Sometimes life feels pretty easy. Some other times, not so much. I could probably stop right there, it is a complete thought.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
I start down the marsh trail leaning more heavily on my cane than on most mornings. Pain. It is what it is. It is mostly managed. The path ahead appears deserted, but the handful of cars in the parking lot when I arrived tell a different story. I don’t much feel like seeing or talking with people – strangers or otherwise. The stormy looking sky suits my mood and the pain I’m in.
Sometimes the path ahead is not obvious.
I walk with my thoughts until I get to my usual halfway point on this trail. There are photographers set up there. Birdwatchers, probably. I didn’t ask, I just walked on. I give a casual wave to someone who waved at me. No one speaks; I don’t want to have conversation, and they don’t want to disturb the wildlife.
I woke too early. I woke already in pain. I’m not saying so to complain about it, it’s just an observation and a potential explanation for my shitty mood this morning. I don’t plan to let either the pain or my dark mood take over my day, although it isn’t always easy (or reliably successful) to change course. Emotions are complicated. For now, this is the experience I’m having. “The way out is through,” I remind myself, and I keep walking.
“Emotion and Reason” 18″ x 24″ acrylic on canvas w/ceramic and glow. 2012
I get to a fork in the path. There’s a convenient rock to sit on, and I am alone. I reflect on paths and journeys, on beginnings and endings, and on how difficult uncertainty makes decisions. I sigh to myself and sit with my thoughts awhile. I ignore the silent tears that well up and slide down my cheeks. A brief moment of sunshine doesn’t last, and the morning returns to shades of gray.
I write for some little while, without ever nearing any sort of useful conclusion. My thoughts are mostly my own, this morning. I breathe, exhale, and relax. Every time my mind begins to sink into meditation, the tears begin, slow and steady. I know this is probably telling me something, but I’m less certain I want to deal with whatever emotional mess is percolating up from within. I let it go, and let it go again. It is a new day, and I’ve got options. I sigh quietly. “Choose wisely,” I remind myself. The menu of the Strange Diner is vast. I don’t have to stay in the mire.
I start to feel stiff as I sit here. No wise woman on a mountain to consult with, only a mirror, and a moment, a woman, and a path. I get to my feet feeling cross about pain and mortality. I turn and look down the path. I can’t see beyond the next bend, and reluctantly I begin again.
I’m often kind of blue on Memorial Day, and given that I’m a war veteran who has felt the loss of many who served with me, over the years, I guess that’s not a surprise. What does surprise me is that this year, I’m not feeling that at all. I slept in and after a sound and restful sleep, woke gently to a new day filled with promise and opportunity. And here I am.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
I’m grateful for the holiday and the long weekend.
Memorial Day, 2026
Yesterday was odd. It began well enough, but after my walk the morning unraveled into frustrations built one upon another like a Jenga tower of aggravation waiting to tip over into rage or some ridiculously disproportionate tantrum. That didn’t happen, though, in part due to loving support from my Traveling Partner who recognized the role he inadvertently played in it, himself. His sweet concern and tender regret helped to resolve my agita before things really went sideways. He comforted me. Encouraged me to take care of myself, and was just generally the sweet caring partner I so adore. He makes minor emotional miracles (that are a major improvement) – and he makes cool fidget toys for me, too. (The newest of which I played with for hours quite happily.) 😁
After a hot shower, and a nap, I was fine. The day proceeded beautifully. My beloved picked up a project he could do in the living room and we hung out together watching a movie. My recollection of the day from the vantage point of this morning is all about the love and joy. It’s a nice change from a time when a morning like yesterday would have lead to days of struggling with my demons and trying – then failing – to manage my emotions, for many painful days (or finally choosing out of despair to drug myself into a stupor to stop the cycle of unmanageable heartbreak and fury). Years of tears are behind me. That’s okay. That too is a very human experience.
… It’s been a journey measured in years and practices…
The path behind me is what it is; in the past. The path ahead is mostly an unknown, and it will develop from the path I walk now. My choices and practices matter. (So do yours. However bad it has been, you can begin again right now and choose differently.)
I sigh quietly to myself on the edge of this literal path I’m sitting next to. Nice morning for a walk. My bones say it will rain…”soon”. The weather forecast agrees. Will it, though? Maybe. That’s the future. It changes constantly until it becomes the present, a real part of our lived experience. Until then it isn’t a given whether or not it may rain, or whether I’ll lose another friend to mortal frailty, or whether the local pharmacy will have my medication in stock, or whether a table will be available at a particular restaurant. It’s not worth getting spun up over some possible disappointment. Be present. Accept change and uncertainty, and practice non-attachment. These are extraordinarily secure stepping stones on a path through life that is fraught with obstacles and detours. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I’m not telling you what to do, I’m just sharing what has worked for me.
I sit with my thoughts awhile. My fingernails sparkle in the morning sun. I consider the day ahead. Vacuuming. Laundry. I think about dinner, later, and wonder whether tacos or chicken with corn on the cob sound better? My mind wanders contentedly through the ordinary. I’m okay with that. It’s Memorial Day – and I’m not crying. Instead, I feel a quiet respect and gratitude, and honor the fallen in my recollections. This year that’s enough – and I’m grateful for that, too.
I get to my feet and brush bits of grass from my jeans before I set off on the path back to the car. It’s a beautiful morning to begin again.
A great mood shattered in an instant. Harsh words. Punishing criticism over elements of behavior or memory that are byproducts of brain damage or past trauma. Sisyphus didn’t have it like this. Progress. Achievement. Joy. Then failure, sorrow, yelling. Feelings of disappointment, shame, frustration, and hurt. Yuck. Stupid fucking primates and their messy g’damned emotions. Very human.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
… I could get mired in these very human moments of failure (real or imagined, the emotions hit just as hard). It is at least partially what originally brought me here, a bit more than a decade ago. Being human is messy and complicated, and there’s no User’s Manual. I suck at some of this crap. We all do, to one degree or another. Sharing the journey gives purpose to the pain and sometimes lifts the weight of the baggage I’m dragging through this wilderness of chaos and damage. I’m doing my best. Legitimately, keeping things real, that isn’t always enough.
It is a new day, a beautiful morning. I wake early, dress, water the lawn and head for the marsh trail up the road. As I drive I consider how to practice better (deep) listening more consistently in more of my relationships (especially with my Traveling Partner) more of the time. It’s important to me.
The sky is streaked with pink clouds. The mountain, when the view reveals it, is a soft blue gray against a bold orange sunrise. There is no traffic at all, and I drive along patiently and contentedly, wrapped in the moment.
Arriving at the nature park, there is a dense mist clinging to the ground in low spots this morning. The air is cool and fragrant, and my sinuses immediately begin to feel stuffy. The marsh is more meadow than marsh this time of year and there are little birds everywhere. I take some Benadryl and check that I’ve got my bee sting kit handy and set off down the trail with my cane and my thoughts.
A new day, a chance to begin again.
I get to my halfway point thinking about that feeling of frustration and futility that can push my thoughts towards self doubt and self-abusive internalized criticism. It’s an emotionally unhealthy way to live, and a drain on resilience. It’s also an active rejection of growth and change – anything rooted in feelings of despair and futility is. I breathe, exhale, and relax, as I turn over the details of the heated “discussion” in my head, seeking the useful details that can form the foundation of real understanding and a better way to practice communicating (specifically listening with care). This will probably be a lifelong challenge for me, given my issues. Knowing that isn’t self-critical, so much as recognition and acceptance – and acceptance is not an impediment to change.
We become what we practice.
So… about the feeling of futility itself, and painful doubt about the worth in making any effort to change? I ease that pretty reliably with reminders about the why in a given change, and also who I am doing it for. I embrace change on a journey to become the woman I most want to be, myself. When people who are dear to me, and people who have earned my respect, suggest to me (or demand) some particular change to my behavior (or thinking), I give it real consideration. The actual choice whether to change is about me living my values, and whether the proposed change will make me a better version of who I am. (There are still verbs involved, I will still have to work to build new behavior, and fight off old programming; changing behavior is rarely like flipping a switch, and generally more of a thru hike.)
Understanding a desired change as fitting my values and my sense of self is an important requirement for effective lasting change.
For me, feelings of despair and futility are very closely associated with finding myself unable to successfully make a change I have perhaps failed to understand as serving my own interests, or haven’t figured out in the context of my values or sense of self. (Or haven’t practiced long enough, consistently enough, for it to become default behavior.) Failing to live up to my own expectations of myself sometimes leads me to feeling despair and frustration, too, but the effort to become the best version of myself is a worthy journey – and also long, and sometimes vexing. “Practicing the practices” is the best approach I’ve found for me to take because change is neither immediate nor “sticky”; I have to work at this shit. I’m very human. (So is my Traveling Partner.)
Yesterday’s difficulties were primarily to do with not listening with care, and taking action too quickly, without a complete understanding of the request or need. It’s something I have real problems with, reinforced over many years and relationships in which the pressure being applied was specific to “speed of response” rather than to “fidelity to need”. It’s not a subtle difference, but years of reinforcement of less desirable behavior over time makes it more difficult to correct. I really struggle with it. I also really want to become someone who listens well and deeply. That is a communication skill with enormous value. So… I keep at it. Practice. Fail. Apologize. Reflect. Refine. Practice. Each iteration a bit better over time. Setbacks now and then. Occasional achievements that result in better relationships. It’s a process, and not a reliably fast one. It’s a journey. The journey is the destination. The journey is about me becoming the best version of myself that I can be, for myself, and true to my own values.
If you thought I had a shortcut to offer, you were wrong. There are no shortcuts, only more practice. 😆
… It’s not rocket science, People. It’s more difficult than that – and has more value. Where would humanity be if we had all learned to reliably listen deeply and communicate clearly without emotional escalation 100 years ago? How much conflict exists between people who communicate well and live their values?
I sigh to myself, watching the chipmunks and squirrels, and the festival of little birds of many kinds fluttering about. It’s a beautiful morning. I fortunate to have time and opportunity to reflect on change and I sit awhile thinking over yesterday and turning over conversations in my head. How might I have responded to this or that differently? I’m not reluctant to be accountable for my mistakes, and I’ve got plenty to work with. I wish my beloved well from this sunny meadow and hope he’s sleeping in and dreaming happy dreams.
Yesterday had some delightful high points and wonderful moments, too. It would be a mistake to overlook them. I sit awhile with my gratitude. Soon it will be time to begin again, again, and a new chance to be the change I want to see in myself. It takes practice.
In the news, grifters go on grifting, the president of the US openly engages in what looks like insider trading, greed continues to shove AI “features” into tools where no one wants it, and people who already have much continue to take more from people who have very little. It’s not exactly humanity’s finest hour. Measles. Hantavirus. Ebola. All pretty bad. You know what’s worse? Genocide. War. Greed.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
Where does this path lead?
Do better. If nothing else, we can, as individuals, choose to do better than billionaires and authoritarian jackasses. We can stop chasing dollars, and take a long look in the mirror, and question the path we are on. Are you on the path to becoming the person you most want to be? Will you live a life you can be satisfied with, ethically, or will you go to your grave reviled by all those whose lives you damaged?
I’m not telling you what to do. I don’t have easy answers. I’m human, too. I want the safety of knowing the bills are paid, that my family is in good health, and the pantry is stocked. I want the luxury of an occasional meal out, new hiking boots when these wear out, and comfortable clothes that fit. We probably all want something. I’m not here to sneeze on the things that matter to you. We’re each having our own experience. I just don’t see many billionaires doing good things for the world by design. $100 of philanthropy does not make up for $100 in damage to humanity. It doesn’t work that way. That’s not “doing good” in the world, that’s just fixing a pothole caused by one’s own endeavors. Performative guilt-soothing “good” isn’t a benefit to humanity once the damage is done.
Sometimes human primates are very disappointing. (Looking your way Altman v. Musk) Shoving “AI” garbage into the experiences of people who just don’t want it is not good for humanity. It’s just another cash grab by out of touch assholes who think their perspective is the only one that matters.
I sigh to myself and pause on the trail to watch the sun rise. A beautiful sunrise never disappoints. I breathe, exhale, and relax, and fight off the existential angst I woke with. It’s not as if my bitching is changing anything. (Sorry.) I do dislike seeing humanity’s potential actively being undermined by AI slop and enshittification. It truly sucks to see humanity come so far to fall so hard, so fast.
…It does feel (to me) as if we’re falling (sometimes)…
It’s a chilly morning on the trail. The air tastes of something almost autumn-like. It’s still Spring, so it seems strange to taste autumn in the air… but… I think we may have broken our planet, along with other destructive outcomes of human douche-baggery. I sigh, and watch my breath become vapor.
I reach my halfway point and stop for awhile. A warmer fleece would have been a good choice, but relative to genocide or drone strikes, it’s a minor inconvenience, nothing more. I’m well aware that the world I live in is bigger than this peaceful place betwixt small town living and agriculture. I just can’t stomach what I see going on in the world, and this small personal escape each morning to find a moment of contentment, perspective, and solace in solitude is a practice that keeps me from losing hope.
For a moment I can focus my camera on clear blue sky and rest my soul.
A startled possum out for a late one waddles past in a hurry, sticking to the shadows. Strange to see one out in the open in daylight, but she’s clearly more worried about getting home than anything to do with me. Noisy robins get on with the morning. The clock keeps ticking. My head aches and my tinnitus is almost loud enough to mask the sound of HVAC on a nearby building. I sigh out loud just to remind myself that the tinnitus isn’t “real” at all.
What I put my attention on directly determines the quality and character of my experience. I pull myself back to this moment, here, now. I make myself a note about this moment, and the day ahead, and something to do with free will and choices and walking my own path. Then I begin again.
Wow. Yesterday, though. It got off to a great early beginning, and crashed into chaos when the morning skittered sideways unexpectedly colliding with mental illness (mine) that is generally well-managed to the point of being mostly forgotten. With my Traveling Partner’s recovery making such good progress, I’ve been making adjustments to my HRT trying to find the sweet spot between effectiveness and timing/dosage. This went very wrong yesterday. I may as well have been an adolescent girl screaming at her mother with no justification, only hormones. Fucking hell.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
I 100% lost my shit over nothing at all – a bit of very ordinary feedback and a request to check my breathing while I was on my device (curled over it uncomfortably and possibly holding my breath). On another day I’d have said thanks and corrected my posture. Instead I had a massive tantrum over it, which exploded into a PTSD meltdown and a complete loss of emotional control. It was ugly. My partner tried to deescalate the situation, but I had lost my fucking mind, like, for real.
Detail from “Emotion and Reason” 2012
We eventually got back on track, which was frankly mostly to do with him. I trudged through a miasma of fucked chemistry and feelings of shame for much of the rest of the day. (Being mentally ill can be seriously embarrassing.) In spite of eventually recognizing the role my hormones (both my own and the artificial kind) played in the mess I made, I struggled to regain my feeling of balance. It took most of an uncomfortable and frequently paused workday to get things right. Adulting is hard.
… Dwelling on regrets is neither healthy nor helpful…
This morning? It is an entirely new day with new challenges, and I begin again, feeling hopeful and pretty much okay. I send a note to my GP about changes I could potentially make to my HRT and seeking advice. I have an appointment with my therapist later today. I sigh to myself, and check those off my list. Too much chaos, and for some reason I am regretting ever giving up an analog to-do list on a legal pad written in ballpoint pen, illuminated in the margins with commentary and little doodles. Why now, I wonder? The idea is enticing, though, more visual, more tactile, and just maybe more effective (for me; your results may vary).
This morning begins with phone calls (business) that I never could have handled yesterday. I complete them, feeling a bit unsatisfied with the outcomes. It is a sunny morning, though, and a lovely day so far. I don’t rush through my morning walk, although I got a later start than usual. Yesterday really fatigued me, and I woke only 1 minute ahead of my alarm. I dressed and slipped away quietly, hoping not to wake my beloved. I sit at my halfway point at last and wonder if I should work from the library today, at least for the morning? Seems wise, and would avoid disturbing my Traveling Partner’s rest. After yesterday, I know he really needs it. I find it quite hard to do battle with my demons, myself, I can’t imagine how much harder it is for him.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. I sit thinking about yesterday’s blog post, the re-reading of which in the afternoon was part of how I began to get my shit sorted out. I never imagined, when I wrote those positive encouraging words how much I would need them myself, nor how soon. Humans being human. Mental illness is a really hard challenge – and maybe at its most complex and vexing when we heal enough to feel well generally. It’s easy to forget – I know I want to forget it, and even more so when things are beautiful and healthy and fun. Especially then. This is a massive pitfall, and a set-up for failure.
I watch the glow of early morning sunshine light up the treetops. We each have to walk our own mile, eh? What we practice matters; we become what we practice. Choose wisely.
I sigh and glance at the clock. Already time to begin again.
Evening Light 