Breathe and listen

Me in front of Coleman Glacier on Heliotrope Ridge

This hike, Heliotrope Ridge, was one of my favorite hikes back a few years ago: we climbed up to the glaciers on Mt Baker, eight years ago next month, when this picture was taken. I've done this hike many times, but we didn't always manage to get to this spot because of the treacherous stream crossings. The last one to cross was especially hard, so sometimes we just trekked up the climbers' route and skipped getting this close to the glacier.

Last Thursday, on the hike I skipped, nineteen Senior Trailblazers made it up the Park Butte trail to the lookout, more than a 2,000-foot elevation gain and loss over eight miles. I just didn't know if I could do it and the last thing I want is to hold up my friends. I smiled when I found this picture because I am still wearing that shirt (just yesterday) and use that vest still today. But the old bod just doesn't want to make those hard hikes in the sun any more. I am thrilled to have all these great pictures to go through and reminisce over. Some of my dear friends have died, and some have stopped going on the hikes, and yet, some still continue all these years later.

What interests me most these days is learning how to make the transition from an active and fit senior to one who can still do plenty, but not the really hard stuff any more. I find it fascinating to notice how much of my daily life is still filled with adventure, happiness, and things to learn.

Real knowledge is to know the extent of one's ignorance. —Confucius

As I am aging, the things to learn are becoming more important to pay attention to, like how to get around my failing vision. And how to deal with the inevitable aches and pains that accompany me as I move through my days. But I cannot find any of them that keep me from my usual routine, thank goodness. Of course, knees, hips, ankles and rotator cuff injuries from the past still hang around, but they don't keep me from moving forward. There are many people my age who have traded in their old joints for some fancy metal ones, but I decided long ago that it would be a last resort for me. And now that I've reached my octogenarian years with my original joints, I suspect I won't be needing to replace them, given the short number of years I have ahead. Yes, I know I might live to be a hundred, but I really don't think so, and instead I look forward to each day, each month, each season with optimism.

Wildflowers on Skyline Divide

On a recent solo walk, I began to get some serious lower back pain and rummaged around in my pack for some Tylenol and found nothing. That meant walking back the rest of the way, about two miles, with some discomfort. It continued to increase and, if I had been using a cane or trekking poles, it would have been easier, but I did make it back to my starting point and relaxed in a comfy chair at the coffee shop for awhile, before going home. I still hadn't taken anything for the pain, but it receded once I rested.

The next day, when I woke, there was only a bit of residual pain and I pondered whether or not to take proactive medication before heading out for my usual three-mile walk. I decided to go ahead and take it, but I'm not sure I needed it. The back pain didn't recur as I walked. What caused it? It's a mystery indeed. Yesterday, Saturday, I made my usual six-mile walk with my friend Steve, and there was no sign of any pain. I was glad I didn't take anything, except to make sure I had some with me just in case, and my back was pain free. Even innocuous drugs like Tylenol or Advil are habit forming, and I don't want to be one of those people who needs them just to exercise. I remind myself that pain is something to pay attention to, like a friend who tells us to listen, please.

I think much of how we experience our days is within our power to change, to make our days happier and more serene. I have now been meditating for a couple of years, every morning after I do my Five Tibetan Rites, which I have now performed every morning for more than a decade. There have been times when I've been injured one way or another so that I need to modify them, but mostly I can perform them 21 times as my wakeup exercise in full. Although they are supposed to rejuvenate, I think they just work out the kinks from sleep. They are part of my daily practice, though, and indispensable to the start of every day.

My daily meditation is focused on the breath. I sit down on my kneeling bench (I can no longer sit cross-legged for any length of time) and take a deep cleansing breath. Then I begin to count my breaths, one to ten, and then starting over at one. At first I would lose track of what I was doing and needed to begin again at one, but I now only occasionally feel so distracted that I lose my focus. It's something I look forward to and would love to expand into a second session in the evening, but so far I haven't done so. After I finish, before getting back up, I spend a few minutes in prayer, asking for my beloved friends and family to be free of disease, pain and suffering. Then I ask the same for the entire world, before I begin the rest of my day.

On Sundays, I get up a little earlier than usual and write this post. These days, I begin it the day before by finding the pictures I want to use in it, and then pondering the theme of the day. Then I put it aside until the early morning hours of Sunday, which is right now, and sit down with my laptop in bed, while the sun rises and the birds begin to sing, and I just let it come out. Sometimes it's pretty good, and sometimes it's not, but isn't that the way our days come and go? The river of time has its crests and valleys, and they are reflected in my posts. I look forward to the Sunday ahead, and to the time spent with my friend John, my beloved partner, and whoever else comes into my day. It's a pretty good life, I have to say.

At some point during the day, I will read the posts written by those bloggers I follow, and it feels a little like spending a virtual cup of tea with good friends, one by one, as I learn what is on your mind and how you and your loved ones are doing. While I only imagine you virtually, it's just as nourishing as if we actually sat across from one another and raised our cups in celebration of our day, our connection, our daily life. As I look at my life, I am feeling incredibly blessed to have you, dear friend, to share it with. I hope the coming week will bring you joy and satisfaction. Until we meet again, be well.