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Creating Order From Chaos

August 25, 2025 //
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In spite of the heat I spent some time in the garden yesterday (before it got too hot, in the cooler morning hours). I happily watered and weeded, and reflected on the chaos that has arisen over weeks of hot weather, busy work days, and other shit that just had to get done. Time is a limited resource, and so is the energy I’ve got available to get things done with.

I found myself doing what I tend to do when I observe chaos creeping further into my day-to-day experience; I made a list. I took some notes. I contemplated the varying levels of urgency and the considerations driving that.

The chaos in my garden.

There are peas dry on the vines ready to harvest for next year’s planting. There are carrots ready to harvest, and favorite salad greens that bolted in the heat (may as well harvest those seeds, too). The deer were haphazard with their “helpful” pruning of tomatoes, but I’ve still got a few tomatoes ripening, hidden in the greenery. Thirsty roses want deeper watering, and need a bit of pruning. There is so much weeding to do. Work had gotten busy, and I had gotten tired with other every day tasks on top of that, and I fell behind on several of the things the garden needs to thrive and be beautiful and productive. Our choices have consequences. Now I’m faced with those; I put my attention on work (for a job that I won’t be doing any longer) and let the garden go a bit wild, and the weeds remind me that my own choices allowed them to thrive.

I’m neither mad nor frustrated. The garden manages to be lovely regardless, and I enjoy my time spent there, even on a muggy summer morning before the heat of the day sets in. There are roses blooming at the edge of the lawn (at least one of which does not know the meaning of “winter” and will likely bloom all year) and it delights me to pause along the walk to see them there in the sunshine, drops of water glittering on the edges of colorful petals after morning watering.

“Baby Love”, blooming in the summer heat.

I spent the day contentedly creating order from chaos. I find it a useful practice for reducing background anxiety and stress. Chaos in my environment tends to result in chaos in my thinking. Tidying things up, clearing out clutter, and working down a list of tasks that need doing has proven to be a really good practice for managing my stress and anxiety. When those tasks are specific to supporting my own needs as an individual, it also feels like self-care. Conveniently enough, there nearly always seems to be something to do that meets those needs. lol Laundry. Dishes. Hanging up the various pairs of earrings that have managed to find some random resting place here or there in the house. Putting books away. Filing paperwork that has stacked, waiting to be filed. Dusting. Pulling weeds in the garden and from the flower beds as I pass by on my way to some other task or destination. It quickly becomes a form of meditation, when I stay engaged with the task and present in the moment, and don’t allow myself to “wander off” in my own head.

All along the way, task by task, hour by hour, there are moments of wonder, delight, and beauty that turn up to be savored and enjoyed. A colorful display of flowers. A lingering romantic hug with my Traveling Partner. A beautiful blue sky. I make a point of really enjoying these (and so much more) whenever they occur. Another sweet way to reduce stress and anxiety; really being present for moments of joy and beauty and savoring them. It matters so much to allow myself to be delighted, even for an instant.

A colorful display of flowers in the summer sun, at the grocery store.

I am never too busy to enjoy something beautiful. (I find myself wondering when I’ll next be in the city… maybe I can work in a trip to the art museum?)

Change can feel so incredibly chaotic. The loss of familiar routines feels disruptive. Managing the stress and the anxiety that can come with change can feel overwhelming – until I break things down into smaller pieces, and create order from the chaos one task at a time. Breathe, exhale, relax – like any practice, there are steps, and I’ve got to do the work myself to experience the results (otherwise, we’re just having a conversation about it, eh?).

I sip my coffee as the sun rises. I won’t be watching that from this office window much longer… Change is. Jobs end. We are mortal creatures, and however tightly we cling to some experience, or person, or moment, we will face the reality of impermanence sooner or later. The plan is not the experience. The map is not the world. Reality will be what it is without regard to our thoughts or feelings about it. Practicing non-attachment has tended to make me more practical about change – and chaos, and I no longer take such things so personally. I’ll take a new breath, and I’ll begin again. Really, what else is there to do?

For now, I sit with the quiet, and this good cup of coffee, and I look over what needs to get done today. I make a plan. I smile when the thought of my beloved Traveling Partner crosses my mind for no particular reason; he is a steady presence in my life whether we’re in the same room or not, and I am grateful to be so loved and supported. I reach out to a friend via email wondering if they have time to get together for a coffee sometime soon? It’s the relationships that matter most, in work and in life.

A hazy dawn, a row of birds gathered on a powerline.

I sigh to myself, feeling this contentment and practicality like a firm foundation beneath my feet. I’m okay right now, for nearly all values of okay, and that’s enough. The future is unwritten, and I can’t see where this path leads… but this feels like a good place to begin, again.

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gardening, gratitude, Healthy Living, joy, Logic & Reason, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Summer, The Art of Being, The Big 5

Walking in the Dark

August 22, 2025 //
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I woke ridiculously early this morning. I could hear my Traveling Partner coughing in another room. “Rough,” I thought, as I sat up, “sounds like he’s having trouble breathing.” As I reached for my phone to turn off my sunrise alarm and turn on a dim light, I realized I was pretty stuffy, myself. Allergies? Probably. Or not. Doesn’t matter, if it isn’t going to kill me, I guess. I notice that my head is pounding, too. Nasty headache to begin the day with. Great.

I sigh and stretch, and start getting ready for a new day. I figure I’ll just go get an early walk in, before work, although it’s not yet 03:30, and this changes which trails are available – or safe to walk. I think it over as I dress. My beloved seems a little surprised that I’m going to just go ahead and go, so early, but there’s another heat warning in effect, and it’ll be uncomfortably warm relatively early in the day, so perhaps it is just an opportunity? A lifetime of sleep challenges and insomnia have prepared me well to make use of strange hours. lol A hug, a kiss, and I’m headed out the door to walk in the darkness.

I walked the marsh trail with my headlamp in my hand, pointed down low to illuminate only the ground, and I watched Venus chase Jupiter up the dark backdrop of the starry pre-dawn sky. The morning was ever so still and quiet, and even the traffic was muted. I heard the crunch of my steps on gravel and over dried leaves. The air was still and smelled faintly of mushrooms and summer nights. I definitely had the trail to myself! Sounds in the underbrush as I strode through a grassy stretch covered with sparse old oaks gave me a moment of doubt about my decision-making, but it was only a family of racoons scrambling about, playing and foraging. They took off in other direction when my light reached them.

We spend a lot of our lives “walking in the dark” – life is a journey without a map, and we don’t see clearly where the path may lead. I think about that as I walk. I feel fortunate that this stretch of the journey is a familiar, there’s comfort in that. I stretch as I walk, hoping to ease stiff muscles and joints, and maybe this headache, too. It doesn’t help much, but it feels good to move. As I walk, I think about the tools in my toolkit, metaphorically speaking, and how best to organize my time and manage limited resources in this new here-and-now filled with uncertainty. Isn’t life always a little uncertain? I breathe, exhale, and relax. Could be worse – so much worse. This is only a beginning. Yet another. I wonder where the next opportunity may take me?

…I laugh out loud in the darkness when I catch myself thinking “what do I even want to be when I grow-up?”, realizing I am a long way down life’s path to feel that way, and yet it is still a question I often ask myself…

I get back to the car. I drive to the office that will soon no longer figure into my days at all, most likely. I prepare the budget for this pay period, aware that “things have changed” and that I need to consider new concerns, new details, new limitations – at least for now. Sometimes it’s a little scary. Sometimes it feels rather mundane and ordinary. My emotions are still shifting and I’m still “processing this”. Fuck I will so miss this particular job… on the other hand… it’s a job. There are others. I sigh as I hit “send” on the email to my Traveling Partner sharing my thoughts on the budget and seeking his. I’m grateful this is a shared journey.

I had planned to go camping next week, feeling very secure in my position in life and the world when the plans were made. I cancelled that to make room for uncertainty – and to map a new path. There’s quite a lot to do. I smile to myself; I may even spend time helping my Traveling Partner in the shop – or paint. Change is. Were this 5 years further down the road, I could perhaps simply file for my social security retirement, and breathe a little easier while I look for work, but that time is not now. Doing so now would be a terrible tactical move for the future. I sigh again and shake off the temptation toward wishful thinking. It’s a good time for taking a practical (and where feasible, wise) approach to “right now” – with a loving eye on the future, too.

…Aren’t we all sort of “walking in the dark”, much of the time? I sip my icy cold office coffee and think my thoughts awhile longer. The sun is rising now, and it’s time to begin again.

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

Cultivating a Beautiful Garden

August 7, 2025 //
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I have a garden. I find it a useful metaphor in life… for life, love, and living well. These things take real work, and benefit from planning, and a consistent effort to practice healthy practices, like the garden does. There are choices to be made regarding what to plant, where, and how to tend the garden through changing seasons. These requirements are basic to living well, too, and the lessons I learn in my garden are handy for living my life. I sip my coffee and think about my garden from the vantage point of my desk, on a completely ordinary Thursday morning.

…I’m not in my garden right now, but I kinda wish I were…

I learn a lot from my garden, practical things that guide my future decision-making like learning that timing, placement, and careful choices can really make a difference in the outcome. An example? I planted hollyhocks in front of the kitchen window, but behind a small Japanese Maple. They finally flowered this year, for the first time, and revealed what a terrible location that is for them; they grow taller than the rain gutters – or the little tree. lol

It matters where something is planted.

I’ve learned, in the garden, not to take planning too seriously. The plan is not the experience. Sometimes there’s joy to be found in an impulsive moment. A potted geranium purchased on a whim can become an eye-catching moment of beauty that brings real joy each time I pass by.

An impulsive choice can become a moment of beauty.

Choices have consequences. It’s not always obvious what those consequences will be. Something as small as an herb in a 4″ pot can become a “delightful monstrosity” that encroaches on the lawn, falling well outside the confines of the flower bed, and requiring constant pruning and attention to keep it within boundaries. Setting healthy boundaries is a useful skill, in the garden and in life.

It’s easy to misjudge the outcome of a choice. The consequences are non-negotiable.

In the garden, I’ve even learned that life isn’t always “about” me; we’re all in this together, each having our own experience. Every bird, bee, spider, worm, and visitor to the garden plays some part in the beauty of the garden.

It’s not always about me.

By far the biggest lesson I’ve taken from my garden is that I’ll rarely get more out of it than I am willing to put into it. The effort I make often determines my results. I harvest what I plant. My harvest is larger or smaller, depending on how skillfully I tend my garden, and how wisely I’ve chosen the cultivars I’ve planted. Timing matters, and seasonality too, but the thing that reliably matters most is the time I spend tending the garden.

The results in my garden are tied directly to the work I put in.

There’s no rushing the garden, really, and no real “short-cuts” to avoid the work required, or the time it may take to find some specific plant or variety that I most yearn to see in my little garden. I may know what I want (or think that I do), but lacking availability I may be tempted to compromise and settle for something different… or “less”. Are the things I want most worth working towards? Are they worth waiting for? (Sometimes they very much are!)

I once saw I rose that I instantly fell in love with, growing as a cascade of bold orange fragrant miniature roses that spilled over a short wall, covering it in beautiful blossoms. So pretty! I’d never seen an orange rose that I liked so much, and I really wanted that one in my garden…but it wasn’t part of my plan at that time, and years passed. 33 years, actually. I missed my opportunity – the nursery where I saw it closed. The breeder of that rose died. I moved, and moved again, and often did not have a garden at all. Then, I had a little garden and my own little home, and I searched high and low for this one rose that I wanted for so long… and found it.

Some experiences and moments are worth working towards, and waiting for.

Another thing I’ve learned in the garden is that there’s going to be bad weather now and then. There’s going to be rain. There are going to be storms. There may be damage to clean up. Sometimes things don’t work out ideally well. I’ve also learned that storms pass. The garden, and its near-infinite ability to recover from harm and continue to grow is a powerful metaphor for resilience, and a lesson about impermanence and the value in practicing non-attachment.

There are going to be rainy days – but they won’t be all the days.

And, like it or not, my garden teaches me to be humble. I can plan all I want, and I can do the work the garden requires in order to thrive. I can enjoy the fruits of my labor and find joy in the garden. In spite of all that, sometimes – without regard to my efforts and commitment and sense of purpose – the deer show up and eat my garden. It is what it is. So many lessons. So many changes of season in a lifetime. So much weeding and watering and sweat and work… and still, the deer may eat my garden.

Sometimes things don’t work out as planned. Sometimes the deer are going to eat the garden.

I smile and sip my coffee. The metaphors of camping and hiking give way to the metaphors of the garden. Tending the garden of my heart isn’t so different from tending the garden in which I grow my vegetables, herbs, and flowers. There are verbs involved, and my results vary. Sometimes I’ve got to begin again – and my choices (and the effort I make) really do matter. 😀 I smile to myself thinking of my Traveling Partner, and the work he’s been getting done in the shop lately. I find myself wondering if he takes life lessons from the shop, in the way I do from my garden?

…In a more practical way, I find myself planning to be in the garden this weekend, or even after work today; there is work to be done (isn’t there always?)…

I breathe, exhale, and relax. It’s a new day. Dinner on Tuesday included tomatoes and onions from my garden. I find myself wondering what may be there for tonight’s dinner? I think about the weekend ahead. I think about love. The clock is ticking – it’s time to begin, again.

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Categories Allegories, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gardening, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, joy, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Roses, Summer, The Art of Being

Seasons and Change

August 2, 2025 //
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The days are definitely getting shorter. I see it in the mornings when I arrive at the trailhead. I’m no longer missing the sunrise. This morning’s sky is a pale pastel blue hue, streaked with a delicate pink. Lovely.

I walk down the trail, listening to the sound of my footsteps crunching along the gravel trail. It is a useful distraction from my tinnitus, which is quite loud, a piercing shrill whine in the background of, well, of everything, every moment.

Voices at a favorite stopping point; I walk on.

I’ve got a bit of shopping this morning, and it’s time to stop by the storage unit to grab my camping gear and load it in the car, for tomorrow’s departure. Doesn’t really feel like work at all, though there is effort involved. The camp fridge is already plugged in at the house, getting cold. I’m looking forward to this camping trip. The shorter days are not discouraging me, and the cot I picked up on sale before the last trip proved its worth. I expect to sleep pretty comfortably.

I finally get to a pleasant spot to stop that feels solitary, though I suspect it is an illusion to do with timing, more than anything else. There were quite a few cars parked at the trailhead this morning.

…We are rarely ever truly alone, and “privacy” is a concept quickly being lost in our “always on” digital age. I find this vexing; I enjoy solitude…

I sigh quietly to myself and let all that go. I sit with my thoughts awhile, enjoying the sunrise, though it’s nothing fancy or super colorful this morning, I’m simply grateful to see another one. Definitely something I find worthy of appreciation, life itself. It hasn’t been reliably kind to me over the course of this one mortal lifetime, and I sometimes think I’m very lucky indeed to have made it this far, at all. I’m glad I stuck it out and worked through a lot of my bullshit and baggage, instead of checking out in some moment of despair. It’s been a worthwhile journey, and I’ve got much to be grateful for.

I sit listening to the faint sound of traffic on the highway adjacent to the meadow on the other side of the trees that surround me. I watch a curious chipmunk creeping closer to me, one little darting step at a time. I’m disappointed that I have no seeds or nuts with me, though I know it’s a bad practice to feed wild creatures, I am always tempted. The chipmunk comes all the way to the edge of my boot. We make eye contact, and she darts away quickly in a single jump followed by scurrying steps, and disappears into the weeds.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I’ve got a list of chores to get done before I leave for a few days of luxurious solitude in the trees. Mostly routine stuff I’d be doing on any weekend, just compressed into one day, with some add-ons intended to provide for my Traveling Partner’s comfort while I am away. I smile, taking note of how much less work that is; he’s come a long way since his surgery.

Well hell, this walk isn’t going to finish itself, and I’ve got this list. The clock is ticking onward (always). I guess it’s time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, joy, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Practices, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being

What Would You Keep?

July 30, 2025 //
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It’s an interesting question, isn’t it? Look around you, contemplate the things you have accumulated over the course of a lifetime, things you value, things you treasure, things you worked hard to be able to acquire… what does it all mean, though? What is of earnest and heartfelt value to you personally may have little value to others around you. If you had to “start over” completely, and could only take from all of your possessions two or three items, what would they be? If you were fleeing a wildfire or some sort of disaster, what would you most hope to find had survived when you return to your home? What would you try to take with you? What matters most?

…And when you’re gone, and what remains of your life are only those memories you’ve left behind in other hearts, and this accumulation of goods and trinkets, what do you suppose will be done with “all of that stuff”? Do you imagine your heirs may value it all as you have valued it? Do you imagine collections remaining intact, art becoming prized in other households, and items of value being cherished fondly as mementos of times shared? You do know you have no control over that outcome at all, right? You’ll be… gone. What matters to you is about you – and the framework falls apart once you’re gone. If what becomes of those things is actually something you care deeply about in any practical way, maybe have conversations about that with people you hope may wish to “carry on” your “legacy” in some way. Better to know now, isn’t it? Then your plans at least have some connection to some potential real outcome… though there’s no avoiding the underlying basic fact; you have no control over that at all. Not really.

Why do I even care? I don’t know, maybe the display of carefully selected antique porcelain demi-tasse cups and saucers is worth caring about (maybe not). Maybe the many dozens of art works on canvas are worth making some attempt that they end up in the hands (and on the walls) of friends and loved ones who will really appreciate them, and take real delight in seeing them each day (and perhaps thinking of me as they pass). There’s so much bullshit and stuff that accumulates in one ordinary human life. Paperwork. Books. Mementos of places and people. Dishes and small appliances and tools. Art. Plants. Sachets of tea. Socks and undies and camping gear. Photos.

…I’m pretty sure I could let quite a lot of it go, myself, before I ever shed this mortal form, and save my loved ones quite a lot of tedious and emotional work. Isn’t grieving already difficult enough…?

I sip my coffee and think my mortal thoughts. If I were fleeing dire circumstances (and I’ve had to do so once or twice), what would I take with me? I suppose it depends on the nature of the dire circumstances, and whether I would be limited to “what I could carry”, and how much time I had to prepare, and what my state of mind happened to be. I know that when I left home at 14, despairing, sorrowful, angry, and emotionally wounded, I took just one bag with a strap. I put a change of clothing in it, my journal, my wee address book, some cash, and walked away from my life as I knew it. I learned a lot about what “being prepared” actually requires (cuz that wasn’t it). These days, my “go bag” (a well-equipped backpack) lives in my car full-time. It’s there for camping or for emergencies. I could survive a lot of circumstances with just what is packed in that pack. I check it each year and udpate it. If I were fleeing some emergency, I guess I’d also grab my handbag (ID, etc). If I had time for rational thinking and a bit of planning, I’d likely snatch a couple of favorite paintings from the walls and try to protect them from harm – but I have images of all of my work, and in the abstract, I think I could let it all go, if I had to.

…Could you walk away from your whole life if circumstances demanded it, and just start over again?

I sip my coffee and reflect on disaster and on life, and on my good fortune, generally. I’m grateful that I don’t consider these things because I have to in this moment. They are only abstract reflections on legitimate real-world potential concerns. It’s an exercise in anxiety management, actually. My own most common sort of existential dread has to do with being displaced, or faced with one of life’s terrifying unexpected “rug pulls” and being entirely unprepared. “Losing everything I’ve worked for” is a terrifying idea. When life feels pretty comfortable and safe and good, my anxiety flares up (sometimes severely) and keeps me spun on the “what ifs” that are not now, and for me the most effective practice for dealing with that is to look those fears in the face and ask the question (some version of “what would I do, if…?”) – and answer it.

Sometimes a change in perspective relies on a change of scenery.

Camping next week. I’m excited to spend some quiet time out in the trees, walking new trails with old thoughts, and finding new perspective on what matters most. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I’m grateful for a loving partnership that supports my wandering trails alone, and welcomes me home at the end of each adventure. I’m grateful to have a partner who loves me as I am, and understands (or at least accepts) my need for time alone. We aren’t all the same in this regard, and we’re each having our own experience. My Traveling Partner misses me terribly when I’m away, and I know he must sometimes worry about the “what ifs” that trouble him most when I’m gone, himself. I love that each camping trip is framed with his loving embrace and encouragement, and followed by his sincere interest in where I’ve been and what I’ve seen.

Perspective matters. Is it a forest, or some trees?

Every time I go camping, I reflect on what to take along with me and whether I’ll actually need that thing. I’m prone to overpacking and being “too prepared”, dragging along shit I’m just not going to need, want, or use, but could imagine some remote potential circumstance that might require some item that makes no sense otherwise. I chuckle at the recollection of past camping trips with an assortment of items that just got left in the car, untouched. Each camping trip, each year, I leave some of that baggage and bullshit behind, and do a little better to plan for the most likely circumstances, only, no “extras”. I think of a camping trip when I packed my camera bag (my “real camera” is a nice Canon with several useful lenses), and also my journal and some books to read, and also my paint boxes for some plein air painting… and I didn’t do anything that trip besides hike, meditate, and gaze into the fire in the evenings! I didn’t paint anything, never even took my camera out of the bag, and never opened any one of the (several) books I’d taken with me! I still laugh at how ridiculous that seems, even now. My aspirations far exceeded my will or my capabilities. lol These days I plan more skillfully, and work to be honest with myself about both my intentions and also my capabilities.

Plein air on a drizzly Spring day – no camping required.

…Being weighed down by useless excess and unnecessary baggage is a tactically poor decision in most circumstances (real or metaphorical), just saying…

I’ve wandered far from my original topic, perhaps, but these thoughts are connected. How much baggage can I really afford to carry through life? It’s a worthwhile question, I think. I sip my coffee and wonder how to answer it. I’m grateful that I’m not fleeing some sort of dire circumstances, because I for sure don’t feel prepared for such in this moment, right here. lol

When I sat down this morning and logged into my computer the first thing I saw was a picture of my Traveling Partner and I, taken the day we got married. We’re holding the marriage certificate in our hands, together, and laughing with such visible delight that I’m immediately transported back to that moment of love and joy and celebration. My face hurts from smiling all this time since that moment. It’s almost time to begin again, and although I definitely don’t have answers for all my questions in life, I feel pretty confident that I definitely do know what matters most (to me). It’s a good place to begin.

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Categories Allegories, art and the artist, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, joy, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Spring, Summer, The Art of Being
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