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Dawn and a Hot Cup of Coffee

December 4, 2025 //
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I’m at the trailhead with a hot cup of coffee, waiting for the rain to stop. I’m a little cross and don’t feel well-rested. Sometimes that’s the way it goes for me. I’m not cross because I woke up early in spite of hoping to sleep in a bit. I’m cross because the noise that woke me was triggering, and I didn’t manage that sufficiently well to avoid also exchanging harsh words with my Traveling Partner before I left the house for my walk. I’m disappointed, and this makes me cross. It’s my beloved’s birthday and I want only good experiences for him.

… I can do better…

I’m not in any hurry, at least. I took off work today, and after my walk I will pick up the birthday cake and head home to enjoy the day. I’ve got time to sort myself out before the day really begins.

The soft sprinkle of rain that is falling isn’t really enough to stop me from walking. I’m enjoying the freedom to choose my timing and my experience, and waiting for a little daylight. I’m hoping to give my beloved time to get back to sleep for awhile, too. I meditate. I breathe, and let my thoughts pass by like clouds. “Nothing to see here”, it’s a quiet moment on a quiet autumn morning. It’s enough.

Yesterday was a strange one, and I reflect on it awhile. It was the sort of day when it seemed each attempt to focus on a single task was interrupted multiple times, with the end result that the one task I kept returning to never actually got started. I’d have to begin all over again each time I dealt with some distraction, and each time my focus was broken with a ping, a request for my attention on something, or some other thing someone else wanted done… I ended the day mentally exhausted, and feeling like my time and consciousness are not my own. It was super annoying. On the other hand, my Traveling Partner and I cooked dinner together, and that was fun, in spite of me being so tired I couldn’t easily tackle dinner without his help, and had to rely on the Anxious Adventurer to do cleanup after dinner. I went to bed early, too, and still woke feeling like I didn’t get any real rest.

A steady stream of headlights sweeps past, on the highway adjacent to the trailhead parking. G’damn, I’m so glad it isn’t me, this morning. I chuckle to myself thinking about my last visit with my Granny on the Eastern Shore. That would have been… 1995? Something like that. I was in my early thirties. She was some age between 65-75, and seemed ageless to me. I remember being surprised any time her response to a suggested outing or adventure of some sort was being “too tired for all that”. I definitely get it now. Fucking hell, life is exhausting sometimes. I “run out of spoons” much sooner these days, and things seem to require more of me than they once did. I often fail to account for self-care needs, beyond this quiet time in the morning, and my well-being and quality of life are slowly being more and more degraded by that. It’s poor planning, poor boundary and expectation setting, and also fairly fucking stupid – because I am aware of the negative consequences and also actually know better through direct experience. I could do better, and I’m going to end up paying a high price if I don’t treat myself better.

… I still, often, find it difficult to put my own needs high on my list, in spite of so much growth and progress. I should work on that…

I sip my coffee, struggling to rephrase my thoughts to avoid “should…” in favor of more emotionally healthy language. I don’t benefit from joining the queue of demanding voices pinging on my consciousness. I can do better.

The first hint of daybreak lightens the sky. I think of my beloved Traveling Partner hopefully sleeping at home. I sip my coffee contentedly, listening to the patter of raindrops and watching daybreak become the dawn of a new day, full of opportunity.

One mortal woman, limited capacity to do the verbs, limited opportunity to create change, limited ability to do more, better… I’ve only got so many spoons, and this brief mortal life to live. I sigh, still pressing myself to “do more, better”, aware that more often than not I am already doing my best. It has to be enough when we give all we have, but an unfortunate truth seems to be that sometimes it doesn’t feel like enough, and there’s no more to offer. Still… I guess “everything” is more than nothing, and as unsatisfying as that sometimes feels, it’ll have to do.

The rain keeps falling.

I sigh to myself and stretch as I get out of the car and pull my rain poncho, scarf, and gloves out of my gear bin. I can make out the trail now, in the predawn gloom. I’m so tired… and it’s already time to begin again. That’s okay; I’ll do my best.

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Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, Healthy Living, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Sleepless Nights, solo hiking, The Art of Being, women, Words

Why Bother?

December 2, 2025 //
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Why bother? Why bother trying? Why bother working so hard? Why bother “fighting it”? Why bother making the extra effort to get some particular outcome? Just… why bother, at all? The shortest answer for that one that I’ve got, myself, is simply this; because I’m better than the challenge I’m faced with right now. That’s it.

Things could be worse, for just about any of us. Some momentary challenge is not enough to amount to an excuse not to make an effort to do a better job of being the person I most want to be, to live a good quality life built on healthy values lived authentically, and to just maybe also manage to be helpful, kind, encouraging, curious, compassionate, approachable, considerate, thoughtful, fair-minded, and ethical (if not every minute of every day, then doing my best to be these things in as many moments as I realistically can be)… these are all qualities I value. So… I try. I practice. I share honest insights into my challenges. I work on bettering myself and contributing positively to my household, my community, and my world, if only in some small way. I mean, seriously? I’m one woman; I’m not moving any mountains by myself with a teaspoon, and determination. Not in this lifetime. My actions and choices of words still make a difference in the moments I live and in my interactions with others. I try to stay mindful of the implied power this does have, and do my best to be a basically decent human being, day-to-day. Don’t you? (If not, why not? The answer to that question is an exercise for the reader.)

Holiday lights at 04:30.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. It’s a new day. I woke at some ridiculous hour – 3 am? Maybe. I didn’t check the time, I just wanted to sleep. I could hear my Traveling Partner awake in the other room, blowing his nose. It sucks that he’s awake dealing with his sinuses and struggling to breathe. I fall asleep, wishing he could sleep, too. Some time later, I’m awakened again. It sounded as if my beloved was clearing his throat and blowing his nose right outside the door. I know that’s not the case. He’s most likely seated at the dining table, which is at the end of the hall, opposite the door to this bedroom. The sound is basically piped straight to the door. I sigh, and roll over, and return to sleep. A short while later (I think), I’m awakened again. I’ve no idea if a long while has passed or only a few minutes. I’m groggy. My head aches, and my eyeballs feel gritty. The room feels too hot. I toss around for a moment or two “trying to get comfortable” again. No luck. I must have drifted off, though, into a sound deep sleep, because the next thing I recall is my partner calling to me softly in the darkness, but I don’t recall the question, or whether I understood. I struggled to wake enough to respond to him – I wanted to sleep so badly. The door closed quietly. I know I said something…but I’m not sure what, and the uncertainty itself, and a sudden concern that I would somehow be infinitely trapped in a pattern of waking from deep sleeps without being able to get rest, ever, fully woke me. I could not even imagine returning to sleep. I turn on a light and struggle to sit up. Vertigo. The room reels for a moment, before things steady, and the vertigo passes quickly. I’m grateful for that, and get up to use the bathroom and splash cold water on my face, still trying to really fully wake and maybe somehow manage to feel rested in spite of the interrupted sleep. Restless nights happen now and then, for one or the other of us. After so many years, I generally just move on from it, and practice letting shit go, because there’s no real value in taking an unpleasant tone over a sleep scenario neither of us can change. Sometimes one of us is wakeful. Sometimes we sleep badly. He greets me with a smile and sweet words when I enter the livingroom. I put on my boots and my cardigan and kiss him on my way out.

Holy shit I’m in a ton of pain this morning – and as I drive to the office, I wonder whether my pain was making me restless in my sleep, without waking me, but enough to disturb my Traveling Partner’s rest? Seems possible. Fucking hell, I feel bad for the both of us this morning. I hope he manages to go back to bed for awhile.

Another breath. Another exhalation. Another attempt to fully relax and let stress and pain fall by the wayside. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it’s just practice. Does it matter which it will be? No, I’ve still got to make the effort; it’s the consistent practice that creates incremental change over time. I sigh to myself, and glare at my packed meeting calendar. Tuesday. Fuck. Well, I won’t get much else done than meetings, today, but they are the plan, and that’s what I’ll do. I smile happily when the thought of my beloved’s birthday crosses my mind; my time off for that day is approved. I grin to myself. It’s not that we have elaborate plans, I simply enjoy the man’s company. I’m happy we’re together. He’s worth celebrating, and as I consider the man and the moment, my heart fills with joy.

…For a moment I forget about the pain…

I look at the clock. Always ticking. It’s a new day, and new opportunity to be the woman I most want to be. Feels like I’m off to a good start, this morning, in spite of feeling less than ideally well rested, and a little groggy. I think of the holidays ahead. This year won’t be lavish – everything costs more in Trump’s America, and resources are more limited. That won’t stop the holidays from being magical – I’ve done plenty with less, in years past. It’s more about presence than presents, anyway, isn’t it? I remind myself to propose board games of an evening, or a hand or two of cribbage… Maybe a walk or a drive to see the holiday lights? We’ve got so many ways to enjoy the holidays together!

It’s time to begin again. It’s definitely worth the effort. Why bother? Because you are better than your challenges. Change is. Choose wisely.

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Categories 2024 Election, Allegories, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Sleepless Nights, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women, Words

Facing the Day

December 1, 2025 //
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We don’t always wake to a new day feeling eager and encouraged and excited at the possibilities. Sometimes it’s harder than that. That’s just real, eh? What I like to do on mornings such as that is “anchor” to some event or experience that felt joyful, fulfilling, safe… whatever positive emotional alternative that feels most “opposite” the emotional drag I woke to is “coming from”, if I can tell.

…This morning did not need that practice…

Yesterday was lovely. I got a nice walk, in the early morning sunshine. I got some things done that I’d planned to do, and also a few things that were sparked by some observation, or by a request by my Traveling Partner. My beloved and I hung out together quite a lot, and enjoyed each other’s company. Later on we shared the sort of intimate connected time that adults are fortunate to enjoy in a loving partnership. It’s nice to still be able to enjoy those “sexy fun times” together. My soul is still humming a merry tune, and I woke feeling wrapped in love, this morning.

Tis the season

The Giftmas tree is up, decorated, and greeted me with soft colorful light when I entered the living room. I smiled on my way past. I really like the tree this year. Each ornament tells a story of some other time or some special moment. My beloved Traveling Partner has kept the 3D printers busy making holiday items, and this year’s new ornament delights me. I am still thinking fondly of the weekend, although it is now behind me.

I hope I never lose my sense of fun and whimsy.

The work day peers over my shoulder, tapping at my consciousness impatiently. Four day weekends do that to me, sometimes. I get back to work ready and rested, almost impatient. The trick is to avoid succumbing to that subtle pressure and simply “stay on the path”, relaxed and unbothered. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I settle in and catch up on email and plan the day. “Nothing to see here,” I think to myself, feeling amused by the sense of “performance pressure”. I remind myself that consistency and a good plan produce a steady result over time, and that frenzied action most commonly results in errors and half-baked bullshit. My best work usually results from my most patient and well-considered effort, attentive, and focused. Funny that it took so long to learn that. I think on that awhile.

…On the other hand, I hope I never stop learning and growing…

I sip my coffee and think, too, about my Dear Friend. I miss her greatly this time of year, and broke down in tears once or twice over the past few days because of it. We shared a fondness for the holiday season, and when one or the other of us lacked the means to be at all lavish about it, we still shared conversation, sentiment, nostalgia, pictures…and I definitely miss the exchange of eager emails about this or that gift for this or that dear one. I miss talking over things we were making, or shopping for, and pictures of wrapped gifts. I miss the game of telling her I would likely not be able to send anything for Giftmas this year, and her agreeing with me that perhaps that was best, then both of us surprising each other with some unexpected package near to Giftmas Day. Shopping for the holiday, it hit me hardest; I don’t need to keep an eye out for some suitable little thing. She’s gone. My eyes tear up, just recognizing that loss, even for a moment. Grief is sometimes quite inconvenient. S’Ok. There is no shame in honest tears.

Love takes many forms.

I sigh to myself, and my heart is eased by the recollection of my Traveling Partner’s embrace, yesterday, during a similar moment. He understood. He held me close until my tears stopped.

The clock keeps ticking. I glance at the time. It’s a work day, and it’s time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, grief, Healthy Living, Love, meditation, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, The Art of Being, women, Words

Some Quiet Moments

November 19, 2025 //
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I’m sitting at the halfway point on my morning walk, grateful for the warm sweater and cardigan. It’s a cold morning. It’s that time of year, here. The predawn sky is dark and clear, with a few clouds brightened by the lights below. I sit here contentedly, nothing much on my mind, and trying not to think about work. Now is not that time.

For the moment, my anxiety is well-managed, which is nice, and my pain is pretty typical of the season, which is less nice, but endurable. I smirk at myself cynically; I am a survivor. I’ve survived trauma, and heartbreak, and ruin, and mental illness, and profound injury, and domestic violence, and war. It’s been a lot. I sigh to myself. There are so very many people who have survived worse, and more. I’m grateful to be where I am, sitting quietly on this bench on a cold autumn morning before sunrise.

I’m admittedly disappointed with “the state of humanity”, presently. We could do so much better as beings than we have chosen to do. The current US president calls people names like an angry rude child. Legislators seriously contemplate imprisoning women over what should be private medical decision making between women and their physicians. Billionaires hoard vast unimaginable sums of money and assets piled high, while the working people who exchanged their efforts for a pittance worry about their next meal, and people living below the poverty line make daily decisions about whether to buy lifesaving medicine, or groceries. Housing is both limited in availability and also increasingly unaffordable. Are we really immune to all the suffering and violence in the world around us? Are we really okay with people deliberately seeking to profit off that misery?

…We could do better…

I sigh and let that go. I pull my attention back to this moment, here, now.

I take a moment for meditation, and for gratitude. My thoughts, this morning, are more personal than I’m inclined to share. I think about some painful moments in the past, and turn them over in my memory, considering instead what I may have learned or gained as a result of these experiences. It’s a practice I indulge rarely and approach cautiously; it is easy to become immersed in the recollection of pain or failure, and lose my way. There is real value in changing my perspective on such things, when I can. I don’t force it. Authenticity and honest self-reflection have positive value. Tearing myself down ruminating over past trauma or poor decision making tends to cloud my thinking and make me miserable. It is important to practice one and avoid the other.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. The cold has begun to seep into my bones, and my arthritis pain worsens. I sigh to myself and get to my feet. May as well finish this walk and get the day started, I guess. I find myself feeling a little blue. The world weighs too heavily on my thoughts, perhaps, or maybe it’s just pain. Weary. I feel weary of the world and all it’s heartache and chaos, and I’d like very much to simply be alone somewhere for… awhile. Days maybe, but I don’t have the money to spare on frivolous getaways right now, and too much to do that genuinely needs doing, and holidays ahead. Fuck. “Hang in there,” I remind myself, “this too will pass. It’s all very temporary.”

I stand staring down the trail for a moment, feeling unexpected tears rolling down my face. (What the absolute fuck?!) I sigh, a little frustrated with this whole “being human” thing. It’s clearly time to begin again. I see signs of daybreak on the eastern horizon, and start walking.

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

Birdsong In The Darkness

November 13, 2025 //
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I reach the halfway point on my walk, still in darkness. I woke early, but that isn’t important this morning. What seems most interesting is the bird I hear singing – it’s just a little odd to hear sweet snippets of cheery birdsong in the autumn darkness. It’s more of a Spring sound, somehow, and this particular song seems both familiar (I’ve heard it before, I’m sure) and strange (I don’t think I’ve ever heard it here). I listen awhile. The song begins. Ends. Resumes. Repeats.

A soft rain begins to fall. I don’t fuss about that and it isn’t vexing me at all. I’m properly prepared for the weather, warm in my sweater and soft fuzzy cardigan, and dry with my rain poncho over those. Sitting beneath overhanging branches, I’d be sheltered from the rain, here, almost completely in summer, but most of the leaves have now fallen, and the only shelter from the rain are the fewer evergreen branches. I’m for sure getting rained on. I don’t really care much. It’s fine. The air smells fresh and the morning is a mild one. I’m comfortable for most values of “comfort”, sitting here in the predawn darkness.

… I’m not really looking forward to work this morning. No particular reason besides having plenty I’d like to be doing for my own purposes, like wanting to paint but not having the energy to paint and work, generally. It is one of the most concrete signs of “aging” that I notice in my everyday experience; I am more likely to yield to fatigue than I am to paint in an exhausted frenzy of creative passion. I’m less inclined to stay up late painting after work, and less willing to drag my subsequently groggy, irritable, ineffective consciousness half awake through the next work shift. 😆 That was once pretty routine for me (and yet I managed to wonder why my mental health was so poor). It’s a change for the better, as far as taking care of this fragile mortal vessel is concerned – but I paint less, which frankly (from my own perspective) sucks.

I sigh to myself in the darkness and brush a damp strand of hair off my face. I probably need a haircut, I think to myself, and for a few moments I contemplate matters of appearance, aware that I am traveling down to the bay area for work in a couple weeks. I live in Oregon. The company is in San Francisco. The styles of dress are somewhat different, professionally and I sit wondering how much I actually care and how much that really matters anymore. The world has changed a lot in the years since the global pandemic first hit. I chuckle to myself. How much these details matter, generally, to “people”, and whether they matter to me personally in any practical way, now, are definitely different questions.

I smirk at myself in the darkness and wonder if there’s any value in telling the Anxious Adventurer that knowing oneself is an ongoing journey in life, and that figuring out “who am I?” is one of humanity’s big enduring questions. I keep asking it. I keep answering it. The answer is always evolving and changing over time as I learn more about the woman in the mirror. There is no one right answer to some questions – and that doesn’t change the importance of the answer to some one human primate (or, possibly, to the world), nor diminish the need to explore the question.

Daybreak comes. The rain stops. I sit enjoying the moment of solitude. I can almost imagine that the entire world is at peace. Awareness that it isn’t peaceful for everyone, everywhere, surfaces exactly long enough to provoke my anxiety, which surges and renders me momentarily breathless, stalled, heart pounding, chest tight. I gasp for air, and immediately begin taking the steps to reduce the physical experience of anxiety as much as I can, while I also begin the internal conversation with myself that seeks perspective and relief. Anxiety is a liar, and I know this to be true from my own experience. Over a few minutes the anxiety eases.

A lot of things can kick off my anxiety or symptoms of my PTSD. I’ve learned to take most of it in stride, and to accept that my subjective emotional experience is an unreliable indicator of imminent harm. I breathe, exhale, and relax. The anxiety eases. It’s been awhile since I’ve had a serious panic attack. I’m grateful it passed quickly. I’m grateful to have more, better, tools to manage my anxiety and soothe myself than I once did. I take time to meditate. It is an ordinary autumn morning, and everything is fine. I’m okay. This moment is okay. I’m grateful to be here, now.

… I’m grateful to avoid becoming trapped in an emotional mire…

I hear that bird singing. I get to my feet, ready to walk on. It’s already time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, art and the artist, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, The Art of Being, War and News of War, women, Words
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