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Don’t You Know It’s Dark Outside?

November 22, 2025 //
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I slept in a little, this morning, a rare and delightful experience for me. I woke rested and eager to begin the day.

My Traveling Partner is awake and greets me happily. There’s so much love in his eyes and his words. He playfully quotes song lyrics to me in lieu of conversation. He knows I won’t assume any ill intention (the lyrics are fron a song with a vaguely threatening tone). Neither of us is a jealous sort of person. We both find jealousy toxic and destructive. We enjoy word play, and have a lot of fun in using song lyrics in conversation; it’s amusing when we spot it, and often just as funny when we don’t. I feel wrapped in his love as I leave the house, and the chilly morning doesn’t dampen my good cheer – I know I’ll come home to the warmth of my Partner’s love.

One dark and foggy autumn morning.

It’s enough later in the morning that it’s almost daybreak when I get to the trailhead. I decide to write a bit and wait for the sun. It is Saturday, and it is my weekend.

I find myself noticing that I’m feeling somewhat nauseous. This early in the morning, nausea on an empty stomach (for me) is pretty rare. I take a deep breath and exhale slowly and thoroughly and begin doing a “body scan”, making a point to be present in my physical experience and aware of all the many feelings and sensations. I quickly determine my nausea is most likely a byproduct of pain, nothing more (or less) serious than that. I’ve already taken my morning medications, but they haven’t yet had time to reach peak effectiveness. I sigh to myself, and stretch, change my posture, continue breathing, and hoping the pain eases shortly. I’ve got an appointment later that may be helpful.

I sigh quietly, feeling mostly pretty contented and merry while I wait for the sun. Could be worse. This is just physical pain, and although it is pretty bad this morning, my anxiety of the past several days is greatly diminished, somehow making the pain both more obvious and less significant. Meaning to say, I guess, context matters and perspective is useful.

What does “enough” look like?

Dawn comes, gray and foggy. It’s a spooky sort of misty autumn morning, chilly but not freezing. I can see the trail quite easily, and I’ll have it to myself; I am alone here. Quite alone. I embrace the solitude and joyfully seek it out. I know it’s not the sort of thing that suits everyone. I even recognize that my enduring fondness for time alone is a reflection of past trauma; I feel safe and at peace alone, less anxious, unconcerned about the expectations, needs, and experiences of other people. It’s just me and this trail right here, now. Sure, I often (sometimes quite quickly) find myself missing the charm and companionship of my Traveling Partner, but he is understanding and encouraging of self-care, and knows how much this solitary time nurtures me. Self-reflection is a healthy practice, and I enjoy walking with my thoughts.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. After a few minutes of meditation, I grab my hat and my cane, and wrap my scarf around my neck. Already time to begin again… the trail leads into the marsh, disappearing into the fog. I get to my feet, ready to follow it where it leads.

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

Walking in Fog

November 21, 2025 //
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A new day, a new perspective, and for the moment, less anxiety, which is a pleasant change from recent days.

I woke up pretty close to when the lights would have begun gradually brightening to wake me. My Traveling Partner was already awake. We exchange pleasantries and I kiss him on my way out. A lovely beginning to a Friday.

Artificial lighting shining through the fog before dawn.

It is a cold morning, just 35°F (1.6°C). I’m grateful to have my cozy cardigan on, over a warm fluffy sweater, and that my gear bin in the back of my SUV has a warm scarf, knitted cap, and gloves conveniently ready for me. ‘Tis the season, I guess. I could give up my outdoor walk in favor of the elliptical machine at home… I have that option. I prefer the real walking on an actual trail or path through some park or wild space. I’m fortunate to have the elliptical available, and grateful too; it really is handy any time I’m injured, or if the weather is too bad for safe walking, like icy mornings, or drenching downpours. Part of what I get from my morning walk, though, is the solitude. I am alone with my thoughts, uninterrupted by others. It is quite possibly my favorite luxury. (One of the benefits of walking at this admittedly ludicrous hour of the day is that I generally don’t see, hear, or even pass by anyone else, at all.)

… I start down the trail in the fog and darkness…

I get to my halfway point and sit awhile, on a favorite bench. I think about change. Last year a small conference center was built on the acreage here, where this trail happens to be. The construction didn’t change the trail at all. Now a small resort-style hotel is also being added, but on the other side of the parking lot. The construction looks like it may impair the trail at some point, making it an out-and-back walk instead of a loop, for at least awhile. I sit contemplating the many such changes I’ve seen over a lifetime. Empty lots that fueled daydreams of gardens became apartment buildings or condos. Friendly country lanes that I walked down became busy commuter byways. Empty houses I fantasized about owning were torn down for office buildings. Countryside became suburban communities adjacent to cities that have continued to sprawl. Change is.

Twenty years ago, I was a different woman, in a different relationship, with a different job, living a very different life than I do now. Funny how much things can change over time. I sit reflecting on change and gratitude; I am living a healthier life now, and I am no longer deeply unhappy. Progress. It wasn’t done with the flip of a switch, and there was no single eye-opening “a-ha! moment”. The changes I chose to make were choices made over time. Back then it seemed very likely impossible to ever be where I find myself now… but here I sit.

This is an incomplete journey. Ongoing. I sit quietly in the fog. I wonder where this path leads? In another twenty years, when I look back on this time in my life, what will I think of this woman I have become? Will I appreciate her efforts and celebrate her successes? Will I grieve something lost along the way, or feel a moment of relief to have let go of some bit of baggage? It’s a big menu and there are a lot of choices. I think about that for awhile. We don’t know what is on the path ahead, and we’re each having our own experience.

My mind wanders to friendships lost over time. Some were deliberately ended. Some seemed to fade away on their own. Some I mourn with some moment of sorrow now and then. Others only bring a feeling of relief that they are behind me now. Human primates are complicated, sometimes we travel together on this strange journey, for a little while at least, other times we just pass each other along the way, exchanging information or enjoying a brief shared experience. No wrong answers, the human experience has a lot of options. (Okay, a few wrong answers, probably, so choose your actions and your friendships with care, eh? Try to avoid creating regrets.)

Daybreak, fog, and unmade choices; a good opportunity to begin again.

The first hint of daybreak touches the sky. The foggy morning seems to change color, now a little bluer. The darkness begins to lift. I sigh as I get to my feet to begin again. I look down the path and wonder what might be around the next bend, and prepare to begin again.

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

Some Quiet Moments

November 19, 2025 //
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I’m sitting at the halfway point on my morning walk, grateful for the warm sweater and cardigan. It’s a cold morning. It’s that time of year, here. The predawn sky is dark and clear, with a few clouds brightened by the lights below. I sit here contentedly, nothing much on my mind, and trying not to think about work. Now is not that time.

For the moment, my anxiety is well-managed, which is nice, and my pain is pretty typical of the season, which is less nice, but endurable. I smirk at myself cynically; I am a survivor. I’ve survived trauma, and heartbreak, and ruin, and mental illness, and profound injury, and domestic violence, and war. It’s been a lot. I sigh to myself. There are so very many people who have survived worse, and more. I’m grateful to be where I am, sitting quietly on this bench on a cold autumn morning before sunrise.

I’m admittedly disappointed with “the state of humanity”, presently. We could do so much better as beings than we have chosen to do. The current US president calls people names like an angry rude child. Legislators seriously contemplate imprisoning women over what should be private medical decision making between women and their physicians. Billionaires hoard vast unimaginable sums of money and assets piled high, while the working people who exchanged their efforts for a pittance worry about their next meal, and people living below the poverty line make daily decisions about whether to buy lifesaving medicine, or groceries. Housing is both limited in availability and also increasingly unaffordable. Are we really immune to all the suffering and violence in the world around us? Are we really okay with people deliberately seeking to profit off that misery?

…We could do better…

I sigh and let that go. I pull my attention back to this moment, here, now.

I take a moment for meditation, and for gratitude. My thoughts, this morning, are more personal than I’m inclined to share. I think about some painful moments in the past, and turn them over in my memory, considering instead what I may have learned or gained as a result of these experiences. It’s a practice I indulge rarely and approach cautiously; it is easy to become immersed in the recollection of pain or failure, and lose my way. There is real value in changing my perspective on such things, when I can. I don’t force it. Authenticity and honest self-reflection have positive value. Tearing myself down ruminating over past trauma or poor decision making tends to cloud my thinking and make me miserable. It is important to practice one and avoid the other.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. The cold has begun to seep into my bones, and my arthritis pain worsens. I sigh to myself and get to my feet. May as well finish this walk and get the day started, I guess. I find myself feeling a little blue. The world weighs too heavily on my thoughts, perhaps, or maybe it’s just pain. Weary. I feel weary of the world and all it’s heartache and chaos, and I’d like very much to simply be alone somewhere for… awhile. Days maybe, but I don’t have the money to spare on frivolous getaways right now, and too much to do that genuinely needs doing, and holidays ahead. Fuck. “Hang in there,” I remind myself, “this too will pass. It’s all very temporary.”

I stand staring down the trail for a moment, feeling unexpected tears rolling down my face. (What the absolute fuck?!) I sigh, a little frustrated with this whole “being human” thing. It’s clearly time to begin again. I see signs of daybreak on the eastern horizon, and start walking.

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Categories 2024 Election, Allegories, Anxiety, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Despair, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, The Art of Being, War and News of War, women, Words

The First Frost

November 18, 2025 //
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The morning was chillier than usual when I stepped out of the house. The air had a certain dry bite to it when I inhaled. The car sparkled under the street light. Frost. The first frost this year has come. My eye wanders over the flower beds as I pass them. “Time to prune the roses and woody herbs,” I remind myself. The car door opens with a frozen crackle. It doesn’t take long to defrost the windshield and warm up the car – it’s cold, but only 34 degrees (F), barely cold enough to frost things over.

I head up the highway with my thoughts. I’m cautious and alert for frozen stretches of roadway. There is little traffic, and the drive is a pleasant one. Nice start to the day, and I find myself smiling as I drive, relaxed and unbothered.

…”Relaxed and unbothered”… an almost ideal state of being in 2025, and it feels like a stroke of luck, and a luxury. I make a point to enjoy it, aware of how precious this moment really is…

I breathe, exhale, and relax. It’s a good beginning. Sometimes that’s enough.

I sip my coffee and think about the holidays ahead. There’s no stress over it, really, and I don’t have any lavish costly plans. I’m looking forward to a simple holiday at home, a chance to relax with my beloved Traveling Partner, share joy, tasty treats, and festive moments. That, too, is enough. His birthday is between Thanksgiving and Giftmas, and I often find it challenging to find something worthy to celebrate him, but that challenge is a “me thing”. Although he is particular, he is not demanding, nor ingracious, and he knows how to receive a gift well. I’m excited about my choices this year. I think about holiday baking, and setting up the tree on Thanksgiving weekend. I think about the Thanksgiving dinner, and the simple and tasty classic menu we decided on for this year. I’m hoping for a low stress holiday – no one needs more stress these days. I think about Giftmas, too, and selfishly, like a child, I think about gifts under the tree and stockings hung on the mantle. I’m hoping for fuzzy soft spa socks and books, and maybe something for the garden, or the kitchen.

My keyboard begins vexing me with some crazy bullshit. It’s wireless… Low battery maybe? No.  Some update not yet installed? Nope, not that either. It’s weird; the actions of the keys seems to change randomly. Restarting the laptop clears it up temporarily, but in a few keystrokes the problem returns. I find myself more distracted than frustrated, which seems promising, all things considered. I turn my attention to troubleshooting and the work day ahead.

… It’s apparently time to begin again.

.

.

.

…If you’re curious what the issue turned out to be with the keyboard, my function key was apparently sticking. Resolved. Feeling grateful to have done some time in a technical support role, once upon a time. Handy skills.

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Categories Allegories, autumn, breathe, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, inspiration, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Practices, The Art of Being

Slow Living

November 16, 2025 //
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“Slow down”, I reminded myself. It is a very foggy morning. Visibility is poor on the highway, and in the darkness it would be far too easy to overlook a deer or a person attempting to cross the road. There was no traffic at all, only fog, and darkness interrupted periodically by streetlights.

The phrase “slow down” resonates in my thoughts as I drive up the highway to this morning’s trail of choice. It becomes a song in my head. It’s an old old hit song, full of optimism. I sing out loud as I drive, surprised to remember the lyrics.

The reminder to slow down continues to resonate in my thoughts, rippling beyond the obvious practical meaning and through other thoughts, washing over the recollections of other experiences. Sometimes I “go too fast” and get swallowed up by imagined urgency, or distracted from enjoying life by self-inflicted busy-ness. I reflect on that as I drive.

I get to the trailhead before daybreak. It’s very early, and very quiet. The fog on the marsh obscures my visibility even more than the darkness, and my “view” is limited to the bobbing circle of light cast ahead of me by my headlamp. Headlights of passing cars on the highway adjacent to the edge of the meadow and marsh sweep past casting strange shadows in the fog. Several times I think there is someone else on the trail ahead. There isn’t. I’ve got the trail to myself this morning.

I get to my halfway point, still wrapped in darkness and fog. I sit quietly, enjoying the stillness and solitude. I meditate. I wait for daybreak. I’m not in any hurry at all, and that feels good. Restful. Luxurious. I breathe, exhale, and relax, and contemplate how best to communicate the practical value of slowing down. I’m not suggesting do less, it’s a more subtle consideration. It’s more about presence, awareness, and deliberate mindful action, and refraining from “filling space” with motion and task handling just to stay busy, or to overcome boredom.

…Go ahead and be bored now and then, it’s probably good for you…

… Better than doom scrolling the news, by far.

Daybreak comes. The sky shifts slowly from the undefined foggy darkness to a hint of a paler bluer gray in the sky, the oaks on the hillside on the other side of the trail are silhouetted, a feathered dark edge where the sky begins. I breathe the fresh chilly autumn air. The marsh has a very specific scent of its own. I don’t have words to describe it, and I enjoy it wordlessly. I hear a noise and look down.

Near my feet a young raccoon has approached me unnoticed. I manage to avoid being startled, but hear my own voice call softly, seeming unnecessarily loud in the gloom, “Oh, hey there! Don’t have rabies, okay? You should go back to your mama, Kiddo.” The youngster stands briefly on hind legs, looking me over curiously, before dropping back to all fours, turning and waddling quickly away, into the taller grass between this bit of fence I’m sitting on, and the marsh pond beyond.

I sit awhile longer, grateful for this quiet contemplative time to myself. Vita activa may fulfill a sense of purpose (or one’s bank account), but it is vita contemplativa that I personally find most valuable for finding that sense of purpose in the first place. Our mortal lives are finite and our moments precious and few, but trying to stay busy and occupy that time every moment with purposeful action risks missing out on so much creative potential and pure joy in living some moment, just as it is. I can’t explain myself adequately well, on the value in daydreaming, in boredom, in stillness and in slowing down. I can only do my humble best with the words I have. Instead, I share some other words, more skillfully crafted. (Do you ever click the links? Are you ever surprised by what you discover?)

Ichi-go Ichi-e. Be here now. Breathe, exhale, relax. Live the life you have, while it lasts – we are mortal creatures. Be present in the moment, awake and aware. This too shall pass… it’s all quite temporary.

We become what we practice. What are you practicing? Are you taking time to really live? Put down the device. Go outside. Read a book. Spend time with a friend. Daydream awhile. Slow down. Enjoy the journey.

An autumn morning, a trail, a journey.

I grin to myself as dawn becomes a new day. A misty rain falls on the foggy marsh. I am wrapped in contentment and a soft merry joy fills my heart. It’s a good starting point to begin again.

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