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A Long Strange Night

October 16, 2025 //
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I woke several times during the night. I never figured out why. Each time I woke, i returned to sleep relatively easily. My sleep was restless and disturbed by peculiarly realistic dreams. By the end of the night, it seemed I was dreaming that I was awake, and my alarm got to full brightness, overhead light shining like an artificial sun as I woke from that last dream, walking along a trash-strewn crater pocked “beach” watching a savage discolored sun rise slowly.

I dreamt of masked armed thugs on the streets of American cities. I dreamt of chemical attacks, drone strikes, and bombs dropping on already flattened neighborhoods, and neat carefully planned rows of… rubble. I dreamt of fleeing, of hiding, and of fear. I dreamt of nightmare cities blasted by violence. I dreamt of blood and sorrow. I dreamt of waiting breathless and anxious for the next shock. It was a bad night and when I finally woke, my face was strangely gritty with the salt of dried tears.

… I don’t recall the details of my dreams, now, only vague themes and sensations, which are already fading, and for that I am grateful…

PTSD is sometimes a literal fucking nightmare. Thanks largely to the violence, and vile horrors and bad behavior of the current administration, PTSD symptoms I haven’t had to deal with for awhile are flaring up and demanding my attention, and my most committed and loving self-care. More fucking verbs – as if I have time for this shit right now. I sigh, rubbing my neck, and my shoulders, as well as I can without having extra hands. I gently massage my temples, and breathe. My anxiety surges, then eases, again and again. I feel hyper vigilant and pointlessly uneasy. It is an ordinary morning in all regards, aside from my subjective sense of persistent dread.

… And I’m tired…

I head down the trail in the usual way, although I am in more pain than usual, and feeling wary and watchful in the predawn darkness. It is quite chilly – the coldest morning we’ve had since back in the spring. 38°F (about 3.3°C). I’m grateful for the warm hiking socks, and comfy sweater beneath a warm cardigan. I breathe deeply as I walk, enjoying the scents of autumn. There is a hint of wood smoke in the taste of the air; people have begun using their fireplaces as the temperature cools.

I think about work and fret about money, and the future, and mortality, and preparedness, until I realize I’m getting spun up over imagined disasters and things that have not happened, or are not real concerns in my actual life, now. I inhale deeply, and exhale slowly until my lungs empty, as if the exhaled breath could carry with it all of my stress and anxiety. Sometimes it does. I pull my thoughts back to here, now. This is where I am, and everything begins right here. Every change, every moment of progress, every journey to come, it all starts in this moment – and conveniently enough, it is always “now”. That’s a lot of potential to work with!

I get to a pleasing stopping point, hands warm enough for writing, having been jammed deeply into my pockets while I walked. I sit on a convenient bench and examine the horizon for the first hint of daybreak. I take a moment to recognize that it is not my experience in this moment that is driving my emotions; it is my emotions creating my concerns, and my subjective experience of the moment. I can change this! I focus on the details here, now, and my breath. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I meditate for unmeasured time, until an imagined soft chime coincides with a sense of “completeness”, and contentment. I’m okay. Anxiety is a liar. Emotions are not the totality of my experience, or of reality itself.

… It’s not personal, it’s just biochemistry and a human being human…

Trauma in life changes our brain even down to the hormones and chemistry of our bodies and emotions. I’m no expert, but I’ve tried to keep up on the science. There are ways to regain our joy, corral our volatility, and manage our emotions without stifling our creativity with drugs, undermining our humanity by becoming numb to ourselves, or allowing our good character to be compromised. It may require asking for help. It’ll definitely require a lot of practice – and probably some new practices and considerable change. I sigh to myself. So much change. So much practice.

I reflect for a moment on how far I’ve come over the past 15 years… it’s been quite a journey. I would not have dealt with a night like last night so well (and with such ease, relatively speaking) back in 2010. I’d have been tantrum prone, volatile, irrational, irritable, unapproachable, suspicious, guarded, and teetering on the thin edge between anger and tears, ready to blast some unwary associate or loved one unpredictably – and unable to talk about it, or sort out my own emotions from the real circumstances.

G’damn I am so grateful to be in a different place as a human being. All the work, practice, meditation, self-care, and therapy has been very much worth the time, effort, and expense. I walk a very different path now. I’m grateful that I do. I am grateful for the choices I made to change. I’m grateful to have a partner who loves and supports me.

Daybreak. Dawn soon. It looks to be a cold cloudy morning. No colorful sunrise today, just a dirty, pale, vaguely orange smudge along the edge of the eastern horizon.  As night becomes day, I get to my feet. It’s already time to begin again.

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Categories 2024 Election, Allegories, anger, Anxiety, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Despair, forgiveness, Free Will, gratitude, grief, Healthy Living, inspiration, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Sleepless Nights, solo hiking, The Art of Being, War and News of War, women, Words

Drowning in the Details

October 14, 2025 //
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G’damn life feels too busy. Appointments. Meetings. Calls to make. Errands. Laundry. Household upkeep. Caregiving. Working for a living. Self-care. Sometimes doing the needful feels like an unreasonable amount of work, and this year I’ve rarely found myself able to make time for painting, gardening, reading, or writing (aside from this one sliver of my day early in the morning, when I can indulge myself in solitude and write these few words). I’m exhausted at the end of most days, barely able to stand by the time I take those last steps down the hall to bed.

… I feel like I’m working three or four full-time jobs…

Each morning I get up and do it again. Each day, I get my ass to work. Each day I tackle the errands on my list. Each day I give as much of myself as I can to caregiving tasks, and housekeeping chores. Each day I compromise on some detail of my self-care – because I just can’t do everything, and something has to be put aside for another day.  I’m grateful to enjoy the life I do. I’m grateful to have such a strong and loving partnership. I’m annoyed with myself for griping about how much work life is, when I’ve got it so good, generally speaking. For sure there are people who have it far worse and would happily trade places with me.

I’m tired, I guess. I’ve sustained this for too long. I do make attempts to treat myself a bit better than I often do, but it’s not uncommon to return from a camping trip, or a day spent in solitary meditation, to a whole new list of errands to run, or chores that need doing. I almost immediately use up any reserves I may have built. It seems neverending… because it mostly is. It’s life, and there’s a lot to do.

… It’s only Tuesday…

I sigh quietly to myself, sitting at the halfway point on my morning trek around a favorite local trail. It’s still dark. I don’t mind. Is it my preference to walk in the dark? No. It’s the time I have, though, so it is the time I walk. I feel fortunate to still have my legs under me, and that I can still walk these trails on my own. That’s something worth a moment of appreciation and gratitude; it wasn’t a given that things would turn out so well after I broke my back in the early 80’s. There was a real chance I’d never walk again, at all. I’m deeply grateful my surgeries turned out so well. I keep walking.

I sit with my thoughts awhile. I can remember how difficult it was to understand how fortunate I really am. Understanding my relative privilege and general good fortune in life was hard – complicated by a deeply subjective perspective on life that focused on the trauma, the chaos and damage, the lifetime of hurt and anger. For a long time I was “trapped in the mire“. Resetting my own expectations was a complicated journey of its own. I keep working at it. It’s too easy to resent how much fucking work life requires for that to be “the right answer” (or even a right answer). I breathe, exhale, and relax. I’m grateful for this simple practice (meditation) that does so much to give me the calm and resilience to just keep at it, day after day after day. It’s not “everything”, and life still needs a lot of real work to “run smoothly”, but… it’s something, and mostly it’s enough.

The sky has lightened a bit. It is a deep charcoal gray, barely lighter than the darkness of night, but now I see the treeline silhouetted, where moments ago was only darkness. Meditation and self-reflection work that way for me; slowly illuminating my way, over time. Worthwhile, reliably restorative practices that bring a sense of balance and perspective are few – and worth the effort to cultivate them.

I sit watching the horizon. Daybreak soon. It’s almost time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, art and the artist, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, Frustration, gardening, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, The Art of Being, War and News of War, Words

Change and The Inevitable

October 9, 2025 //
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The morning was clear and cold, as I left the house. The sky was flecked with stars and the waning moon peered down at me from above my quiet neighborhood. By the time I reached my halfway point on this morning’s walk, a dense mist was gathering, and I am now wrapped in fog. Change is.

I sit quietly with my thoughts. I meditate. I exist. The moment feels timeless and static, fixed in place, and unchanging. It is an illusion. Moments are brief. The mist gets thicker, as the clock ticks onward.

Can a picture truly capture a moment and hold it still?

I sigh to myself, filling my lungs with the cold morning air and exhaling, adding the mist of my breath to the morning fog. Nice moment, this. I could almost imagine that the world is at peace, that people feel safe in their communities, and that the world is a rational, ethical, nurturing place…

I haven’t looked at the news today. I don’t plan too, beyond what may be shared to me by my Traveling Partner, or in the course of the work day. Very little changes there, and between the atrocities of foreign genocides, global human rights abuses, and the horrors of American governance in the current administration, I have no stomach for it, and no need to see the same terrible news every day. It isn’t new at all. That, and then also the ads and the ever devolving quality of the writing, generally. Omg, AI “writers” are hilariously bad, and the prevalent errors and outright falsehoods are… unacceptable. So…no. Not this morning. I’ll just sit here, enjoying my peaceful morning, feeling safely wrapped in the mist.

I sit thinking about it being “Banned Books Week“. Good week to buy real books by human authors – particularly any of the many excellent books that piss off the government. It’s not healthy for our freedom to permit someone else to tell us what we can’t read. I’ve got a lovely long list of books I’d like to read… The holidays are coming. 😁

Daybreak comes gently. The fog seems to take on a hint of blue. My mind already feels “too busy” and my calendar “too full” – but it is an ordinary work day, and I’ve actually only got one errand to run. I slept well and deeply last night, but somehow already feel tired almost to the point of exhaustion. I find myself missing the company and laughter of old friends, and the wise counsel of my Dear Friend, and my Granny. We are mortal creatures. The clock is always ticking, and the grains of sand in the hourglass are finite

I breathe, exhale, and relax. Workers begin arriving to start their day in the vineyards alongside the trail. It was inevitable; it is time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, Healthy Living, inspiration, loneliness, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, The Art of Being, War and News of War

Like a Fingerprint

October 5, 2025 //
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I’m waiting for the sun, before I begin my walk. No particular reason for doing things this way, this morning. It’s just what I’m doing. The morning is dark, and it isn’t yet daybreak. I sit in the predawn stillness, my tinnitus is the loudest thing I hear. The overcast sky here at the trailhead is a peculiar dim dirty looking mauve, lit from communities and businesses below. Dark shapes of trees are silhouetted against the strange sky.

… Funny… I haven’t traveled far to get to this trail, but the sky is very different here. When I left the house, the night sky was clear and starry, and the full moon was visible above the mountains to the west. 25 miles away, here, now, there are only clouds.

Yesterday was… complicated and difficult, but it seemed clear throughout that my Traveling Partner and I were each genuinely doing our best under the circumstances. Dealing with pain is hard, and it can easily make it hard to also deal with each other. That sounds a little bit (to my own ears, at least) as though I am minimizing or making excuses. It’s more accurate to say that things weren’t actually all that bad, looking at it in the “rear view mirror”, from the perspective of a new day, and aware that the evening finished gently, together, cherishing each other’s good company. (Does he feel similarly? Perhaps I should ask…?)

…I nudge my thoughts toward gratitude…

I enjoyed yesterday’s shopping, and I’m eager to make the meals I’ve planned. When I’m not exhausted or struggling with one physical impairment or another, I greatly enjoy cooking. I enjoy connecting with friends and loved ones over a meal. I am delighted by how much my cooking has improved since 2015, and even more so since the pandemic. (Like a lot of people, I spent time in the kitchen as a fun distraction during the lockdown.) I’m grateful that my Traveling Partner was comfortable sharing his honest opinion of my cooking, and even more that he wasn’t merely critical, but also eager to be helpful, encouraging, and open to the necessary trial and error that resulted from properly learning to cook. I wouldn’t hesitate to invite people to dine with us. The kitchen is clean. Food storage is held to a high standard, and at long last my cooking is reliably something I’m proud of, and enjoy sharing.

I’m grateful, too, that my outing yesterday took me by a clothing store I like. 50% off fall sweaters? The timing was excellent. The new job has high potential to require me to come to the office a couple times a year – San Francisco. The “feel” of “casual” there is a little dressier than the Pacific Northwest. My tatty too-large frumpy cozy sweater isn’t a good choice for such things, so the timing was good, and the price acceptable. I was able to find three nice sweaters for work and a warm cardigan that looks more appropriately grown up than my soft gray fleece (which is branded corporate swag from my previous employer). I’d rock the swag from the current employer, but I don’t yet have any.

Daybreak comes, and I hit the trail, walking and thinking.

I can judge the new day on some limited view, or I can embrace it with gratitude and enthusiasm. It’s my own choice to make.

I get to my halfway point thinking about perspective. I consider the way the almost unique context of my individual lifetime has shaped (continues to shape) my perspective and my understanding. World events, personal trauma, day-to-day stress (and joy), all become part of the lens through which I see the world, and the context in which I understand myself. It’s like a fingerprint on “who I am”. I contemplate how “generational differences” in cohorts of human beings are defined (and influenced) by these shared experiences. I watch some geese drifting slowly across the pond nearest to me, and wonder whether such things affect other creatures, too? I find myself wondering what the “MAGA generation” – meaning Americans born between 2014 and 2028 – will be like as human beings? Who will their heroes be? What will matter most to them, culturally, socially, and politically? How will they change the world when their turn to vote comes?

I sit awhile longer with my thoughts (and my headache). In some little while, I’ll get to my feet and put another mile on my boots. Maybe I’ll be a better person today than I was yesterday? I’d like that. I’ll have the chance, as soon as I begin again. For now, this quiet moment of gratitude and reflection is enough.

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Categories 2024 Election, Allegories, anger, Anxiety, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, The Art of Being, War and News of War, Words

Versions

October 4, 2025 //
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I reached the trail before daybreak. I walked down the path in the darkness, the bobbing half circle of light cast by my headlamp lighting the way ahead of me, but obscuring anything I might have seen beyond that bit of light. I consider that metaphorically for some distance, until my thoughts wander on.

Daybreak, and a new day.

By the time I get to my halfway point on the trail, I am thinking about the many “versions” of “myself” I have been over a lifetime. Each of the many jobs, addresses, relationships, traumas, and triumphs, have left their mark on the woman I am today. Steps on a path. A journey that is its own destination. I find myself asking some questions as I reflect on my life and the changing context(s) in which I have lived it. I think about the “here and now”, and the changes that brought me to this point.

  • In what version of myself have I been happiest, most often?
  • In what version did I most respect myself?
  • In what version did I enjoy the greatest sense of consistency between my values and my actions?
  • In what version did I seem to be most likeable?
  • In what version was I most likely to compromise my values for personal gain?
  • In what version was I villain, hero, or “NPC” in my life?
  • Are there versions of me that I regret so thoroughly that I am ashamed of the person I was?
  • How do I hold on to the best bits of all of the many versions of the woman in the mirror, and discard the worst, to become truly the woman I most want to be? (And is that version truly worthy of the effort required?)

I find self-reflection a worthwhile practice. I sit with my thoughts, listening to the sounds of an autumn morning between marsh ponds and meadow, breathing the chilly air carrying the scents of fall flowers and some hint of…mildew? It is a gray morning. The sky lightens slowly revealing a cloudy sky. The threat of rain exists in the scents on the mild breeze, and also in my arthritis pain.

The pain is annoying. I think (and write) about it too much, probably. It sometimes feels inescapable.

My Traveling Partner and I both deal with chronic pain. I do my best to manage my pain. When we’re hanging out, in pain, we each do what we can to take care of ourselves and each other. Our efforts are not reliably successful. Last night was difficult. I’d find some position in which my pain was lessened, and hold myself rigidly trying to hold on to that bit of improved comfort. He perceived it as “tension”, which I guess it was, in a sense. My tension is uncomfortable to be around, for him. He wants to help if he can (but he can’t really, it’s not that sort of thing).

His experience of pain had him squirming in my periphery, trying to get more comfortable, which I find uncomfortable to be around. I’d very much like to help, if I could (but I can’t really, it’s not that sort of thing). We do our best to be kind to each other, compassionate, empathetic without fusing with the experience of our beloved partner. It’s difficult. Pain “shrinks our world” and we’re sometimes terse with each other, when it’s actually the pain itself that is annoying us.

We ultimately ended the evening early, withdrawing to separate spaces to seek some kind of relief, if only from dealing with each other’s pain on top of our own. Seems a harsh and rather isolating approach to take, but it’s probably better than hurting each other’s feelings or taking out our discomfort on the person we love most.

I didn’t sleep well. Pain, again. I struggled with falling asleep, and once I had, I was awakened multiple times by one noise or another, or light, or the sound of angry voices, but each time I woke, the room was dark, and the house was quiet. It was weird. I woke abruptly, around 02:00, feeling a sense that “something wasn’t right”, but again all was apparently well and quiet. I returned to sleep and dreamt that I was awake… really thought I was, until my artificial sunrise woke me from a deep sleep. I had forgotten to turn it off for the weekend. I was still feeling groggy and a bit out of sorts even as I began my trek down the trail, some time later.

Saturday. No hurry, and there’s certainly ample time for self-reflection, and this is as good an opportunity than any – better than most. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I let my awareness of my pain recede into the background (for as long as I can). Daybreak becomes dawn, then daylight. I watch from my seat on this fence rail. A soft sprinkling of rain falls briefly.

I sigh to myself, suddenly missing old friends far away, and yearning to sit down over coffee and conversation. I’m momentarily overcome with a poignant feeling of nostalgia… Annapolis… Killeen… Monterey… Augsburg… Fresno… Times and people, long ago and far away. My eyes tear up a bit. The moment passes. My thoughts move on.

It begins to rain softly. I look down the path toward other places and new experiences. I admit to myself with some reluctance that it must be time to begin again… and I get to my feet, and walk on.

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Categories Allegories, autumn, breathe, Free Will, grief, health, Healthy Living, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Sleepless Nights, solo hiking, The Art of Being, War and News of War, women, Words
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