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But What Will You Do About That?

March 22, 2026 //
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I’ve started including a disclaimer on new posts asserting my refusal to use available LLM tools for writing. I’m annoyed to feel that doing so is necessary, but here we are. I like writing. Why would I cheat to be faster or more frequent, or worse – to camouflage a lack of anything to say? Ridiculous. No thank you. Keep those crappy LLM “tools” away from me. I’ll just write, thanks. 😆

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

In all seriousness, adding that disclaimer is at least a real action I can take to express my objection to having bullshit “AI” garbage forced on me everywhere. I don’t like it. I don’t use it. I’d prefer to keep my own mind sharp, and also to take the time to learn new things myself.

Getting an early start on a new day.

Brunch with a friend, later, on the other side of this trail.  I’m eager to enjoy brunch, but I’m in no great hurry, so I wait for the sun.

After a short wait dawn illuminates the trail and I set off, hands jammed into warm pockets.

Chilly morning. Cold. At just 2°C, it’s a colder morning than we’ve had in several weeks. I’m glad I didn’t rush to plant delicate vegetables more suited to milder weather. That has often been a temptation for me and in many years past, I’ve chosen poorly. This year I focused on the laborious work of cleaning up the garden beds, weeding, and pruning. I am impressed by my own good decision making and self-restraint, recalling years past and frozen seedlings that failed to thrive. I inhale the cold air of early Spring on the marsh. The surface of the marsh ponds are silvery, reflecting the sky as the sun rises. Nice morning, if a bit cold. I’m grateful for the warm sweater I chose this morning.

Choices matter. Actions matter more.

A flock of geese takes flight from the marsh pond behind me. I’m seated on a fence rail betwixt the pond and the trail. The flock rises almost as one and I wonder how they all knew to do so just then? They pass overhead and I pull the hood of my fleece hoodie over my head “just in case”. I consider myself fortunate; no bird poop spatters me. I sit with my gratitude. Sometimes small things leave a big impression; I was once hit by falling bird poop, and getting it out of my hair seriously grossed me out. It may never occur again. I sit considering the numbers of birds, and people, and how often a bird passes overhead, and how rarely someone is actually hit by falling bird poop. It’s not really a high risk.

Go outside anyway. Walk a trail. Smell the flowers. See a sunrise. Trying to avoid all of the obstacles and potential misadventures on life’s journey only results in a life never really lived.

Choose. Do the thing. Experience the moment. Fail, learn, and grow. Walk a path you know you have chosen for yourself. Don’t rely overmuch on your “heroes” to lead the way. They too are mortal creatures with very human failings. Topple them from their pedestals and examine the truth of who they are (or were) as people and maybe do better. It may be easier than you think.

The sunrise is pearly pink and delicate orange, this morning. The meadow grass is tipped with frost. My breath turns to mist each time I exhale. I sit with the moment, enjoying the quiet, feeling myself relax. Looking towards the far side of the marsh and meadow, I see a green haze in the treetops. Definitely Spring.

I sit awhile longer, thinking about this or that vexing circumstance. Each time a grievance or complaint rises in my consciousness demanding my attention, I look it over and ask myself two questions,

  1. Does this really matter enough to give it attention and energy at all?
  2. If the answer (for me) is “yes”, then what will I do about that?

If human primates put as much energy into solving their problems (or changing their circumstances) as they do just bitching about them, we’d likely have a very different world. I don’t know what that world would be like, but I do like thinking about it.

I sigh to myself, filling my lungs with cold Spring air. The wheel keeps turning. The clock keeps ticking. What will you do when it is time to begin again? I think about the path ahead of me, and get to my feet.

Ask the questions. Do the verbs.
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Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, gardening, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being, The Big 5, thoughts on AI, War and News of War, women, Words

Hints of Rose and Vanilla

March 21, 2026 //
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The moment begins with a coffee. Ethiopian beans, a medium roast, ground medium fine, to make a lovely pour-over to which I’ve added a bit of powdered vanilla and dried rose petals, before I begin the pour. I take my coffee to the garden.

I sip and I think, and I watch a blue jay, watching me. He is, I think, a blue jay who was born quite nearby, a couple years ago, and he returns to my garden each Spring, often following me around as I work in various flower beds and raised beds. When I walk away from one bit of work, he inspects it with interest, before following me to the next spot. I call him “Bob”, but he doesn’t answer to that name. Neither does he fly away startled. He often seems interested in what I have to say. lol Today he left me an acorn while I watched, and flew to a nearby branch to watch me. I pocketed his gift (and said “thank you” lol) and it is still in my pocket, now.

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

… Later, my Traveling Partner will point out that the blue jay I saw is probably not the same blue jay, and that their lives are rather short. I consider that, and wonder how much memory they might pass on, reminded of a video we recently watched, about butterflies. I call them all “Bob” anyway, so in some sense it hardly matters, and the jays have never objected.

The primroses are blooming.

I spent a beautiful morning in the garden, pulling weeds from the veggie bed and putting down compost. The work is unfinished, though I got quite a lot done, and that is the way of big projects, isn’t it? We work to a plan, overcome challenges, use available resources, notice some lack in the available materials… Well shit.

I ran out of compost at about the same time that I ran out of energy, and limped out of the garden reluctantly, boots muddy, muscles sore. What a lovely way to celebrate the Equinox, hands in the fertile earth – a favorite Rite of Spring. The entire time I worked in the garden, my beloved Traveling Partner was working in his shop. I could hear the music of the machines while I worked. I found particular joy and comfort to hear the sounds of my partner working.

A new day dawns. What will you do with the opportunities?

This morning I woke ahead of my alarm, and rose expecting to feel stiff from yesterday’s effort. I feel okay. Capable. Strong. All things considered, I’m not as strong as I’d like to be and have more limitations than I prefer, but I feel good today and for all observable values of “good”, I feel pretty splendid, actually. I smile as I drive to the trailhead. It’s a lovely morning to put some miles on my boots before returning home. I’ll stop for a bag of compost on my way home and go back to the garden. It is my way of celebrating the coming of Spring. Tomorrow is soon enough for laundry and whatnot.

As I cross the marsh, I listen to the robins singing their noisy morning song, and geese calling to each other overhead. Lovely morning for walking, and I have the trail alone, too. The solitude feels like a gift. I grin and think of my Traveling Partner, sleeping at home. I’m glad he’s getting the rest he needs. He’s in the middle of a job and needs to be rested in order to be focused, relaxed, and able to work with the full measure of his skills.

I smile, feeling incredibly loved as I recall that he’s made reservations for us to celebrate our anniversary at a Michelin starred restaurant that recently appeared on a list of “best in the nation” eateries. I’m excited to go, and even more tickled that the whole thing is his idea. I feel very loved and filled with gratitude for my partner’s recovery from injury.

I walk with my thoughts all the way to far side of the marsh, past my usual halfway point. I take a side trail I usually skip, just for fun, to the top of a hill, expecting a view out over the marsh… No such view has been preserved here, and I find myself in a grove of oaks surrounded by a dense thicket of brush and shrubbery.  I’m not disappointed, just reminded how often our expectations have no direct connection to reality. It’s a pleasant spot to write and meditate, so I do that, taking a seat on a fallen tree trunk. It’s a beautiful quiet place.

I finish my writing, and my meditation, and find myself in daylight, sun up, and blue sky overhead. The garden is waiting. It’s a good time to begin again. I get to my feet and get started. The clock is ticking and this trail isn’t going to walk itself. 😁 Later, I’ll make coffee… perhaps with a hint of rose and vanilla.

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Categories Allegories, breathe, Free Will, gardening, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, inspiration, joy, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Roses, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being, The Big 5, War and News of War, Words

How Making Things Work Works

March 18, 2026 //
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[No AI was used in writing or editing this content.]

It is Wednesday. An ordinary day in all obvious respects. Today I did not drop any bombs on my neighbors. It was surprisingly easy. There is reciprocal communication on all sides; I wave and say “hi!” when I see them, they return my greeting. No bombs required. I’m quite certain that adding bombs to our interactions would not be at all helpful, and the destruction would be costly. Just saying, the whole “let’s drop some bombs” approach to diplomacy isn’t a particularly useful way of reaching accord with one’s neighbors. It seems, in fact, pretty fucking stupid, but here we are; fuckwits with too much power dropping bombs because no one is stopping them from doing so.

I get to the trailhead before daybreak, put on my headlamp and set off down the trail. I get to my halfway point in darkness and sit listening to the sound of the creek nearby, still full and fast from recent days of rain. No flooding, and most of the puddles on the trail are gone after a couple of warm Spring afternoons. I hear soft hesitant footsteps, something stirring in the brush. A deer steps out of the trees along the trail and slowly walks past me,  her eyes on me as she passes, then another, and then a third. They step down the trail a ways, before turning and disappearing from view.

I sit awhile with my thoughts. I have a lot to think about. I let the thoughts come and go like clouds, or the turn of an unread page in a book I’ve read many times before, skipping ahead to something better. I am choosing what to spend my time on, and where to put my attention.

I’m eager to get back to painting, if not this weekend, then after the Anxious Adventurer has moved out and I have my space back. The lack of creative work isn’t really about the space, though, it’s the environment. Initially, I was exhausted from caregiving and uninspired. This stopped me painting for about a year. The “emotional environment” became a more profound impediment, fairly quickly. It was an unfortunate harbinger that the living arrangement wasn’t going to work out long-term; I need to be able to paint in my own home. It wasn’t anything deliberate and there was no malicious intention, but there also was no willingness to be aware of the problem nor to address it. So. Here we are.

The wheel keeps turning. The clock keeps ticking.

One more work shift, then a long weekend for the Equinox. I hope to spend most of my time in the garden, preparing it for Spring. I may drive out to the coast for a day trip and some time walking the beach and listening to what the wind and waves have to say. I plan to continue my practice of specifically not dropping bombs or shooting people. So far it has been surprisingly easy to avoid. No idea why the head fuckwit in office is having so much difficulty with that, honestly. (One might be forced to assume that chaos, destruction and murder were explicitly the desired outcome. So incredibly vile and horrifying.)

I sigh to myself and watch the sky turn a deep blue gray as daybreak comes. I’m grateful for another day on which I can look into the sky without worrying about bombs or drone attacks; this place is not a target of bombs or drones (so far). I’m fortunate.

The clock is ticking. Where does this path lead?

The thought of my Traveling Partner sleeping at home brings a smile to my face. We’ve been enjoying each other’s company quite a lot, and as his recovery progresses, our intimacy is restored and the connection we share deepens. It’s lovely. It’s also another reason it will be good to “have our space back”. No ill will towards the Anxious Adventurer, and I’m grateful for the help he provided while he was here, but our lifestyles are not similar enough to make cohabitation easy, with regard to intimacy.

Change is.

I sit awhile longer. The clock ticks on. Eventually, it’s time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, art and the artist, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, gardening, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, inspiration, joy, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being, The Big 5, War and News of War, women, Words

Preserving My Peace

March 17, 2026 //
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[No AI was used to create or edit this human content.]

Yesterday was a good day, a better than average Monday. I arrived home from work with a headache, an unfortunate result of working from a seat at the library where the afternoon sunshine was directly on my face. “A sunshine headache,” the sort of thing I find difficult to explain. Surviving head trauma can have some peculiar lingering consequences, and in my case those include this particular type of headache (which were much worse when I was younger but still occur in a dim fashion now). It didn’t last; I spent awhile contentedly doing my own thing in a quiet darkened room and it passed.

We often have the tools we need for the circumstances we find ourselves in.

For me, it was a pleasant evening. I am not certain what kind of experience everyone else was having. I managed to refrain from allowing concerns about experiences that are not my own to overcome my experience, and instead simply lived my moment. I slept well and deeply. The night passed uneventfully. I woke early, earlier than usual.

When I woke, I noticed my Traveling Partner was already up. I could have made assumptions about why he was up so early, but doing so could potentially lay the foundation for stress or misunderstandings. Instead I observe that he is awake and leave further understanding for later on, when I have more information. I dress and go through my morning routine, and head out for the day. On my way, I pass my beloved, in the open doorway to the deck, breathing the cool morning air. I say good morning. He returns my greeting with a few words of explanation. I depart without disturbing his peace, nor does he disturb mine.

All of this to say we are making choices. It’s not fancy or particularly complicated. We choose our words and choose our actions. We choose peace or we choose something else. Our choices definitely matter. We become what we practice. We create the person we are with our choices.

Who do you want most to be? How do you want to be remembered?

I sit at the trailhead, waiting for daybreak to come. It is a mild morning, and the warmer Spring days after so much rain have created slippery conditions on this trail, even on paved portions. Moss is growing over the trail in places. Fallen leaves, partially decomposed, are slick mats waiting to create a slip and fall accident for some unwary walker. I choose caution – and a bit of daylight. I reflect on choices and change, and preserving my peace under challenging circumstances.

I don’t look at the news this morning. Why would I? I already know enough about what’s going on to function in society. More would be too much. I’m taking “preserving my peace” pretty seriously. If asked, I would encourage our leaders to do the same; preserve peace. I doubt they would listen to me; they are making too much money off of war and enjoying the thrill of having so much attention. I find the whole mess distasteful and frankly crass. Humanity could do better.

Choose your actions and your words with care. They have consequences.

Daybreak. The first hints of the new day dawning reveal a stormy overcast sky. The forecast says the day will be warm, like yesterday. I look down the familiar path, feeling capable and prepared, and ready to begin again.

What will you choose? It’s your path to walk.
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Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, gratitude, health, Love, 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, women, Words

From Another Perspective

March 16, 2026 //
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Relationships matter [to human primates], and because they do matter, we become attached. Attached to individuals. Attached to our own expectations and assumptions. Attached to outcomes. Attached to ideas about people and about feelings about people.

Our attachments become entanglements, sticky snares of emotion, and sometimes heartbreak. Human is (emotionally) messy. We become what we practice, as individuals. We have no control over what others practice, nor over who they choose to become.

Relationships are complicated.

I’ve experienced a few things in life (and love), too many to list off the top of my head, and somehow there’s still more to learn. I ended my evening last night thinking about experience and life and love, and how fucking complicated all that is by itself…then layer on the additional complications of the other person’s experience, and what they mean to us, and whatever challenges circumstances may contribute (mental health, chronic pain, medications needed to treat this or that condition, still other relationships, it’s a long and varied list)… it’s almost miraculous anyone ever maintains a relationship with another individual longer than it takes to go “oh, hell no”. It’s a lot to take sometimes. We do it because we are social creatures, and we do it because it feels so good to “get it right”.

It’s tricky. People struggle and suffer, and sometimes the solutions that are available to ease some particular bit of suffering (for example, medication to manage ADHD, or depression, or pain) can really complicate a relationship. People often “don’t seem themselves” until they get their medication just right. Sometimes the person they become, and may be happy to be, isn’t who we want to be with. It’s not a “right or wrong” discussion, it is more complicated than that.

I’m fortunate that my Traveling Partner is very open with me when he has the hard work of new meds in front of him. I do my best to support him through such things as he has reliably done for me, more than once (and is doing presently). I know it’s not easy.

Inconveniently, this time around we’re going through it together, while we each have our own experience of “the new meds journey”. We’ve been through it before. It is perhaps my least favorite experience in a relationship, and I am deeply grateful and appreciative that we communicate openly with each other; every change, every adjustment, and the details of our subjective lived experience get shared. No surprises, aside from the very real effects of the medications themselves, initially. Could be worse. Not my favorite bit of any relationship, but I’m not also having to deal with mysterious bullshit stemming from poor communication.

I get to the trail with my head full of thoughts. I’m okay. I’m pretty well settled on the new medication that is managing so much of my pain, so much better. A larger portion of my chronic pain is neuropathic than I had previously understood. It was a good choice to change my medication.

I take a deep breath and blow it out as a heavy sigh. I write a few words before I start down the trail, hoping to let it all go and take my walk, present in this moment, awake and aware, comfortable in my own skin and unbothered. It’s time to walk on. It’s time to reflect on impermanence. It’s time to practice non-attachment. It’s time for meditation and self-reflection. It’s time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, Love, meditation, Mindfulness, Moments, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being, The Big 5, Uncategorized, Words
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