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And an Iced Coffee

November 13, 2026 //
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It is a Friday morning. It’s also payday. I get an iced coffee on my way to the trailhead. Blonde roast, black coffee, extra ice.

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

The coffee tastes almost sweet. I love that first drinkable sip and the refreshing feeling of the ice cold liquid chilling me just a little with each swallow. I reach the trailhead, park, and sort myself out for the walk. Cane. Headlamp. Rain poncho. Yep – the sprinkling that followed me here continues to fall quite steadily, and I definitely want my rain poncho. My iced coffee goes back to the cupholder, my feet to the pavement.

I start down the trail happily contemplating the day ahead, and the weekend. I’ve got a room on the coast for a couple days of storm watching and painting. I’m grateful that my Traveling Partner pointed out the excellent price for the room. I feel loved and understood. He’ll get a couple days without dealing with my challenges on top of his while he works on projects of his own. We both benefit from these little breaks, they tend to remind us of the love we share. I miss him ferociously when we are apart, even if I’m just grocery shopping.

So…a short shift at work and home to pack and head down the highway.

I walk on, thinking about “curses” and hexes. Why? Um…why not? Actually, it’s the remnants of lingering contemplation of a video we watched last night. No link, it wasn’t that good, but it left a residue of unfinished thoughts in my head. I walk on, thinking my thoughts.

The rain continues to fall. Properly raining now, and I half wish I had slept in and had hot coffee at home. I’m not complaining, really, I also like the rain. I like the scent that rises from the wet ground, and the hint of wood smoke on the gusts of wind that whip past me intermittently. I reach my halfway point; a broken down picnic table shoved back under what is left of the tree canopy overhead, evergreens mingled with deciduous trees. I write a bit. Meditate. Respond to my beloved when he pings me to ask about my plan. I feel uplifted and merry.

I chuckle to myself remembering the books I packed for my coastal getaway away. William S.. Burroughs “Naked Lunch” and Thich Nhat Hanh “The Heart of the Buddha’s Teachings”. No, I don’t have an answer for “why those, though?”, they drew my attention from the bookshelf so I dropped them into my “bag of fun distractions”, which also includes my poetry notebook. My mind runs through all the packing steps, for later.

… I’m trying something daring today; no packing list. My intention is to stay present and aware, to take my time and also complete my packing with no drama and nothing forgotten. It’s a hell of a feat to put in front of myself. I feel confident I can manage it…

I breathe, exhale, and relax. The rain falls. The day ahead has purpose, and I feel ready to begin. I get to my feet and stretch before I resume walking. Lovely morning for it. I am thinking of that iced coffee waiting for me in the car. I laugh and wipe the rain from my face and my glasses, turn on my headlamp, and start down the trail.

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Categories Allegories, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, joy, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, The Art of Being, The Big 5, War and News of War, women, Words

Imperfect Every Day

November 12, 2026 //
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Yesterday began well, and seemed on track to be a great day in my Traveling Partner’s good company. Veterans Day. We’re both Vets.

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

The day went sideways abruptly. Oh, for sure it was all me. Chaos and damage, Veterans Day, and I lost my shit unexpectedly over some small thing that would ordinarily result in a deep breath, or maybe a brief moment of feeling vexed and frustrated. Instead, I lost my emotional footing, and became quite unhinged. Embarrassing, after the fact. My Traveling Partner flared up when I melted down, feeling his own hurt and frustration with my bullshit. Emotions were heated, but instead of days of anger and tears, we managed to sort things out pretty quickly (about an hour). Real progress, actually.

… I still feel embarrassed, remorseful, and more than a little ashamed of myself for being so easily taken down by my inner demons on Veterans Day; I know I am at greater risk, emotionally, on this holiday. I know to be quite careful and wary about my emotional balance. This year proved me unready. This year, for the first year ever since I left the service in the 90’s, not one of my former comrades at arms reached out to check-in, the way we always do. No one I reached out to myself (which was all of them that I have remained in touch with) replied either. There was only distance and silence. I reached out to some close non military friends, too, hoping to dispel the sudden loneliness, and there too, I got only silence back.

…I felt incredibly alone, and my heart filled with despair…

Human beings are mortal creatures. These lives are finite, and so precious and fleeting. Time is short, and we rarely see “the last time” coming. My heart was aching over it. My beloved had no real opportunity to support me; my demons bested me before he could, creating our mutual shitty experience.

… I’m grateful for my partner’s love and patience…

I sit in the foggy darkness alongside the trail I chose for my morning walk. The morning is very quiet. A beautiful buck with a delicately branching rack of antlers stepped past me silently in the fog. He glanced at me briefly, aware but unafraid. I think my thoughts, he no doubt thinks his own. The fog envelopes us both.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I think about my Traveling Partner’s encouragement and his discipline. There is balance between those qualities, held in a thoughtful self-aware tension. It isn’t that he doesn’t have his own challenges and struggles, it is more that he understands them differently, and manages them generally with great skill, and quite differently than I do mine. I consider those differences often. Some I seek to emulate and practice (my results vary; we are different people). Others I avoid, recognizing my results would be quite different, for one reason or another, or perhaps don’t feel consistent with my understanding of who I most want to be, myself. We are different, which is entirely okay.

He loves me and hates to see me mired in despair. The heartbeat of opportunity to share and heal and grow in a positive gentle fashion is sometimes too brief. A moment of pain and sorrow escalates to tears and emotional flooding. Rough. Very human.

We got past it together. Eventually his tenderness and kind suggestions reached me through the tears. His words became a new anchor in a new moment. I allowed myself to trust, and to timidly initiate repair and reconnection. He did not resist, nor did he hold the chaos and unexpected volatility against me. We moved on. The rest of the day was quite pleasant.

Another breath, another thought. I sit with my beloved’s kind reminders to be present where I am, and keep my focus on what is within my sphere of control. I breathe the crisp wet autumn air and think about that. “Be here, now” isn’t merely some gentle hippie platitude. Words have meaning and power.

… and I have brain damage 😆. My beloved making helpful suggestions for practices I am deeply familiar with is neither condescending nor is it “mansplaining”. He’s helping his brain damaged partner find that information again, out of love and concern.

Avoid getting lost in the fog.

I meditate wrapped in the foggy dawn. I feel safe in my solitude, but for a brief moment I also feel a poignant sting of recognition; the difference between solitude and loneliness is razor thin. I miss old friends, military buddies, and lost family connections. I sit with my mortality for a moment. Change is. Impermanence, too, and it can’t really be argued with. I breathe, exhale, and relax. “Practice non-attachment,” I remind myself. “Knowing” is not practicing. Accepting is not practicing. It’s necessary to do the verbs.

I’m grateful for this foggy, thought-provoking morning. I’m grateful for the time and solitude to reflect on what I have learned, who I am, and what I need to practice to become the woman I most want to be. I reflect on dear friends now lost in the fog of distance, time, and mortality. I cherish their memories and let go. Again. Another breath. It feels good to breathe deeply, and to exhale slowly.

Daybreak comes. New day, new beginning. I get to my feet and begin again.

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Despair, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, inspiration, Logic & Reason, loneliness, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, The Art of Being, War and News of War, women, Words

One Dark and Foggy Morning

November 11, 2026 //
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Walking this trail in the fog and predawn darkness is pretty much like any other. Which trail? Doesn’t matter; there is nothing to see but fog beyond the small-seeming circle of light bobbing along. It lights enough of the trail that I am safe from stepping into the marsh by mistake, or slipping and falling into a pond.

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

… This is definitely no time for AI. 😂 Breathing the fresh autumn air as I walked the trail reminded me with each step how precious this mortal human life is. The experience of walking in the foggy darkness, of waking and walking ahead of the sunrise, of the scents of autumn – AI can’t create or experience any of these. Life is a very human experience.

… Be sure to live some of it…

I smile to myself as I take a seat on a fence rail between the trail and a marsh pond. In summer it’s a very small stagnant pond, more of a puddle, and the ground between the fence and the pond itself becomes grassy and firm. The autumn rain returns each year and refills this pond such that it swells and extends almost to the fence. This section of the trails in this nature park is my favorite. It cuts through the marsh. On a foggy morning like this, it is eerie and mysterious. It’s also on a seasonal trail, restricted between October and May, and I feel a moment of guilt and embarrassment; I had forgotten. It is November.

I sigh to myself, admitting I also ought not really be out here before dawn. The signage is quite specific; park hours are dawn to dusk. I face my mixed feelings about my rule-breaking. It feels strangely American to defy authority and break rules – but that doesn’t address the right/wrong of the choice to be out here on this trail in the darkness of a foggy autumn morning well before daybreak.

I understand myself as someone with a commitment to being my best self, and respecting rules… but here I am, unmistakably not following clearly posted rules. I sit with the discomfort and cognitive dissonance, letting the truth remain prominent in my thoughts long enough to accept who I am, and my decision making which brought me here. Nonjudgmental self-reflection, consideration of what is real and true of this moment. No games or self-defensiveness, no excuses or rationalization. Observation, acknowledgement, and acceptance, only – challenge accepted, I tell myself, and sit awhile longer. My human primate mind really really wants rationalization and approval, I persist in refusing to provide it. I made choices.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. The fog envelopes me in the darkness. Hints of daybreak begin to appear. The sky is a paler gray. The oaks dotting the marsh and meadow are silhouetted, black against the sky. Smaller trees appear through the fog, looking like strangers just standing out there in the gloom. Spooky. I have the trail to myself this morning. Not only because it’s ridiculously early, but also, it is a Wednesday, Veterans Day, but an ordinary work day for many.

… The sky and fog all around me continue to lighten as dawn becomes a new day. Everything around me is fog, as though I had inadvertently stepped out of my reality into some vague, unimagined space, gray and… waiting. Waiting, perhaps, for me to choose a direction, select a path, and begin again.

There’s enough light to see now. I’m still surrounded by fog. The sound of distant traffic on the edge of the park is muffled. The air is so still and quiet that the sound of a nearby wakeful duck on the pond ruffling her feathers seems loud. My feet crunch on the gravel trail when I hop down from the fence rail, stretching as I stand. I look down the trail, into the fog. The world seems to disappear completely about 50 ft (something like 15 meters) from me.

… I walk on, imagining each detail that emerges from the fog to be wholly new, and my own doing. If I were to create the world anew – what would I change? With what purpose in mind? How would I shape it with all of humanity in mind? And everything else? What about all the many details I don’t know or can’t imagine? Would my world be comically lopsided without? I stop on the trail further on, realizing I hadn’t yet finished this. Strange foggy morning.

Walking in the fog. It’s a metaphor.

I finish my writing, and begin again.

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

Can You Hear Me Now?

November 10, 2026 //
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Restless dreams, strange morning. Strange in all the best ways. My Traveling Partner was already awake, when I woke, and invited me to stay and join him for coffee, this morning.

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

By itself, enjoying coffee with one’s partner is not a strange thing. We don’t do it often (a combination of timing and temperament). It was quite nice to relax over a cup of excellent coffee together. He told me about a project he has started. I asked some questions. Good conversation.

At one point his temper flared up, but he bested it quickly, I didn’t fall apart over it, and the morning continued, rather delightfully. There is real value in giving people room to be, to err, and to grow.

I have been watching my beloved battle his loss of resilience and patience, since his injury (and more so since his surgery), and I am impressed and looking for lessons and practices I can also make use of. He understands his anger better than I do my own. He is my muse, surely, and oddly enough also a role model to me, always has been. We both (each?) have an eye on our tempers. (Maybe that’s just smart approach to human behavior and emotions? Human primates don’t domesticate easily.) I see him recover from a moment of anger and genuinely reset, quickly. He catches himself, takes a moment, and lets it go. Given the emotional space and safety to do so, he regains perspective quickly. I tend to “drink the poison” and seethe for days in an unhealthy way over some pretty small shit. He gives me hope that I can do better, with practice.

…I handle my anger so much more skillfully than I did when my Traveling Partner and I got together, and the memory of his firm, calm voice telling me frankly and simply that my uncontrolled rage was a relationship deal breaker got through to me more than the words of any therapist had. I am so grateful that he gave me the chance to work on it, instead of walking away.

The coffee was delicious. The conversation was interesting. The mood was relaxed. The memory of the morning is quite lovely and I smile as I walk down the trail, recalling various details, and thinking over an observation my beloved made. “You’ve been in your own head a lot.” He said it in a loving way, concerned about me. He’s right about that, too. I walk on, thinking that over.

… Feels like a Friday. It is the ripples of the lovely morning extending across my sense of the day…

Resilience needs practice. So does communication. I reach my halfway point thinking about practices, successes, failures, and beginning again. I breathe, exhale, and relax. This morning, meditation feels easy and my mind feels calm and settled. There is a work day ahead of me. My pain feels managed. I watch white clouds scoot across the black of the night sky. Daybreak soon. I could use more coffee.

The world is what it is, and most of it is not within my sphere of influence in any way. I can do my best, here, now, to live well, to love well, and to be my best self, and thereby do something to improve the world in some tiny way. It matters. Letting all the ills of humanity rest on my shoulders is neither useful nor healthy. It only serves to reduce how much I have to give, closer to home where my actions have real effects. The result isn’t only that I have less to give, I also end up missing out on so many potentially delightful moments because I’m not fully present and anchored in this moment. I reflect on that.

Daybreak comes. A sprinkle of rain starts falling. It’s a good time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, anger, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, Healthy Living, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women, Words

All Those Yesterdays

November 9, 2026 //
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My sleep was interrupted and uneasy. Strange dreams were only part of it. I had intended to change the linens on the bed over the weekend, and didn’t (between Saturday’s arguing and Sunday’s pain I didn’t have it in me at all).

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

… My Traveling Partner woke me during the night, sleepless, vexed and wanting fresh linens. I got up and changed the linens, remade the bed, and went back to sleep. Further discussion of any sort would only have served to prolong the interruption of my own sleep…

Fucking hell I am tired this morning. It is what it is. I step out of the car in the predawn darkness, grab my cane and stuff a pack of travel tissues into my pocket. Good enough. I set off down the trail briskly. Well, as briskly as I can manage this morning. I’m halted several times by sneezing fits. I pause and deal with it, before walking on.

I think about the weekend as I walk. My mind wanders to life, work, love, art… I am grateful for the life I have lived, rich in experience. I contemplate my growth and change over the years. I think about Plato’s Cave, and the Ship of Theseus. I consider all the yesterdays that have brought me here, as surely as steps on this trail will take me around the vineyard and back to the car…

… Am I there yet? Am I the woman I most want to be? (Short answer, no, not yet.) And who exactly decides who she is? Well, that’d be 100% all me, although there are plenty of non-me entities that would like to have some influence over that vision. (Thanks, I’ve got this.) I consider myself fortunate; I may not have an easy relationship with the woman I have been, but I have a clear understanding of who I most want to be. Though that can present occasional challenges, when it turns out someone else wants (or expects me to want) some completely different set of characteristics or thinking, and I don’t seem ready to comply. Awkward. I will persist in walking my own path. I am my own cartographer. This life is mine.

I get to my halfway point and stop. I breathe, exhale, and relax. The morning is mild. No rain. Overcast sky. Daybreak comes gently and I almost miss the moment, lost in a contemplative reverie. The autumn air smells of distant wood fires and fallen leaves.

One of the most difficult lessons I have found in life is learning to accept that we are “each having our own experience”. Hell, we can’t even be certain if we see each of the colors we can name as precisely the same as what another person sees. We sort of trust that pink is pink when we see it, and that another person seeing it recognizes it. We don’t really know what it was they saw, only that they also call it “pink”.

I watch daybreak turning the sky from night’s deepest black to a dark blue gray. The trees are silhouetted, black shapes, indistinct aside from their outline against the paler sky. I love this moment, the tipping point between night and day. Every sunrise is a new beginning. A chance to walk on from what has not worked, on a path to change – it feels full of promise and potential, every time.

I sit with my thoughts awhile longer, reflecting on the power and the purpose of having a sense of who I most want to be. Thinking over life’s vast menu. I think about all the days and decisions that brought me here, to this particular Monday, feeling that I’m still only midway on this journey, and that there is further to go.

I sigh and stretch. I feel reluctant to let the weekend fall away into the past and walk on. There is more to learn and understand. I’m just tired of walking, maybe. (It’s a metaphor.) I breathe, exhale, and relax. I sit with my thoughts, eyeing the path ahead. Soon enough, I’ll have to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women, Words
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