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Reality Almost Always Wins

April 18, 2026 //
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I’m sitting at a favorite spot on the coast. Beautiful coastal forest, nicely private cove with a beautiful beach and a rock formation with great tide pools. I’m not on the beach; too crowded. One end is crowded with loud families doing beach-y family things. At the other end, some gathering of a … tribe?.. of fundamentalist looking folks of one variety or another, the women inappropriately dressed in heavy ill-fitting sack dresses and bonnets, thick stockings and uncomfortable looking very plain shoes.

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

The two groups don’t mingle. In between there is almost some sort of understood zone of bare beach, by way of which a random neutral party could make their way from the parking lot to the water’s edge. I got close enough to see the arrangement. I’m not here to feel crowded or scrutinized. I go back to the car and park in a shady spot well away from anyone else.

I grab my coffee and my power bank, and sketch book. Turns out I don’t feel like sketching. I sip my coffee listening to the birds and savoring the breeze. It smells of ocean and forest flowers. It’s quiet here. I like that about this place. Every passing stranger feels like an encroachment on my consciousness and I’m eager to check into my room. Check-in time is not until 16:00. I’d hoped for an early check-in, but the hotel let me know that would not be available today, after all.

Well, shit. Today has been like that, generally. Plans? Let me welcome you to reality. I’m not bitching, I’m just being reminded that plans or no plans, without any consideration for expectations, wishes, or hoped-for outcomes, reality is what it is.

Lovely day on the coast feeling loved and grounded? Nope. Not this morning.

Pleasant brunch at a favorite breakfast bistro? Sure, if I’m okay with being elbow-to-elbow with other customers. Popular morning for brunch, I guess.

Soul-healing walks on favorite beaches wrapped in solitude? Um… not exactly. It’s a beautiful day; the beaches are crowded.

… I also don’t feel like dealing with my bullshit, and apparently I brought that with me…

Early check-in and feasting my eyes on the gorgeous ocean views at a hotel I’ve long wanted to try… Well, I’ve got the room reserved, but no early check-in. I won’t know what the room itself is like until later. (If I had come expecting to paint I’d have been disappointed.)

I had hoped to do a bit of shopping, but retail spaces are also crowded and my mind recoils from the contact. I really just want to be quite alone for a little while. I don’t find what I’m looking for.

…My fucking left foot is already hurting (plantar fasciitis)…

I sigh to myself and sip my coffee. It’s cold now. I don’t really care. It’s fine. I’ve now gone from Road’s End to Fogarty Creek, and two things are demonstrably true; everywhere I stop there are other people, and everywhere I go, I’ve still got to deal with the woman in the mirror.

Reality does not care about my plans, my needs, nor my beliefs. It’s just real. A smile breaks through; I’m okay for most values of okay. I’m finding enough solitude to recognize patterns in my thinking, and to process shit that has been on my mind, and to meditate and reflect without interruptions, even from my own wandering primate mind. A chance to unpack some baggage maybe, or find a clearer sense of direction in life. I breathe, exhale, and relax. Enough has to be enough, at some point.

I think about my Traveling Partner and let myself wonder frankly and without evasion whether our paths have begun to diverge, has paths often do. I think that would break my heart. I would probably bounce back, eventually, but I doubt i would ever be quite the same. This relationship has changed me so much. It has become a defining part of who I have become over time and has influenced what I choose to practice and how I see the world. I’m suddenly aware of my back pain, amplified by the moment of sorrowful contemplation.

I love this man too much to let this partnership just fall apart. Funny thing, on the subject of reality, this partnership – this love – sometimes doesn’t “feel real”, even after 16 years. I don’t mean that it feels somehow insincere or performative, I mean that it is often like a fairytale, at least from my perspective. We have to work at it, we’re human beings after all, but so often I feel as if I am living a romantic story. It’s beautiful. I reliably feel like a jerk when I break that spell.

I’m human, too.

I move the car to a different beach. There are still “a lot of people” here, but this beach stretches seven walkable miles when the tide is out, and people in small family groups tend to spread out.

My idea of “a lot of people” has my own desire for solitude as it’s comparison. This may not be accurate for most values of “a lot of people”.

I watch the waves crest as they near the shore and listen to the sound of seagulls mingling with the sound of children laughing. I make a lot of choices that influence my experience (and thus my subjective experience of reality), and I have a lot of control over how I react to, and interact with, that experience. Can I do better? Yes! I keep practicing. I still fall short of my expectations of myself, sometimes. I learn from it and keep going. That’s enough.

My heart fills with love for my Traveling Partner. Living with my chaos and my human foibles and failures has to be hard. I hope it is worth it to him, the way I find loving him as he is worth it to me. We’ve grown a lot together over the years. I still choose him.

I sigh to myself and look at the time. It’s a little while until check-in. I pull my sunscreen out of my purse – seems smart today – I’ve got time for a walk on the beach before I begin again.

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Categories Allegories, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being, The Big 5, Words

Road’s End

April 18, 2026 //
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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.
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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

Drizzle

April 11, 2026 //
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Yesterday… Interesting day, and simultaneously uneventful, and also notable in several ways, which is why it was interesting. My studio is coming along and I plan to be painting this weekend. I got so excited about that idea that I left work early to get the weekend started. My Traveling Partner knows how important that is to me and dropped everything to figure out weekend plans that would give me the house to myself. (I feel very loved.)

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

By evening, two things were clear; there was bad weather brewing, and my partner’s attempts to throw something together for Friday night hadn’t worked out. We’d definitely be spending the evening together. Hell, how could I be disappointed by that? Sure, I’m yearning for some solitude and creative time that isn’t interrupted by all sorts of routine requirements of adult life, but I’m also okay with planning ahead. I’ve long found it quite necessary. And also? I really enjoy the company of my beloved.

… What to do?

My Traveling Partner asked me if I wanted to go get frozen yogurt together? I surprised him with an immediate yes, and went to put on something suitable for to leaving the house.

The sky was stormy looking. I don’t mind such things. We talked about the weather on the way to enjoying a frozen treat together. At least for now, so soon after his prolonged incapacitation due to injury and surgery, every outing feels like romance. Date night. We could have gone to the grocery store and I’d have been every bit as excited. We had fun. It was a good time. He was still talking about fucking off for the weekend to do his own thing, and I was still looking forward to it.

Sometime during the night, I woke for no obvious reason. He was up (still or also was never clear). I mumbled some sleepy greeting, heading back to bed (not really awake, honestly), he called to me quietly and reminded me he actually has a full weekend of project work (business), and really should stay home and focus on that to stay on schedule with his customers. I nodded sleepily, unsurprised (the surprise had been that he was so ready to step away and give me the solitude at home to paint). He assures me he’ll be busy and “won’t be in the way”. I say something, words, affirming I’m fine with that. I’m genuinely unbothered. I’ve got my studio back, and I don’t need much more, really. The solitude is – always has been – a luxury more precious than gems. I’m happy to be mostly left alone more or less to paint. It’s enough. I went back to bed, back to sleep.

I woke this morning in the usual way, no alarm set and still waking up quite early. The darkness before dawn was drizzly. It rained through the night, continuing long after the rare thunderstorm had passed. I don’t mind a drizzle. I hit the trail happily contemplating a day spent at my easel.

A beginning of its own. Beginnings take many shapes.

When I began painting in pastels, in July 2024, I had already collapsed my studio to make room for the Anxious Adventurer. I’ve never had my studio available for working in pastels. This feels exciting and new. After the first flurry of eager creative work in a new medium, the fatigue of caregiving began to overwhelm me, and certainly I had nothing left over for art once life was done with me each day. The Anxious Adventurer proved to be damned little help with caregiving, at all, that was all on me. What help he did provide generally came at the cost of my cognitive capacity, resulting in still more fatigue. He didn’t know our ways, and definitely seemed more an adolescent than the grown adult I was prepared for (based on his age). His chronic negativity was draining. The contentious relationship with his father was… annoying.

…I wouldn’t have an environment I could paint in for almost two years, but I wouldn’t recognize that for some months, and the care my beloved needed and could not get from his son would keep me at home, too… for nearly two years…

Two years. For almost two years I’ve felt my inspiration wax and wane, again and again, yearning for the freedom to paint. The time. The energy. The emotional environment. It’s been rough having to stifle all that for lack of space, resources, or control over my environment. I have resented it more than I wanted to, and mostly because I often felt I’d been taken in by some cosmic bait and switch scheme; the help offered by the Anxious Adventurer’s presence rarely materialized and time and again I felt tricked into having to parent a grown ass man who should have had basic life skills mastered at 32.

… We’re each having our own experience. Sometimes adulting is fucking hard…

I sigh to myself by the side of this rain soaked trail. Things are different today. The rain leaves everything fresh and green. The air smells of petrichor and Spring flowers. The day feels full of promise. I have choices and today I will paint.

There’s a ping in the Anxious Adventurer’s travel chat. He’s almost home to Ohio, just a day’s drive away. He complains about the rain. His mother suggests he complain to the rental firm about the leaky truck and the flat tire. He complains that doing so makes him feel bad. I’m surprised when she and his grandmother rush to offer to do it for him. Huh. That explains a lot. I shrug it off. “Not my circus, not my monkeys”.

… Today I’ll be painting.

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, Art, art and the artist, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, inspiration, joy, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Spring, The Art of Being, Words

Strange Days

April 10, 2026 //
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I’m still getting used to the sense of peace that has seemed to envelope our home. The Anxious Adventurer is well on his way back to his maternal family. He shares pictures and updates from the road, whenever he stops along the way. I’m glad he’s taking his time and having a safe journey. I’m glad he has moved out. I still don’t get how he managed to create so much tension and discord from his purported good intentions. One of life’s unsolved puzzles, I suppose.

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

Yesterday ends with a pretty pink sunset.

Yesterday was a lovely, rather ordinary seeming work day. I’m able to comfortably work from home any day – which was not at all the case while the Anxious Adventurer resided with us. We just weren’t getting enough good quality sleep and it was a far better choice to avoid bullshit conflicts caused by fatigue and lost resilience by working elsewhere. I sit at the halfway point of my walk this morning thinking about that between sneezing fits. I add travel tissues to my shopping list.

Today begins with a chance to begin again.

The weekend is almost here. I plan to spend time in the garden. I remind myself to ask my beloved Traveling Partner to turn on the outside water to the front of the house (I can’t reach that valve) and add a reminder to turn on the water to the back (which I can stoop down for more easily). It all feels so relaxed and ordinary.

… I feel so much love…

Pain changes who we are. Mine is more well-managed than it had been. The medications we may be asked to take for some variety of conditions may change who we are. I watched my beloved go through it both before and after his surgery. Of course the changes we go through (or which are inflicted upon us) also change us. No question about that, and as human beings we go through a lot of changes. The Anxious Adventurer chose change, but found it uncomfortable and never quite embraced the opportunities it presented. Fighting change also changes us. We are who we are – also true – and change itself is nonnegotiable. Change is.

… What we choose to do about change and how we behave in response to it matters a lot, and we have so much control over that…

I sit smiling, breathing the almost warm Spring air. It smells of flowers. I sneeze a few more times. Tree pollen. I’m okay with it. I like the smell of flowers more than I care about the sneezes. I think about my beloved Traveling Partner and my heart is filled with joy and encouragement. I’m grateful that in spite of going through so much these last couple of years, we’re still together, still a strong loving partnership. The outcome wasn’t guaranteed, and at times I had doubts. It was hard sometimes and I honestly wasn’t sure I could do the needful when called upon. I was so tired, so often. Here we are, though, on the other side. I’m glad.

I sit listening to the noisy robins and watching squirrels play. I spot shy bunnies in the underbrush at the edge of the trail. They are quicker than my camera this morning. I’m in no great hurry to rush off to begin the work day. I sit with sore muscles thinking about love.

For a time I allow myself the luxury of paying no mind to the ticking clock. I am not measuring minutes or moments, just enjoying them awhile. Later will be soon enough for work calendars and meeting schedules, housework and to-do lists. This moment is mine. I savor it. I can begin again a little later.

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