Lovely start to the day, today. Coffee with my beloved Traveling Partner before I headed to the trail to get a walk in before work.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
I walked in the predawn darkness contentedly, on the edge of humming a little tune, but I can’t quite find the melody. I smile and keep walking. I’m okay for nearly all values of “okay”, and better than that for many more. In a word, in this moment I am content and happy. I walked along enjoying it without asking why. Doesn’t matter why.
I think about the woman I was in 1995. Why ’95? That was the year I walked away from a nightmare, and the year I lived alone for the first time, fully independently. It was a peculiar transformation and it took me awhile to catch up with myself. I spent that year beginning the search for the woman I wanted most to be. It’s taken a long g’damned time to get from there to here. By the time I reach my halfway point (on this walk), I’ve mentally drafted a letter I wish I could send back in time to that earlier version of me.
Continuity of memory is strange. It tends to suggest I am that woman I was then. I doubt that’s really true. She was reckless. Irresponsible. Angry (so very angry). She was prone to disrespecting boundaries. She had no clear sense of purpose, and her goal setting was shortsighted and exceedingly practical. Her path was not yet her own choosing. Shared memory connects me to her, but I am not that woman I once was. Probably a good thing, actually; she was headed for destruction.
Daybreak begins. The starry night sky gives way to shades of gray.
She could have done better, or been a better person. I guess so can I, even now. I sit with that for a little while. Later today, therapy, and a manicure. It is a Friday. I think about the weekend ahead. I think about beginnings and I think about love.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. A new beginning starts right here. A chance to be my best self, a better partner, a better friend. I like beginning again. Each day is a new experience, a new chance to choose and to do better… a new opportunity to love and to walk my path. It’s enough.
I breathe the autumn air deeply. It’s already time to walk on, and begin again.
I get to the halfway point on my walk and take a seat on the bench that happens to be here. I breathe the autumn morning air deeply, filling my lungs then exhaling slowly. It’s a pleasantly mild morning. My breath is not visible.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
This morning feels pretty good so far, although I’ve been slow to get going. I was awakened from a deep sound sleep and dreams that seemed snatched from another, other, life. Very real. Strangely practical. This morning feels better in spite of chronic pain, and in spite of my tinnitus. It feels better for what is missing more than what is going on in this moment; no feeds, none at all. I haven’t even looked at my calendar. It is telling how much difference it makes.
… I’m not telling you what to do, I am sharing what is working for me…
Scrolling feeds in the morning definitely fucks up my headspace, reducing my resilience and filtering my experience of “now” through all kinds of negativity and drama, and general bad news. It’s not actually good for “keeping me informed”, and hasn’t proven necessary at all. Any FOMO that develops reliably turns out to be as dumb as that acronym. People can and do live beautifully rich lives without doom scrolling through AI slop and advertisements.
I smile in the darkness, feeling light. There’s nothing newsworthy at all going on right here, right now… and that’s fine. It is a quiet, relatively dull moment. Life is full of such moments. Enjoy them! I breathe, exhale, and relax. It’s a nice spot to meditate and to reflect. I also don’t need feeds for that.
I see hints of daybreak in the lighter shade of the night sky. Cloudy. I wonder whether it might rain? I sigh to myself. I’d like to get my GMRS mobile radio installed in my car, weather permitting. I meant to yesterday and wonder where the time went? I remind myself again that I have an appointment this afternoon. I wonder what the traffic will be like? Oh sure, I could answer all those questions and more by opening one app or another on my device, but g’damn I am enjoying these “answer free” moments greatly, and really don’t care about the answers to any of those questions. It’s fine to wonder.
I sigh contentedly. I meditate. I reflect under the cloudy starless sky. It’s enough. I can begin again later – and I still won’t need a feed for that.
Music is funny stuff. It’s not just pleasing to the ears, it’s also a sort of a “time machine”, after a fashion.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
I woke this morning with a song in my head, which persistently tried to carry me back to a moment on a hot summer day in Texas, in 1986. I’ve nothing to do there/then, and resist the pull of that long ago moment in favor of this one, here, now.
As I walk down the trail in the dark, I do manage to “change the channel”. My “inner playlist” cues up something a bit moodier, still tugging my attention towards the past.
Hmph. No time for time machines this morning. I stop on the trail and open a music app. I pick out a “mood resetter” and walk on. That’s better. In the darkness the beat powers my steps. I don’t have any experiences or emotions paired to this track, either, and my thoughts return to the moment I’m in.
… Sometimes “the Wayback Machine” is handy, other times less so…
I get to my halfway point and take a few minutes to relax in the peaceful predawn darkness. The weekend was a pleasant one. I sit smiling to myself, thinking about the time spent in the studio and time spent with my Traveling Partner, and an excellent stir-fry on Saturday. Pleasant and ordinary and wholesome, and a beautiful memory worth savoring.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. It’s a comfortable routine at this point; get up early, walk, meditate, write, then begin the work day. I sit quietly under the starry sky. This feeling right here is one that I worked a long time to be able to experience. Worth it. Contentment and a soft quiet joy are worth making changes for, and worth all the practicing of practices.
… Your results may vary…
I sigh to myself. Contentment is an amazing feeling. Curious that we don’t talk about it more – we’re too focused on chasing happiness to notice more subtle (and potential lasting) emotions like contentment. I sit with my thoughts, watching a curious mist gathering. It hangs in a distinct layer above my head. Hints of daybreak appear. I stretch and get to my feet. Of course, it’s time to begin, again.
One very useful thing about yesterday is that it is reliably in the past. We can let that go, when we’re ready to.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
I look down the path, back the way I came. The trees along the path, a strip that runs along a creek bank, are tossing about wildly. My choice of “halfway point” seems potentially regrettable, given the violent winds. I look down the path in the other direction, and contemplate the rainy hours in the forecast, ahead. I’m not wearing, nor did I bring, my rain poncho – another potentially poor choice. I sigh to myself, wondering what will come of it.
There’s a weather alert this morning; high winds. Yep. I see that with my limited human eyesight. The wind is definitely blowing quite ferociously. The trees near me are swaying. From somewhere nearby I hear the kind of cracking noises that suggest one or more of these trees may be felled by the wind. The sound makes me uneasy. This seems reasonable.
… I somehow manage to doze off briefly, sitting here, upright, wind-buffeted, phone in hand. I wake with a start when my head begins to pull me forward as I nod off. Am I tired? I’m not certain of that, but my sleep has been interrupted and of poor quality for a few nights now. The lack of deep restful sleep since I returned home from the coast is already wearing me down. I’ll feel better after some coffee, I reassure myself. The wind keeps blowing, without comment.
“Seeing Red”, 2026
I sit awhile listening to the trees creaking and groaning as they sway in the wind. The work day yesterday was …fine. Predictably busy. The evening after work was mostly a whirlwind of errands, followed by a serious failure to connect with my beloved Traveling Partner in a meaningful way. The evening fell apart in a cascade of misunderstood remarks, hurt feelings, and not feeling heard. I went to bed early with minimal attention to self-care. At that point I just wanted to be alone with my pain and irritation, feeling peculiarly invisible, and having nothing leftover to deal with any of that.
Detail from “Emotion and Reason” 2012
…At some point my beloved stepped quietly to the side of the bed in the darkness, and touched me softly. He tenderly stroked my cheek with a favorite soft plush toy, a tiny kitten, and placed it near me.
Sometimes this can feel a very lonely journey; we are not alone. ❤
Detail of “Communion” 24″ x 36″ acrylic on canvas w/ceramic, 2011
Later, when he woke me because it sounded like maybe I wasn’t breathing comfortably, the little stuffed kitten was still in my hand. He said something about my fist being clenched around the hose of my CPAP mask. I mumbled something and got up to pee without ever really waking up, and taking an allergy pill as I went back to bed. It wasn’t surprising that I might have been struggling with breathing easily (and it wasn’t allergies); my clenched fist had covered all the little holes that help with exhalation. I do wonder a bit what I might have been dreaming about.
This morning I feel okay. Yesterday is in the past. I linger on the memory of my Traveling Partner’s tenderness.
The rain begins to fall. I wrap my fleece tightly around me, zipped up, and pull the hood over my hair. It’s no rain poncho, though.
…I get to my feet and head back to the car, quickly, taking a shortcut through the vineyard, by way of the agricultural road, to the parking lot…
I am not quite soaked when I reach the car, and I’m grateful for the towel in my gear bin, and my other hoodie, clean and dry. I towel my hair dry in the car, and change into the dry hoodie. I’m glad it’s Friday. I’m glad I was prepared for the rain, in spite of being too stupid this morning to wear (or bring along) my rain poncho. I’ve managed to avoid most discomfort. My jeans are wet, but not so much that I’m in misery, and they should dry pretty quickly. I blot them with dry sections of towel, rather ineffectively, and without concern. I listen to the wind and rain, feeling the car rock, as I warm up. I’m okay for nearly all values of okay. It’s enough.
Weather changes. Storms blow in, and blow over. Very little in life is permanent – or personal. The world can be a callous and indifferent place. We have these few precious mortal moments, and each other. I listen to the rain awhile longer, reflecting on life and love, and feeling grateful that nightmares fade so quickly..
Every moment of growth is as a rainbow in a stormy sky; a promise of better things.
…A few more quiet minutes listening to the rain, then I’ll begin again…
It’s a foggy morning. On the other side of a short list of errands, I’ll head to the coast for a few days for some solitary time, painting. I’m eager, but not anxious. There’s no hurry. I planned with care and stayed mindful of my current capabilities and limitations when I did so.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
I’m sitting at a favorite trailhead, waiting for the gate to open. A short walk will be enough this morning. I want to leave myself enough energy at the other end of the day to easily enjoy hanging out with the ghosts of Claude (Monet), Vincent (Van Gogh), and Peter (Max). I’ve already got my pastels packed up, ready to load into the car.
… Definitely eager…
When the time came to end the work week and pull my head out of the spreadsheets and tool portals, yesterday, I found it difficult. I’m definitely for sure over that, already! My thoughts now are of colors, hues, shades, tones, and the challenges of bringing light into pigment, and giving life to an image on paper. I am expanding into the sense of self that feels the most me. It’s comfortable and familiar, and natural; there’s no need to mask anything or operate from some pretense of whatever is defined as properly professional this year, for this or that industry. It may take hours to really sink in, that the next three days are wholly about where inspiration might take me. This is my time.
I breathe, exhale, relax. Some things don’t change. Some practices have value no matter what may be on the calendar. Meditation. Writing in the morning. Enjoying a pleasant walk. We become what we practice. Taking myself to some other physical place to paint doesn’t change what I need to do to care for myself, manage symptoms, and preserve my emotional resilience. I reflect on the successes and failures of various practices over the years. They don’t all work out, and there’s been some trial and error to “finding my way”.
… Shit… I already miss my Traveling Partner and I’m not even gone yet! 😆 Well, I knew that would be a thing. I adore him. We’re deeply connected. Our lives are intertwined. I feel obvious “separation anxiety” when we’re apart – but there is value in the reminder not to take love for granted. We get the benefit of perspective from a chance to miss each other, and reconnect more deeply when we reunite.
So much of life is about love and loving.
At the halfway point of my walk, I sit with my thoughts of my beloved, sleeping at home. I could have set things up to take off for the coast at first light. I didn’t set up my plan that way specifically to run these couple of errands and take the time to hold each other a moment before I go, and do some little things to make him more comfortable and less inconvenienced by my absence. This doesn’t just feel like the right thing to do for him, it meets needs of my own, to support my partner. Without these courtesies, I’d be distracted the whole time I’m away, wondering about his experience, instead of living mine.
… I think about that for a little while…
Daybreak comes. The fog muffles the sound of traffic on the highway adjacent to this nature preserve. The darkness lifts slowly, revealing more fog, and the dark silhouettes of the grand oaks on this hillside. It seems a good setting for self-reflection and meditation. Inspiring. Lately I have been feeling so deeply inspired to paint, it spills over into other things. I’m looking forward to giving in to it for a couple days.
Daybreak comes.
I hear voices, approaching from up the trail. When they come into view, I wave and call out a good morning greeting, to avoid startling two photographers, approaching preoccupied with their conversation and their gear. They return my greeting and walk on past, towards the photographer’s blind out on the marsh. It’s a good time of year for it; migratory birds are passing through, and the weather hasn’t turned shitty yet.
I sigh to myself and bring my thoughts back to my own experience. Here. Now. Nice moment to be. I sit with my thoughts a short while longer, finding it a luxury to do so. I consider my pain, and pain management. Look over my shopping list one more time, before admitting to myself that it’s probably time to begin again. I smile like I know a secret, as I get to my feet, stretching.
… Travel tissues! I add them to my list and get going.
