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

Yesterday was a good day end-to-end. I sip my coffee thinking about it, and waiting for the sun. Daylight Savings Time ended in the wee hours this morning, and dawn will seem to come an hour earlier. There’s no “real change” to when the sun will rise, only to where we human beings place the occurrence on our clocks. I sit with that thought awhile. Time is interesting to contemplate.

I spent a couple pleasant hours at my easel yesterday, painting. Well, more accurately, I was painting at the dining table, and the piece of Pastelbord I was painting on at any given moment was taped to the table to prevent it sliding around. I no longer have an easel, and if I still had my enormous floor-standing easel I wouldn’t be using that, it was far too big for the small work I presently feel inclined to do. lol Having a tabletop easel might be nice, though; pastels are dry, but still manage to be quite messy, as little drifts of colorful dust settle here and there. An easel would tend to keep the work itself cleaner, requiring fewer pauses to carefully blow off the loose pastel.

Colorful flowers, insignificant and delightful.

I think about having a French easel, too, for working en plein air (an unnecessarily fancy way of saying “outside”). I shop for something of that sort, again and again, trying to find a combination of characteristics I like, and that properly suit my painting style. It’s proving to be surprisingly difficult. I sometimes wonder how much what I just don’t yet know about what I actually need may hold me back from recognizing what may realistically suit me in practical terms. We don’t know what we don’t know, and every “what if” scenario is incomplete because of that. I sit thinking about that for awhile.

Some autumn sunrise from a favorite view.

I sit contentedly reflecting on the paintings I painted yesterday. Each pleases me in some way. Each has some detail I’m more critical of. It’s funny that I’m simultaneously quite delighted with them, while also seeing them through critical eyes. I smile at the flowers, while thinking “ah, but if I had done this other thing, wouldn’t it be better?”, but I don’t really know that it would be better – only different. Thinking about decisions in life is much the same; we can consider how we might have done differently, but we can’t know what that other outcome might truly have been.

“What if…” is like any other sort of wishful thinking or daydreaming; we can’t really know, we can only wonder.

I watch the horizon for daybreak. Soon. I sip my coffee. It’s a chilly morning and the warmth of the hot coffee cup in my hands feels good. I think about how good a hot shower will feel after my walk, and smile with some satisfaction that the dishes are already done and won’t be waiting for me. Such a mundane detail to give me so much pleasure. It’s funny (to me) what sorts of utterly practical things can provide so much contentment and joy.

I think about my Traveling Partner, sleeping at home. He continues to make progress with his recovery, and it’s really beginning to show. That’s an immense weight off my heart, I admit; I’ve felt so helpless and worried. Caregiving is a lot of work, but beyond that, I really want my beloved to live (and enjoy) his best life!

Day breaks on another rainy gray autumn morning. The trail is visible as the sky lightens. There’s a mist clinging to the ground and the scent of the marsh is in the air. Everything seems quite still and quiet. Later, there will be time for painting between loads of laundry, and happy hours hanging out over coffee with my Traveling Partner, talking and sharing life. For now, it’s time to put on my boots and get out on the trail, and begin again.

Peculiarly foggy morning, now that the sun is up. The mist crept up from the river bed slowly as the sun rose. The morning, before dawn, was crystal clear and chilly. Summer is already becoming fall.

My Traveling Partner pinged me an early greeting that became a 30 minute conversation, before I set out for my walk. No point trying to walk and text chat at the same time; it renders the experience little more than distracted mindless exercise, which I don’t particularly enjoy. I like to be where I am as I walk, taking in the sights, the changing light, and breathing the fresh air. The exercise is a bonus.

He pings me several times more after my walk begins, but explicitly says “read after your walk” and I mute my ringer happily and walk on. I’m in pain this morning and I definitely need this self-care time. He’s in pain, too, and cheating myself of good self-care doesn’t serve either of us well. I walk on.

The trail is noisy and crowded this morning. I’m in no mood for cheery greetings and human voices, but I set off on my walk much later than usual, choosing conversation over walking, and love over solitude. Choices. I’m okay with it. I just keep walking. The leaves of the oaks take on a golden glow high up, even as the mist swirls around their bases, covering the meadow grass. The horizon is obscured. When I look towards the sunrise, the mist is a golden wash of color, trees and distant buildings silhouetted but not revealed. It’s an interesting effect.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I walk, wondering what the day will hold. What do I want out of it? What needs to get done? What can wait? What might bring me joy? My thoughts are imprecise and vague, not unlike this misty morning, details lost in the fog that has gathered. I don’t make any effort to force things one way or another. It’s a Saturday. I just let my thoughts come and go, like an autumn mist in the morning, trusting that it’ll clear up later. It’s enough to enjoy this moment, walking with my thoughts.

Soon enough I’ll begin again. Until then, I’ve got this moment. I take a few minutes to relax at the edge of the marsh, on a convenient bench at my not-quite-halfway point. I write a few words. Watch the Canada geese drift across the water of the pond nearby. Watch the sun rise. Breathe. Nice morning for it…

… Isn’t this enough..?

There was a misty rain falling when I got to the trailhead before daybreak. I don’t mind that. It had rained rather heavily at several points during the night, too, and I didn’t mind that either. My sleep was restless and unsatisfying, and I didn’t get enough of it. The household seemed noisy until almost midnight. I struggled to return to sleep each time I woke. I feel fine this morning. Eager to get a walk in along the damp marsh-side trail. It’s a short drive to the office from this nature park, and that’s where I’ll be working today. In general, the day is off to a good start, though seeing it through that lens is largely a matter of practice over time. (It wasn’t all that long ago that a restless night followed by a drizzly morning would likely have found me exceedingly irritated with life and wholly unpleasant to be around.)

…I keep practicing…

A rainy dawn, a new day.

Daybreak comes and I swap my shoes for boots, and grab my cane. I finish off my iced coffee and double check that I have my water bottle ready. I breathe the rain-fresh air and sigh contentedly, stretching before I head down the trail.

Practices come in all sizes. Changing the things I practice in life has done a lot to change my quality of life, my thinking, and my perspective. I’m more resilient. I am calmer. I bounce back from stress more easily and more quickly. I still have challenges. I still have to deal with my own bullshit and baggage. I’m very human. Trauma has changed me over the course of a lifetime and there’s no knowing who I might have been without it. There’s no “going back” – but it hardly matters when I remember that all my choices are ahead of me when I am present in this moment, awake, aware, and ready to begin again any time I fail myself or fall short of living my values. Failures are part of life.

I smile at the cloudy gray sky thinking about how best to capture those hues in pastel. This is a worthy moment to be here, now, and I embrace it. I breathe, exhale, relax, and begin again.

Here it is, a Tuesday. First day back to work after a long weekend that actually felt long. It was a delightful weekend in the company of my Traveling Partner. Evenings shared with the Anxious Adventurer, too, after his work days were done. It was pretty nice all around. It is satisfying to see my partner continuing to improve and recover after surgery (though he is less satisfied, because progress feels so slow).

A new day begins now.

I am starting the day with that “song in my heart” feeling. It’s quite wonderful. I made a point to set things up for my partner at home to make his morning easy, and slipped away into the pre-dawn darkness. The Anxious Adventurer has an early start at work this morning, and has been making great progress with being quiet and considerate in the mornings. I’m hopeful that my Traveling Partner will be able to sleep in and get more of the rest he needs. He’ll have a quiet house for a few hours.

As soon as there is enough daylight, I hit the trail and get a short walk in. Short this morning because I’ve got work and getting an early start gets me home earlier…

…An early ping from my Traveling Partner upends my careful planning. He woke, and can’t find his glasses. Recent experience suggests they may have fallen into a gap between the mattress and headboard, and if so he won’t be able to see or reach them. He asks for my help and if course I don’t mind working from home; I prefer it. I assure him I’m on my way and head back up the trail to the car.

… It’s time to begin again. Change is.

No, seriously – change is a thing. Reliably.

Later…

I’m at the office. Funny story… well, not really, but for context; my Traveling Partner found his glasses. He’d knocked them to the floor, but they were within reach once he spotted them. Difficult, but not (apparently) completely outside the realm of possibility… because he got it done. He alerted me. We chatted awhile, and I resumed my plan for the day with minimal delay. Hilariously, I still feel “more than connected” with him, presently. I feel alert for his outreach, sensitive to the idea he may yet need me, and I’ve got a persistent sensation of having “half an eye on my phone” for incoming messages. My full (very – it’s a Tuesday) meeting calendar today limits the ease with which I could promptly return home (following an almost hour-long commute), but I settled my nerves by alerting my work team of the potential, and then I just… let it go. It’s fine. Routine. Human.

…Fuck I love my Traveling Partner so deeply and so enduringly that even my lingering hang ups and baggage regarding time and timing are nothing compared to my love, and my willingness to come to his aid on a moment’s notice.

Change is. The journey is the destination. There’s no point getting overly invested in the details of a plan, or in expectations or assumptions about how things may go or what the future holds. Breathe. Exhale. Relax. Roll with it. Practice non-attachment and practice not taking shit personally, and life becomes so much less prone to OPD (Other People’s Drama) and disappointment. Go ahead – be daring – just be.

Isn’t right now a fine time to begin again?

There’s a dense misty rain falling this morning, here at the trailhead. It’s not enough to keep me off the trail. I’m grateful for the rain poncho that I keep in the car with my boots and gear that I like to have on hand “just in case”. I’m not in any particular hurry. It’s a holiday Monday and, with the drizzle this morning, I have the trail (and the park) to myself. I take my time enjoying it.

The grays and greens of a rainy summer morning have their own beauty.

The scents of the park are different on a morning like this. Petrichor. The birds are more plentiful and a bit noisier. I hear a different assortment of birdcalls. The minimal traffic on the highway nearby creates a hushed background noise, tires on wet pavement, that sounds almost like the wind in distant trees, or waves on an unseen shore. The tiny misty raindrops make no noise. They cover everything quietly, silently soaking surfaces, and making everything more damp than actually wet. “Good for the garden”, I think to myself, but it may not be raining there; it wasn’t raining when I left the house.

I listen to the sound of my breathing, and my tinnitus. There have been pretty clear signs lately that I may be developing a real hearing impairment. I’ve made an appointment with an audiologist. I find myself wondering if all of this head and neck shit is related… the hearing, the tinnitus, the headache, the degenerative disk disease, the eustachian tube dysfunction, the weird whatever the fuck is going on with my collar bone… Probably not, but g’damn – I’d very much like to get it all sorted out and at least have a clear accurate understandable diagnosis. It would be something to work with.

… These fragile fucking meat suits in which we reside are disappointingly unreliable and prone to failure over time…

I just keep walking. Breathing. Practicing. Living my life has become a thing I have learned to embrace with a certain joy, in spite of pain, aging, and whatever bullshit and baggage I am dragging along. There’s always plenty of that to go around, I can at least enjoy my life and treat myself with kindness.

I enjoyed a pretty splendid day with my Traveling Partner, yesterday. We shared the day shopping online for a tool he was wanting. It was tremendous fun. When the Anxious Adventurer returned home from work, I made a hearty fairly healthy dinner for the three of us (although I went a bit overboard on the portions). It was well-received and there are leftovers for lunch today. None of this is particularly noteworthy by itself, it’s just lovely to feel life returning to a more comfortable commonplace emotional “atmosphere” as my partner continues to recover from his surgery. Encouraging and a huge relief; we humans too easily assume that whatever things are like in this moment now somehow says something about future moments or represents some kind of ongoing state of being. That’s rarely the case, good or bad. Change is.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. My arthritis is griefing me hardcore this morning. No surprise; it’s rainy. Damp. Humid. Of course I hurt. I check the time and take appropriate medication. Best to get ahead of it, so I can more easily enjoy the day with my Traveling Partner once I return home.

… It’s still raining. Daybreak has come and the sun has risen, though the only confirmation is the lighter gray of the sky and the visibility, limited only by the misty rain and not at all by darkness. I’ve got my boots on. I’ve got my cane by my side. I’ve got my rain gear ready to put on as soon as I step out of the car. Nice quiet morning to walk a favorite trail along the river and the marsh. I guess it’s time to get on with it…

It’s a good time to begin again.