Nothing fancy, nothing ritzy, nothing much deep. In the brainpan or body, either of those. I'm working on simplifying my syllabus, my teaching, my practices, my monkey thoughts. I'm rather pleased with yoga and the clear mind state it induces, and one of the realizations it's led me to is that what I'm doing is okay, that I'm okay, and that each step is just fine.
I'm not angry, nor do I blame the world, nor do I perceive myself as a victim of anything. I'm not narcissistic, nor am I the kind of generous selfless I wish I sometimes could be. I'm not anybody's perfect, and I don't blame myself for that, nor do I blame anyone else for not being anybody's perfect, but I do rather think we should all spend more time thinking of ourselves as pretty close to perfect just as we are... trying.
I've had a few intense arguments this past month, and am suddenly realizing that I don't have to take on other people's comments, brood about them, internalize, define myself by either my own or my loved one's perceptions. In the past, I have rolled and tossed in bed, have sobbed under my pillow at comments that probably were passing for those who said them, mainly taken them on like a second skin because they were uttered by people I care about and want the respect of. But now I am thinking, not really even wondering, but actually to the point of understanding, that sometimes description can be true without being definitive or worth a deep raking. Sometimes important observation can [metaphor here] without requiring [metaphor here].
I feel like, despite the crazy, the sometimes marvelous, sometimes painful, of this past week, I am feeling overall less anxious, more accepting of the steps it takes to make little movement, and excited about the months coming up. Proud of myself, proud of others, etc. Not so caught up in the past just because it's all around me, but... you know, good.
So, I went to the Olympic Coast with a Chicago friend who came to the Pacific Northwest to visit me/it. I wanted the week to be important and it was, but of course in ways unforeseen. It involved a hike along the Olympic Coast, and the shocking realization that 1) for myself, I have aged and what once was simple now involves steps; and 2) it's crucial to pay attention moment by moment to what is happening and adjust to it, rather than letting plans and hopes and "needs" take precedent. Likely that's oblique, but it's still a pretty fair couple of statements. I've also realized how very different people are, and how very much difference truly e/affects communication, words, reactions... everything.
We truly are individual - Us - and it is both a blessing and a call to conscious living.
Anyhew, here is the island across from our camp on three separate occasions--morning, dusk, and sunfall of one resting day of the three day backpacking trip to Scott's Bluff and back:
Which one do you reckon is definitive?
And then the moondrop of the same evening:
The river otters hither and thithering along the creek next to our campsite:
A sea duck bathing in the creek at sunrise:
The chipmunk who liked our charred marshmallows (we dropped a few in the flames; they burned, but apparently not enough to stop being tasty):
And a picture that seemed a pertinent part of the hike/visit:
Also, tonight my grandparents came over and I had told myself I was going to the studio to work on prep for the class I start teaching this week, plus a nebulous self-evaluation (which I'm not sure how to write despite self-evaluating as a main life hobby), plus working on the art-stuffies I'm chewing about in hopes of achieving some/any-thing for the art-walk coming up. So I headed out after saying hello to the grandfolks, and was grudgingly dedicated to the idea of getting back into the work groove. But my car's tires are totally out and need to be replaced, so I took mom's car and neglected to take my keys which actually open my studio, so had to return after driving all the way to town, but then thought after driving the 15 mins back home to ostensibly pick up the keys to drive the 15 mins back (to work)... shoooot, this is a message that I need to spend the evening at home - a full day of homebody, and a visit with my grandparents.
Thus, after much much deep internal reflection, I decided to not
return to town but to instead have dinner with the folks, and after two brandy snifters post-victuals, my grandpa and mother both got chatty and flooded with stories about extended family and people who lived and passed long ago, apparently in some pretty crazy ways (no artists, intellectuals, biologists, or inventors in this
family), and tales of sailboat strandings, ditch deaths, well deaths post-childbirth-deaths, crazy mean schools and immigrations and new towns, historical family drunkenesses, and laughing with my grandma about the strange dark absurdity of many of the stories, plus my grandpa's Cockney accent as he described who was interesting, who was thrown at him for potential wives, getting letters about my crying mum and beers given to dying women in hospitals (the choice of light or dark - the signifier of impending leavings), and who precisely was "truly a bitch." He has a way of dropping adjectives snappy, unexpected, and punchline.
I felt like I had made the right decision for the evening. Staying home.
And tomorrow - work. As my sis would say: yeppers.