I got to the trailhead still seething with irritation. I didn’t sleep well. It’s raining, too, hard enough to discourage walking the marsh trail. I sit with my thoughts and my discontent awhile.
…Short work week and already off to a bad start. Shit…
I breathe, exhale, and relax. I work on letting small shit stay small. I remind myself that taking someone else’s emotional bullshit personally is counter productive – and also not necessary. I practice non-attachment, and letting all that go. I pull myself into this quiet calm moment, present with (and for) myself.
I remind myself that the “hard start” to the morning doesn’t have to become the whole day.
Another breath. A moment of perspective. An opportunity to reflect in a still, solitary moment. A chance to begin again. It’s enough.
We become what we practice. Prove me wrong. When I practice being calm, I become a calmer person. When I practice listening I become a better listener. When I practice kindness, I become more inclined to be kind, generally.
…If I practice being angry, I become more easily angered, more often, and more likely to react with anger to circumstances and people that may not warrant such a reaction at all…
When I practice perspective and consideration, my perspective on life deepens, and I become more considerate.
The next conversation you have with someone may determine whether you continue to have the relationship you do. Good or bad. More connected or more distant. The words you choose and the emotions you embody become reality. A real experience being experienced. A memory being made.
Who are you? Who is that other person to you? If you live as the person you most want to be, how will you behave? What are you choosing to practice?
The way ahead is not always clear. It’s still your path, and you choose your direction and your steps.
You have choices. Choose wisely.
I reached the trailhead before daybreak, park gate still closed. I’m okay with that. I find the quiet solitary time necessary to my well-being and sometimes hard to snatch from a busy day. I enjoy every quiet moment that I happen upon. I sit awhile and reflect before I ever reach for my device, listening to the sound of traffic on the highway, and the ringing in my ears that never ceases and rarely diminishes.
A morning well-suited to solitary reflection.
The gate opens with a sort of screeching creaking sound. This morning my plan is to walk the entire loop trail around the marsh, (3 miles), then cut over to the river trail, and walk that out and back (1 mile each way) for a 5 mile walk. Goals. I change into my boots, remembering to grab my water bottle, my cane, my lightweight collapsible 3-legged camp stool, and a beautiful tangerine for later. The sky begins to lighten, and the fog begins to lift. Nice day for a walk with my thoughts.
I stand ready at the beginning of the marsh trail, listening for a moment, before I begin. I breathe the meadow-sweet air at the edge of the marsh. I feel vaguely sleepy under the cloudy gray sky. I sigh to myself as I step forward; no beautiful sunrise this morning and it looks like rain. As an afterthought, I grab my lightweight rain poncho and stuff it in my back pocket, “just in case”, and head down the trail.
Weed or wildflower? It’s largely a matter of context and perspective.
Sometime later, I stop at my decision-making point, where the marsh trail and river trail intersect. Walk on? Three miles or five? I unfold my little camp stool and take a seat to rest a moment. The air is cool and fresh and scented with something that seems at once both floral and spicy. I breathe, exhale, and relax. This moment is mine to enjoy however I wish. I choose gratitude, contentment, and joy, sitting here with my solitary thoughts.
…It really doesn’t have to be more complicated. Choose. Practice. We become what we practice…
I can’t tell you how to live your life. I’m just pointing out that you have (and make) choices. If your emotional experience of life is characterized by anger, frustration, and disappointment, which definitely sucks, you have the opportunity every day to choose (and practice) something very different. Life isn’t something inflicted upon you; you are living your experience. You choose your words, your actions, and to a large degree even your thoughts. If you don’t enjoy life as you live it now, choose to live it differently. The choices (and consequences of those choices) are yours.
… Sometimes growth and progress are uncomfortable. Sometimes we have to work harder, and go farther. Sometimes we have to chuck out what hasn’t worked and begin all over again. I look down the trail ahead of me. Five miles. I choose to walk on, and go further. I collapse my folding stool and sling it over my shoulder. It’s time to begin again.
I’m waiting for the sun. This feels almost like fall. The gate at the trailhead is still closed and the sky is dark, not quite daybreak. Beyond the scattered trees silhouetted darkly against a cloudy sky, illuminated faintly by the glow of suburbia beneath, the lights of commuter traffic twinkle as they pass, like a string of sparkling gemstones. The air is mild, and almost warm. Aside from the passing cars and my tinnitus, it’s quiet.
Beginning again.
Yesterday was a good day, followed by a pleasant evening spent as a family. Time well-spent, in good company. My Traveling Partner is seeming “more himself” as he heals, and I feel encouraged and reassured by this. His kindness and geniality are returning as he heals and it’s good to see. I can’t truly know how hard he has struggled to hold on to his sense of self throughout this injured time, but I do know it hasn’t been easy, and he has suffered greatly.
As for the Anxious Adventurer, he’s walking a difficult path himself, for different reasons. Embracing change is hard, and comes with challenges of its own. New environment. New expectations. New rules. Pretty much every detail of his day-to-day thrown into chaos, however briefly in the bigger picture of an entire lifetime, but nonetheless a lot to learn and to change. It hasn’t been easy to adapt, that much is clear to any bystander.
Me? Yeah, me too. This period of adjustment has been hard. Complicated by the very things that made it desirable to make these changes at all. Being human is sometimes very complicated. I don’t particularly prefer cohabitation, which I discovered rather late in life, and that is my challenge and also my opportunity for growth. Challenge accepted? I so greatly love and enjoy my Traveling Partner that I am fairly willing to make changes to deepen our bond and enjoy our mortal lifetime together, in spite of my nature. Funny creatures, we human beings. We’ll do so much for love.
… Things got ridiculously tense and unpleasant for several days and I have been unhappy with the state of things…
I took time to write down what I really need to comfortably cohabitate and thrive, at my Traveling Partner’s request. He looked it over and agreed that my “house rules” looked like a healthy way to live together as a family, if everyone “buys in” and does their part. We shared the rules with the Anxious Adventurer, who gave them serious thought. We discussed them all together, before everyone explicitly agreed that this looks like a good approach and that we’re each willing to do our part. The discussion was a beautiful “proof of concept”, itself. I’m still coasting on the resulting feeling of shared commitment and understanding. Nice moment. I feel heard and supported.
Humans are still human. We’re each working our asses off to be better human beings than we were yesterday. We’ll become what we practice. We can count on incremental change over time. This feels like a very pleasant place to be standing in life. It’s still work, and no doubt our results may vary.
Daybreak comes. I hit the trail feeling light-hearted and contented. Another nice moment. I smile as I walk. No fancy colorful sunrise this morning; the sky is gray and cloudy, threatening rain. I’m fine with it. It’s not raining right now. The air is sweet with the scent of wildflowers and meadow grasses. I’ve got the trail to myself this morning. On the other side of my walk, a stop at the store on my way home. Life being lived.
I walk on, grateful to be walking, still. I breathe, grateful for the breath of life. My heart is filled with love and the thought of my partner, and I am grateful for the opportunity to love and be loved in return. I walk and keep on walking. Once I reach the end of the trail, I’ll begin again.
Yesterday was… awful. Mostly. Humans being human. I was certainly not at my best. The day seemed too long, my efforts too futile, and the promises of the future too limited. Chaos and damage; once I was triggered in the early morning, my anxiety flared up on this whole almost-forgotten level and continue to struggle with it even now.
My sleep last night was disturbed by mocking nightmares of imminent demise and ruin. I woke abruptly, too early, feeling the full measure of my “baggage” like a weight around my neck. I had trouble catching my breath, so I got up quickly and quietly and slipped out into the pre-dawn darkness to “walk it off” at daybreak.
A glimpse of the full moon, an unexpected delight.
As I waited for enough light to comfortably walk the trail, I took time to meditate. I had hoped it would do more to ease my anxiety than it did. I sit with my thoughts. I breathe, exhale, relax, and take inventory of my physical wellness. Pain? Yeah. Definitely. I take my medication and hope for relief. Rested? Sure, mostly. I’ve added calendar reminders for self-care breaks and healthy calories; I’ve been letting my self-care suffer trying to stay caught up on all the caregiving stuff – and I’m just going to say it; I’m in no way actually up to the task of providing round-the-clock caregiving to another human being (even one that I love dearly). I’ve got limitations that make that a pretty poor choice, but didn’t understand them in this context until I rather stupidly committed to providing the caregiving. My Traveling Partner needed more from me than I could realistically provide with skill. It’s been a shit show and very difficult few days for me, and more so for my partner. Stupid mistakes, and an astonishing level of inconsiderate bullshit that I honestly didn’t expect from myself.
My back aches and I feel vaguely ill, but my head isn’t stuffy anymore and I can breathe. I’ve got the usual headache and a workday ahead. I feel frustrated and annoyed in advance of any reason for it.
The chaos in the household has been disruptive for everyone. I’m inclined to bear the blame for all of it, because that’s what I tend to do. The truer truth is that there are three human beings in this together, each with their own baggage, their own bullshit, their own challenges and goals and dreams – their own values – and their own very real struggles, right fucking now. It’s hard to forge a comfortably calm genial environment together in less than 6 weeks, and do it in a time period that includes a major move, an incredibly advanced spinal surgery, and changes to medications of one kind or another for everyone involved. I don’t even know why we expected it to be any easier in the first place. (Did we?)
Daybreak comes
It’s a new day. A chance to begin again, if I take it. A new shared experience, if I am willing to be open, vulnerable, considerate, patient, kind, and able to listen with care and compassion. I wish I wasn’t having to fight my anxiety. Wishful thinking won’t change the world. Better to take time to reflect rationally on what I need and expect from the Anxious Adventurer, and on what I can realistically provide to support my Traveling Partner with skill and kindness, and then deal with those realities appropriately.
… I’ve managed to be a complete dick to everyone around me for days, and do so thinking I was behaving quite differently…
I notice the time. Although I am “officially” no longer responsible for my Traveling Partner’s medications (mostly because I have made too many mistakes, which can’t be a thing with meds, but also because he doesn’t need that with the same level of oversight now), I still find myself on alert; it’s time. My anxiety goes through the roof; change is hard. I breathe through it. Exhale, understanding that this level of anxiety over that task should have been a clear indication that I’m possibly not the right person for that task. I walk tensely, picking at my cuticles until I notice that I’m doing it. I stop the picking and keep walking, and breathing. Fuck anxiety.
I walk on, trusting my partner. He’s reminded me multiple times to refrain from jumping in and taking over or trying to do things for him without asking what he needs. (Fucking basic; “nothing about me, without me”, you’d think I’d have that down.)
The sunrise is pretty, beginning with hints of luminous pink. I walk, feeling the chill of autumn ahead. I should have worn a fleece, but didn’t think to grab it as I left, still fighting the residue of my nightmares.
… Some days I feel like I am barely an actual adult…
I walk and breathe and reflect. I pause my halfway point to write. So much to do today. Work. Getting my partner to and from an appointment. Getting prescriptions reordered. Picking those up. I start to feel overwhelmed in advance, but it’s just the anxiety talking. I let it go. I’ll just keep practicing.
Sometimes, regardless of your attempted attention to detail, your willingness to do more, better, your drive to improve and grow, or the hours of work and study you’ve put into being your best self, it won’t be enough (for someone, or for some circumstance). That’s frustrating (maddening), and real. It’s a harsh truth in life that while we’re walking our own hard mile one step at a time, someone else is also walking theirs, and conflict, confusion, or miscommunication can make just about any endeavor contentious and unpleasant. Humans being human. Some people are truly doing their best. Some people maybe not so much. It’s not really obvious which are which. There’s likely always going to be someone around who just doesn’t think you’re doing enough. There will be someone who thinks you’re doing it “wrong” (often simply because you’re not doing things the way they would). There may even be travelers along the way who earnestly hope to see you fail, though it will be rare for them to say so explicitly.
…We’re each having our own experience…
Points of view differ. Individual perspectives on shared events are sometimes at odds with each other. Personal values may not be shared. People are quite individual, and often we don’t even share the same understanding of the basic meanings of the most common words we use. Recollections of even the most recent events may be quite different among individuals who shared the experience. None of this makes communication easier, quite the contrary.
It can be helpful sometimes, I find, to be very open to the possibility that I’m incorrect. Mistaken. Flat out wrong. It’s helpful to really listen to what someone else is saying about their experience or perspective. This isn’t always easy; I may disagree. I may find my own thinking at odds with theirs. I may recall events quite differently. We may have different values, or place importance on different details. Being open enough to really listen and humble enough to accept that I could be wrong can make a lot of difference and create an emotionally safe environment to sort things out more easily. It takes practice (a lot), and I can’t honestly say I’m “good at it” (yet). I keep practicing.
All of this sounds good “on paper”, but it’s not “easy”, and it really does take a lot of practice, commitment, willingness to fail (and to begin again), and a steadfast refusal to take someone else’s emotions personally, and to refuse to internalize their frustration, anger, or criticism. Listen, yes. Hear them out, yes. Understand their point of view, yes. Be open and compassionate, yes. And refuse to allow their frustration, anger, or criticism to dictate “who you are”, nonetheless. Be the person you most want to be. Make room for them to be who they are, also. Becoming the best version of yourself, the person you most want to be, may bring you into conflict with people who are walking a very different path – their own path. Whatever you choose to do about that, it matters that you still live your values, take care of yourself, and treat people with kindness, compassion, and consideration.
…You’re probably going to fail, a lot…
Keep practicing. Savor the wins, however small. Learn from your mistakes, and avoid allowing them to bring you to despair. This shit isn’t easy, but it’s worthwhile. Change takes time. Time, practice, effort, commitment – and beginning again. Often. Sometimes it’s especially hard, like a barefooted walk on blistered feet down a gravel path. Sometimes it’s easy, like a firm level trail through a sun-dappled forest on a mild summer day. You’ll choose – sometimes poorly. You’ll face anger, frustration, disappointment, and grief. It’s not personal, just part of the human experience. Learn, grow, and walk on.
I sit sipping my coffee, re-reading these words. This one’s for me, from… me. I need the encouragement today, tomorrow, maybe always. It helps to reflect on what works, and to remind myself that it is a complicated journey. It is useful to consider missteps, and to learn and grow, and try again.
Keep walking.
Yesterday my sister messaged me to let me know a favorite aunt had died after a lingering illness. (COVID is still taking lives, people, be safe, be considerate, be vaccinated.) It seems like I’m now in a place in life when the losses come more frequently. We are mortal creatures. I will always remember my Aunt fondly. She opened her home to me more than once when I needed a place to heal. She was peculiar, and special, and interesting, and the first adult who would sit and talk with me for hours about all manner of things, into the wee hours of the morning. Some of who I am developed sitting by her kitchen table in Baltimore on summer evenings, talking about life, love, music, reality… I’ll miss her.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. I don’t know what’s around the next bend on this path. I don’t know how far this path goes, or where it may ultimately lead. I don’t know how long this mortal life will last, or how many moments of joy I can wring from it along the way, nor how many tears I may need to dry from my cheeks. It’s a very human journey.
Evening Light 