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Walking and Thinking

March 27, 2026 //
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It isn’t payday. I had it in my head that it would be. (My last job paid every two weeks, this one pays twice monthly. They are not the same.) Annoying. Disappointing. Embarrassing. Human.

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

It’s still Friday. The weekend is ahead. I’m still looking forward to that, simply because I’ll have a couple days not working. Nothing fancy, no plans, and I know I’ll find plenty to do and enjoy, even if I just dust, vacuum, and read. I’m okay with that.

I woke up early,  and got an early start on my walk. I enjoy the steady sound of my footsteps, and the stillness. I reached my halfway point in good time. It’s chilly but not cold, comfortable with my heavy sweater. 4°C. I’m beginning to think in terms of temperature expressed in C instead of F, but it is admittedly slow going. I often look up the conversion to check my sense of it, but I’m making progress. I sigh to myself and then have a sneezing fit and a running nose. I have very few allergies. I am, however, a bit allergic to certain specific tree pollens, and those trees happen to grow in Oregon. 😆 I use up a pack of travel tissues, grateful to have packed a Benadryl with my morning medication.

After some time spent meditating, I watch the sky lighten as dawn approaches. Life feels a little more manageable when I don’t get too worked up over dumb mistakes, like being wrong about when payday is, or whether I’m okay with my stepson moving in with us, or all the many mistakes a person can so easily make in a lifetime. “To err is human…”, very.

I spend some time chatting with my Traveling Partner as the day begins. His morning is off to a difficult start. I do my best to listen deeply and give him room to talk. He’ll let me know if he needs more than that. Not every problem is mine to solve. Sometimes it’s more important simply to be present.

I sigh to myself and get to my feet. I’ll walk with my thoughts awhile longer, then begin again.

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

F* You In The Morning

March 25, 2026 //
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I’ll admit I didn’t expect to have love songs in my head this morning. I didn’t sleep well and my dreams were strange and disturbing. I woke up too early. I woke with a headache.

Trigger warning: emotions.

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

I dressed and noticed my Traveling Partner was already up. I managed to make a colossal mess of that, this morning, although I really tried to make a comfortable exit without causing any chaos or heartache. My excuse is that I wasn’t completely awake, yet. It’s not much of an excuse. I hurt his feelings terribly. That is the large and the small of it. By the time I reached the trailhead he had messaged me enough sincere and carefully worded “fuck yous” that what could have been a small misunderstanding between lovers resolved with patience and communication… wasn’t.

I walked the first half of my walk in tears, pretty much just hating humanity, the complexities of good communication, and wondering what the fuck love even means. I’ve still got a work day ahead. Looks like I’ll be starting the day wondering whether the love I think I share with my partner is real at all – which hurts so much I don’t have words, just more tears.

“Hurt people hurt people,” I whisper to myself through my tears, sitting here feeling foolish and exposed, by the side of a public trail. I’m embarrassed to have hurt my Traveling Partner’s feelings so badly, to the point that I feel hesitant to ever go back to my own house… which feels ridiculous when I see it in words. I feel hurt, myself. He managed to say some incredibly painful things, phrased for maximum damage. How do I measure the impact of emotional weapons? Shit can escalate so fast, out of some inocuous seeming moment, laying waste to to any feeling of emotional safety.

… When you hurt someone, apologize…

G’damn this sucks.

I sigh and try to regain lost perspective. I also stare into the face of my worst fear; that I will return home to find him gone, house emptied, our life together abruptly ended. The tears start all over again, but facing fears seems more effective than running from them.

My ears are ringing like crazy. My head aches, and my left arm feels numb. I’m annoyed by my perceived frailty right now, when I need my strength. I breathe, exhale, and… do my best to let this go. Emotions are fleeting. They don’t make a good substitute for thinking. I’m not having an easy time of it. I’m hurting right now. So is he, I’m sure.

I curse my first husband under my breath, and my father, too. The lessons learned in those traumatic relationships caused so much damage that I reliably face this sort of situation with real mortal terror, and actual fear of potentially deadly consequences. That seems so unfair to my Traveling Partner (and to me, now); he has demonstrated real love and kindness, without violence or mind games, and we’ve shared 16 amazing years together. My heart aches with confusion and uncertainty.

I sit with my tears, replaying every conversation over days and weeks like some sick game of “he loves me, he loves me not”, tearing my certainty of his love to shreds. I take a big breath of Spring air and blow it all out, watching my breath mingle with the fog. Chilly morning. I quietly chastise myself for being overly dramatic, for blowing things out of proportion, even for cowardice. That’s not really helpful, so I let that go too. I try to be a little kinder to the woman in the mirror; tears aren’t her best look, and she deserves better from me.

Fucking hell, I hope I’m not seeing the twilight of this relationship… that’s almost too painful to bear. That’s the big fear. I breathe, exhale, and relax. We’ve been through a lot in 16 years, this doesn’t seem likely to be the thing that ends a relationship like ours. Another breath, and I dry my tears, blow my nose, and notice daybreak has come. Coffee will be nice… This amount of emotion, stress, and drama is not sustainable…

Having a brain injury that results in difficulty controlling my emotions comes with some baggage. I do my best to keep things in perspective. I work to build and protect my emotional resilience. I seek to forgive easily, and to make room for the people I love to make mistakes and move on from those. I know I need that myself, far more often than I’d like.

I yield to the temptation to curse the new day; it’s off to a pretty bad start. I breathe, exhale, and relax, and begin again. I repeat the effort again. And again. As often as it takes to calm myself and face my fears – and my beloved – and begin the new day from a better place. Because moments are moments, and love is bigger than that.

My Traveling Partner sends me an apology for his harsh words. I send one back for my insensitivity and hurtful behavior. I look into the fog, seeing the trail ahead disappear into the mist. I can’t see where the path leads, but it is time to begin again. For real. I get to my feet and head for home.

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

333

March 23, 2026 //
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I sat for a few minutes at the trailhead before I set off down the trail. The available mileage read 333, and I thought wistfully of turning the car around, calling out from work and driving east to catch up to the sunrise. It’s early. The sun won’t rise for another two hours.

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

I take a few more minutes to calm myself, to avoid pounding down the trail more stomping than walking; that’s too hard on my feet, ankles, and knees. Pointlessly damaging. Once I am calm, I set off down the trail in the darkness.

I reflect on my experience as I walk, and get to my halfway point annoyed to discover my phone at 35% charged. Wtf? Did I not plug in the charging cable when I went to bed? It’s possible, but the possibility does nothing to charge my phone now. I sigh to myself and toggle on “extreme battery saving”.

This morning I was awakened abruptly by the bang of a cupboard or a door. I dislike being awakened by loud noises. It sets off my PTSD. I’m hyper vigilant as I sit here in the darkness, heart still pounding, tinnitus shrill in my ears, pain amplified by anxiety – all this in spite of well-practiced tools for managing my PTSD. It takes time.

I sit here taking the time I need.

Fucking hell. And on a Monday after a couple days away from work, too. It’ll be a busy Monday. Maybe a busy week. I remind myself that although I can’t reliably control the circumstances in which I find myself, I can control my reaction to them. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I meditate for awhile in the darkness.

I sit listening to the HVAC of a nearby building. This is no wilderness trail, just a pleasant space between human endeavors. Behind me, the acreage of the air museum and a water park, vineyards filling every bit of space in which grapes could be planted. Ahead of me, on the other side of a creek that winds its way to the Yamhill River, an apartment complex, invisible but for a few lit windows and some balcony lights. Later, after daybreak, the farmworkers will begin to arrive, and the construction workers building a luxury hotel none of the locals actually want will begin their work. I sit with my irritation; it has nothing to do with these details, although it is tempting to connect them with my experience.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I let that shit go.

I dislike drama. I dislike displays of temper. I dislike unexpected loud noises. It’s a human life; there’s likely to be some drama, some temper on display, and some loud noises. Hell, sometimes I may be the cause. I sigh to myself in the darkness. My anger over being awakened by shit that isn’t even to do with me at all doesn’t help anything. I let it go. G’damn, I’ll be glad to see the Anxious Adventurer move out. The friction between him and my Traveling Partner is unpleasant to live with.

… They are each having their own experience, and in either case, it isn’t about me…

It’s just two more weeks.

My head aches. I take my medication a little early. I hope it helps.

I sigh again in the darkness, and pull my attention back to me, here, now, in this moment. I’m eager to be painting again. The background tension in the household has made that difficult. I sit reflecting on several views, images, and ideas I have in mind to paint. Being in less physical pain day-to-day has increased my feelings of being inspired. I love this feeling. I focus on the feeling of being inspired and “anchor myself” to that feeling, instead of clinging to my irritation. It’s a good choice, and I feel lifted from my anger.

Soon the sun will come. I’ll finish this walk and return home to work – and to make a good cup of coffee, and begin again.

For now, I’ll enjoy this quiet moment, listening to the HVAC in the distance and the creek nearby, and think thoughts of paintings yet to be painted, and moments of joy yet to come. I’ll open my heart to gratitude, and enjoy fond recollections of the time I’ve been spending with my Traveling Partner, which has been exceptionally pleasant lately, and romantic and connected. Time and moments worth savoring, for sure. I glance at the battery indicator on my phone. 31% now. I shrug, look over my writing and prepare to hit “publish” on this very human experience, before I begin again.

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Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, art and the artist, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, meditation, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Sleepless Nights, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being, The Big 5, Words

But What Will You Do About That?

March 22, 2026 //
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I’ve started including a disclaimer on new posts asserting my refusal to use available LLM tools for writing. I’m annoyed to feel that doing so is necessary, but here we are. I like writing. Why would I cheat to be faster or more frequent, or worse – to camouflage a lack of anything to say? Ridiculous. No thank you. Keep those crappy LLM “tools” away from me. I’ll just write, thanks. 😆

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

In all seriousness, adding that disclaimer is at least a real action I can take to express my objection to having bullshit “AI” garbage forced on me everywhere. I don’t like it. I don’t use it. I’d prefer to keep my own mind sharp, and also to take the time to learn new things myself.

Getting an early start on a new day.

Brunch with a friend, later, on the other side of this trail.  I’m eager to enjoy brunch, but I’m in no great hurry, so I wait for the sun.

After a short wait dawn illuminates the trail and I set off, hands jammed into warm pockets.

Chilly morning. Cold. At just 2°C, it’s a colder morning than we’ve had in several weeks. I’m glad I didn’t rush to plant delicate vegetables more suited to milder weather. That has often been a temptation for me and in many years past, I’ve chosen poorly. This year I focused on the laborious work of cleaning up the garden beds, weeding, and pruning. I am impressed by my own good decision making and self-restraint, recalling years past and frozen seedlings that failed to thrive. I inhale the cold air of early Spring on the marsh. The surface of the marsh ponds are silvery, reflecting the sky as the sun rises. Nice morning, if a bit cold. I’m grateful for the warm sweater I chose this morning.

Choices matter. Actions matter more.

A flock of geese takes flight from the marsh pond behind me. I’m seated on a fence rail betwixt the pond and the trail. The flock rises almost as one and I wonder how they all knew to do so just then? They pass overhead and I pull the hood of my fleece hoodie over my head “just in case”. I consider myself fortunate; no bird poop spatters me. I sit with my gratitude. Sometimes small things leave a big impression; I was once hit by falling bird poop, and getting it out of my hair seriously grossed me out. It may never occur again. I sit considering the numbers of birds, and people, and how often a bird passes overhead, and how rarely someone is actually hit by falling bird poop. It’s not really a high risk.

Go outside anyway. Walk a trail. Smell the flowers. See a sunrise. Trying to avoid all of the obstacles and potential misadventures on life’s journey only results in a life never really lived.

Choose. Do the thing. Experience the moment. Fail, learn, and grow. Walk a path you know you have chosen for yourself. Don’t rely overmuch on your “heroes” to lead the way. They too are mortal creatures with very human failings. Topple them from their pedestals and examine the truth of who they are (or were) as people and maybe do better. It may be easier than you think.

The sunrise is pearly pink and delicate orange, this morning. The meadow grass is tipped with frost. My breath turns to mist each time I exhale. I sit with the moment, enjoying the quiet, feeling myself relax. Looking towards the far side of the marsh and meadow, I see a green haze in the treetops. Definitely Spring.

I sit awhile longer, thinking about this or that vexing circumstance. Each time a grievance or complaint rises in my consciousness demanding my attention, I look it over and ask myself two questions,

  1. Does this really matter enough to give it attention and energy at all?
  2. If the answer (for me) is “yes”, then what will I do about that?

If human primates put as much energy into solving their problems (or changing their circumstances) as they do just bitching about them, we’d likely have a very different world. I don’t know what that world would be like, but I do like thinking about it.

I sigh to myself, filling my lungs with cold Spring air. The wheel keeps turning. The clock keeps ticking. What will you do when it is time to begin again? I think about the path ahead of me, and get to my feet.

Ask the questions. Do the verbs.
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Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, gardening, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being, The Big 5, thoughts on AI, War and News of War, women, Words

What Are You Looking At?

March 19, 2026 //
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I’m sitting at the halfway point of my morning trek across the marsh. It’s beautiful here, the day is young, and the sunrise was splendid. I feel fortunate to enjoy this moment.

Each time for the first time. Each moment the only moment.

(No AI was used to create or edit this content.)

I walked the trail wrapped in contentment, joy, and love. Simply mentioning to my Traveling Partner that I might like to explore using a bit of makeup to improve my appearance on work calls got me more support than I could have imagined. I grin to myself, swinging my feet as I sit on this fence rail listening to the sounds of life along the riverbank in Springtime. I smell flowers.

I once wore makeup a lot. That was a very long time ago. I stopped all that when I went to war. When I came home none of that sort of thing to do with appearances mattered to me at all. Life was too short, too precious, and I was for sure too broken to be bothered with any of that. I could have continued to wear my BDUs and combat boots indefinitely. I exchanged them for jeans and sweaters. After my divorce, I just wasn’t having any part of partners, or lovers, or frankly anyone else telling me how to look or what defines feminity. I am a woman. I’ll define feminity for myself, as I please, and the entire world can fuck right off. 😂

…No one else tells me who I am, that belongs to me…

…But… Aging being what it is, and spending so much time “on camera” in work meetings, I can admit that it wouldn’t hurt to take another look at what I can do with a little makeup, minimal effort, and little expense, to highlight my natural look without plastering over my face with some mask of acceptability. lol Tools are tools; they serve a purpose.

I watch little birds playing in the trees. Being present matters most. Life is not about appearances.

…Where we turn our attention largely determines what’s on our minds…

There is beauty in the world. Are you seeing it?

I think about appearances, and distractions. I think about the way media companies and tech companies seek to hold our attention, in spite of our own interests and desires. It takes an act of will to put that slop aside and turn one’s attention to what matters most. This only works if we have an understanding of what does matter most to us as an individual (which implies sufficient self-reflection and self knowledge to have that understanding). It’s not surprising to me that so many people just give up and dive back into their phones. (Although that does strike me as a terrible wasteful approach to human potential.)

What are you looking at? The sky? The tree? The little birds? Choose. The choice is yours.

Are you mired in despair, trapped by doomscrolling? That’s a choice. Put it down. Go outside. Read a book. Laugh with a friend. You are choosing, every moment. No books? Go to a library; they still exist. No friends? Meet real people in the world, interact with strangers, and open yourself to conversation. It may feel awkward. Your results may vary, but the verbs and choices are yours. Incremental change happens over time. Keep at it. Choose your path and walk it.

Not a bit of this “choose your path” stuff is “easy”. Choices are complicated. The menu of the Strange Diner is so much to take in. “Can’t” is easier than doing the verbs, failing, learning, and growing… But here it is, Spring. It’s a lovely time for growth and beginnings. Like learning to apply makeup again, as if for the first time, it’s often the decision to do it that is the most difficult part. Taking the first step feels hard. Maybe that’s a choice, too?

… Gnothi seauton…

… What will you do about that? It’s important. Who are you? Who do you want most to be? To whom have you obligated yourself, or given your decision making? Are you just mouthing someone else’s opinions? Are you living your life?

I think about it as I sit watching a new day unfold. I’m glad I took the day off for self-reflection and meditation. Later, I’ll be in the garden, clearing away the weeds and preparing the soil. Yes, of course it’s a metaphor – but I’ll also really be there, with my fingers in the soil, doing the verbs. That’s how practicing works.

It’s a journey. Choose your path wisely.

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Categories Allegories, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, gardening, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, joy, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being, Uncategorized, War and News of War, women, Words
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