Archives for category: Logic & Reason
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What It Is, What It Isn’t

May 18, 2026 //
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Home. It feels incredibly good to come home after being away. My beloved welcomed me with a warm embrace and we spent a happy evening together. It was lovely – and wow did he ever get a lot done while I was gone! It’s as good to “have him back” as it is to return home.

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

A hint of a sunrise. A new day.

I got to the trailhead at sunrise. I walked briskly to my halfway point feeling purposeful and capable. It’s a good start to the day and week.

…Sounds great so far…

…What woke me was anxiety blasting me through my dreams. That was less than ideal. Still, that moment is not now and the feeling passed before I had even finished dressing. The morning is peaceful and lovely, if a bit chilly. I chuckle to myself; a 7°C (about 45°F) would have felt pleasantly warm in January. I’m comfortable in the fleece I grabbed from the hook in the hallway on my way out. It’s enough.

It feels odd to return to work today after timeless days on the coast, sleeping and waking as I pleased, drinking too much coffee, and putting my time and attention on the woman in the mirror. Deeply engaged self-reflection seems to “slow the clock” notably, and I feel as if I’ve been gone from work for many days. It wasn’t even a long weekend! 😆

Did I solve all my problems while I was away? Hardly. I am essentially the same woman I was when I departed for the coast. Did I solve any major puzzles? Answer life’s important questions? Settle all of my doubts? Clear up all my chaos and damage? It is an unequivocal “no” to all of those things – but the time was well spent. I took care of myself. I rested, read, meditated, wrote, and indulged myself in worthy hours of thought, quiet, and stillness. I returned home more relaxed and clearheaded than I’ve been in a long while, and largely freed of compulsive (and no longer necessary or helpful) caregiving tendencies. Feels good to be back.

So here it is, a Monday. Nothing particularly special about a Monday. I’ve got a doctor’s appointment later, and a list of stuff to cover. It’s important to make the appointment time count, and to be as efficient as possible. I sigh to myself; I’ve also got a busy-ish work Monday ahead. I refrain from checking work tools from the trail; this time is mine.

The clouds form a strange pattern like fish skin.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I think about the thinking I did over the weekend, as I watched the tides come and go, and listened to passing rainstorms drum on the window and roof. I may not have solved the mysteries of the universe, but I covered some ground within my personal wilderness, and tidied up some “thinking errors”, and identified some habits I’d like to change. It’s enough to make some progress.

I look down the path. It seems like there’s always another mile ahead, however far I travel. I’m not bitching, just making a point to gently accept that the journey itself is the destination. Some days it will be enough to make some steps along the path, at all. Other days the miles will pass easily. It’s s very human experience.

I smile to myself and get to my feet. Today feels like a good day, and it’s time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, Logic & Reason, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being, women, Words

Interference Patterns

May 16, 2026 //
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Why do I keep coming back to this place? Surely it isn’t just convenience, ritual, or nostalgia? (I mean… but it could be though…)

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

I think about it for a long while, maybe instead of the thoughts I may have thought brought me here. Too long, maybe, between chapters of “A Canticle for Leibowitz”, which I was finishing, and pages of “The Conspiracy Against The Human Race “, which I am only just beginning, both of which feel significant and well-timed. Cycles and patterns in life and living occur often in this mortal experience. I watch the waves of the ebb tide reach the shore, and return to cross and mingle with the next row coming in. It is late afternoon.

Waves against a rocky shore.

I consider the phenomenon of the double slit experiment, and of watching the ripples of water expanding out from a stone cast into the shallow water at the edge of my grandfather’s pier on Weems Creek on a summer morning. Interference patterns fascinate me endlessly. Interference is a subtle thing, natural and irresistible, and perhaps that is why I come to this place, to listen to sea breezes whisper truths that might escape my awareness in the busy-ness of life, as I contemplate the patterns in the waves as they reach the shore?

Sometimes I just need quiet and solitude – some time alone to “hear myself think”. I have been needing it so much lately, I guess, that any effort to do something else has been met with a feeling of profound discontent, and a sense of resisting what is needful, as if I were interfering with my own sense of purpose. What feels useful and right is to sit gazing out at the sea, or to relax with a coffee by the fire. My initial reluctance to fully yield to “wasting my time” on nothing more (or less) than my own thoughts quickly passed once I yielded to it without reservation (or interference).

I sit with my thoughts. That is, after all, what I come here for. What I came here for this time, too.

The medium brown strands of my hair fall in waves down my bosom. There’s not much gray. The auburn highlights sparkle where the afternoon sun reaches me through the window, hinting at red-headed-ness in my ancestry. One notable indulgence on this trip will be a long overdue haircut with a stylist I really like. I didn’t plan ahead, and I am grateful she was willing to make an appointment for me on a Sunday morning, just before I return home.

… Shit. I miss my Traveling Partner. The poignant feeling of loss and absence strikes me hard, abruptly. Yeah… I come here alone also to escape the subtle interference patterns of love, too. It’s a bit harder to focus on me when my heart is focused on my beloved. Here, for a couple of days, my thoughts are truly my own, entirely. At home, and this is not a criticism, my thoughts and the very fabric of my life is woven and intertwined with his. Every thread connects the two of us. My heart shifts gears now, from missing him to feeling incredibly loved. His love gives me ample room to step away, care for myself, and return more whole and more capable, and more able to partner with him in this life we share. That’s so beautiful…

I smile and set aside writing for some other moment, and return to my thoughts.

(Some time later)

My thoughts became, at some point, an unexpected nap listening to the waves through the open window. I woke, soon enough to think about some dinner and a bit more reading. I exchange welcome words with my beloved. He misses me. I am missing him too. Tomorrow is soon, and I’m looking forward to his embrace when I get home.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I sit in the evening light, watching the day dwindle away to night. Tomorrow I’ll begin again.

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Categories Allegories, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, inspiration, Logic & Reason, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Moments, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Spring, The Art of Being, women, Words

Ripples and Reflections

April 20, 2026 //
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Self-reflection is not a five minute exercise that reliably results in some sort of personal transformation. It requires time and repetition. I’m still processing the weekend, and it’s already Monday. The shift back to the work routine comes with the sound of grinding gears, metaphorically speaking.

Sometimes illumination comes as a flash of insight, sometimes it comes in waves.

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

This morning I am thinking about my (possibly excessive) reliance on habits and routines so well established they amount to a sort of “autopilot”. Very efficient, cognitively, but my partner has pointed it out more than once as potential problem, because autopilot doesn’t “read the room”, nor does it have the capacity to listen deeply, respond in a considerate way, or adapt quickly from an emotional perspective. Not mine, anyway. It’s better at driving the car than being present.

Efficiency and being “productive” get a lot of emphasis in our excessively work-focused culture. Funny thing though, reading articles about end of life regrets or quality of life recommendations from elders, it’s rare that anyone ever lauds work, and regrets are commonly to do with missed opportunities to connect with friends and loved ones. Autopilot is better for work than for relationships. Autopilot is not mindful, present, or self-aware. It is a tool with limited value.

For a brain damaged teenager trying to master the basics of driving a car safely, there’s a certain limited value in putting a few things on “autopilot” (check both ways before turning onto the street, stop completely at stop signs, use the turn signals…) but a grown woman seeking to build or deepen a romantic connection with a beloved partner, autopilot is not only inappropriate, it’s ineffective. It’s also…rude.

I walk with my thoughts, grateful for a partner who loves me enough to communicate what doesn’t work for him in an honest way. It’s hard to hear, when I’ve been a jerk, but being open to hearing honest boundary setting and feedback also gives me a chance to reflect on my choices and consider new ones. Autopilot improves cognitive ease, but improving cognitive ease comes at a cost. I sigh to myself. Choices. We become what we practice.

Deep listening, openness, consideration, being present, and emotional intimacy are among the most challenging practices; doing any of them well requires attention and self-awareness, and a willingness to be “in the moment” with another human being, awake and aware, no shortcuts. No autopilot. Another sigh as I pause on my walk to gather my thoughts, write, and reflect. I definitely need to make some changes. I feel comfortable with my sense of what those changes need to be.

Sure, autopilot is more efficient. I go faster, get more done, but the tradeoffs come in a combination of silly mistakes made in haste, and a shallow superficial presence that lacks real connection. It’s not really a difficult choice, just a ton of practice to do. There are verbs involved. Understanding isn’t enough. Recognition isn’t enough. There’s real work involved in slowing down and being really present – and also setting clear explicit boundaries and expectations when I am not available for deeply connecting, or for paying attention to something different than I am doing in some moment (these may be the hardest things for me to learn to do well).

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I watch a gray dawn become a new day. Seems like a good one to begin again – with changes. Change is.

Sometimes the path takes an unexpected turn. Follow it? Choose another path? It is a choice.
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Categories Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, Logic & Reason, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Spring, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women, Words

AI and the Myth of Falling Behind

April 15, 2026 //
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It is a lovely Spring morning, and it begins well. The rain stopped just as I got to the trailhead. Daybreak arrived soon after I did.

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

I enjoyed a pleasant moment with my Traveling Partner over coffee, and it is payday. A promising beginning to the day. I’ve even got a manicure appointment later, and managed to go almost 5 weeks since my last one without my cuticles tearing and without picking at my fingers. Major win.

What makes a moment? Mostly what we feel about it.

I get to my halfway point thinking about AI and the number of companies forcing that crap into every app, and every customer portal. It has degraded my experience of everything it touches. I’m frustrated by that, but more and more often I am also (rather cynically) amused. My amusement is mostly to do with the humorous notion that anyone needs to work to “keep up with” peers and colleagues using AI tools. No keeping up necessary. I’m watching their cognitive skills erode in real-time, instead. Wild.

Where AI most often vexes me presently is in the predictive auto-complete function in some applications where some amount of writing is required. I had gotten used to algorithms that specifically learned from my own use of language. At some recent point, it clearly changed, and now it is just… fucking wrong, a lot. It would be hilarious if it weren’t so annoying. It slows me down having to correct that shit constantly. I have my own voice, my own style, and I make my own mistakes in both grammar and spelling. Fuck AI. Who needs it? I’m not looking to sound like anyone else.

I chuckle to myself. I’ve no interest in wasting precious mortal lifetime writing prompts. I’d rather just write, and so I do. Similarly, I’ll do my own shopping, choose recipes without assistance, figure out a route for some road trip without AI, answer a friend’s text or a work email by actually simply typing my reply… I find it worthwhile to use my own mind. It is quite clear that these skills fit into the set of things in human life that are “use it or lose it”, but it is also clear that a lot of people won’t really understand that until they are no longer able to answer a simple question about themselves without asking a slopbot. That’s pretty sad. I make a note to buy more books and read them, and to spend time finishing the book I’m reading now.

The sky lightens. There is a new day ahead, filled with opportunities and choices. I smile, thinking of the garden. It’s time to plant starts and make that fence to go around the veggie bed to keep the deer from feasting on seedlings and topping all my tomatoes and peppers, this year. I have a plan.

I watch the clouds separate into lines and streaks as dawn becomes day. Beautiful blue sky shows through the breaks in the clouds. I feel like painting. This too I do without AI, pastels between my fingertips, eyes on the work, and an idea in mind. AI has no place in art. My opinion, of course, and no AI was required to think the thoughts that brought me to that conclusion.

I sigh happily to myself, enjoying this moment. No AI would be useful for that, either, and isn’t simple enjoyment of a moment one of the most fundamental human experiences? I definitely don’t feel as if I’m at risk of falling behind because I have no appreciation of (or use for) AI or LLM tools.

I glance at the time, reluctant to walk on down the path. I am enjoying this moment right here, now… but it is time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, art and the artist, breathe, Free Will, gardening, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, Logic & Reason, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Practices, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being, thoughts on AI, 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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