Archives for category: Despair
« Older Entries
Newer Entries »

Spring Flowers

April 25, 2026 //
0

It’s been awhile since I walked the marsh trail. I’ve mostly been staying closer to home, aside from an overnight trip to the coast – was that just last weekend?! It already seems like ages ago. My Traveling Partner woke me at 05:00, he was already awake. I got up, dressed, and headed for the trail. Lovely morning for it.

Lush green hues of Spring under a pink sky.

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

As I stepped onto the trail and started down the path, I found myself preoccupied with war, and fretting about American aggression, Israel’s genocide of Palestine, Russia vs Ukraine, and continued flare ups of violence in the Middle East, Africa, and beyond. How is this not a world at war? I mean, seriously? What the actual fuck is wrong with humanity that we still tolerate (and foster) this kind of stupid violent nonsense? Why do we keep putting violent racist misogynist assholes into positions of power in the first place? How have we not, as a species, made the clear and obvious connection between global violence and its actual perpetrators? I just don’t understand how human beings can still be so g’damned violent and hateful, with so much historical evidence that it is destructive and wasteful and unlikely to achieve good outcomes. Fucking hell we are some stupid motherfuckers.

… Also, fuck Pete Hegseth and his ilk. He embodies the problem quite specifically with his hateful words, his misogyny, and his racism. Listening to this fuckwit trying to claim war is peace is so ridiculously “Animal Farm” and “1984” I just can’t believe he isn’t being mocked openly by far more people. Fiction masquerading as real life. This guy? Definitely not gonna make it to the heaven he says he believes in. He should RTFM. 😆 I shouldn’t laugh, because it isn’t funny. It’s terrifying and disappointing, and sad.

Do better. Do better than Pete Hegseth for sure. 🙄

It’s not hard to do better than a guy like Pete Hegseth; don’t kill anyone today, don’t fire people because you don’t like them, or because they are women, or people of color, or don’t share your religion. Don’t cut people down to make yourself feel large. Don’t pick fights. Don’t try to take what isn’t yours. You’d think people would learn this shit growing up.

I keep walking, and notice the Spring flowers along the trail. Beautiful and sweetly fragrant and unaware of the world’s unpleasantness and chaos.

Small purple flowers down in the grass.

I am delighted and distracted by the flowers. They pull me back into this moment, here, now. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I let the world go, and fill my senses with Spring, grateful that there are no bombs dropping here (not yet). I walk on.

I see meadow flowers, blossoms waving in the breeze.

I walk, watching the sunrise bring a new day to life. I smile and keep walking. The breeze is sweet with the scent of flowers.

I pass bushes covered in clusters of fragrant flowers and stop for a closer look.

I breathe in the scents of flowers as I walk, grateful that I didn’t inherit my mother’s terrible allergies. She loved flowers, but generally couldn’t be near even scentless florist roses and carefully selected bouquets suggested to be low allergen. I love to get close to the flowers and inhale the intoxicating scent, and feel uplifted. There have been times when I really felt as if the fragrance itself was getting me high.

Fruit trees, too.

I pass by a place that was likely a homestead sometime in the past. There are very old fruit trees in a neat little row at the edge of the meadow, where the trail bends towards the river. They smell delicious. I run my hand over the bark. Plum? Pear? Apple? I take another close smell, and look at the blossoms. I’m not certain and don’t really feel inclined to make more effort to figure it out. I walk on.

A pleasant stop along the way.

I finally get to my halfway point. It feels further than I remember. 😆 It’s only been a few weeks since I’ve been here. I laugh at my foolishness without any particular concern or criticism. I sit awhile watching the sunlight change the shadows and patterns of light on the meadow as the sun rises. I don’t have the trail to myself today, but passing photographers and walkers just wave or say “good morning” as they pass, barely noticing me, really. It’s fine.

I meditate and enjoy the breeze and the little birds flitting about. A large plump robin lands in the leaf litter near my feet and digs around for tasty morsels, pausing now and then to consider my presence. She gives a loud bit of song and flies off.

It’s a pretty morning. I’m glad I let my attention shift to the lovely flowers and I sit thinking about my garden.

In my garden the first rose has bloomed.

There is much to do – weeding and planting and taking time to sip a cup of tea and just be. Pleasant and peaceful moments wait for me in the garden. I yawn and sneeze, and sit enjoying the sunshine awhile longer. I’m in no hurry. I can begin again anytime. It’ll be soon enough, whenever I get to it. For now, “now” is enough.

There are moments of peace and joy in spite of a world rather pointlessly at war.
Tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Categories 2024 Election, Allegories, anger, Anxiety, breathe, Despair, Free Will, gratitude, grief, Healthy Living, joy, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Roses, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being, War and News of War, Words

Road’s End

April 18, 2026 //
0

Roads end. I mean, I guess they do, at some point, even this one, although it doesn’t appear to end here. That’s just the name of this place, “Road’s End”. It’s a small state park at the edge of the shore, with a trail down to the beach. I am here, listening to the sound of wind and waves (and some asshole with their car radio on loud enough to be heard, which I could do without).

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

The view from Road’s End

I definitely need this time alone. I don’t get much solitude as things are, and my Traveling Partner was encouraging to the point of being willing to find me a suitable hotel and book a room for me. (I was going to make it a day trip and call it good enough.) I felt very loved, and excited to enjoy the day on the coast, and a night of solitary fun, reading, writing, and meditating.

A small bird. A moment.

This morning is different. At least for now I am neither merry nor at peace with myself. Instead I’m wrestling demons. It’s fine. Part of life with cPTSD and brain damage, I guess, and in spite of some 30 years in and out of therapy of one sort or another, I still deal with the chaos and damage. I’m not surprised by that, though I am dismayed, disappointed, and even sometimes despairing over it when shit blows up over some little thing, or I disgrace myself by losing my temper or hurting someone I care about with thoughtless words or actions. I do my best, I still fail. This is human.

… It’s also human when it’s someone else having a moment. It is important to forgive, and to make room for people to grow through experience. We’re each having our own experience…

So I’m sitting here at Road’s End, thinking my thoughts. Thinking about endings and beginnings, and change, and trying to be grateful for the solitude I am fortunate to enjoy. I need this time to myself, it meets needs I struggle to meet without the quiet of solitude. I do wish I were enjoying it on other terms than these but feeling mired in my bullshit, I’m glad to be alone with that.

… But is the sky still blue?

What matters most? I sit with the question for a little while, on a fence rail looking out at the sea. The sound of ocean waves reaching the shore and the sea breezes used to be enough to drown out my tinnitus. Now there is a high pitched whine that I still hear, but only on the left side. I frown, momentarily distracted from my thoughts. I hope it’s nothing serious.

I’m thinking about my “baggage”. Not the carefully packed weekend bag I slid onto the seat of the car. I mean “my baggage”. It’s a figure of speech that is so apt it’s easy to forget it is metaphorical. No matter where I go, no matter what relationship I’m in, I drag my bullshit along with me. Baggage. I’ve made so many changes, and I have grown and improved my thinking and behavior so much over the years, but at any moment I may yet again be standing in the middle of my pile of carefully crafted custom matched set of baggage I still lug around with me, somehow only partially unpacked even after all these years. It’s super annoying. Frustrating. Discouraging.

Beginnings. Endings. Practice.

We become what we practice. We choose what we practice. It is important to choose wisely and stay focused on who we most want to be, because if we choose poorly, we may become someone else entirely.

I sit feeling the breeze and watching the horizon. My head is filled with ghosts and regrets. Weird morning to have them turn up and demand attention. My skill with choosing relationships has been poor: a violent psychopath, a manipulative slacker looking for a meal ticket, a cruel woman who delighted in gaslighting me, an assortment of lovers who may have lacked any explicit bad intentions but found value in my limited capacity to understand that I was being taken advantage of… Then there’s my Traveling Partner. One good relationship in a lifetime of trauma and chaos, but the opportunity came late in life, and I still find myself picking metaphorical shards of past damage out of new emotional wounds. I find myself apologizing a lot. That’s got to wear thin after awhile. It still matters, and I keep practicing.

I sit by the sea feeling the breeze, and the weight of all the many mistakes I have made over 16 years with this singular human being. I wonder if he does the same thing, when he finds that he’s hurt me without intending to. Neither of us are perfect beings of pure love and empathy. I feel confident neither of us would hurt the other intentionally. That’s not who we are. We are, however, quite human. I sigh to myself and let it go, at least for the moment. I remind myself that self-care matters, and in solitude there is no excuse to treat myself as second best, ever. I left rather abruptly this morning, instead of enjoying a leisurely coffee with my beloved. Coffee and some healthy calories would be good…

… The descent into madness often begins with poor self-care and low blood sugar…

I guess I should begin again. I don’t know where this path leads…

Sometimes the path isn’t an easy one.
Tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, Despair, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, Healthy Living, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Spring, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women, Words

The Price of War Is Too High

March 5, 2026 //
0

If someone asked you whether you thought bombing a girl’s school and killing a 150 or more little girls and young women would be “okay with you” to make a point or send a message, or exert control over someone far away and likely unable to harm you directly, would you say yes? It seems unlikely. Maybe you should speak up about that? (I’m not going to link news articles or expose you to the images of the many graves being dug.) I don’t think what matters is whether you think your voice will be effective so much as it matters that you are true to your values such that you are willing to call obscene violence against innocents what it is, and to strongly object to it being done in your name, or in the name of some god you hope may favor you. Just saying.

Just saying.

I sigh to myself. I am grateful to be, for the moment, safe here on this trail, in a country where no bombs are dropping. I’m deeply offended that we’re delivering death from the sky to a foreign nation in partnership with a brutal apartheid regime, with no purpose beyond power. It’s ugly. War always is ugly. There are no beautiful wars. There are no winners, only blood and pain and death and destruction. We should know better by now.

A full moon setting at dawn.

The sunrise beat me to the trailhead this morning. This cold is slowing me down but is more a nuisance than anything serious. I breathe exhale and relax. I’m really enjoying this brief time at home just my Traveling Partner and I. It’s lovely and intimate and close. I’ve missed it. In spite of being sick the entire time, I’ve enjoyed it so much!

I watch the full moon set from the trail. So lovely. No war right here, now, just the trail and the trees and the sky overhead. I sit awhile with my thoughts, quietly. It’s enough. I’ll begin again… soon. For now, this quiet moment is mine.

…Then the rain begins…

Tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Categories 2024 Election, breathe, Despair, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, grief, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being, War and News of War, winter, women, Words

The Unexpected Detour

February 15, 2026 //
0

Once upon a time, many years ago, a younger version of me was making the trip down to visit family in Baltimore over a weekend. At the time, I was stationed at Aberdeen Proving Ground (more specifically, at Edgewater Arsenal). It was winter, and the roads were icy and there was a heavy snow falling. A smarter human primate would have more carefully considered the risks and stayed “home”, safe and warm in the barracks. I chose differently.

As the rear end of my Honda CRX Si broke loose from the icy road, and the car began to slide sideways around the tight curve of the offramp, spinning slowly, I resisted the urge to apply the breaks, began down shifting gently, and steering against the spin. I began rethinking my life choices. I came to a stop at the foot of the offramp, grateful there was no one behind me, and that I hadn’t hit anything. The car stopped, centered in my lane, but facing the wrong direction. I counted myself lucky, and got turned around, then finished my drive to my Aunt’s house.

… It’s a metaphor…

The unexpected is going to happen. However well-prepared we may think we are for this or that circumstance, we are mortal creatures of limited vision, and our meager preparations are no match for the vagaries of reality. Sometimes shit is just going to go sideways, whether we are prepared or not, and all we can do is hold on and do our best to “steer out of it”, and maybe learn something.

Yesterday was pleasant. The additional rest of sleeping in made a lot of difference and I enjoyed the day in my Traveling Partner’s good company. We are each having our own experience, and today is a new and entirely different day. Had I known when I woke this morning what I know now about where we each stand with our own shit to deal with, I might have made very different plans. 😆 Here I am, thoroughly human, crying in my partner’s pickup, parked at a local trailhead, thinking perhaps I’ll “just walk it off”, but it’s hard to walk while crying. My tears make my eyes burn, and the trail is crowded with strangers today. I don’t want to deal with them any more than I want to deal with me.

My head aches and my tinnitus is loud enough to be a distraction and uncomfortable. I’m irritable, partly just because those things are irritating, but also because my beloved is similarly irritable himself, for his own reasons, and we can’t manage to coexist in shared space, for the moment. Easier to just leave the house and know that one of us may find something like peace, maybe. Maybe not. I just don’t know what else to do at this point, besides give him space and take some for myself.

Like winter, circumstances are not personal.

The sky is gray. The trees are bare. The mild temperature doesn’t hide the fact that it is a bleak wintry day. I’m probably bringing the gray bleakness with me. I’d like to be at home, reading and resting or playing a video game, or baking or just anything besides sitting here crying in a parking lot. Acknowledging these feelings only serves to remind me I could have grabbed the book I’m reading and brought it with me. Stupid drama-prone primate brain! Inefficient. I sigh to myself. I try to meditate. I breathe, exhale, and… It’s hard to relax with my tinnitus shrieking in my ears this way.

A lot of the shit we go through is hard, but very little of it is “personal”. I remind myself to let small shit stay small, and to assume positive intent. I remind myself to do my best, and to take care of myself. I remind myself to be kind, patient, and compassionate – to my Traveling Partner and to myself. I remind myself to ask for help when I need it, and to accept it graciously when offered.

I reach out to the Anxious Adventurer, and ask if he can handle doing the dishes and making dinner? I’m grateful that he can. My feet already ache from my walk earlier, but I grab my cane and my resolve and get ready to put another mile on my boots. I want something better out of the day, and I will have to begin again to get there.

Tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, Despair, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, health, Love, meditation, Metaphors, 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, War and News of War, winter, Words

Hidden Gems, Hidden Scars

February 1, 2026 //
0

I am recalling the excitement of buying a new album, after hearing something I really like that is new to me, or something from a favorite artist, that I haven’t yet heard. It’s often not the “big hit song” or the single on the airwaves that stays with me, memorable, favored, over-played for weeks. It is more likely to be some unexpected “hidden gem”, that speaks to me in a more personal way, found only because I listened with an open mind to more than what was obvious in front of me. I think about that for some little while.

It’s also true that a great many injuries don’t show on the surface, or leave an obvious visible scar that makes it plain that damage has been done, and may linger. These things sometimes erupt as strange quirks of character, or poor behavior, or coping mechanisms that outlive their usefulness. I think about that for awhile, too. It is sometimes very helpful too look beyond the obvious and to listen more deeply.

I have time for my thoughts this morning. I’ve definitely got a fucking cold (again), but I woke after many hours of unsatisfying sleep feeling restless and irritable, with a stuffy head. All I could think about was getting to my feet, out of the house, and onto the trail, just so my head might clear as I walked. I definitely did not want to hang about the house coughing and blowing my nose while everyone else is trying to get some sleep. I probably won’t actually walk…it was the noise of heavy rain falling that woke me I think, and I’m certainly sick.  I should not allow myself to become soaked or cold, and I can wait for the sun, enjoy a cup if coffee and write while the rain falls. Anyway, my sinuses drained and my head cleared some minutes after I started down the highway toward the trailhead. If I get a break in the rain after the sun rises, I might still walk; I always miss it when I don’t.

These are pretty stressful times, and it is hard watching America – part of it – working to become a fascist authoritarian dictatorship or dystopian oligarchy. It apparently makes me ill. Self-care is even more important in terrible times. This is also a hopeful moment in our history, seeing so many organize and protest and speaking truth to power. Wow. This too, all of it, will pass. Even our elected officials and their billionaire handlers are 100% mortal. No one lives forever. Evil governments do fall. I didn’t march or join a protest this weekend, though I considered it. (It would be irresponsible to bring contagion to a protest.) I wrote letters to my representatives, and emails. Complete inaction doesn’t feel like a good choice to me, not while we’re watching democracy burn, and the legitimate progress made since the dawn of the atomic age is being eroded with every injury to a citizen by armed, masked,  government thugs.

… And if someone tells you they are in favor of this administration’s policies because they are against all that “woke” shit? Ask them to define, in simple terms, what they mean by “woke”. I’ve been finding this simple question very revealing (and it tends to force people to consider the reality of the cruel policies being implemented with their support). Don’t let petty nastiness go unremarked upon – point it out and ask why it seems acceptable. Instead of laughing uncomfortably at cruelty, jokes, or mockery at someone’s expense – ask why the teller thinks it is funny.

What we see often depends on what we’re looking at – or for.

I sip my coffee feeling some better than when I woke. It’s still raining quite hard without letting up. A gray rainy dawn has arrived. I look out across the highway at the farm fields that in years past have been a shallow seasonal lake this time of year. This rain is welcome, we need it, but I wonder if it is too little, too late? It may be a very dry summer ahead. I think about camping and wildfire risks. (Yes, it’s a metaphor.)

The rain slows down some. The marsh trail tempts me in spite of the muddy soggy trail I know awaits unwary footsteps. I eye my rain poncho and my cane, conveniently next to me. I sigh to myself and wonder if it is a good time to begin again?

Tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, breathe, Despair, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, inspiration, Logic & Reason, meditation, Metaphors, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Sleepless Nights, The Art of Being, War and News of War, winter, Words
« Older Entries
Newer Entries »