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And Then It Rains

August 29, 2026 //
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We’re all human in this thing. Generally doing our best, or some version of that. Sometimes failing (sometimes badly). There are no “do overs”, from the perspective of the crumpled paper lesson, so the stakes are pretty high in any valued relationship.

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

On the other hand, people aren’t made from paper and we’re resilient and capable of healing and growing…

Yesterday I was in pain when I woke and it worsened as the day progressed. Aside from one choice win, early in the day, everything seemed calculated to vex me, frustrate me, or slow me down. Timing ended up being critical, forcing me onto a high risk route in dense traffic. I made it to my last appointment gritting my teeth with barely managed stress, more than a little aggravated, white knuckling the steering wheel as I pulled into the parking lot.

… I hadn’t eaten since a protein bar around 10:00 am, and I didn’t have “extra” (or stronger) pain relief with me. I faced repeated frustrations and had to carefully and very strictly manage my temper all day. I got home quite late, drenched in sweat, head pounding, impaired mobility, and omg so grateful to be home! These details are important context for what comes later. My Traveling Partner had a similarly difficult day, and expressed similar gratitude that the day was over and that he had been eagerly waiting for me.

…Then I fucked that all up, completely…

My beloved asked me a question, the scope of which I misunderstood. I sat down to give him an answer, and when he expressed his irritation that I had missed his point, low blood sugar and bad temper finally bested me and I exploded. Raised my voice (on this whole utterly unacceptable level). Door slamming. Saying terrible mean things. He returned that anger with his own. More yelling. More angry words. I started to storm off – my go-to argument-ending move once my PTSD is in the driver’s seat (I managed, with effort, to fight off the need to flee). Within the hour, I was hysterical with insane terror and rage, and not myself. (G’damn, I fucking hope that’s not myself!) Only…it also is very much myself, and I am responsible and accountable for the consequences of my actions, in spite of pain, low blood sugar, PTSD, and whatever else.

… I could have chosen differently…

That’s not to say I’d have deliberately chosen that mess with my eyes open and my wits about me, nonetheless, my choices were assuredly involved. “We become what we practice” becomes a terrifying reminder that failing to manage strong emotions properly, and failing to perform basic self care can too easily become “who I am” – a lesson I learned awhile ago, but find myself facing cruel reminders, too often. (What is “too often”? Honestly, in this case, ever; I love my partner too much to see him faced with my worst behavior.)

Sitting through a bit of rain.

We are not perfect people, my Traveling Partner and I. We’re human. As human as anyone else. We live and love, and fail and fuck up, and learn – and ideally get back to the living and loving on this strange journey. There’s no one else I want to spend it with.

…When I woke this was all still at the forefront of my consciousness. I dressed and headed out. The air smelled of rain. I filled the gas tank on my way, and noticed that the pavement appeared damp. As I left town, a soft mist became a steady rain. It makes more sense why we were both in so much pain yesterday. Nothing about that excuses the behavior, it’s just a footnote to an incredibly difficult day.

Bad days happen. People behave badly sometimes, and reduce themselves to their worst behavior. We find ourselves standing knee deep in our chaos and damage wondering how we got there and lashing out at any unfortunate soul nearby. Fuck, this shit is hard sometimes.

Storms pass.

The rain stops, reminding me “this too will pass”, and the minutes of our mortal lives are precious and few. It matters to be willing to admit our mistakes, and to make amends and repair damage with the same “enthusiasm” with which we lost our temper.

I adore my Traveling Partner with my whole heart, and mingling love and madness has notoriously been… problematic. I sigh to myself at the halfway point of my walk. There’s a full moon over head. G’damn we’re hard on each other sometimes. A young squirrel approaches me hesitantly. I absent mindedly pull the handful of acorns I’d gathered as I walked, and gently toss them a short distance away for the squirrel.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. Apologies don’t always feel like enough, and really, an apology is only words. Really making amends is about changing behavior. Difficult, but not impossible. Another breath. I consider each small error that snowballed. I exhale. I consider what I could do to reliably achieve better outcomes and more agreeably demonstrate my love and abiding affection for my Traveling Partner, even in difficult moments. Another breath, another thought. I dissect the failures one by one without doing myself personal harm. Self-flagellation isn’t necessary (or useful), growth and change are.

An oak savannah under a stormy sky.

A new day dawns on the oak savannah. I sit with my thoughts watching squirrels play. I contemplate being and becoming, and making things right with the human being most dear to me. G’damn loving me must be fucking hard sometimes. I watch the storm clouds overhead begin to break into pieces and disperse. There’s a lot yet to contemplate, and to learn from. I sigh to myself; I’d very much like to paint (it serves to “unclutter my soul”).

…moments and choices…

I get to my feet to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, Despair, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, health, Love, meditation, Moments, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, The Big 5, Words

Something a Little Different

August 23, 2026 //
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I slept in this morning (for some values of sleeping in), beginning the morning in the usual way, otherwise. I woke with a plan and a measure of real excitement. My knee has been bothering me, and my Traveling Partner suggested I give it a rest, and skip my walk (cane or no cane, 1-3 miles on it is a lot of demand when it’s clearly recovering from injury). So…

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

…I planned a different sort of morning, one that took advantage of temporary injury for other sorts of fun, and I packed up my RC car and added to that my GMRS radio , and my bag of fun was waiting for me in the morning, as I left the house. I picked up a coffee on my way up to the location I had in mind, and entertained myself with learning the features of the radio, and monitoring local channels. There’s a lot to learn – and a lot of “lost knowledge” to regain. It’s fun.

A little later I drove to a nearby town that has an RC car racetrack thinking I’d check it out. I got as far as the parking lot. 😆 The closest parking was still going to require a bit of a walk, partly down a steepish slope, on a barked path. I decide to stick with giving my knee a break and head back to my previous location, which has a big spacious parking lot that is empty on a Sunday. I drive my RC car awhile, enjoying myself immensely, practicing useful skills that make driving the car more fun.

…Even things like basic steering take practice, which I recall being the case when I was learning to drive a full size car for the first time, too…

Painting? Maybe later. I’ve got pastel-ready cardstock coming, and pastel “pencils” (they aren’t really pencils, but crafted such that they are more suited to lines than to shading), but it may be a couple weeks before they arrive. I smile, feeling fortunate and wrapped in contentment. There’s housework to get done, too. I keep postponing properly finishing moving back into my studio and outfitting my wee library as a functional space for quiet reflection and meditation. I shrug it off and go on with racing my RC car back and forth the length of this huge open space, zipping between and around the planted islands and working to improve the precision of my turns.

A sprinkle of rain prompts me to take this break, and I sit happily writing, and monitoring a local repeater on my radio. My beloved and I are both dealing with pain this morning. I’m not rushing back (certainly not any time soon), though I enjoy his company. I’m enjoying the morning on my own terms, racing my RC car and getting refamiliarized with radio procedures. The static reminds me how I most likely came by much of my tinnitus, and I feel a strange, warm nostalgia for a long gone chapter of my life that was mostly pure hell – but I was also serving my country, and still proud to be doing so. Funny how complicated our emotions can be.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. The sprinkling has stopped. The pavement isn’t even damp. I probably could have kept driving, but didn’t want to risk damage to my car – it’s still new and I’m careful with it. I happily set the car onto the pavement again. I’ve got plenty of battery life left. I switch from my regular glasses to my shades to improve my distance vision as the brightness of the morning increases.

An older woman walking a dog and a child approaches and I bring the car back to me, stopping it at my feet (so I wouldn’t be tempting the dog to chase it. We exchange a greeting. She asks about the car as the kid squats down to get a better look. How hard are they to drive? Are they safe for kids? How much do they cost? Is there someplace local that has them? The kid has only two questions: how fast will it go and can they drive my car?

After a bit of conversation, and making certain the dog is well controlled, I run the car down the length of the parking lot at max speed and circle back, managing to drift beautifully on the turn (and totally fronting like that shit was deliberate and enjoying the excited squeals of the kid watching). I stop the car at my feet and give the kid, a chill youngster of 8 by the name of Ash, a turn driving after securing a promise to drive gently and to stay in this section of parking lot. Her grandmother takes down some notes about where the hobby shop is. She suggests to Ash that if her parents are okay with it she’ll take her there next weekend. She grins at me excitedly and hands back the controller, and they walk on.

… Sometimes people are okay…

I wave as they walk away, and turn my attention back to my car… can I get that drift in the turn down as a reliable skill? So much to learn… Time to begin. Again.

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Categories Allegories, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, joy, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Practices, Relationships, Summer, The Art of Being

A Poignant Solitude

August 22, 2026 //
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It was just a dream. I remind myself again and again, while also trying to ignore the recalled details, hoping it will fade as I wake, walk, have coffee, run errands…

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

…As dreams go, it felt “too real”, like living some other version of my life, or a moment not yet lived…

The space is tediously sparse: undecorated white walls, one window. The view is something on the urban edge of suburbia, cheapened by the vertical blinds. The quiet feels heavy, interrupted by a ticking clock and unintelligible voices in an adjacent room, or the corridor. I breathe, exhale, relax. I notice my hands, which seem unfamiliar and aged, frail and thin skinned, but beautifully manicured.

My head turns in the direction of a knock, and the door opens. A stranger, a woman, enters with an aggressively cheery greeting and the fake smile of someone who hates their job. “Good morning! How are we today? Ready for breakfast?” She places a tray on my side table and busily tidies the room as my eyes follow her movements. More effort doesn’t seem warranted; she doesn’t really see me. She starts for the door and I speak up, “Is M____ visiting today? Or… Is it tomorrow?” She looks at me, real eye contact, a long pause. “I’m not sure,” she says, “I’ll have to check at reception,” and she’s gone.

Faintly, as if from a distance, I overhear conversation as I look at the unappetizing tray with my meal on it.

“She asked what?”

“If someone named M_____ would be coming to visit today or tomorrow. I don’t know who that is…”

“You’re new. That’s her husband. He’s been gone – dead, I think – for like 20 years. She doesn’t seem able to remember that. Sometimes she remembers, you’ll definitely be able to tell. She clearly misses him, but she doesn’t talk much about him, just asks if he’s going to visit.”

“Oh, poor thing… Does she have other visitors?”

The matronly voice in the hall laughs, “Honey, she’s 117 years old. If she had kids or friends or family, she’s outlived them all. No one comes. She was a writer, I heard, and an artist, but the arthritis in her hands…”

The voices fade away. The food still looks unappetizing. Institutional, like the view. Tears fill my eyes. Ridiculous woman, I think to myself. Of course I know. I just can’t bear it, and I miss him so much…

…the tears spill over, and my shaking hands struggle with the fork, finally settling for just pushing things around on my plate…

I feel his hands warm on my shoulders. His touch eases my pain. I sigh and relax grateful for his touch, and his love. “You’ve got to eat something, Baby,” he says softly, running his fingers through my hair. “You could do that forever,” I whisper. We laugh together. I put my hand on his, where it rests on my shoulder. “I’m glad you came to visit,” I say.

… I don’t turn my head. I know what I’d see. It’s fine. I’m okay with solitude. I sit watching the light of the window chase shadows across the room. The clock ticks on. My hands ache. My head aches. My heart… aches.

… I wake with my face still wet with my tears, and grateful to see another sunrise, to love and be loved, and for still another chance to be a better version of myself than I was yesterday. I make a silent promise to some future version of me – I won’t waste these precious finite mortal moments. When things go sideways, I’ll begin again.

…

… I sigh to myself as I step onto the trail. I’m grateful for the dawn of a new day, and for this sunrise. I’m grateful for another opportunity to begin again. Grateful it was only a dream. Grateful that my beloved will be there to welcome me when I return home. I wipe away a stray tear and head down the path.

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Categories breathe, gratitude, Love, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Summer, The Art of Being, Words

Every Step

August 18, 2026 //
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I woke from complicated dreams feeling unbothered. They faded from my recollection before a memory of the details could form. I dressed and left the house, going back for my new headlamp, which I managed to forget in spite of the helpful note from my Traveling Partner.

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

I set off down the trail in the dark, my headlamp creating a well lit area ahead of me (or wherever I happen to look). It’s a much better headlamp than my old one. I’m not really surprised by that; my beloved recommended it to me. I smile to myself. I feel loved, with every step.

The humidity is 93% this morning, according to the weather app on my phone. Bleh. I feel it. It feels like other places I’ve lived… Maryland… Georgia… Alabama. Oof. I begin sweating before I’ve reached my halfway point. By the time I stop, I’m pretty damp. The air quality is some better today though, feels like. The temperature is mild and the air is calm. It’s a quiet morning. I sigh to myself and take a seat on a big rock. It’s not yet daybreak.

“Nothing to see here,” I think to myself. It’s not a criticism. I feel content and unbothered, and mostly pretty comfortable. Comfort is relative. I don’t escape the chronic pain very often at this point (hardly ever), but this morning it is a manageable 2 out of 10. I stare at the circle of light on the pavement just beyond the edge of my boots. Nothing to see there either really. I breathe, exhale, and relax. Nice morning for a quiet bit of meditation.

I rub my hands together, massaging my thumbs with particular care. I’d like to be painting and it feels unfair to be feeling arthritis developing in my hands. I find myself wondering if a paraffin wax heat treatment would help or only feel nice? I sigh out loud without meaning to, and notice that the air tastes a bit like fall, already. My mind wanders – maybe some time in the studio this weekend? That would be lovely.

I sit watching as daybreak arrives. I turn off my headlamp and let it hang from my neck. I’ll wait awhile longer, here with my thoughts, and then I’ll begin again. I can see the path ahead pretty well now. Here comes a new day. What will I do with it? I don’t know yet, aside from working. I hope I choose wisely.

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

Love Songs In The Key Of G

August 15, 2026 //
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I slept in. It was after 05:00 when I woke. The house was quiet. I got up, dressed, and left without rushing but as quietly as I could. I nonetheless managed to bang the bathroom door with my knee, but as I left the house still seemed quiet. It seemed likely my beloved may have slept through me leaving. Win.

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

The morning is gray, cloudy and overcast, and the dry meadow has a different scent as my steps crunch down the trail. My thoughts are looking back on yesterday evening’s stress and conflict. His pain. My pain. The various different medications we each take, some that are unfortunately very sensitive to changes in timing or dosage, some that don’t combine easily with this or that other medication. His PTSD. My PTSD. His perspective. My perspective. Each of us having our own experience of the moment. Sometimes conflict develops out of any one of these – or out of some mismatch in assumptions, expectations, or values, or out of fatigue or pure human cussedness. It’s all so very human.

… It’s also seriously vexing…

Our evening ended decently well, in spite of his irritation with me…or was it mine, with him? I take a deep breath and release slowly, something like a sigh, something like letting it go. We’re very human. Sometimes human is hard.

It seems trite to say I am “a work in progress”, but it is true; we are each continuously becoming the person we will be in some future moment, on some future day. We make choices. We take actions. We demonstrate our current skills. We make decisions based on our understanding in the moment. We endure the consequences of who we are now. Along the way, we become… someone. Hopefully we become someone just a little bit more like the person we most want to be, each day. As goals go, it’s a pretty good one.

I look out over the summer meadow dotted with ponds. Soon enough, the rain will return, the ponds will swell and become small lakes, and the meadow will become marsh again. There is seasonality in love, too, though it’s less clear precisely when or why the seasons of love change; these changes don’t show up on my calendar. I sigh to myself. I love my Traveling Partner on this whole unnecessary potentially unhealthy deeply passionate level that doesn’t make any fucking sense at all. When he’s angry or frustrated with me, I feel such indescribable pain. It’s likely the same for him; I can feel how much he loves me, and I see it everywhere around our home.

… Passion and devotion don’t necessarily equate to “healthy”. I could do better, and I have much to learn. Maybe that’s the point of it all, anyway? To learn, to grow, to become…

Somewhere else in the world (27 miles away, at home) my beloved wakes and pings me a greeting and my heart takes flight, as though I’m a teenager with her first crush. Crazy to love like this. I mean that as it sounds, potentially a sign of (or coming from) mental illness. 😂 I mean, as mental illnesses go, I’ll take being in love over any other for sure, but I’m not entirely convinced it isn’t actually craziness.

I smile like an idiot at the little birds keeping me company, perched on this fence rail. I feel pretty good. I got enough rest. I am in love. For now that feels like enough. I remind myself to take my time, and to do my best. I remind myself to listen deeply and to communicate understanding, and to be present. It’s a lot, and I’ll keep practicing. We become what we practice.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I let some minutes tick by, sitting here with my thoughts and a heart full of love. It’s already time to begin again…

Tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Categories Allegories, anger, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, The Big 5, Words
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