I’m sitting at a favorite trailhead, listening to the quiet of these predawn moments, and waiting for daybreak to illuminate the trail enough to walk without a flashlight. It’s the last day of the year.
An occasional car passes as I wait for the sun.
This nature park is only open from dawn to dusk, but there’s also parking near the gate. I wait to hear the quiet “clang!” of the gate opening, which reliably occurs just at daybreak. There are a couple other “regulars” who turn up to walk or take pictures as early as I often do, but this morning it’s just me. I’m okay with that; I’m not here to make conversation. None of the early morning people are. lol
2023 is over. What a year. So many lives lost to conflict or genocide. Humanity can be so terribly disappointing. The amount of violence and trauma left behind by 2023 would be shocking if we weren’t all so numb. I sit quietly, in solemn reflection and acknowledgement; we’ve got to do better if we’re going to survive ourselves at all.
2024 is just about here… I think about the year behind me. The challenges. The successes. The failures. The unrecognized opportunities. The missteps and course corrections. Work. Life. Love. Change. I consider how fortunate I am to enjoy the relationship I have with my Traveling Partner. I reflect on my current job and how much I enjoy it… And how little my enjoyment of my work ultimately actually matters, inasmuch as it has very little correlation with my longevity in a given role, at all. I think about the books I’ve read this year and the books I hope to read in the year ahead. I think about how wretched and poisonous corporate greed is, and the way it taints just every-fucking-thing. I think about hearth and home, and how much difference love makes, day-to-day. I reflect on how fortunate I am to have this life and another year to live it.
One more walk in 2023.
It’s daybreak and I can see the trail. I take a moment to move the car past the gate into the parking lot.
I sigh. Finish my coffee and lace up my hiking boots. It’s time to begin again.
Well hey! It’s a new day. First day of Winter, just days before the big Giftmas celebrations, and a bit more than a week before the almost-global celebration of the New Year. Funny how significant we make turning over the page of a calendar from one year to the next. We all like a new beginning, eh? Maybe we all really need a fresh start? It’s been a difficult year, what with nations at war with each other, and genocides in progress, and women all over the world still being treated as somehow less than their male associates and family members. Yeesh. You’d think we had been around long enough as a species to get past that bullshit… (which bullshit, exactly? All of it? Yeah, “all of it” sounds about right.)
The first day of Winter from one point of view.
So, here I sit, on this “first day” experience – the first day of Winter. A new year of its own sort. An opportunity to begin again, to start fresh, to reset… What will I do with it? What will you do with it? This year, I missed doing my ritual planting of seeds for the first time in many many years. I was just in too much pain to do much besides hang out with my Traveling Partner, read a bit, play some rather engaging-but-not-challenging video games, and work a little bit on the model I’m building. My body thanked me for that rest, this morning; I woke from a decently restful sleep feeling pretty okay. It’s Winter, though, and pain just comes with the weather. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I still feel pretty merry, and I’m eager to wrap up this last work day before I go home for the holiday weekend.
Home for the holiday.
…Yes, I made the drive into the city to work from the office. I didn’t (and don’t) have to, I just enjoy the quiet time and the opportunity to let my Traveling Partner sleep without being disturbed by the lively tap-a-tap-a-tap of my fingers racing over the keyboard first thing in the morning. This morning, I even enjoyed the drive. There was almost no traffic at all.
I chuckle when I read news articles about how businesses are moving away from remote or hybrid work models; the traffic patterns call the authors liars. While there are surely some industries for which remote work just can’t work (or can’t work easily, or isn’t of legitimate value), it’s quite clear that wherever remote work or hybrid work can and does work, the American workforce has embraced it aggressively, and businesses have in many cases simply had to capitulate, and in a lot of cases have actually embraced it. When I read articles seeking to convince me otherwise, I look for the hidden agenda buried in the article; these often seem to be slyly about trying to convince folks to return to the office (RTO) because some companies own so much brick-and-mortar real estate that is painfully costly to hold onto that they pretty urgently want to make use of it. Other articles seem to be more about the admittedly difficult outcome to many downtown areas; the loss of forced-to-the-office workers from those urban areas does impact the flow of cash to small businesses that rely on those workers (who have no reason to shop or eat at those businesses since they are not forced to be in those downtown areas if they work remotely). Funny… that’s capitalism in action, but those business owners don’t seem to want to support that in this instance. Thought-provoking. Could it be that capitalism isn’t the perfect system it’s proponents would like us to think it is? Just saying… maybe stop communicating via “-isms”, and start looking for solutions that are not pinned to your pet ideology. 😉
…Weird tangent, sorry, my politics are showing…
On the commute this morning I hit almost all the traffic lights green, a rare fun treat, and made the drive feeling more relaxed than I’ve been in days, because my Traveling Partner is really beginning to recover from his recent injury in obvious ways. That’s a lot less stress for me; I was worried and feeling pretty helpless to do much to help him heal, other than more housekeeping. I didn’t really manage that, either – I just made different choices, and let different shit go for the time being. The reckoning is coming! LOL There’s quite a bit to catch up on. (I know what I’m doing tomorrow… unpacking from my damned coastal getaway!! Laundry! LOL)
The thing about new beginnings, generally, is that they are mostly a matter of perspective and choices. Ending a thing, as if inserting a “page break” into the experience, and beginning something new – even if it’s the same something, can serve to recommit and regain a feeling of purpose. “I’ll stop doing this, start doing that” has real value – and I can practice this every single day if I care to, or even moment by moment when life is filled with chaos and maddening frustrations. A single deep, cleansing breath, and a moment to clear my mind, maybe make a list, think things over, and to then choose the next step with care and consideration… sometimes it feels more difficult than the words to describe it, but that feeling of difficultly can be translated to “importance” or significance, if I choose to, giving the practice still more value. It’s a way of building momentum and marking progress.
A steady rain begins to fall. The drive in had been misty and foggy, but not rainy. Looks like the day ahead will be a rainy one, though – which tends to explain why I’m in so fucking much pain. Rain, and the weather changing from anything else to rainy, tend to exacerbate my arthritis. Is what it is. I deal with it best I can, and fumble for my wee pillbox; I am prepared… and it’s already time to begin again. 😀
Happy holiday, if you’re celebrating the change of the season. The shortest day. The longest night. The arrival of Winter. This is a season of change. A season… of sorrow. I wish you well. Truly, I wish all the world well. I hope for peace.
Dawn of the shortest day, gray, chilly, and misty.
I got a walk in, down damp trails in chilly weather, feeling the chill in my bones as I walked through the mist along the marsh. Winter is here.
When I was young, and living in a very different location, I was often puzzled by the Solstice being “in the middle of” Winter, instead of at the start. It reliably felt like “mid-Winter” to me, in much the same way that the Summer Solstice felt like “mid-Summer”. Here, the climate (these days) feels more aligned to the equinoxes and solstices; each starting the change of season. The hottest days of Summer are long after the Solstice. The coldest days of Winter follow the Solstice. The Vernal Equinox is “too soon” for Spring camping. The Autumnal Equinox finds the forests still cloaked in green, with the colors of Autumn weeks away. I don’t know why that matters, perhaps it doesn’t. I’m just thinking about it.
Today I’ll mark the day with a favorite ritual; I’ll plant the seeds of the future, metaphorically and literally. I’ve some carefully selected rosehips that I’ll put into the earth along the back of the property. Maybe some will take hold? That’s the idea. I’ve got some other seeds chosen, things that would not suffer for being in the ground through the cold winter weeks ahead, and may spring to life in the earliest days of Spring, bringing the promise of new life. Hope. Growth. Change. I do this every year. It’s just a thing I do. I think back to walking country roads with my Granny, or pathways in gardens, plucking choice rosehips together, to plant here or there some other time. I do miss her greatly. I remember her teaching me all the herbs in her garden, one by one. “Crush this in your hands, Sweetie, doesn’t that smell good? How does it make you feel?” She would tell me their names, and what they might be used for. Cooking herbs. Tea herbs. Medicinal herbs. Where they came from. How to care for them.
I listen to a piece of music that “feels right” today for some reason. I try not to overthink it. It’s just been sticking with me. It seems a clear reminder not to waste the limited time we’ve got. I promise you, it is limited.
My Traveling Partner seems to be on the mend. I continue to do my best to “pick up the slack” around the house. It’s a less than perfect effort: there are a handful of dishes in the sink, and I still have not unpacked since I returned from the coast (two weeks ago??). Maybe I’ll get to that, too. Today is just one day, but much can be accomplished in a day – even the very shortest one.
It’s afternoon. Near the end of the work day. I decide to take my break here, writing and reflecting. It’s been a busy few days since my last bit of writing. Busy with winter weather, and winter power outages. Busy with a bit of leisure, a long weekend that most definitely turned out quite differently than planned (see “winter weather” and “power outages” in the previous sentence). It was still a very enjoyable weekend…
Winter view of an icy dawn through the kitchen window.
…There was this one thing, though…
“Are you breathing?” It’s not an unusual question for my Traveling Partner to ask me, with varying levels of aggravation, frustration, or concern. I get frustrated by it, myself – although most of my frustration has had to do with interrupted flow, interrupted reading, interrupted thoughts, interrupted concentration, all interrupted by what felt like a fairly silly question. “Am I breathing? Well… for fucks’ sake, how am I not??” I would think it to myself, before “checking in with myself” to determine whether, for some reason, I might actually be “holding my breath”. I mean, seriously though, why would I be holding my breath?? BUT… and it’s legit… my Traveling Partner cares about me, loves me, and wants me to thrive, so… why would he be making shit up and just randomly interrupting my every leisure moment with such a silly sounding question?
…Tl;dr? He wouldn’t.
…Frustrating for both of us…
Monday I found myself crying over this well-intended, concerned, loving question. “Are you breathing?” I’d fucking had it with that question. Why does it keep coming up?? I cried and cried, all of my frustration with this one question spilling over as tears, and – possibly for the first time – I let myself actually think about the question. I got angry with it. I fought it in my head. I denied it with reasonable arguments, alone in the twilight of a quiet dimly lit room (I was at that point on the edge of a stress-migraine), but I was actually fully considering the question, and what could be driving it.
…I caught myself “holding my breath” while I sat there thinking and crying, too, more than once… Well… shit… so… this is thing?
My partner checked on me a couple times, offering hugs and sympathy, and assurances of his love and abiding affection. He maintained a non-judgmental approach, and gave me room to have my experience without taking it personally. He “let me cry” – and I needed that. See… this “breathing thing” sources with some very old trauma. Very very old. Ancient pain. Unresolved heartache and chaos and damage, from a lifetime ago. Well, damn… I guess, as my partner pointed out to me encouragingly later on, I may just be, finally and at long last, in a place in life where I can actually tackle some things that were too big for me at any earlier point. Squelched and squashed down for so long… erupting unexpectedly in a fury of tears and sadness, like a timer going off.
Later he shares an interesting article with me that seems potentially relevant, about some people experiencing “email apnea“. Reading it gave me a framework to understand the physical behavior of “not breathing” and how that may be affecting my experience moment-to-moment if it is any sort of common concern. A way to understand the observed phenomenon without mistreating myself, and giving me a way to put it into the context of my TBI, or my PTSD, or both. Well… I like science, and I like empirical evidence much more than opinion… so… I took advantage of the technology at hand to begin taking a measurement of my blood oxygen if my partner expressed concern that I wasn’t breathing… I’ll admit, hoping very much to “prove this wrong”. It only took a few such measurements to have to acknowledge that he is noticing something that could be a legitimate concern. I can’t take “real” personally. Instead, I put practices in place to get better at noticing if I am holding my breath (without requiring someone else to point it out), and also to breath more fully without having to actually stop every-damned-thing and actually meditate.
I know to expect incremental change over time to be slow. I know my results may vary. I know I need practice. That’s okay, too; new need? New practice. Hilariously… kinda the same old practice in a fairly basic way. Breathe. Seriously? (I hear myself laugh out loud. Okay… at least I’m still laughing.)
…By the end of the day, we’d had a lovely day together, one of the most pleasant days I can recall in a while… just… really comfortable, connected, pleasant, romantic, tender, wholesome, and just… fun. Good bit of positive reinforcement there. I smile thinking about the day. Today I keep practicing, and find myself recalling scenes from Demon Slayer (season 1), in which the hero, Tanjiro, is learning “Total Concentration Breathing”. I smile and feel considerably less insecure, or sad, or diminished, or frustrated, or put out, or inconvenienced, or… yeah, I’m not feeling anything but love, and gratitude; I have a partner who cares – literally – that I am able to breathe. That’s pretty amazing.
I smile. I check my blood oxygen monitor. 99%. Nice. I pause for a moment to breathe mindfully… and begin again.
I’m sipping my second coffee this morning, letting my mind take a break from work by looking over newly prepared canvases waiting for further attention, and a couple small half-finished pieces that I am working on a bit at a time. It’s a new approach. It reflects the feeling of permanence in this place. I sigh contentedly and sip my coffee, smiling.
…It’s not permanent. Very little, if anything, is. I sip my coffee staring into the colors on canvases, and lose myself in my thoughts…
Sometimes beginnings are untidy. It’s rare that an intention is effortlessly achieved. Things seem always to be “becoming”.
It’s a pleasant day to reflect on an unwalked path, an incomplete painting, or a dream as-yet-unfulfilled. I sip my coffee and try to do so in the context of impermanence, and a sort of accepting non-attachment… the future does not exist in my present. It’s up ahead, somewhere, waiting to become a moment all its own. I think about my notion that a cottage garden would be lovely out front… and the patience involved in seeing that become, first, a plan, then, over time, with some luck and persistence and any number of new beginnings… a garden worth lingering in. No certainty that it will be a “cottage garden”, really… That’s how things go; differently than planned. Often. 🙂 My results vary. lol
Evening Light 