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Easier Said

September 5, 2026 //
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I get to my halfway point on this morning’s walk just at daybreak. On one side, a slope of meadowed hillside dotted with oak trees. On the other, a view across the expanse of meadow that will soon become marsh once again, as the season changes. This is my way; I wake, I walk, I clear my mind as the steps become miles. It’s not fancy or costly, and as practices go, it seems to me to be one of the easiest to start and to follow. On the other hand, “easy” is pretty subjective.

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

It’s a better view in real life. Be present in your lived moment.

I hadn’t noticed until the night sky began to yield to the new day; there is an autumn mist clinging to the ground all around me and over the meadow. A couple days of rain have returned hints of green to the amber and gold hues of the dry grass. Well, and the cooler nights have resulted in some trees beginning to turn their summer greens to autumn hues of russet, yellow, and hints of red. Fall. The equinox is approaching, too.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I’m comfortable and content with this moment just as it is. The air still smells of recent rain, and a little bit of something musty. No breeze, really, but the slow movement of air currents brings with it a hint of a fireplace somewhere, a pleasant reminder of being cozy at home.

I consider my general good fortune in life (at least this portion of it, say the most recent 10 years, about) has been mostly pretty good, and generally getting better as things go along. Certainly, I’ve made a lot of progress, myself, and I find myself feeling grateful. I sit with that awhile.

… Everything is a little damp from recent rain, and I notice my jeans have soaked through, sitting on this fence rail. I don’t mostly care about that, I just happened to notice…

The thing about practices, whether they are to do with walking every day, or practicing gratitude, or practicing the four agreements, or practicing good self-care, or practicing anger management… “practice” is a verb. There is real work to be done. We may commit to a practice and discuss it enthusiastically, but if we’re not doing the practice..? Well, obviously, if we’re not doing it, it isn’t being done. We become what we practice. So…yeah. Got to do the verbs.

I sit thinking about my strength training. So many verbs. Very verb-y ones, too. There is unquestionably doing going in when I am strength training, even with my small dumbbells. Some practices are less visually obvious, like meditation, but the effects of the thing being done are profound. Still takes effort. What I’m getting at is that simply talking about practices isn’t enough. The doing matters more. That’s the practice.  I sit with the thought awhile longer.

No colorful sunrise this morning. The day begins quite gray and overcast. I don’t need it to be anything else. I’m just over here practicing. Self-care. Meditation. Gratitude. Anchoring myself to this moment and being present. Walking in the morning. All practices. It adds up. To what exactly? I guess that depends on the path I choose.

… it’s a very human experience. Choose wisely…

I stretch and get to my feet. This walk won’t finish itself, and I’ve a way to go to get to the other side of the nature park, and back to the trailhead. Then some errands, and maybe painting this afternoon? I sigh contentedly, looking down the trail into the mist. Seems like a good time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, Healthy Living, joy, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, The Big 5, weight loss secrets, women, Words

That Ticking Clock

September 4, 2026 //
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Damn, mortality is a massive buzz kill, sometimes. I heard at work yesterday that Gloria Steinem had died. I sat with that awhile, then. I’ve been thinking about it this morning.

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

She was an important figure in the feminist movement, sure. She was an important figure in a lot of the progress women have made in the past 6 decades. That’s a lot of influence in the lives of women.

Gloria Steinem was all that and probably more. I never met her, but she was important to me on a more personal level than purely as an icon. In 1995, sometime shortly before I left my violent first marriage (finally), I read Moving Beyond Words. I read it again, my first solitary weekend in my new apartment after I left that marriage (and after my Granny had returned home from helping me move out – and move on). This book got my attention and really moved me. It reignited something inside me that had been collecting dust a long time.

I wrote Gloria a letter. It wasn’t a fan girl missive, so much as a quick and vulnerable thank you note. She replied, eventually, and I was surprised and grateful. She wrote telling me it might be hard, this journey that is one woman’s life, and to honor myself and trust in my worth. I’ve continued to treasure that letter, in the years since. Taking it from its envelope gently now and then, and reading it again. Gloria knew that the clock is always ticking.

… I know it, too ..

I was saddened to hear that Gloria Steinem had died.

The weekend is ahead. I very much want to spend it painting. There’s also housekeeping chores to be done. Grocery shopping. Errands. The new SDR my beloved Traveling Partner got for me calls to me for my attention. My RC car wants to play. Life and love want my attention, too. The clock keeps ticking. Everything is a distraction from something else. Choose wisely.

I sit by the side of this rainy trail at daybreak. The changing colors of the morning sky, cloudy and gray mostly, distract me from the night as it passes, too.

… And I still want to paint…

What are you going to do about it?

I sit with my thoughts awhile. I breathe, exhale, and relax. Rain spatters my rain poncho. The clock ticks on. This is a finite mortal lifetime, and choices are necessary to narrow down the options some little bit.  So what’ll it be? I sigh to myself. I rub my aching hands.

I’m making plans for an autumn trip to the coast, to paint and celebrate the equinox. Remembering that intention stops me from fretting about the weekend at all. I like to plan ahead. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I notice the time and get to my feet. I’ve been sitting here for a little while and it’s time to begin – again. There’s a whole new day ahead. What will I do with it?

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

Cloudy With a Chance of Imperfection

August 31, 2026 //
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Yesterday was a mixed bag of joy and aggravation. I really wanted to paint after returning home from coffee with a friend. I was in so much pain that I was uncomfortable to be around, even for me.

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

I couldn’t make it work, and inspiration got hung up in my Traveling Partner’s irritation and my own discomfort. I took more pain medication and laid down for awhile.

My beloved kindly woke me some time later, so I wouldn’t miss the entire day. I got some laundry done. We hung out a bit. It was fine. It was a quiet, mostly pleasant evening together. I went to bed early (crazy early, like 6:30 pm) still dealing with pain. I slept through the night, waking only once, briefly. I must have needed the rest.

This morning I woke rested, mind empty, heart serene, feeling content and unbothered. I dressed and left the house, seemingly without waking my beloved. I hope he sleeps deeply and wakes rested.

Heading down the trail, the morning seems almost spooky it is so quiet. I gently touch my left ear, checking that I actually do have my hearing aids in. Yep. It’s just an unusually quiet morning. My footsteps seem quite loud, generally I don’t notice them at all. My breathing, too, is audible. My tinnitus? Not as bad as usual, seems like. I do a simple “body scan” as I walk. Vertigo? Nope. That has thankfully cleared up. Headache? Mild. Arthritis pain? It’s there, but not yet bothersome, today. My gait feels steady, and if not effortless, at least comfortable. Good enough. Generally speaking, a mostly comfortable Monday.

The first hints of daybreak reveal the trees, silhouetted against a dark sky, not yet at all blue. I’m also not blue, which is a nice feeling, although I know my Traveling Partner would ask me irritably to rephrase it in terms of what I am feeling, which does seem reasonable. I guess this morning I am feeling…calm? Calm. Contented. Yesterday I felt the weight of considerable sorrow, though I never really sorted out why. Sleeping it off was probably a good choice.

So… here I am. Today. I get to my halfway point and stop to meditate and to write. It is an ordinary work day. I don’t really have anything on my mind at the moment, and don’t feel like digging around in my brain trying to find some worthwhile kernel of an idea to get started with, so it’s just me, and this moment. That’s fine, too. It’s enough. I breathe, exhale, and relax.

As I watch the sky lighten and change colors, dawn becoming day, I think about the powerful advantage (and convenience) offered by having dedicated studio space again. I can paint after work, any time. I smile; the thought feels like a quick shot of high potency joy straight to my soul. I grin to myself and fidget excitedly like a kid about to receive a gift they just know is exactly what they wanted. I chuckle aloud. I’m pretty easy to please. My Traveling Partner is right; I need to take better care of myself, and do more things for me. He is far more capable than he was after his injury, and I can trust him to tell me when or if he needs help. That’s a huge weight off my shoulders, and peculiarly, I am having some difficulty adapting.

I breathe deeply, and as I exhale I visualize releasing my stress and baggage. It’s a simple, perhaps slightly silly exercise, but I find it effective. I relax and return to meditation. I write. I watch the sun rise. I begin again.

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Categories Allegories, art and the artist, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, joy, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Summer, The Art of Being, women, Words

Again.

August 27, 2026 //
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I woke groggy, struggling to fully wake, and feeling clumsy. My sleep was oddly restless, my dreams filled my mind to overflowing. My Traveling Partner communicated his own poor sleep as I prepared to leave for my walk. No harsh words or raised voices between us, just sharing. Uncertain that I really had the wherewithal even to walk a well-maintained and partially lit trail, I picked up coffee on my way.

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

I reached the trailhead still feeling so ridiculously groggy, I reclined the drivers seat, and closed my eyes for a moment, “just a quick power nap” I thought to myself as I closed my eyes.

… I woke an hour later, just as daybreak began to yield to the rising sun…

The dawn of a new day… I rub the sleep from my eyes, swallow about half of my now-tepid coffee. It’s not great. I grimace at the aftertaste and step onto the trail.

The eastern sky is a pale wash of peach and orange fading into blue overhead, swept with gray clouds. I keep walking until I reach my halfway point. My mind doesn’t wander far from the path this morning, and I’m still sleepy. Wtf? So groggy…

A cloudy morning, no rain.

The western sky is cloudy, with nothing much to see. A little like the clouds sweeping across the eastern sky reached the western horizon and hit a wall, crumbling there and piling against each other. I yawn unexpectedly, although predictably, still groggy. Thursday? Thursday. I’ve got a doctor’s appointment and later a dentist appointment, too. Another yawn. For fucks sake, there’s an entire day yet ahead of me and I’m still struggling to wake up, a mile down this trail! I laugh to myself, grateful for a new day.

Watching the striped layers of clouds changing colors as the sun rises.

I yawn again and get to my feet. I may as well finish this walk and enjoy it. There’s more coffee on the other side… and I can begin the day from there.

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Categories Allegories, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Sleepless Nights, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being

I Dunno, Something?

August 25, 2026 //
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Weird morning. Routine, I guess, but my head is in a different place. This morning my tinnitus is crazy loud. My sleep felt interrupted, and my dreams were surreal. “Begin again,” I remind myself, but I feel a bit as if I’m standing on a narrow ledge in darkness.

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

I sigh to myself as I walk. The darkness of the predawn sky is already beginning to lighten. Daybreak soon. I feel strangely separated from my experience, like I’m not quite connected to the moment. I breathe the summer air, inhaling deeply, tasting the scents of summer, exhaling until my lungs empty. I keep walking. I pull my attention back to “now”, this moment right here, again and again. A few steps later, I’m lost in my thoughts to no useful purpose all over again.

… Some people call it “ennui”, rather poetically. A therapist might call it “anhedonia”. A simpler soul might admit that they “just don’t really give a shit”, and move on from there. I don’t think it matters too much how I label the experience this morning. That’s even part of it. The vague sense that “nothing matters”, was the characteristic that alerted me of “where I’m at” most clearly. So, okay, now what…?

I stop at my halfway point to write and reflect and meditate. My head is stuffy this morning, and the feeling of being somewhat breathless probably contributes to the unsettling background anxiety. I reach for my tissues, deal with my sinuses, and return my attention to the moment. Meditation is hard this morning. I’m used to caring deeply about these details and this precious quiet time. This morning? I don’t much care one way or the other. I’m here. I exist. I seem to serve no clear purpose. I sigh again, a little frustrated with my bullshit.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I repeat that again, and still again, and I sit quietly with my breath, letting that be enough. It doesn’t make me suddenly care about everything all over again, but it also doesn’t demand it of me. I let myself exist. I let that be enough. Another breath, another moment, and the clock keeps ticking.

I run my fingers through my hair. It feels soft. I watch the sky lighten slowly. I sit listening to my tinnitus, and feeling the physical sensations of being human. Sometimes the best I can do is just be, and to do so without creating problems for someone else. This moment will pass, and then I can more easily begin again.

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Categories Allegories, anhedonia, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, Healthy Living, meditation, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, women, Words
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