Archives for category: Brain Injury
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When Half Isn’t Half At All

April 9, 2026 //
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I’m sitting at the “halfway point” of this walk on a familiar trail, chuckling to myself over my lack of precision. It’s not actually halfway. Depending on whether I complete the loop, or turn back the way I came, it’s more or notably less than halfway. lol It’s a convenient stopping point sort of halfway-ish, with a pleasant spot to sit for a few minutes, that’s all. I routinely refer to this as halfway, in much the same way I might cut a sandwich in two pieces, and call each piece “half” of the sandwich without regard to how evenly split it actually is. Just saying… I’m not measuring these things for accuracy.

… I’m living my life…

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

The morning feels strangely compressed. Shorter. As though the minutes are somehow going faster. I know it’s not an accurate perception of time. Firstly, I slept past my sunrise alarm, and woke some minutes later to the lights on full brightness. Now, I’ve been sitting here listening to birds chirping and singing alongside this trail for who-knows-how-long – I definitely don’t. I didn’t check the time when I stopped. It’s been… some time. Honestly, it’s already time to head back to the car. Here I sit. Quietly. Contentedly. Enjoying this moment. It’s enough. I’d linger in this feeling for much longer, were that an option. All day maybe, as I might choose to do while camping. I sigh to myself and think my thoughts awhile longer.

… It’s time to plan some sort of camping trip, maybe…

Pause for a moment. Breathe.

Vita contemplativa. Ichi-go ichi-e. Each time for the first time, each moment the only moment. What a deliciously luxurious feeling it is to slow down. I stretch and enjoy the sunrise.

I know, I know, moments are fleeting. The clock is ticking. It’s time to begin again. I will…soon. For now, I’m enjoying this lovely moment.

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

Breathe In, Breathe Out

April 8, 2026 //
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A new day, a new beginning, eh? Gotta start somewhere. Breathe in. Breathe out. Repeat. Like a lot of mornings I woke with a song in my head. Why this one? No idea – it’s somewhere to begin, though.

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

So I begin the day reflecting on a song and a moment and wondering what my dreams may have been whispering in my ears during the night, and whether that matters at all.

Yesterday was strange. Filled with conversations about my Traveling Partner maybe being out for several hours or possibly overnight, or maybe not going anywhere at all. Suddenly, he was heading out. At that point it was unexpected, but I adapt quickly; I enjoy solitude at home, and it’s quite rare. It’s a busy workday for me. I eventually finish with that, do a couple things around the house, and shower. I sit down and put my feet up, and he’s letting me know he’s heading home. I chuckle to myself. Any little bit of disappointment I briefly feel is quickly washed away by my enthusiasm for his company. We’ve got a good thing. Solitude can wait, it always does. 😄

We shared a lovely quiet evening, no drama, no fussing, no weird hint of persistent anxiety in the background. We’re open to each other and converse easily without strain. How were the last 20 months so fucking difficult? I sigh to myself. People are who they are. They bring all the mess and bother and vexation within themselves along with them everywhere they go. They are each having their own experience, and walking their own path. This is true of my beloved Traveling Partner and of me, and of the Anxious Adventurer. I sigh to myself, grateful to have my space back, and my peace, and genial quiet evenings of effortless conversation and endless seeming moments of joy.

I sit watching the pearly pink sunrise from the side of the trail. Nice morning. I listen to a track my beloved shared with me. It is a deeply meaningful favorite.

My phone begins pinging me with work notifications. I ignore them; that time has not yet come. The awareness of a new work day encroaches on my peace though. I am reminded of the scramble and grind to “chase that bag” another day. I resent the weight we give nothing more significant than a paycheck. What about art? What about love? What about reasoned discourse among educated people? What about a moment alone on a trail in springtime? I laugh softly to myself. I know where I put the most value. Still , a paycheck is a useful thing and surviving “late stage capitalism” certainly seems easier with than without.

I sigh to myself again. Breathing in the cool floral scented Spring. I guess it’s time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, art and the artist, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, Logic & Reason, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being, The Big 5, War and News of War, Words

What Moves You?

April 6, 2026 //
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This morning I am struggling to focus. I feel merry. Purposeful. Suffused with contentment and joy, even. Yesterday was a good one. Satisfying and for the most part quite pleasant. The latter part of the day found me taking a break, muscles sore from joyful labor. My Traveling Partner joined me. I made salads for dinner. We spent the evening dividing the time between watching videos and love.

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

This morning I woke slowly, some little while before my alarm went off. My muscles protest against every demand I make, however ordinary. Ouch. Healthy effort, healthy work – ordinary sore muscles. I’m not even complaining, just reminding myself to take care of this fragile vessel; more manual labor today. Today the Anxious Adventurer loads the moving truck he’ll drive back to Ohio, back to a life he left with purpose and intention. It’s familiar, and familiar is easier. I do understand.

We’re each having our own experience. Each walking our own path. Each finding our own way – or not. Many people find settling into someone else’s way enough for most of a lifetime before ever questioning that choice. I wish the Anxious Adventurer well, whatever path he chooses to walk; he’s as close to a son as I’ll ever get, and I hold no grudges about his time with us. I do find myself wondering what moves him? I let it go. It’s not like he’d know how to answer if I asked.

What moves you? What shakes off your ennui or distractions and fills you with purposeful energy? What gets you up each day to face a few more steps on your path? What gives your life meaning? I sit with those questions and watch the halfmoon setting between the trees.

It’s not a very good picture, but it is a very good metaphor. What will you do with your moment?

I keep my walk short today; there’s real work yet to do later. I walk the mile it takes to wake up and warm up these sore muscles, pausing along the way for a slow gentle attempt at this or that yoga pose. I get back to the car and check on my work team (I’ve taken the day off, but want them to feel supported). I give myself time with my thoughts, time to write, to meditate, to reflect on love. I sit thinking about purpose, and the way we seek meaning, and where I find that – or create it – myself.

The clock is ticking. The path ahead is sufficiently clear. I suppose the only thing left is to begin again…

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

Variations on a Theme

April 5, 2026 //
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I woke early, but not ridiculously so. I got up and dressed, hoping not to wake my Traveling Partner. We worked through the day, yesterday, moving things around and restoring order from chaos. Joyful work, but still work, and by the end of the evening we were both fatigued, in pain, and easily aggravated. I called it a night early, expecting to read awhile, but I quickly sank into an exhausted sleep.

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

We had a great day together yesterday, mostly. Fatigue and pain got in the way a couple times – very human. Today is a new day, and I am not clinging to yesterday’s grief; that’s generally a poor practice. (We become what we practice.)

The morning is quiet and very dark. I reach the local trail ahead of the sun. I decide to wait for the first hint of daybreak before I begin my walk. I’ve got my headlamp, but I’m not in any hurry. Even though it is Easter Sunday for many, there are no early morning events planned here (I checked before I chose this trail).

Yesterday, in the evening, I managed to hurt my knee somehow and managed little better than a slow painstaking limp, gripping my cane to steady myself through each painful step for the rest of the evening. The muscle running up the back of my thigh from the pit of my knee to my ass still hurts, but I’m not limping and for most values of “okay”, I’m okay. I’m just sore from the work of moving things around (and there is more yet to do).

I don’t personally enjoy the chaos of moving, and I’m grateful this is a very limited version of that experience. I’m delighted to have my space back, less so about the bangs and bruises of having my mental map suddenly destroyed. I laugh at myself for a moment, recognizing that as lasting consequences of brain damage go, it could be much worse that needing some time to rebuild routines and to restore a sense of object placement. This may also say something about my fondness for familiar walks and trails. I sit with that thought for a moment.

… Novelty is uncomfortable, but may be better for my cognitive health, long-term…

I sigh to myself as I recognize and acknowledge sore muscles. The walk will be good for me. I think about the day ahead. More to do, and today includes a bunch of basic housekeeping. I’ve been working from home more, which takes the pressure off the weekend, and let’s me spread things out more, and my Traveling Partner no longer requires full-time caregiving (barely any at all now), and has been resuming many household tasks he handled entirely before his injury. Fuck it’s good to have him back! … It’s still Sunday and there are still household chores to do. 😆

It’s funny, I had had it in mind to “put things back the way they were” when the Anxious Adventurer moved out… But things have changed, life has moved on, and that isn’t a useful solution in many cases. (I don’t think I have an accurate recollection to work from, either.) Change is. There are different paintings hanging in the library now, and my studio just “feels different”. I’m not even complaining or fighting it; it’s mostly better in obvious ways. There is room for further improvement and this is a choice opportunity for such things. I’ll relearn where everything is, all over again.

… And maybe even change it again, in favor of something better still…

I reflect (with some amazement and a whole lot of respect and admiration) on the way my Traveling Partner embraces the opportunity for change to completely change various elements of his work and creative spaces. I’m astonished by how little such things disrupt him. There’s a lot to learn from that.

I sit awhile longer reflecting on moves and moving and change. It’s a useful metaphor. My mind quickly wanders to art and painting and I am eager to make use of my studio, although it will see use as my office before then. Monday is almost here. I put that thought aside firmly. Neither Monday nor work need my attention today.

I look over the list of things yet to do. The sky has taken on a hint of deep dark blue. I can see the trail. Steps on a path are calling me. It’s time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, art and the artist, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, health, inspiration, joy, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Spring, The Art of Being

Art and the Artist

April 4, 2026 //
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I am thinking about the work still ahead to bring my studio back to a work ready state. There’s vacuuming to do, clutter to remove and sort through, and basic housekeeping. I’ll be able to move the cabinets that are both flat storage of small canvases and also work surfaces back into the studio after those other details are handled. There are art supplies in storage that can come home. I thoughtfully examine a long glittery fingernail while wondering how much storage may have degraded some paint over time? It’s back to shorter nails, too; easier to hold a brush with a steady hand, or quickly touch something up with the edge of a fingertip. I know what matters most to me.

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

No AI used in the pictures, either, just a cell phone camera, no touch ups. No filters.

It was just the start of sunrise when I reached the trailhead this morning. Chilly. A mist clinging to low places. Pretty morning, and I stepped out of the car delighted to see the clouds disappearing toward the horizon, infused with pink.

I watched the moon set as I walked. I listened to flocks of geese passing overhead, and little birds in the trees as I passed by. What a lovely morning!

Steps on a path.

I get to my halfway point, and sit in the morning sunshine for a little while, feeling it warm on my back. I fill my senses with Spring sights and scents and sounds. I’m eager to be back at my easel, painting. I feel energized and inspired.

It feels good to have my studio back. It also feels a little weird. I’ve spent two years being accommodating, and now I am able to stretch and fill my space with inspiration and purpose. I’m grateful for this opportunity to really appreciate how fortunate I am. It was 35 years of painting before I ever had a dedicated studio space, and that first one only lasted a year – but I learned a lot about what I need artistically, and what matters most. We bought our little house in small town America, my Traveling Partner and I, in part because this little house has enough room for a small art studio for me (a bit of design and shop space for him was something that developed later, and our wee house is a little small for all of everything, but it’s generally enough).

I sit swinging my feet as I sit on this fence rail thinking about the weekend. There’s plenty to do. I try sorting things in my head, first by priority, then by level of enthusiasm, then by difficulty. None of that works; there is a necessary and rather practical order of operations to most of it. Nested tasks that only make sense in one sequence, mostly, and a few other tasks that will create pleasant breaks.

… And then there’s the garden; it’s s lovely sunny day and the garden wants attention…

I breathe, exhale, and relax. The path unfolds ahead, and I need only walk it. The destination? A work ready studio, a cozy, tidy library, and a lovely garden; isn’t that enough? I sigh contentedly, enjoying this moment just as it is. It too is enough. I hop down from the fence rail, startling s bunny in the grass I hadn’t seen approaching, and get ready to walk on. It’s time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, Art, art and the artist, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gardening, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, joy, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being, women, Words
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