Cloudy With a Chance of Imperfection

August 31, 2026 //
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Yesterday was a mixed bag of joy and aggravation. I really wanted to paint after returning home from coffee with a friend. I was in so much pain that I was uncomfortable to be around, even for me.

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

I couldn’t make it work, and inspiration got hung up in my Traveling Partner’s irritation and my own discomfort. I took more pain medication and laid down for awhile.

My beloved kindly woke me some time later, so I wouldn’t miss the entire day. I got some laundry done. We hung out a bit. It was fine. It was a quiet, mostly pleasant evening together. I went to bed early (crazy early, like 6:30 pm) still dealing with pain. I slept through the night, waking only once, briefly. I must have needed the rest.

This morning I woke rested, mind empty, heart serene, feeling content and unbothered. I dressed and left the house, seemingly without waking my beloved. I hope he sleeps deeply and wakes rested.

Heading down the trail, the morning seems almost spooky it is so quiet. I gently touch my left ear, checking that I actually do have my hearing aids in. Yep. It’s just an unusually quiet morning. My footsteps seem quite loud, generally I don’t notice them at all. My breathing, too, is audible. My tinnitus? Not as bad as usual, seems like. I do a simple “body scan” as I walk. Vertigo? Nope. That has thankfully cleared up. Headache? Mild. Arthritis pain? It’s there, but not yet bothersome, today. My gait feels steady, and if not effortless, at least comfortable. Good enough. Generally speaking, a mostly comfortable Monday.

The first hints of daybreak reveal the trees, silhouetted against a dark sky, not yet at all blue. I’m also not blue, which is a nice feeling, although I know my Traveling Partner would ask me irritably to rephrase it in terms of what I am feeling, which does seem reasonable. I guess this morning I am feeling…calm? Calm. Contented. Yesterday I felt the weight of considerable sorrow, though I never really sorted out why. Sleeping it off was probably a good choice.

So… here I am. Today. I get to my halfway point and stop to meditate and to write. It is an ordinary work day. I don’t really have anything on my mind at the moment, and don’t feel like digging around in my brain trying to find some worthwhile kernel of an idea to get started with, so it’s just me, and this moment. That’s fine, too. It’s enough. I breathe, exhale, and relax.

As I watch the sky lighten and change colors, dawn becoming day, I think about the powerful advantage (and convenience) offered by having dedicated studio space again. I can paint after work, any time. I smile; the thought feels like a quick shot of high potency joy straight to my soul. I grin to myself and fidget excitedly like a kid about to receive a gift they just know is exactly what they wanted. I chuckle aloud. I’m pretty easy to please. My Traveling Partner is right; I need to take better care of myself, and do more things for me. He is far more capable than he was after his injury, and I can trust him to tell me when or if he needs help. That’s a huge weight off my shoulders, and peculiarly, I am having some difficulty adapting.

I breathe deeply, and as I exhale I visualize releasing my stress and baggage. It’s a simple, perhaps slightly silly exercise, but I find it effective. I relax and return to meditation. I write. I watch the sun rise. I begin again.

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Categories Allegories, art and the artist, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, joy, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Summer, The Art of Being, women, Words

An Uninterrupted View

August 30, 2026 //
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I arrive at the trailhead in darkness. In one direction, fog in the low places, a bright waning moon overhead. In the opposite direction, a clear starry sky, a “Starlink train” of (probably) recently launched satellites still very much visible to the naked eye. I count seven, and watch them wink out of sight as they pass into the Earth’s shadow one by one.

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

A moon with a view; the kind of thing more suited to canvas than to camera.

I make my way down the trail in the moonlight. If it weren’t for this fog, the moonlight would be enough to light the way. The fog obscures my vision and I’m grateful for my headlamp. The air is crisp and cool, and the scents of Spring are gone. Already, the scents of summer have begun to yield to those of autumn. A smattering of scattered leaves on the trail (clearly not left from last year) tell me that the change of seasons is coming. I walk on. I’m okay with the seasons. Change is.

Yesterday was a pleasant day. Uneventful. Simple. Uncomplicated. I enjoyed that. I savor the recollection as I walk, and give those pleasant moments as much attention as I might give some stressful moment. It is a practice that gently improves my implicit experience of my life and reinforces the good in it. This is an important practice for anyone trapped in feelings that life is “always” miserable in some fashion. Life is not “always” anything at all. Nor is life “never” something, aside from death itself, I suppose. There’s simply too much variety of experience.

Subjectively, my experience of chronic pain tempts me into thinking I am “always” hurting at the maximum possible amount of pain I ever experience, when I look back during some especially pain filled day. It’s not accurate. My pain level varies, some moments worse than others, and some rare days almost pain free. Failing to really pause and appreciate moments and days with less pain slowly results in my implicit recollection of pain becoming “always”, and leaving no room to enjoy other experiences.

Where are you right now? What is the experience like? Savor the moment, it won’t be repeated.

I get to my halfway point shortly after daybreak. As my view of the meadow and oak savannah become clearer, I see other people on the trail at distant points. Even from here, I see the cameras. Photographers, probably birdwatchers hoping for a great shot of some particular bird. It’s a good time for migratory shore birds and song birds, and the herons that visit look grand and mysterious standing in a shallow pond wreathed in mist. I’m still reliably surprised when there’s anyone here this early besides me. 😆

Later this morning, I’ll make the drive to enjoy coffee with the Chaotic Comic. She’s been struggling with some health difficulties and it has kept us from meeting up. It will be good to catch up, although it also serves to remind me of other friendships I have neglected that are deserving of my attention. I miss the Author, the Writer, and the Elephant Keeper, and other friends around whom my days revolved in the 90s. It seems a long while ago, and a lifetime away from here and now. I miss those friendships and the sweltering summer nights in the Tower District, prowling the local cafes for entertaining conversation until closing time.

I sigh and pull myself back to this moment betwixt meadow and hillside, looking out over the marsh ponds, quite small in the dry summer months. The sky is a pale autumn blue, dotted with cottony gray clouds. It’s a pleasant moment, uncomplicated and quietly joyful. I sit with it, grateful for the peace and solitude for some little while, and still managing to miss my Traveling Partner.

I take my GMRS radio out of the pocket of my fleece and request a radio check for the hell of it. I get a reply from someone in Dayton, between here and home. Not bad. I feel somehow safer from encroaching chaos and disorder, though it may be an illusion. I shrug and put my radio back into my pocket. Cellular service is not reliable here, and that’s true of many places I walk. It’s nice knowing I could get an emergency communication to someone with my radio, if I fell and were injured.

… I breathe, exhale, and relax…

I watch the sunrise. For no clear reason, I hear “Vincent” by Don McLean in my head. I softly sing the words out loud to myself, surprised that I remember them. Unexpected tears slide down my face. I don’t do anything about that. I sit with my feelings. They aren’t my enemy, they are telling me something, and I pause to listen.

… And then I begin again.

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Categories Allegories, art and the artist, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, gratitude, grief, inspiration, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, Words

And Then It Rains

August 29, 2026 //
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We’re all human in this thing. Generally doing our best, or some version of that. Sometimes failing (sometimes badly). There are no “do overs”, from the perspective of the crumpled paper lesson, so the stakes are pretty high in any valued relationship.

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

On the other hand, people aren’t made from paper and we’re resilient and capable of healing and growing…

Yesterday I was in pain when I woke and it worsened as the day progressed. Aside from one choice win, early in the day, everything seemed calculated to vex me, frustrate me, or slow me down. Timing ended up being critical, forcing me onto a high risk route in dense traffic. I made it to my last appointment gritting my teeth with barely managed stress, more than a little aggravated, white knuckling the steering wheel as I pulled into the parking lot.

… I hadn’t eaten since a protein bar around 10:00 am, and I didn’t have “extra” (or stronger) pain relief with me. I faced repeated frustrations and had to carefully and very strictly manage my temper all day. I got home quite late, drenched in sweat, head pounding, impaired mobility, and omg so grateful to be home! These details are important context for what comes later. My Traveling Partner had a similarly difficult day, and expressed similar gratitude that the day was over and that he had been eagerly waiting for me.

…Then I fucked that all up, completely…

My beloved asked me a question, the scope of which I misunderstood. I sat down to give him an answer, and when he expressed his irritation that I had missed his point, low blood sugar and bad temper finally bested me and I exploded. Raised my voice (on this whole utterly unacceptable level). Door slamming. Saying terrible mean things. He returned that anger with his own. More yelling. More angry words. I started to storm off – my go-to argument-ending move once my PTSD is in the driver’s seat (I managed, with effort, to fight off the need to flee). Within the hour, I was hysterical with insane terror and rage, and not myself. (G’damn, I fucking hope that’s not myself!) Only…it also is very much myself, and I am responsible and accountable for the consequences of my actions, in spite of pain, low blood sugar, PTSD, and whatever else.

… I could have chosen differently…

That’s not to say I’d have deliberately chosen that mess with my eyes open and my wits about me, nonetheless, my choices were assuredly involved. “We become what we practice” becomes a terrifying reminder that failing to manage strong emotions properly, and failing to perform basic self care can too easily become “who I am” – a lesson I learned awhile ago, but find myself facing cruel reminders, too often. (What is “too often”? Honestly, in this case, ever; I love my partner too much to see him faced with my worst behavior.)

Sitting through a bit of rain.

We are not perfect people, my Traveling Partner and I. We’re human. As human as anyone else. We live and love, and fail and fuck up, and learn – and ideally get back to the living and loving on this strange journey. There’s no one else I want to spend it with.

…When I woke this was all still at the forefront of my consciousness. I dressed and headed out. The air smelled of rain. I filled the gas tank on my way, and noticed that the pavement appeared damp. As I left town, a soft mist became a steady rain. It makes more sense why we were both in so much pain yesterday. Nothing about that excuses the behavior, it’s just a footnote to an incredibly difficult day.

Bad days happen. People behave badly sometimes, and reduce themselves to their worst behavior. We find ourselves standing knee deep in our chaos and damage wondering how we got there and lashing out at any unfortunate soul nearby. Fuck, this shit is hard sometimes.

Storms pass.

The rain stops, reminding me “this too will pass”, and the minutes of our mortal lives are precious and few. It matters to be willing to admit our mistakes, and to make amends and repair damage with the same “enthusiasm” with which we lost our temper.

I adore my Traveling Partner with my whole heart, and mingling love and madness has notoriously been… problematic. I sigh to myself at the halfway point of my walk. There’s a full moon over head. G’damn we’re hard on each other sometimes. A young squirrel approaches me hesitantly. I absent mindedly pull the handful of acorns I’d gathered as I walked, and gently toss them a short distance away for the squirrel.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. Apologies don’t always feel like enough, and really, an apology is only words. Really making amends is about changing behavior. Difficult, but not impossible. Another breath. I consider each small error that snowballed. I exhale. I consider what I could do to reliably achieve better outcomes and more agreeably demonstrate my love and abiding affection for my Traveling Partner, even in difficult moments. Another breath, another thought. I dissect the failures one by one without doing myself personal harm. Self-flagellation isn’t necessary (or useful), growth and change are.

An oak savannah under a stormy sky.

A new day dawns on the oak savannah. I sit with my thoughts watching squirrels play. I contemplate being and becoming, and making things right with the human being most dear to me. G’damn loving me must be fucking hard sometimes. I watch the storm clouds overhead begin to break into pieces and disperse. There’s a lot yet to contemplate, and to learn from. I sigh to myself; I’d very much like to paint (it serves to “unclutter my soul”).

…moments and choices…

I get to my feet to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, Despair, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, health, Love, meditation, Moments, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, The Big 5, Words

Imaging That

August 28, 2026 //
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My thrice rescheduled imaging appointment is this afternoon. I woke aware of that detail as if concerned about forgetting. (Wouldn’t be the first time I had something important on my calendar, reminders set, and still somehow managed to completely forget about it – on my way there!) My morning routine is otherwise quite… routine.

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

I walk the trail under a beautiful full moon. The morning is cool, with a hint of autumn ahead in the air. I reach my halfway point in good time, left ankle and right knee aching every step. I take a seat and the pain that feels most prominent becomes my arthritic spine and my headache. I sigh quietly. Typical. Not really worth bitching about. I breathe, exhale, and relax, positioning myself for meditation as the moon slowly sets.

I shift gears, mind “in neutral” and let thoughts come and go, passing through my awareness, acknowledged, but not indulged. I do some of my best thinking early in the morning, but I prefer not to occupy my thoughts with mundanities or other people’s drama. Art, science, wonder, philosophy, ethics, and simple observations of the world around me seem more worthy of the time. I’m still a human primate. Still prone to being mislead by thinking errors and logical fallacies. Still prone to making assumptions. Still likely to cling to some fucked up stupid notion for purely emotional reasons, or out of habit. I breathe in the cool summer air. I exhale some small measure of my chronic human foolishness. I relax with a smile, remembering that it’s a journey, not a light switch.

I squint at the wash of pale blue along the eastern horizon. Daybreak. A new day full of opportunities to begin again…

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, turning 60, women, Words

Again.

August 27, 2026 //
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I woke groggy, struggling to fully wake, and feeling clumsy. My sleep was oddly restless, my dreams filled my mind to overflowing. My Traveling Partner communicated his own poor sleep as I prepared to leave for my walk. No harsh words or raised voices between us, just sharing. Uncertain that I really had the wherewithal even to walk a well-maintained and partially lit trail, I picked up coffee on my way.

[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]

I reached the trailhead still feeling so ridiculously groggy, I reclined the drivers seat, and closed my eyes for a moment, “just a quick power nap” I thought to myself as I closed my eyes.

… I woke an hour later, just as daybreak began to yield to the rising sun…

The dawn of a new day… I rub the sleep from my eyes, swallow about half of my now-tepid coffee. It’s not great. I grimace at the aftertaste and step onto the trail.

The eastern sky is a pale wash of peach and orange fading into blue overhead, swept with gray clouds. I keep walking until I reach my halfway point. My mind doesn’t wander far from the path this morning, and I’m still sleepy. Wtf? So groggy…

A cloudy morning, no rain.

The western sky is cloudy, with nothing much to see. A little like the clouds sweeping across the eastern sky reached the western horizon and hit a wall, crumbling there and piling against each other. I yawn unexpectedly, although predictably, still groggy. Thursday? Thursday. I’ve got a doctor’s appointment and later a dentist appointment, too. Another yawn. For fucks sake, there’s an entire day yet ahead of me and I’m still struggling to wake up, a mile down this trail! I laugh to myself, grateful for a new day.

Watching the striped layers of clouds changing colors as the sun rises.

I yawn again and get to my feet. I may as well finish this walk and enjoy it. There’s more coffee on the other side… and I can begin the day from there.

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Categories Allegories, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Sleepless Nights, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being
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