovering too late that it really was just the thing to have done, to get the result you were seeking? 🙂
Sometimes I over-do the planning, packing, and preparation, and get part way along my travels heavily encumbered by a ton of crap I did not need to drag along with me. Baggage comes in a lot of forms. I definitely try to set as much of that down as I possibly can. “Traveling light” has this tendency to make long miles feel shorter. Everything we carry with us feels heavier over time. We become fatigued with the weight of what we carry, particularly if it does not serve an immediate necessary purpose.
The nature of the journey we set ourselves upon matters, too…
Sometimes the journey is a rough trail, steep, muddy, and treacherous…
…Sometimes the way ahead is obvious, the journey level, and paved…
I’m just saying, as metaphors go, journeys offer a nice assortment of meaningful options to reflect upon. 🙂 Where will yours take you? Do you know where you’re headed?
It looks like a good time to begin again… “Don’t forget to bring a towel!”
Sipping iced coffee, wishing, oddly, that it weren’t also black coffee… even though that’s specifically what I thought I was going for this morning when I prepared my coffee. LOL Well shit.
I’m appreciating that it is Friday, this morning, although I woke up thinking for a moment it were Saturday. I experienced a pang of disappointment that it is Friday as my dreams dissipated and I reached for the alarm clock to halt the infernal beeping. I would appreciate it being Saturday so much more… lol
Brunch planned for Sunday… hanging out with friends on Saturday… missing my Traveling Partner the whole while… while also celebrating having this strong partnership that allows for geographical distance without the loss of a strong connection. I like living alone, and I’ve managed so much individual growth and personal healing doing so, it’s definitely been worth a few romantic inconveniences. 🙂
I sip my sadly disappointing coffee with a smile, thinking about a dear friend’s new cat-buddy who wandered into her life and found a warm welcome. No reason, I simply enjoy the pleasant thought. It’s a nice way to start my day, actually, relaxing with my coffee, musing about the pleasant experiences of friends.
This post has no particular point, but I gotta tell you; very few of life’s moments have a recognizable, clear “point” taken individually, out of context. Most people, most of the time, are tackling each moment fairly spontaneously as it comes, and moving on the next, experiencing a continuous sort of consciousness that doesn’t generally split up experiences into all those discreet individual singular moments. Experiences, taken as a whole, may be more likely to “have a point”, but I am not sure that’s an important thing in life, right now, sipping my deliberately cold coffee that I now wish was hot. lol
What’s important in life is largely a matter of perspective.
As questions go, this one, “What’s the point?”, plagued me for a long while. I mean… what is the point? Is there a point at all? And, yes, even “what is it?”
Hell of a transition right there, sorry about that. Here’s the thing, though, both metaphorically and in life, it’s sometimes those unexpected changes, abrupt edges, and unscripted plot twists that really lead us somewhere profound, if only we are willing to follow them. I mean, realistically, we have choices. If we’re fortunate, we’ll make choices that take us in the direction of greater wisdom, of living well, of loving with our whole hearts, and of being ready to accept the love of others… Or something very similar. 🙂
It’s been an interesting weekend. I’ve consumed quite a lot of coffee. Strangely, it hasn’t seemed to affect my sleep… but… I haven’t been trying to stick to any sort of regular habits, so maybe I wouldn’t notice. 🙂 I spent Thursday on self-care. Friday, too, more or less, and getting my hair cut certainly counts. It was a lovely experience, and I’m delighted with the adorably subtle misty mauve shade of my hair, now. I spent today hanging out with an old friend, even enjoying my garden together for a few minutes (and it was nice to have stronger hands than mine helping me with the big bale of compressed garden soil, and his good-natured company). Together we planted three biggish bins of flowers, dividing up the seeds by color and sowing them such that summer will be festively adorned with big blooms and bright colors. 😀 More coffee. Ran some errands. It’s a been a restful weekend opportunity to reconnect with what matters most (to me) (in my own experience of living well).
Hints of drama swirl like distant storm clouds on the horizon of my weekend awareness. It’s nothing to do with me. I exchange conversation with my Traveling Partner on and off, hurting when he hurts, feeling frustrated to be far away, and feeling relieved to be distant from it, too. I’d help if I could, but… it’s very true that there’s not actually much I can do. He is having his own experience. So is she. So are they. So are we all.
I hear from him in the afternoon. I smile for almost an hour.
I contemplate a future in which a weekend down home requires no cancellation – because I will have my own space, and can easily take my ease (and whatever distance) I may need without any inconvenience to another. I let my imagination wander to carpets and cushions and a tent cozy with amenities. I imagine Turkish coffee and misty morning views. I imagine meditating as the sun rises, or sets, undisturbed except for the distant sound of bass thumping, and the nearer sounds of chipmunks, hummingbirds, or crickets. How delightfully easy it will be for my Traveling Partner to enjoy a coffee with me, if I’m only a walk away! How deliciously connected and intimate it will fill to be so near, so conveniently at hand. 🙂
I sit smiling for some rather long while recalling my first authentic Turkish coffee, enjoyed in the desert, in the early 90’s. It seems so very long ago from this moment here, and it’s much too late to enjoy yet another coffee, today, although suddenly I very much want to. lol The late afternoon light begins to fade slowly to evening, and I’m definitely not in the desert. I smile, and begin again.
Evening Light 