Archives for category: more than a little bit of bitching
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There Is No Perfection, Only Practice

April 1, 2026 //
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One step after the next, I walk down the trail, stopping occasionally to answer a ping from my Traveling Partner. He woke me early to tell me the home automation was down (my silent alarm is the lights coming on slowly, and the timing is set in the home automation app). I acknowledged the information and went back to sleep without any worries; my medication alarm is on my phone and would wake me in plenty of time. My partner wakes me again, checking whether I had my CPAP mask on? Yep. Sure did. I started to drift back to sleep…then woke. That was it. No more sleep for me.

I sat up bleary eyed, feeling less than ideally well rested. Already past 05:00. May as well start the day. Stupidly I glance at the notifications that piled up as soon as I turned off bedtime mode on my phone. Work shit. My mood shifted immediately.

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

I reached the halfway point of my trail without really noticing the walk at all. I mostly remember the frequent pings of my Traveling Partner’s messages and the notifications of work shit I’ll deal with later. I stopped to reply to each ping from my beloved. I ignored the rest as much as I could. There’s nothing to see, yet. I walked in darkness.

… Walking in darkness… Yeah, that’s what this morning feels like.

I sigh to myself and answer another message from my Traveling Partner.

Like a lot of less than ideal moments, this too will pass. Moments are fleeting. There’s no value in trying to cling to the emotion of a past moment, either, good or bad those emotions fade with time or get replaced by new feelings in some new moment. The better choice is to let them go, to “be like water“, to be present in the moment I find myself in.

…Be present… that’s a practice. Well… I wasn’t doing that. I sigh to myself and shrug. I need more practice.

There is no perfection in this mortal life, only practice. We may work a lifetime to perfect a craft, to develop a skill, to explore the furthest reaches of the universe or the most hidden functions of human consciousness, we will never know everything there is to know, nor master every element of our craft. We will reliably need more practice. May as well get used to that shit.

For a moment I think irritably about the Anxious Adventurer, ever striving to demonstrate that he already knows something, rarely noticing how much more there is to learn.

I sigh to myself, still somewhat irritated by being wakened from an interesting dream that seemed somehow useful or important, definitely infused with profound joy over… something. I never found out. Like reading a really gripping mystery novel and discovering the last chapter is missing. I breathe, exhale, and relax. It was only a dream. I got enough rest. The day ahead should be an ordinary one. Daybreak comes as I sit with my thoughts.

It’s a good time to practice meditation, and to reflect on impermanence, non-attachment, and new beginnings.

My left “shoulder” is aching. Maybe it’s to do with my neck… Feels like I’ve managed to strain my deltoid somehow. The pain is annoying. It layers on top of other more routine seeming pain, crying out for attention it doesn’t deserve from me. The medication that has been bringing such tremendous relief to me generally does not help with this one. I take an Aleve and hope that it helps.

The clock ticks on. I am earnestly craving some sort of proper time to myself without the world – or anything or anyone else – encroaching upon my consciousness or my time. I yearn for uninterrupted time with my own thoughts, no errands, no work pings, no worries, just boots on the path and eyes on the horizon… Not fucking likely, not for awhile. There’s shit to do and bills to pay, and obligations.

I sigh to myself and ignore the tears that spring up when I think about how challenging it is to meet this core need for solitude. The world is at war and we (the United States) are not the good guys. It weighs on me. I’d like to be alone with my grief. That’s not realistic presently. I take a breath and let those feelings be what they are; feelings, only that. The time will come for solitude. When it does, I’ll enjoy it thoroughly and without reluctance or regret.

… Looks like another gray day. It’s time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, health, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being, War and News of War, Words

333

March 23, 2026 //
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I sat for a few minutes at the trailhead before I set off down the trail. The available mileage read 333, and I thought wistfully of turning the car around, calling out from work and driving east to catch up to the sunrise. It’s early. The sun won’t rise for another two hours.

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

I take a few more minutes to calm myself, to avoid pounding down the trail more stomping than walking; that’s too hard on my feet, ankles, and knees. Pointlessly damaging. Once I am calm, I set off down the trail in the darkness.

I reflect on my experience as I walk, and get to my halfway point annoyed to discover my phone at 35% charged. Wtf? Did I not plug in the charging cable when I went to bed? It’s possible, but the possibility does nothing to charge my phone now. I sigh to myself and toggle on “extreme battery saving”.

This morning I was awakened abruptly by the bang of a cupboard or a door. I dislike being awakened by loud noises. It sets off my PTSD. I’m hyper vigilant as I sit here in the darkness, heart still pounding, tinnitus shrill in my ears, pain amplified by anxiety – all this in spite of well-practiced tools for managing my PTSD. It takes time.

I sit here taking the time I need.

Fucking hell. And on a Monday after a couple days away from work, too. It’ll be a busy Monday. Maybe a busy week. I remind myself that although I can’t reliably control the circumstances in which I find myself, I can control my reaction to them. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I meditate for awhile in the darkness.

I sit listening to the HVAC of a nearby building. This is no wilderness trail, just a pleasant space between human endeavors. Behind me, the acreage of the air museum and a water park, vineyards filling every bit of space in which grapes could be planted. Ahead of me, on the other side of a creek that winds its way to the Yamhill River, an apartment complex, invisible but for a few lit windows and some balcony lights. Later, after daybreak, the farmworkers will begin to arrive, and the construction workers building a luxury hotel none of the locals actually want will begin their work. I sit with my irritation; it has nothing to do with these details, although it is tempting to connect them with my experience.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I let that shit go.

I dislike drama. I dislike displays of temper. I dislike unexpected loud noises. It’s a human life; there’s likely to be some drama, some temper on display, and some loud noises. Hell, sometimes I may be the cause. I sigh to myself in the darkness. My anger over being awakened by shit that isn’t even to do with me at all doesn’t help anything. I let it go. G’damn, I’ll be glad to see the Anxious Adventurer move out. The friction between him and my Traveling Partner is unpleasant to live with.

… They are each having their own experience, and in either case, it isn’t about me…

It’s just two more weeks.

My head aches. I take my medication a little early. I hope it helps.

I sigh again in the darkness, and pull my attention back to me, here, now, in this moment. I’m eager to be painting again. The background tension in the household has made that difficult. I sit reflecting on several views, images, and ideas I have in mind to paint. Being in less physical pain day-to-day has increased my feelings of being inspired. I love this feeling. I focus on the feeling of being inspired and “anchor myself” to that feeling, instead of clinging to my irritation. It’s a good choice, and I feel lifted from my anger.

Soon the sun will come. I’ll finish this walk and return home to work – and to make a good cup of coffee, and begin again.

For now, I’ll enjoy this quiet moment, listening to the HVAC in the distance and the creek nearby, and think thoughts of paintings yet to be painted, and moments of joy yet to come. I’ll open my heart to gratitude, and enjoy fond recollections of the time I’ve been spending with my Traveling Partner, which has been exceptionally pleasant lately, and romantic and connected. Time and moments worth savoring, for sure. I glance at the battery indicator on my phone. 31% now. I shrug, look over my writing and prepare to hit “publish” on this very human experience, before I begin again.

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Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, art and the artist, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, meditation, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Sleepless Nights, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being, The Big 5, Words

Change Is, and It’s Always Just Ahead

March 15, 2026 //
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I finally get to my halfway point. Daybreak has come. It’s a gray wintry looking (but quite mild) morning. The marsh is marshy. The recent heavy rain (for days) makes the trails soggy. Even on the well maintained all season trail, my steps squish as I walk. Low spots are flooded.

There’s some potentially tedious bitching ahead, I warn you now. If that’s not amusing or interesting or potentially useful, skip down to the picture. 😂

My trek this morning takes longer than usual. I stop frequently to exchange messages with my Traveling Partner who is aggravated by the Anxious Adventurer’s behavior and general approach to life, again. They share blood as father and son, but not values. It makes comfortable cohabitation difficult and creates a lot of unnecessary drama. I’ll be glad to see the Anxious Adventurer move out, although I’m legitimately sorry he didn’t find a suitable living arrangement somewhere locally. He seems to like the area, but he does not have the will to put in the effort to find something around here, and the “easy options” are too costly. He doesn’t communicate sufficiently well to make use of available resources to open the door to other options, either.

…It is emotionally exhausting to help him with anything…

In two years, this situation has not improved much and the living arrangement is coming to an end for that reason. It could have worked. It didn’t. There were choices involved, and consequences are what they are. I’m very much looking forward to having my own bathroom again, and enough space to paint comfortably, to read quietly, and enjoy a home life that does not include conversations with someone who is walking away mumbling or shouting from another room. I probably sound like I’m being a bit bitchy, but just keeping things real, it’s my fucking house. I’ve set clear expectations and provided a lot of gentle feedback and reinforcement, without success, and have zero interest in parenting a grown man.

Choices have consequences.

Change is. Choose wisely.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. Other People’s Drama can so easily pull us in, especially when it’s people dear to us. Relationships are a huge part of the human experience, maybe the most important part. Building healthy relationships is easier with shared values. Open communication is helpful, and I personally think it is quite necessary.

I swing my feet from this fence rail, watching robins digging in the soggy rotting leaf litter for tasty bugs. I’m grateful for the exceptional relationship I have with my Traveling Partner. I’m grateful we’ve both been willing to put ourselves into making it work when circumstances could have pulled us apart. I’m grateful that we’ve each had the reservoir of resilience and abiding love to weather the storms of being so very human. We listen to each other and work together. We clarify misunderstandings and share who we are as we change and grow over time. Our love is deep and our conversations are meaningful. We’re friends first, and lovers, and partners. I sit with my gratitude. 16 years ago, this friendship began to change my life. I’m grateful we’ve shared the journey for so long and I hope we continue to do so for some lengthy indefinite measure of time…call it a lifetime. Whatever we’ve got left. It’s enough. 😄❤️

I sigh to myself. The chaos of moving things around again is a minor aggravation and that moment is not now. I let it go and pull my attention back to this moment. It is a gray Spring morning in the Pacific Northwest. The squirrels have decided I’m no threat and they play among the meadow grass and in the trees. I’m having brunch with the Chaotic Comic this morning. I’ll enjoy this moment awhile longer, and then I’ll begin again. It’s time for change. I’m okay with that, I could see it coming. 😁

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Categories Allegories, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, Healthy Living, Love, meditation, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Spring, The Art of Being, The Big 5, Words

People First

March 13, 2026 //
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In this nation where billions are wasted on AI and warfare, people are suffering. It’s not that there isn’t enough to go around, enough to lift everyone out of poverty, enough to build a peaceful world of sufficiency and comfort for everyone, and even to provide healthcare to everyone… it’s that greed gets to the hearts of power first.

…Hard times follow for many people, and it is frankly shameful…

I woke in pain, which means I woke thinking about work and bills and doctors and the grind that seems required to get ahead, stay ahead, and maybe finish with a little left over to pass along. In a nation with the means to spend the many hundreds of billions of dollars it takes to wage unwanted war on a nation that could not harm us, this is both annoying and honestly horrifying. You only have to listen to billionaires talk about people to know they don’t care about people beyond the potential cash value they represent.

I can’t honestly say that I “like people” in general. I’ve been hurt and disappointed too many times. But I value people, and I like many of them individually and cherish what they bring to my experience of life. I cherish and deeply love one person, now, and have loved others. Are billionaires actually capable of love or of valuing people, or humanity?

I walk the trail in the darkness with my blue mood and grim thoughts. I’m vexed that humanity has not yet given up on warfare. What a fucking travesty. What a waste of resources. The cost is too high. The money wasted could be better spent.

… I take my meds and hope that my pain will ease… Doing so reminds me of the ridiculous cost of medical care in this country. I keep walking.

I manage to dodge most of the puddles in spite of the darkness. I’m walking without my headlamp, which is a little silly, but I didn’t care to deal with the bobbing circle of light this morning. I just want peace. There is no peace. Somehow the thought of shining a light on this dark mood only annoys me, so I don’t. I just keep walking.

I get to my halfway point, still hearing the song in my head. “Hard Times” by Devil Makes Three is too relevant right now. I woke with this song in my head and a heavy heart. I’d like to feel differently. Maybe I’ll feel differently later. I ignore the tears sliding down my cheeks. I’m not looking for comfort; I feel things deeply, that’s a super power, not a character flaw. I let the tears fall.

Billionaire grifters dragging the world into war for a profit… This is not what I thought I was fighting for as a soldier watching the cold war end. Instead of a world at peace we’ve handed the future over to thieves at a bargain while we watch them burn it to the ground. The death toll is grotesque. The tears fall. Not just mine, falling helplessly and pointlessly over a war on another continent, but also the tears of loss and pain and terror of the many real human beings whose lives have been destroyed by wars no one needs, that serve no identifiable good in the world. It sickens me. …Or is that queasy sensation only my own physical pain? I sigh to myself.

I wish I were looking forward to the day and the weekend ahead. I get to my feet, tears wet on my face, trail wet from recent rain. I may as well walk on. I have practices to practice, and a life to live. I can begin again. Change is. Hard times come and go. Nations rise and fall. This too will pass.

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Categories Allegories, anger, anhedonia, Anxiety, breathe, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, grief, health, loneliness, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, Spring, War and News of War, Words

The Sand in My Oyster

March 10, 2026 //
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How’s that for an image? It is a useful metaphor for some of life’s irritating experiences, though. A small detail (like a grain of sand) might be nothing in the greater cosmic whole, but for an oyster it’s an irritant so profound it may feel injurious. What to do? Well…an oyster transforms that small persistent irritation into something profoundly beautiful – a pearl.

I sit at my halfway point reflecting on that idea.

I’m enjoying my Traveling Partner greatly of late, even more so than usual. Feels like we’re “on to something”. I’m looking forward to the Anxious Adventurer moving on to his own next adventure, elsewhere. Just saying, he’s a generally well-intentioned guy with a good heart, but a poor fit for cohabitation (with us). He has a lot of self-work yet to do, and needs time and space to do it (if he embraces that work at all), and no one can do it for him. I get it. I also don’t choose to create a soft landing for him if he chooses not to grow and mature. As my Traveling Partner himself has said, “I want my life back”.

I remind myself to get his move out plan. I need to make plans myself, most especially if he’s going to need any help (at all). It’s time.

G’damn, I’m so glad my beloved Traveling Partner has made so much good use of his recovery time.

I watch the dawn lighten the sky. I think about sand and pearls. I think about beginnings. I think about how easily people waste their time and opportunities, minutes and hours trickling away on some app when they could be living their lives. That’s a choice.

… Choose wisely…

I sometimes find myself frustrated by “fellow travelers” unwilling to do the needful. There are verbs involved. There is no instant win. No shortcuts. Just verbs, practices, and moments. We are each having our own experience. Personally, I think I like pearls enough to do that work of transformation.

Where does this path lead?

I watch the dawn becoming day. Soon, I’ll begin again.

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Categories Allegories, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Perspective, Practices, Relationships, Spring, The Art of Being, The Big 5, Words
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