Archives for category: Metaphors
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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

Chilly, Early

April 17, 2026 //
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It is a Friday morning. I’m sitting at the halfway point of my morning walk. I sat here for some little while before I pulled my hands from my pockets to write. This morning I made a point to grab my heavy fleece, scarf, and gloves from my gear bin in the car. Practical. I’d feel smart to have done so, but it’s more to do with being reminded they are there for me, last night, when I went looking for a spare filter cone for an evening coffee for my Traveling Partner who had put the ceramic one in the dishwasher.

… Reminders are helpful…

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

I feel the cold. Another near-freezing morning, but already daylight (jeez, how long was I sitting?) and things will warm up pretty quickly. Probably. Change is, and warmer days are coming.

I take my medication on time, double-checking that I took all of it. I missed a small pill yesterday morning that resulted in an unfortunate (and deeply unpleasant) emotional meltdown over nothing of consequence. It was inexplicable, and I was grateful to discover my mistake a little later, and felt more myself shortly after taking it. I think there is too little discussion about the very real psychiatric and mind or mood altering effects of common prescription (and nonprescription) drugs. We could do better.

A small herd of deer quietly and slowly walks past me, one by one. The group of does steps from the trees on the creek side of the trail, each looking at me cautiously as she steps into the more open space, and they cross the trail, and continue into the vineyard, nibbling on choice grasses and tender green shoots. Spring. They’re hungry and lean from winter, and a couple are also clearly pregnant. They are more concerned with finding food than they are with my quiet presence. They walk on, and disappear from view.

My Traveling Partner offered to disappear for the weekend. Maybe he will, maybe he won’t. I feel very loved that he offered. I could fuck off to the coast, myself, and get some solitary time, but the expense is difficult to justify. I sit thinking about things he said yesterday evening about self-care and taking the time I need, and setting better (clearer) boundaries when I’m reaching the limits of my resources. He reminded me that he no longer needs the near-continuous care I was providing after his surgery. This is definitely true. I’m relieved and happy every time I think about it. I’m also struggling to adjust, to step back, to give myself a break.

…We become what we practice…

I sit reflecting on what I need, myself, to be well and healthy, and to thrive in my life. I remind myself how adaptable I am. I remind myself that we become what we practice. I sigh quietly and watch the vapor of my breath dissipate in the chilly morning air.

… Maybe a drive to the coast and coffee on the beach this weekend, if my beloved stays home? Or a very different sort of self-care in the form of some retail therapy? (I could do with some new bras, and prefer to shop for such things in person.) Maybe a different hike somewhere new? Another sigh. No idea. I could stay home and paint, or finish tidying up my studio… I could work in my garden. I feel the “want to’s” begin to collide with the “have to’s”, and feel annoyed with myself when they blend and blur and begin to morph into more of the same scrambling and striving and working that I’ve trapped myself in for awhile now. I should work on that.

I laugh out loud. Adulting is hard. I’m tired. I’m also making choices. I can make different ones. I get to my feet, looking down the trail into the future. It’s time to begin, again.

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women, Words

Birds and Blue Skies

April 16, 2026 //
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I slept well and deeply, woke gently, on time more or less, and made my way to the trail for my morning miles without any fuss. I think I even managed to avoid waking my beloved Traveling Partner on my way out. The day begins well.

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

In the distance, clouds, hills, a horizon.

As my steps carry me along the path, I notice the distant mountain foothills have snowy patches, partially obscured by low clouds clinging to the hillsides. Instead of blue sky above, more clouds. Even nearby, the weather seems less like the Spring I expect, and more like late winter in the Pacific Northwest. It’s cold, too. 1°C, very nearly freezing. The path is slick and frosty. There are little birds everywhere. They don’t seem to mind the chilly morning.

Here and there, blue sky peeks through the clouds, like a promise. Everything looks green and ready for warmer days. This chilly morning was unexpected, but not wildly outside the obvious possibilities, for the area. I was less than ideally well prepared, this morning. I walk briskly to my halfway point, hands jammed into warm pockets. I sit on a cold bench at my halfway point, pausing my writing now and then to warm my hands again before I continue. I’m okay with it.

My fingernails are a shimmery shade of blue that seems fitting for reflecting this sky on this cold morning, and I smile each time I see them. Getting a manicure is a treat, and I was a bit overdue. I like my new manicurist, too. She does beautiful work, and makes pleasant conversation.

What do you see when you look?

The tangle of oaks overhead seem as if they have captured the cotton candy pink of the dawn sky in their branches. I feel merry in spite of the chilly weather. Another work day ahead. I’m eager for warmer days and long afternoons in the garden. The deer have begun wandering through each night, eating the tender shoots and new growth from the tops of all the roses. I’m glad I didn’t hustle to get starts planted! Between the cold and the deer it would have been a wasted effort.

I think about that for some little while; the idea that practicing non-attachment, and taking a more relaxed approach to getting things done sometimes allows me to out wait some vexing circumstance, and move on more easily, isn’t a new idea. It is the “wait and see” approach on of many relaxed people. Low stress. Low drama. I’ll still get the garden planted, probably this weekend when I also have time to put together the fence I’ve planned, hoping to keep the deer from also eating my garden (as they did last year). Maybe rose cages for early Spring, next?

The chilly morning begins to distract me. I’m not really dressed for the cold, although my cardigan is quite warm. In the distance, I see sunlight touch the hillsides. I wonder what the day holds? I get to my feet to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, breathe, Free Will, gardening, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, joy, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Practices, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being, War and News of War, 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

Up at Four

April 14, 2026 //
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… And out the door. It’s only now dawn. I made the walk around the long loop of the trail in darkness, the circle of light from my headlamp bobbing along ahead of me. I didn’t stop for long. It’s a mild gray morning, but not raining. I just didn’t feel like writing in the dark this morning.

I sneeze a few times. I use a few tissues. I take my allergy medication. I walk along marveling at modern convenience. My mind wanders with my steps as I walk this familiar trail. Lost in thought I step off into the damp grass once or twice.

I hear geese overhead as I sit writing at the start of the trail, after I’ve finished my walk. Another work day. It’s fine. I’m grateful to have a good job that keeps the bills paid and food on the table. I have a lot to be thankful for. I sit with my gratitude for some little while.

I have no idea what woke me, this morning. I wasn’t having any luck going back to sleep, so I got up. I’m unbothered by such things. I’m content to be on the trail quite early, and I’m lucky to live in a safe place where walking in the dark does not present unreasonable risk. Life doesn’t have to be overly complicated. I sit enjoying this moment now, between the trail and the workday. I feel relaxed and unhurried.

I breathe, exhale, and relax, and think of faraway friends and the many ways distance and circumstances can change us. How many years does it take to figure out who we most want to be? How many more to become that person? Still more years after that to make changes because we didn’t know then what we do know now. Being a human being can be quite complicated. So much practice needed – and what we choose to practice will determine who we become. It’d be nice to get that memo quite early, but we seem cursed to figure it out on our own, stumbling through the consequences of our actions, over time.

… Time…

Seems like there is precious little time to waste in this short finite mortal life. The path is always ahead. We choose it as we walk. We become what we practice. Our results vary. I sigh to myself. Practical truths worth reflecting on. It’s already time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Practices, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being, War and News of War
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