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Memento Mori

October 12, 2025 //
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I don’t really feel like walking this morning, but I’m here at the trailhead nonetheless. It is not yet dawn, and daybreak is almost an hour away. I would have slept in, but I woke to a noise, and it was quickly clear I would not be able to return to sleep, so I got up, dressed, and left the house.

On my way to the trail, I got an iced coffee.  Turns out to be one of the worst coffees I’ve ever had. It tastes bitter, stale, and over-roasted. It is thoroughly disappointing, but it is liquid, cold, and manages to serve it’s purpose in spite of its flaws. It’ll have to do. Coffee is expensive and I am not going to waste it.

So, I’m here. It’s early. I’m cross about not getting to sleep later. I remind myself to be grateful I’m at least getting an adequate amount of sleep, if not a restorative amount. By being flexible and adaptable, I’m doing my part to ensure my Traveling Partner gets the rest he needs to continue to recover from his injury. That’s an important detail, and I wouldn’t change it, and I don’t begrudge him the opportunities he has to get more rest. I know he needs it, and that matters to me. I’ve had sleep difficulties quite literally all my life, even sleepwalking and profound nightmares and insomnia as a toddler. My sleep these days is the best, by far, that it ever has been, other than during periods in my life when I lived alone (although even then, good sleep was unreliable at best). 

It doesn’t take me long to get over feeling annoyed. Certainly, it isn’t worth taking personally. G’damn this coffee is terrible, though. I still manage to feel some gratitude that I’ve got this cup of coffee at all. Grateful, too, for a partnership and abiding love that nurtures my spirit and enriches my life.

I sit quietly, reflecting on how brief this mortal life may be. We have a finite time in these mortal bodies. The moments are precious and too brief. There’s no time to waste on vexation and bullshit. It makes more sense to enjoy another sunrise from the trail than to fuss about being awake “too early”, doesn’t it? The clock is always ticking. The grains in life’s hourglass are steadily trickling away. Living life becomes cherished memory too quickly. It makes sense to be present, to be grateful, and to really live. Doesn’t it?

I sip my dreadful coffee. I meditate. I wait for the sun. I see the earliest hint of daybreak in subtle changes. The horizon hints at dawn. The clouds overhead seem more defined. A sense of the trail leading away from the parking lot begins to develop. Close enough, I guess. I put on my boots and get ready to begin again.

…

…

…

… halfway down the trail, it begins to rain…

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

Even When It Feels Personal

October 8, 2025 //
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It isn’t personal. Even when it feels personal, and pretty much whatever it is, it isn’t actually personal.

That car that cut you off in traffic, or “brake-checked” you on the highway? Not personal. That other driver is having their own experience.

The rude barista, check out person, or frosty receptionist? It’s not personal. They’re having their own experience.

Random moments of unpleasantness and stress day-to-day are so incredibly unlikely to be “about” us in any way. Even the targeted attacks of bullies have more to do with their poor character and mental health than anything to do with their victims. We make shit personal in our own heads. We “take” shit personally – and there are choices and verbs involved. We could choose to practice non-attachment and refrain from centering ourself in someone else’s experience. One of the hardest things for me to learn has been how very little of what is going on, even in my own relationships, has anything to do with me, personally, at all. It’s actually a disturbingly impersonal world.

An autumn morning at daybreak, a new day.

I sit at the halfway point on my morning walk, perched on a bench under a cloudy sky that hides a full moon. Feels like it might rain… but the air doesn’t have that scent. The air smells of autumn, fallen leaves, the persistent dampness left behind in shady places by last week’s rain.  It smells, too, of distant wildfires, and nearby chimneys. I’m cozy in a new cardigan, chosen for fit, price, and appearance, that turns out to also be quite comfy and warm. “Unbothered”, I think to myself when I seek to define my feelings this morning.

My night seemed brief and restless. My Traveling Partner had a difficult night struggling with some sort of unwellness. I woke from a deep sleep at his vexed exclamation, and for the next four and a half hours snatched whatever brief naps I could between his bouts of illness and physical difficulty. Was he “keeping me awake”? Not exactly. Partly, sure, and not through any intention – noise is noise. That surely wasn’t personal. The rest was me; half awake, alert to hear him if he called out to me, concerned, wanting to be available and ready if he needed me.

I woke minutes ahead of my alarm. I thought I’d turned that off to get some little bit more sleep? Apparently not. Didn’t matter, I woke early anyway. I was groggy and stupid, but also more concerned about slipping away quietly and letting my beloved get the rest he needed.

My thoughts wander back to a couple nights ago when he angrily chastised me for clearing my throat in an adjacent room and preventing him from sleeping. That also wasn’t personal – just irritating; I had “swallowed wrong” and was choking a bit on saliva that had gone down my trachea instead of my esophagus, making me cough and clear my throat several times, in a few short minutes. I had expected some amount of concern or sympathy, and feel a bit hurt looking back on that, as I compared circumstances. It wasn’t at all personal, though. We are each individuals having their own experience. Things aren’t always “about” us, even when we’ve centered ourself in our own experience, or lack understanding of some other. It feels a little unfair, but it’s not about that either.

I hear my Dad’s voice in my memory, “life isn’t fair,” he often said, not bemoaning the fact, just pointing it out. I guess that’s true… but “fair” is a helpful goal and “perspective” is a useful tool.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. Self-care is going to matter sooo much today. I’m starting the day tired, and the day ahead will be a busy one. I struggle to recall any tasks or errands I may have committed to beyond the work day. I feel certain there was something… but it evades my recollection. Fatigue reliably impairs my cognitive function before it really shows. I remind myself to slow down and be patient with myself, and to set clear, firm boundaries, and use expectation setting to support my practical limitations.

… I wish I didn’t have to work, but wishing is not an effective practice…

None of it is personal. Humans being human. Circumstances. Choices. Time and timing. I take another deep cold breath of the autumn air as daybreak creeps up on me. Chilly fingers yearn to find warmth and comfort in deeper pockets than these… and even the stupidity of tiny pockets on women’s clothing is an impersonal vexation. I let it go. I chuckle to myself; I let a lot of things go. I’m generally happier for it. Non-attachment is a powerful practice.

I sigh and watch the clouds overhead, shifting and roiling across the sky. It’s already time to begin again. I’ll do my best.

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Categories Allegories, anger, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, health, Healthy Living, meditation, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Sleepless Nights, The Art of Being

Well, Look At That

October 7, 2025 //
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After a restless night, I woke gently, dressed, and slipped out of the house as quietly as I could. The big bright full moon led me down the trail to my halfway point. I didn’t bother with my headlamp until I was in the forested stretch of trail along the creek, where the darkness could not be pierced by the moonlight. It is a chilly morning.

Yesterday was weird and tense, but finished gently, harmoniously, and with the calm that comes from everyone being “on the same page”. I had started writing about the circumstances, making some notes about details and feelings, but this morning feels quite different and I don’t resume writing that. We’re each fine. Each having our own experience.

The simple truths that cohabitation as a family is more complicated than we anticipated, less convenient, more uncomfortable, and problematic for each of us in various ways isn’t to do with whether we care, or what we wanted. It’s an adult household and our lifestyles and needs don’t mesh easily. Together we’ve decided not to fight that and to work productively toward a better solution. The Anxious Adventurer will move out, and we’ll give him a hand with that, and until then, life is…life. We’ll live it, each doing our best and enjoying the time we have.

I’m deeply grateful to have had the Anxious Adventurer’s help while I did, as much as he was able to provide at the time. Did I need more and other help? Yeah. Sometimes. Has it also been hard dealing with the additional emotional labor? Yeah. Sometimes. Has it been worth it? Yeah. Mostly. Definitely. A lot got done that couldn’t have been done without his help. Is it sustainable to continue? Nope. The lack of willingness to continue, though, doesn’t reduce my gratitude for his help while my Traveling Partner got through surgery and began his recovery.

So here we are. I wasn’t wholly certain we were “doing the right thing” – it felt like we were nudging the Anxious Adventurer in the direction of a particular choice, perhaps. Then I saw his face when his Dad mentioned some of the things he’d be returning to… and understood that he wants this, too. Mixed feelings all around. It was sharing these mixed feelings together that brought me clarity. I hope the both of them feel as I do now, that this makes sense, and without regret or sorrow. The Anxious Adventurer is welcome back to visit – I hope he does! Holidays as a family can be fun and warm and deeply joyful.

I sit watching the moon set, reflecting on life and choices and how we get from our past to our future. I’m proud of my Traveling Partner – setting boundaries is hard. Self-care decision-making is sometimes fraught with self-doubt. He did well. I’ll reflect on this for a long time. I’m proud of the Anxious Adventurer, too. He kept his cool under stress, and he has come so far in the time he’s been here. I hope he takes all that growth and progress back with him and enjoys his life more, and more easily, with the knowledge and understanding he has gained. Growth can be uncomfortable. I’m proud of myself, too. No stress related meltdown, and no attempt to force an outcome that felt “safe” to me, personally, but wasn’t at all what anyone wanted. Well done, us. 😃

Today feels… easier. Clarity of thought has that effect (for me). Oh, there’s a bit of work and planning ahead, and some cost, but even that can be spread out over the upcoming weeks. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I let myself think about the holidays ahead, without any stress or doubt.

I remind myself to plan my day around my Traveling Partner’s appointment – I’ll need to check whether our current eye doctor takes our new insurance… I forgot to do that sooner…I sigh, and laugh. It’s already time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, The Art of Being, The Big 5, Words

Finding Balance, Getting Centered

September 22, 2025 //
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It is the fall equinox. I took the day off from work to reflect, and to find balance. It’s the equinox, after all. It is a time for balance, day and night briefly the same length, a reminder that balance can be found, but not held static. Balance is not a permanent condition.

Lincoln City, at Road’s End, before sunrise.

I sip a hot coffee. The paper cup is warm in my hands. The morning is chillier here on the coast. I’m grateful for the foresight to have worn a warm sweater. I listen to the roar of the waves and the sea breeze, watching the sky begin to lighten, as daybreak, then dawn, each arrive in turn. As the dawn lights the horizon, I begin watching the waves roll in, in rows, stretching along the now-visible beach. The horizon itself is obscured by morning fog or dense clouds. I hear sea birds taking flight, calling to each other.

Where do I find balance? I guess anywhere that I create it, from whatever chaos is handy in the moment. Balance is in the choices I make. Same with “finding my center”. I create that center, that firm foundation, that moment to pause, to reflect, to breathe, and to simply be. I know that I’ve made it sound too easy. It’s not reliably easy. I sometimes choose poorly, or attempt to snatch a sense of balance from a moment that wanted something else of me entirely. As with painting, composition matters – just because a sight exists, doesn’t make it visually beautiful, worth putting on canvas – and so too with moments and seeking (or finding, or creating) balance. It’s not always “time for that”.

Moments later, same location, different perspective.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. This is a good place for meditation, and a good moment for it. I take time for that as the sun rises, watching the waves, listening to the sea breeze, letting my thoughts float gently by, observed but not engaging with them. I focus on my breath, and the waves, and the distant horizon. There is time later for other things. For now, this is enough.

… Time passes. What’s left of my coffee is now cold. So are my hands. Curious gulls stand very near the car, eyeing me curiously. The misty western horizon has taken on a delicate shell pink hue, and the waves are steely gray edged in frothy white as they reach the shallows along the shore. Beautiful.

After meditating, before walking on the beach.

Certainly there is enough daylight now to easily see the steep path down to the beach. It’s quite chilly this morning, but I’m warmly dressed, appropriate for the chill of an autumn walk along the ocean beach early in the morning. I’ll take my time and enjoy the sights. The morning is mine, for finding or creating balance, on a lovely fall equinox. Later, I’ll return home and prepare a lovely meal and celebrate at home. It’s nothing particularly fancy, and doesn’t need to be (although the recipe I’m following is complex, and the dish suited to a celebration). I’m simply observing the change of seasons my own way.

…Then, I’ll begin again.

Pause and reflect.
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Categories Allegories, autumn, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, joy, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Practices, The Art of Being, Uncategorized, Words

Sometimes It Rains

September 21, 2025 //
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I slept well, and deeply. I woke later than usual, and in less pain than yesterday. I quickly dressed and left the house, hoping I was sufficiently quiet to avoid waking my Traveling Partner.

I stepped out of the house, pulling the door closed behind me. It took me several steps down the walkway to recognize that it was raining. I wasn’t yet completely awake. Instead of the much closer local trail, I head up the highway to the nature park, hoping to catch a break in the rain – at least enough to walk the trail there.

I am here, now, and it is still raining, and not yet light enough to walk the trail safely in these conditions. I could give up and just go home, but chances are good that the household is still quiet and dark, the occupants still sleeping. I decide to wait for daybreak and see how things look then.

… The equinox is Monday. The rain feels appropriate for the change of season…

It’s still another 15 minutes or so until daybreak, and another half hour, about, until sunrise. The hourly weather forecast suggests the rain will stop with the sunrise, conveniently enough. I settle in for the wait, and spend some time meditating.

My timer chimes softly as daybreak arrives on this gray and rainy morning. The rain has stopped. I put on my boots and stuff a travel pack of tissues into the pocket of my fleece. My rain poncho seems a wise choice, and I rummage in my gear bin for it in the gloom, unwilling to light a light, enjoying the gentle dimness before dawn becomes day. I can make out the pavement of the parking lot quite clearly now, and see the sheen of recent rain reflecting streetlights and passing headlights. A sprinkling of rain falls, then quickly stops. I put on my rain poncho, and grab my cane. A rainy breeze stirs the trees and lifts my hair, still dry for the moment, but that won’t last. I chuckle and pull a hair tie off the gear shift knob and tie my hair back, out of my face and less likely to vex me if I get rained on for any distance.

Pain or rain, doesn’t really matter; it is easy to let circumstances stop me doing what needs to be done, or the things I enjoy. It can be a real effort to drag myself past whatever obstacles lie in life’s path, but it’s worth to push on, to get past the momentary heartaches, obstacles, and assorted inconvenient pains in the ass, and get on with living, any time I can. It’s going to rain sometimes – but that doesn’t have to stop me. (It has required so much practice to get to this place!) I’m grateful for each new beginning that has lead me to this moment.

I’ve got enough light to see, now, though sunrise is still some time in the future. It’s sprinkling gently, but not raining hard enough to stop me, and I’ve got the luxury of having the trail entirely to myself this morning. I smile at the rain drops falling on my face, and taste the drops on my lips. It’s a fine time to begin again. Let it rain, I’m fine with that.

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