Archives for posts with tag: where does this path lead?

I reached the trail before daybreak. I walked down the path in the darkness, the bobbing half circle of light cast by my headlamp lighting the way ahead of me, but obscuring anything I might have seen beyond that bit of light. I consider that metaphorically for some distance, until my thoughts wander on.

Daybreak, and a new day.

By the time I get to my halfway point on the trail, I am thinking about the many “versions” of “myself” I have been over a lifetime. Each of the many jobs, addresses, relationships, traumas, and triumphs, have left their mark on the woman I am today. Steps on a path. A journey that is its own destination. I find myself asking some questions as I reflect on my life and the changing context(s) in which I have lived it. I think about the “here and now”, and the changes that brought me to this point.

  • In what version of myself have I been happiest, most often?
  • In what version did I most respect myself?
  • In what version did I enjoy the greatest sense of consistency between my values and my actions?
  • In what version did I seem to be most likeable?
  • In what version was I most likely to compromise my values for personal gain?
  • In what version was I villain, hero, or “NPC” in my life?
  • Are there versions of me that I regret so thoroughly that I am ashamed of the person I was?
  • How do I hold on to the best bits of all of the many versions of the woman in the mirror, and discard the worst, to become truly the woman I most want to be? (And is that version truly worthy of the effort required?)

I find self-reflection a worthwhile practice. I sit with my thoughts, listening to the sounds of an autumn morning between marsh ponds and meadow, breathing the chilly air carrying the scents of fall flowers and some hint of…mildew? It is a gray morning. The sky lightens slowly revealing a cloudy sky. The threat of rain exists in the scents on the mild breeze, and also in my arthritis pain.

The pain is annoying. I think (and write) about it too much, probably. It sometimes feels inescapable.

My Traveling Partner and I both deal with chronic pain. I do my best to manage my pain. When we’re hanging out, in pain, we each do what we can to take care of ourselves and each other. Our efforts are not reliably successful. Last night was difficult. I’d find some position in which my pain was lessened, and hold myself rigidly trying to hold on to that bit of improved comfort. He perceived it as “tension”, which I guess it was, in a sense. My tension is uncomfortable to be around, for him. He wants to help if he can (but he can’t really, it’s not that sort of thing).

His experience of pain had him squirming in my periphery, trying to get more comfortable, which I find uncomfortable to be around. I’d very much like to help, if I could (but I can’t really, it’s not that sort of thing). We do our best to be kind to each other, compassionate, empathetic without fusing with the experience of our beloved partner. It’s difficult. Pain “shrinks our world” and we’re sometimes terse with each other, when it’s actually the pain itself that is annoying us.

We ultimately ended the evening early, withdrawing to separate spaces to seek some kind of relief, if only from dealing with each other’s pain on top of our own. Seems a harsh and rather isolating approach to take, but it’s probably better than hurting each other’s feelings or taking out our discomfort on the person we love most.

I didn’t sleep well. Pain, again. I struggled with falling asleep, and once I had, I was awakened multiple times by one noise or another, or light, or the sound of angry voices, but each time I woke, the room was dark, and the house was quiet. It was weird. I woke abruptly, around 02:00, feeling a sense that “something wasn’t right”, but again all was apparently well and quiet. I returned to sleep and dreamt that I was awake… really thought I was, until my artificial sunrise woke me from a deep sleep. I had forgotten to turn it off for the weekend. I was still feeling groggy and a bit out of sorts even as I began my trek down the trail, some time later.

Saturday. No hurry, and there’s certainly ample time for self-reflection, and this is as good an opportunity than any – better than most. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I let my awareness of my pain recede into the background (for as long as I can). Daybreak becomes dawn, then daylight. I watch from my seat on this fence rail. A soft sprinkling of rain falls briefly.

I sigh to myself, suddenly missing old friends far away, and yearning to sit down over coffee and conversation. I’m momentarily overcome with a poignant feeling of nostalgia… Annapolis… Killeen… Monterey… Augsburg… Fresno… Times and people, long ago and far away. My eyes tear up a bit. The moment passes. My thoughts move on.

It begins to rain softly. I look down the path toward other places and new experiences. I admit to myself with some reluctance that it must be time to begin again… and I get to my feet, and walk on.

Foggy morning. I walk in it, wrapped in it, trail and trees obscured by the autumn fog. The closer I get to the creek, the more dense the fog is. There is no view at this early hour, anyway, but that’s even more the case this morning.

… I am lost in my thoughts, in the fog…

The fog adds a feeling of mystery.

My head is stuffy this morning, and I’ve used most of the pack of tissues I have with me, already. A sneeze catches me by surprise, and I step off the trail without noticing immediately. The sneeze sounds loud, but also muffled in the fog. I stop on the trail for a moment to dig around in my pockets for the other pack of tissues I think I recall being there. Yep. There they are. My fingers touch the plastic of the pack, and I relax. I also stop sneezing, and only need a single tissue, as it turns out, never even opening the other packet.

It is the time of year for autumn allergies and headcolds, and for back to school activities to expose more people to more contagion. I remind myself to take care of my health, to be considerate of others, and to practice strict hand washing and appropriate social distancing (these practices are an effective means of limiting the spread of common respiratory infections, so why wouldn’t I?). My thoughts wander back to the rude man-child in the university library yesterday with the horrific sounding hacking cough – I was grateful to be seated well away from him, with multiple barriers between any viruses or bacteria exiting from his face with every cough, but also, as a human being, I was concerned that he would even be putting himself through the additional stress on his mortal body to be trying to do work in the state of ill health he was clearly in. Why don’t people just fucking stay home and focus on getting well?

… I know, I know, “reasons”…

My mind continues to wander here and there. It’s a payday. It didn’t exactly catch me by surprise, but I’m still getting used to the changes that have come with the new job. This one is “military style” pay, twice monthly, on the first and the 15th, on whatever day of the week those happen to be. The previous one was every two weeks, on alternate Fridays. It might seem like very little difference, but twice monthly is 24 paychecks, and every two weeks is 26. It does change the cash flow and the way bills map to pay cycles. I think about that sort of thing for a little while as I walk, still wrapped in fog. I walk and think about all the many kinds of payroll systems I’ve participated in… weekly… monthly (that was hard to adjust to)… part-time… full-time… salaried… hourly… employee… contractor… commission… “The house always wins,” I think to myself before putting thoughts of payroll and paydays aside.

I keep walking.

The work day ahead feels busy in advance. It hasn’t even started, and I haven’t looked at my calendar. I feel prematurely a bit frazzled, and this annoys (and amuses) me. It’s such a human thing to get wound up over shit that isn’t even happening yet, if it ever even will. Typical bullshit, unnecessary and unproductive. I let it go and walk on.

The trail ahead of me is a bit shiny where my light hits it. It rained during the night. The fog reflects the light of my headlamp back at me. It’s a little bit irritating, and I turn it off, pausing on the trail to let my eyes adjust. Daybreak yet? Can I see the trail without my light? Not quite, not out here under these trees. I don’t really want the artificial light in my eyes anymore, though, and leave it off. I look around for someplace to sit – it’s not my usual stopping point. Where am I, actually? I look around in the gloom. Nothing looks familiar in the fog. There’s a bench nearby. Convenient. I sit down and write these words.

I sit with my thoughts awhile, watching each exhaled breath become part of the fog, until it is time to begin again.

As I left the house this morning, I spotted the crescent moon rising, almost appearing to chase Venus up the night sky.  I took a picture of it when I got to the trailhead, from the wide open vantage point at the edge of the vineyard on the road in.

Crescent moon rising, Venus and Regulus close by.

I was surprised to get a clear image with my cellphone camera, and even more surprised to see a second star in the image when I zoomed in. “What is that?”, I wondered. I looked it up on Space.com and learned that it is a somewhat unusual sighting, and that the second star is Regulus. I was delighted to get a picture of it.

The morning is quite chilly, and the dawn sky is clear. My footsteps seem loud as I walk past deserted preparations for some event set up at the edge of the trail, filling the area where I usually park. White tents and rows of folding chairs and tables are set out, ready. I walk on by; it’s not for me. I think about that as I walk. The idea that relatively few things in life or the world, generally, are “for me” or about me at all fills my thoughts. It’s a big world, and I am one human being.

I get to my halfway point, still contemplating the many sights I will never see with my own eyes. Events I’ll never attend – or even be invited to. The people I will never meet are a vast multitude larger by far than the number of people I have met. There are books that I’ll never read, having never known they exist, and others I may choose not to read because they aren’t “for me” in some recognizable way. There are groups I am excluded from, and accolades I do not qualify for. There are places I will never visit – it’s a big world, and time is finite. Hell, I’m not even “allowed” to visit some places, for one reason or another. I’m not vexed by any of this. Our mortal time is too limited to do and see everything, anyway.

These are not musings to do with unfairness, inequity, or unjustly placing restrictions on accessibility of places, events, or experiences that should otherwise be open to a particular demographic being out-grouped by shitheads for some trumped up bullshit justification. These are simply thoughts about limitations in life, and those do exist. Some people (maybe most) won’t wake early enough to see this morning’s crescent moon. They weren’t excluded – though they did miss seeing it. There’s a distinction to make there.

Daybreak comes. The sunrise begins. The sky lightens. A new day dawns. We see what we turn our attention to, but we still have to look, and observe, and bring awareness to the moment. We make choices. We are easily distracted. The more of our precious limited mortal lifetime we spend staring at our phones, tablets, and screens, the less able we may be to sit quietly and watch the sun rise.

I sit awhile longer with my thoughts on a chilly autumn morning, watching the crescent moon climb the dawn horizon, as though seeking to make room for the sun. Soon, it will be time to begin again.

I’m sipping water, and getting my boots on, preparing for the morning hike. It’s a gray cloudy morning, cooler than originally forecasted. I’m okay with that, but as I dig through my gear bin in the back of the car for my fleece, I wonder if I should have worn a sweater?

A new day, full of potential.

I step down the trail contentedly. Later this morning I’ll meet with a former colleague (who is also a friend) to discuss a job offer. I’m grateful for the opportunity, and feel fortunate that it is coming so soon…but, in practical terms, it’s not 100% of everything I was hoping for. It’s not a bad offer. It’s not in any way unreasonable. It is in every way an excellent offer and one that should meet all my practical needs and even get me ahead a bit, although perhaps more slowly than I’d ideally like. The salary is a small step back (very small). Here’s the thing though; it’s still quite outstanding. I’m not even bitching, and I expect to accept… I’m just saying it’s an imperfect world and circumstances don’t always go along with our plans, dreams, or expectations. That’s just real.

I’m grateful for the practical wisdom of my Traveling Partner. I likely wouldn’t be where I am without having had the benefit of his insights, wise counsel, and thoughtful perspective. I’ll head to this meeting later able to act from a position of strength. Feels good.

… Funny thing about this perception of “taking a small step back” – in some ways it is an illusion. This illusion is built on the foundation of my expectations and assumptions (about the world, about my worth, about the economy, about the job market, about “have to” vs “want to”…) and mostly isn’t at all relevant to my success in life or my decision making process, until I make it relevant by clinging to those (potentially wildly unrealistic) expectations and assumptions.  Quite a few folks leaving college with their freshly printed degrees fall into this trap.

… There are no shortcuts, not really, and you will have to do the work required, yourself. Your results may vary…

I get to the halfway point on my hike still thinking about jobs, the value of a human life, and the obstacles we place in our own way, time and again, in the form of expectations or assumptions. I remember, when I was first beginning to think seriously about my adult future and what that might look like, I seriously expected to build a career somewhere that would begin when I left high school and end when I eventually retired, well-prepared for leisure living until the eventual end of my life. I didn’t actually see many examples of that scenario playing out in my life among the adults around me, it was merely what I expected, not really knowing how much the world was already changing. TV shows I watched at the time definitely pictured a very different world than I would find when I reached adulthood. lol

I have had friends and associates who invested a lot of time and emotional energy into bitching bitterly about the world not being what they felt was promised (been there myself), but there aren’t any guarantees offered. No assurances regarding what the future may hold, at least none with legitimate practical value. We experience the journey we create through our choices, and framed by our perspective on things. We don’t know what we don’t know. We walk our own path, paved with our own choices. (And let’s not overlook that actual monsters in our midst whose laser focus on personal gain to the clear predictable detriment to those around them do also exist.) There’s an enormous amount of luck involved, and it’s hard to argue otherwise. Our results vary, as do our circumstances. Messy. It’s probably a poor choice to lock oneself into one very specific unique potential experience and snarl at the world that nothing else will do. That’s a very limiting approach to take. There are other options.

Success is not a given. The future is not written, and most of us are just making things up as we go. That’s okay; the journey is the destination, and the success of it is determined by the quality of the lived experience in a wholly subjective way. I can choose whether to accept or decline a job offer. I am the one who will fill the role and have the experience; I define the success. For me, the big wins are to live well, choose wisely, and enjoy the journey.

I breathe, exhale, and relax, watching the sky continue to lighten as dawn becomes a new day. I got started early, and there’s no hurry. I sit thoughtfully in this quiet summer meadow, reminding myself to make notes about various benefits and such other details as will matter, beyond salary. The details matter.

A little brown bird stops on an oak branch very near me and chirps loudly before singing a little scrap of her song. I am pulled back to this “now” moment right here, suddenly aware that I may as well be behind a fucking desk already; I’m not fully “present”, here, now. I laugh and the little bird looks at me quizzically. I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. I pay attention to the softness of the morning air, and the scents of summer. A doe with two fawns, already losing their spots, ambles by unconcerned about me, here on this log. Overhead a layer of low dense gray clouds slowly drifts westward. The air smells like it might rain.

I get to my feet, and brush bits of bark and grass from my jeans. It’s time to walk on, to embrace a new experience filled with new potential. The map is not the world. The plan is not the experience. The brochure is not a guarantee, and the advertising is not the truth. Hmph. It’s easy to say what an experience is not. In more positive terms what is it, though? I chuckle to myself as I pick up my cane and look down the trail. What is it? It’s time to begin again.

I woke ridiculously early this morning. I could hear my Traveling Partner coughing in another room. “Rough,” I thought, as I sat up, “sounds like he’s having trouble breathing.” As I reached for my phone to turn off my sunrise alarm and turn on a dim light, I realized I was pretty stuffy, myself. Allergies? Probably. Or not. Doesn’t matter, if it isn’t going to kill me, I guess. I notice that my head is pounding, too. Nasty headache to begin the day with. Great.

I sigh and stretch, and start getting ready for a new day. I figure I’ll just go get an early walk in, before work, although it’s not yet 03:30, and this changes which trails are available – or safe to walk. I think it over as I dress. My beloved seems a little surprised that I’m going to just go ahead and go, so early, but there’s another heat warning in effect, and it’ll be uncomfortably warm relatively early in the day, so perhaps it is just an opportunity? A lifetime of sleep challenges and insomnia have prepared me well to make use of strange hours. lol A hug, a kiss, and I’m headed out the door to walk in the darkness.

I walked the marsh trail with my headlamp in my hand, pointed down low to illuminate only the ground, and I watched Venus chase Jupiter up the dark backdrop of the starry pre-dawn sky. The morning was ever so still and quiet, and even the traffic was muted. I heard the crunch of my steps on gravel and over dried leaves. The air was still and smelled faintly of mushrooms and summer nights. I definitely had the trail to myself! Sounds in the underbrush as I strode through a grassy stretch covered with sparse old oaks gave me a moment of doubt about my decision-making, but it was only a family of racoons scrambling about, playing and foraging. They took off in other direction when my light reached them.

We spend a lot of our lives “walking in the dark” – life is a journey without a map, and we don’t see clearly where the path may lead. I think about that as I walk. I feel fortunate that this stretch of the journey is a familiar, there’s comfort in that. I stretch as I walk, hoping to ease stiff muscles and joints, and maybe this headache, too. It doesn’t help much, but it feels good to move. As I walk, I think about the tools in my toolkit, metaphorically speaking, and how best to organize my time and manage limited resources in this new here-and-now filled with uncertainty. Isn’t life always a little uncertain? I breathe, exhale, and relax. Could be worse – so much worse. This is only a beginning. Yet another. I wonder where the next opportunity may take me?

…I laugh out loud in the darkness when I catch myself thinking “what do I even want to be when I grow-up?”, realizing I am a long way down life’s path to feel that way, and yet it is still a question I often ask myself…

I get back to the car. I drive to the office that will soon no longer figure into my days at all, most likely. I prepare the budget for this pay period, aware that “things have changed” and that I need to consider new concerns, new details, new limitations – at least for now. Sometimes it’s a little scary. Sometimes it feels rather mundane and ordinary. My emotions are still shifting and I’m still “processing this”. Fuck I will so miss this particular job… on the other hand… it’s a job. There are others. I sigh as I hit “send” on the email to my Traveling Partner sharing my thoughts on the budget and seeking his. I’m grateful this is a shared journey.

I had planned to go camping next week, feeling very secure in my position in life and the world when the plans were made. I cancelled that to make room for uncertainty – and to map a new path. There’s quite a lot to do. I smile to myself; I may even spend time helping my Traveling Partner in the shop – or paint. Change is. Were this 5 years further down the road, I could perhaps simply file for my social security retirement, and breathe a little easier while I look for work, but that time is not now. Doing so now would be a terrible tactical move for the future. I sigh again and shake off the temptation toward wishful thinking. It’s a good time for taking a practical (and where feasible, wise) approach to “right now” – with a loving eye on the future, too.

…Aren’t we all sort of “walking in the dark”, much of the time? I sip my icy cold office coffee and think my thoughts awhile longer. The sun is rising now, and it’s time to begin again.