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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

The Way Things Are Going

November 8, 2026 //
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I woke feeling angry following a night of terrible dreams and repeatedly waking to find that I had pulled off my CPAP mask in my sleep, again. (I say “again”, but it is quite uncommon generally. Last night was unusual.)

Note: I notice after I finish this, it’s mostly fairly pointless bitching about physical pain and this shitty mood I’m in. Maybe you’d prefer to skip it? Figured I’d give you that chance right up front.

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

I woke angry, yes, and I also woke aware that I “wasn’t feeling like myself” in some fashion. As I reflect on the experience, my suspicion is that the combination of yesterday afternoon with my Traveling Partner (fraught with contentious angry conversation) on top of not taking a opiod painkiller this morning, is the root cause of my irritable mood. Bad moods, like bad dreams, are temporary, fleeting, and I know they will pass. In the meantime, I’m sitting irritably by the side of this favorite trail, content with the solitude and darkness, and definitely okay with not being around anyone else right now.

My tinnitus is shrieking loudly in my head. The high pitched whine and cicada-like buzz are more than usually annoying. My osteoarthritis is raging up my spine from its origin near my fusion, and climbing vertebrae by vertebrae from about T13 to the base of my skull. It has taken it 40 years to make that journey, one inflamed crunchy joint at a time, over years. Yeah, if you think arthritis is exclusively a disease of aging, you would be mistaken. Each year, the pain is the worst where it is the newest development. I guess I’m grateful I still have a few joints that are not obviously arthritic. Was it last year or the year before that it got to my collar bone? (I know, right? I didn’t know that was a thing until it happened!)

… This year the slow progression of my osteoarthritis reached my thumbs, that first joint, where the thumb connects to the hand. The pain is remarkable. I have no words to describe it. Some days, it robs me of my ability to hold a pen, a pastel, or do anything much that requires a grip.

… What a downer, I know…

Daybreak comes. So far I have managed to beat the rain. It followed me up the highway, and stopped shortly after I arrived at the trailhead. I have the trail to myself. I’m glad. I honestly don’t want to deal with people at all, this morning. No errands to run, and I’ll stretch this morning time out as long as practical, to give my beloved some wakeup time before subjecting him to my pain and my shitty mood.. I will probably duck into my studio and paint, while my hands permit it.

How long will I still be able to paint, and what comes after that? I sigh to myself. Slow tears slide down my face. I don’t know what they are really about; this morning is hard. I pay them no attention, I allow them to fall.

“This just in; middle-aged woman sobs by the side of a lonely marsh trail on a rainy autumn morning. It isn’t very interesting. Back to you.” 😆

… I still have my sense of humor, such as it is (which is, generally, not actually funny to anyone else, but it will suffice)…

Look, some of this angsty bullshit is almost frighteningly mundane. Emotional baggage combined with chronic pain, fear of losing my ability to paint (and the sad  feeling that it may be inevitable), on top of a difficult night, and not taking an opiod this morning (after taking them for several days) seems like a lot to deal with – it would be an incredible stroke of good luck if I didn’t feel like hell this morning in one way or another. That it feels like “all the ways I could feel like crap” is unfortunate, but not my first time dealing with it. I breathe, exhale, and relax. Part of good self-care is taking a minute to observe, acknowledge, and let go. No, it isn’t easy, but it is a shorter path to feeling better again than… not.

… Still gotta do the verbs. PT stretches. Healthy exercise. Regular medications on time. Meditation. A shower, clean clothes, healthy calories. Drink water. Be present. Be kind to myself. Rest when I need rest. Ask for help when I need help. Accept that these mortal bodies are only good for so much. Do what I can, and do my best, and only that.

… And paint. While I am able. Less fucking bitching, more g’damned painting. 😂

I watch the ducks and geese floating on the marsh ponds. The ponds have begun to refill with autumn rains. The meadow is becoming marshy again. I sit enjoying the solitude awhile, grateful for the unseasonably warm weather, and the pause in the rain. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I’ll just enjoy this moment, here, now, until it is time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, art and the artist, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Despair, 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, Sleepless Nights, solo hiking, The Art of Being, women, Words

Sprinkles

November 6, 2026 //
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The autumn air smelled of rain as I left the house. I inhaled it deeply, grateful for the mild morning, and also that I had managed to leave for the day without creating drama over the difficult unrestful night.

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

It started sprinkling just as I got to the trail. Little spatters of rain tapping pleasantly on my rain poncho. It’s isn’t enough to discourage walking. I walk on, thinking about other “sprinkles” in life…

… Major changes in Congress, both House and Senate.

… Amazing firsts among newly elected Governors.

… Celebrity rapists being tried and convicted.

…. Communities standing together against AI data centers and AI slop.

A lot of things won’t change, or won’t change yet, but some things will. Maybe humanity will figure shit out and do better? Maybe elected officials will figure their shit out and actually govern skillfully on behalf of all the people?

Maybe. Maybe not. I won’t hold my breath – but I will appreciate the sprinkles of improvement and change.

… Sometimes the best thing I can do for myself in a difficult moment is stop and really appreciate what is good, and the things that are going well. It is easy for our negativity bias to take over and persuade us that life is crappy. Moments pass. It is worthwhile to let small shit stay small.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. My usual halfway point was occupied today. Racoons. So cute and fluffy, but seriously not to be trifled with. I walked on a ways to this spot. In the darkness, it may as well be the same spot. The sky is cloudy, no stars. There’s an orange sort of glow along the northern horizon, where the lights of town illuminate the clouds from below. The rain stops. My physical pain continues. Life. Change is. I take another deep breath, and exhale slowly.

I sit with my thoughts awhile. The weekend is ahead. I’d like to paint, but there’s a ton of housework to do. It seems smart to focus on getting healthy rest and doing a bunch of chores. I remind myself to ask my beloved what he needs out of the weekend before I commit to plans.

The sky begins to lighten. A new day. A doe steps out of the trees and crosses the trail into the vineyard. She regards me calmly as she passes. I exhale the breath I had been holding unintentionally and breathe in again, exhaling, and relaxing.

I meditate. Write. Then? Begin again. There’s a whole new day ahead. Time to walk on, get coffee, and get to work. I get to my feet, and look down the path. No idea where the journey ultimately leads, but this is my path and I’m walking it.

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

Fog in the Morning

November 5, 2026 //
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It’s very foggy this morning. It is chilly, but not actually cold. I get to the trailhead safely, feeling eager to walk in the fog (if only because I’ve been painting foggy scenes lately and I enjoy the view of things obscured by fog).

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

The lights of the parking lot are eerie through the trees.

I walk the trail thinking about luck, and how routinely very successful and very wealthy people fail to honestly account for various lucky breaks they benefited from on their journey to success or great wealth. The “pull yourself up by your bootstraps” myth and similar tales of self-made success are frankly dishonest, though people may eventually come to believe that shit in the retelling of their stories over time. We don’t get where we are alone, good or bad. Sure, we’re each having our own experience, and yes, we are individually responsible for our own actions… but luck matters, too. Like, a lot.

I sigh to myself as I walk with my thoughts in the fog. The entire experience feels like a metaphor.

I get to my halfway point thinking about my general good fortune. I sometimes yearn for an easier life than I’ve got, but this life is good, just as it is. I have it better than my parents did, and lacking their lucky breaks getting here was a lot of work over many years. I’m grateful. I’m here, living this modest life in a small pleasant suburb, at the edge of a beautiful rural region of vineyards and farms and beautiful views. It’s enough to live this life, and more than enough to get to enjoy it in the context of my Traveling Partner’s love and good company.

… I somehow still find myself complaining about petty dumb shit that vexes me momentarily, forgetting how good I do have it, after all these years…

I may never be wealthy (by percentages, very few people ever will be). I may never have a life of excess and luxury. I have it pretty good though – there is a roof over my head, a secure home and well-stocked pantry, indoor plumbing and safe drinking water, and clean clothes to wear. I’ve got a good job and skills I can rely on. I live with chronic pain, but I have the medical care to manage it. I’ve got a head full of chaos and damage – but I’ve also got good therapeutic support and the tools for appropriate self-care. This isn’t a bad life. It’s actually pretty good.

What do you yearn for? What is your dream of a perfect life? Are your own desires obscuring your view of the life you live now? Are you “walking in fog”, not really seeing the joy and beauty of the life you have?

I think and walk until I reach a suitable place to stop, rest, write, and just be. It’s not my usual stopping point. I walked past it in the fog. 😆 There’s definitely a useful metaphor or two in this morning’s walk. There’s a piece of construction barrier handy to sit on, so I stop for meditation and writing. I use my rain poncho to make a dry place to sit. I breathe, exhale, and relax, and repeat. I give myself up to breath and calm observational awareness, sitting in the fog.

I could do without this fucking headache, though; I breathe, exhale, and let that go.

I could do without the arthritis pain. Another breath, another exhalation, and I let that go too.

As each internal criticism arises, I take a break, exhale, and let it go.

Every distracting thought is followed by a breath, and exhalation, and a release of that distraction, letting it dissipate into the fog with my breath.

This is not a difficult practice, nor is it costly. It does not require an expensive course. It does not require a subscription. It only requires practice. It is necessary to do the verbs, there are no shortcuts.

The predawn darkness is giving way to the earliest hints of nautical dawn. This may be my favorite time of morning, these moments when the first clear silhouettes of trees become distinct in the gloom. Shapes appear and become recognizable. There is a feeling of anticipation; the sunrise is coming. Even this feeling is released with an exhalation, to dissipate into the fog. It’s not as if I have any control over the coming and going of the sun anyway.

Lovely quiet morning, I think as I get to my feet. I peer into the fog. Headlamp? No. No headlamp, just this beautiful foggy twilight of dawn, and this foggy trail. It’s enough. I begin again.

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

Choices, Chances, Changes

November 4, 2026 //
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Wednesday after an election day Tuesday, so half(ish) of the nation is waking up to (predictable) disappointment, the other half to (premature) celebration. A smaller number may wake wondering whether or why it matters at all.

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

Me? I wake up groggy, exceedingly so. I manage to avoid making a lot of noise as I dress and leave the house, but I’ve got a nagging sensation that I forgot something, or forgot to do something… and as I walk the trail my thoughts are dominated neither by the election results nor by the starry sky overhead; I’m wondering if I left lights on.

… G’damn it, I sure hope I didn’t wreck my beloved Traveling Partner’s sleep!

The morning is quiet. I get to my halfway point and stop. The starry sky overhead delights me, although I only recognize a small number of constellations and visible planets. The night sky is quite beautiful. The autumn air smells of past rain and current dampness, leaves, and fireplace smoke. I inhale deeply and exhale slowly. I relax as I sit here.

I breathe, exhale, relax, and take time for meditation. I don’t practice meditation when I’m stressed out; I simply practice. Every morning and evening, and sometimes in the afternoon after work, are my “regularly scheduled” times for meditation. Yes, I sometimes also meditate when I’m stressed out, but isn’t that more akin to grabbing a screwdriver when you need one, than practicing a practice?

…It is the steady practice that makes meditation so effective for stress reduction…

It is a work day, but that time is not now. I sit under the stars on this mild autumn morning thinking about… Giftmas. It’s very much time to plan the holidays. It’ll be a quiet and modest year for it, this year. Minimal expense, maximum joy. (Or something like that.) Thanksgiving is less than a month away… I remind myself to order pie at the farm store down the road.

…Pleasant calming thoughts, apparently; I doze off while sitting here and wake with a physical jerk, probably a response to my head dropping as sleep began to overcome me. I’m still pretty groggy. I stand up – I’ve never been able to fall asleep standing up – and finish my writing on my feet.

A fog begins to gather, seeming to flow up out of the creek bed and pooling in low places as it spreads across the vineyard adjacent to the trail. Coffee will be a much appreciated luxury after this walk. I’m grateful for the mild weather. I’m grateful that although I am groggy and still struggling to shake off sleep, I’m not also struggling with vertigo or my headache. Physically, I feel pretty good this morning, and the touch of arthritis pain is manageable.

Mm… Definitely coffee next. I stretch and yawn, and turn my headlamp back on. It’s already time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, The Art of Being, War and News of War, Words
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