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Start, Stop, Begin Again

December 1, 2025 //
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Sometimes things feel harder than they seem they should. Misinformation everywhere. The practical details of life getting more costly every week, every month. Paychecks don’t keep up with that unless you happen to be among the very affluent (and then it’s less that the paycheck keeps up than maybe you don’t need to notice the minutiae or count the pennies). (Remember pennies?) Balancing the load takes up a lot of mental bandwidth, even for folks who are very organized and pretty prepared. It’s exhausting.

…It’s okay to admit it when you’re tired…

My head aches. My arthritis pain is actually making me feel ill. I’m distracted from one priority task by the next ostensibly higher priority task. Subjectively, I feel like I “used to be better at juggling all of this”, but I’m not sure that’s literally true. I suspect I’m just feeling a bit overwhelmed by the lingering artifacts of chaos that arrived ahead of me (to this job) or which defy attempts to bring order (the chaos and damage in my own head), or perhaps I am succumbing to the stress of watching the decline of democracy, in spite of my attempt to avoid spending potentially productive time on that bullshit. (It’s not bullshit because it isn’t real, it’s bullshit because it doesn’t need to be this way, and we somehow chose this shit in spite of being told what was coming if we did.)

I’m tired. Not because I’m working my ass off on some construction job site, or laboring on a factory floor, or in a fulfillment warehouse, or on my feet all day. Brain tired. Soul tired. It’s feeling too much like a hamster wheel, some days, and too little like living.

…This too will pass…

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I take a moment to scrounge in my handbag for another dose of Rx pain management, only to discover I’ve already taken that, and I’m already “maxed out” for a work day. Well, shit. I sigh to myself, finish the watered-down dregs of my morning coffee, knowing I’ll likely regret that later tonight. I pull myself upright, and pause to offer someone a compliment for work well done. I find giving others sincere encouragement or expressing gratitude for some task or service someone has provided often distracts me from the pain I’m in. Certainly it’s a better reaction to pain than sobbing or throwing a tantrum. I’d happily just sit somewhere gazing out a window, letting my mind empty itself of concerns, and even thoughts. Parking this fragile vessel and leaving her to idle for awhile would feel pretty good, but… I don’t have time.

…The clock is ticking…

It helps to have a break, and I’m glad I took one. It’s not enough, but it will do for the moment. I imagine the stern look on the face of the woman in the mirror, right now, she knows I could do a better job of taking care of myself than I often do. I make her a promise I probably won’t keep, and hope that she understands. It has to be enough… it’s the best I can do right now. Isn’t it?

…”No. Do better.” I imagine her answering, “You matter. You can at least take a proper fucking break…”

I sigh again, and get up from my desk to take a proper break. The sun is shining. I go outside and get some fresh air, and watch the squirrels play for a few minutes, and stretch. It’s chilly but not cold. The sunshine feels good. Now I feel ready to begin again.

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Categories 2024 Election, Allegories, anhedonia, Anxiety, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, health, meditation, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, The Art of Being, War and News of War

Like a Pimple

November 20, 2025 //
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Sometimes small things get large, or at least feel larger than reasonable. Sometimes that experience is a reflection of lost perspective. Sometimes it is about many small things piling up. Keeping small things small is a smart choice, but sometimes it sounds easier than it seems to be in practice.

I sigh to myself from the parking lot of the co-work space I sometimes use. It’s an hour away from home. Some idiot person who didn’t know better locked the deadbolt on the front door of the co-work space, which uses an app to control access. The locked deadbolt is not necessary for security, and being locked it prevents the app from unlocking the door. Shit. I’m more annoyed by this than I want to be.

Most mornings I could shrug this off as a mild inconvenience, but today I had planned on an early start, have calls scheduled earlier than usual, and a late evening request from an upstream colleague last night to look into something “first thing”. Fuuuuuuuck. I would have shifted gears and gotten set up at the Starbucks across the parking lot for the price of a terrible coffee… but they’re closed. So I’m sitting in my car, an eye on Slack to see if the co-work management gets back to me about the locked door. This is not the first time I’ve had to deal with this; it happened once last year, when the cleaning contractor changed. Apparently, it happened yesterday, too, although I wasn’t here and that didn’t affect me.

… I don’t need to be this irritated…

I’d be less annoyed if there were anywhere at all to sit, near the locked door. There isn’t. I’d also be less annoyed, probably, if I hadn’t come here to work with specific plans in mind that have timing details. I sigh again and try my damnedest to let it go. Adapt. Bounce back. Pivot to plan B.

My head aches. My chest is tight. I feel deeply anxious and as if I am having difficulty breathing “enough”. It’s stress. I breathe, exhale, and relax, and focus on my breath. I keep at it until I feel less like smashing things with a hammer and more just quietly aggravated. This situation isn’t personal, at all.

Small shit adds up and it can create big stress. Yesterday, just as my work day ended, I got an unexpected call on my work number from an ex, which I ended before any conversation could develop. I was still triggered, and as a result I was tense and hyper vigilant through the evening, and my sleep was restless and disturbed. Yuck. Traffic this morning was awful and I hit most of the lights red. The coffee place I prefer was closed; their opener didn’t show up. Everything (and I do mean everything) seems more expensive these days, and that manages to stress me out in spite my attempts to put it in perspective. Small shit, adding up.

Daybreak comes as I sit in the car, thinking about what to do next to deal with the random stressful bullshit that doesn’t involve violence. I would have, anyway, so I take time to meditate.

… Fuck this shit, I am so g’damned annoyed right now…

The receptionist doesn’t come in until 09:00… I definitely need planned to get started earlier than that.

Shit. I’ll just have to begin again…

An unexpected ping from another co-work colleague gets me the code to a side door, and my day restarts from a new perspective on timing. There are changes to be made – aren’t there often changes to cope with? I sigh and try to be kind to myself. I am the person I am, with the baggage and odd wiring that make me who I am. It’s mostly pretty okay. Sometimes it’s challenging. Beginning again helps when things skitter sideways and my plan breaks down. I do my best – mostly that’s enough. I remind myself to breathe and slow down, as I move on.

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, Frustration, Healthy Living, Logic & Reason, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, The Art of Being, The Big 5

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

Tis the Season

August 23, 2025 //
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It’s fire season again. The morning sky is a peculiar hazy pink at dawn, and the colorful sunrise is lovely, but there’s something about the hues that reminds me that to the east, in even hotter, dryer, places, the world is burning.

Beauty at what cost?

One might expect us to be better stewards of our precious planet than we have proven ourselves to be, considering we have no other. I stop along the path to rest and write and think. It’s a warm morning that will precede a hot day. I got out on the trail before sunrise. It was already 70°F (about 21°C). Hot for this area, this time of morning, even in summertime – or used to be. The view of the hills and mountains to the west are obscured by a dirty looking blue gray haze.  I look at the map of the region with the “wildfire layer” turned on. It’s alarming enough that such a feature exists at all, isn’t it?

Oregon, Idaho, Northern California, and beyond; it’s fire season.

I sigh to myself, and realize that my stuffy head may be “nothing more” than an air quality issue. I check the air quality index reporting – it rather strangely calls the air quality “good”. I disagree, as someone breathing it, and look to see how they get that result. Huh. They measure a handful of variables but neither smoke nor particulate matter are among them (and I have the recollection that it used to be included)*. I wonder at that, reminded that we live in a country whose leaders apparently think sanitizing history to be more palatable for those in power actually changes reality (it doesn’t). Human primates are fucking strange.

I sit watching the sunrise, from a familiar favorite vantage point. It’s not an ideal spot for pictures, the composition is cluttered and awkward, but I enjoy the view as it is, trees too close in the foreground silhouetted against the magenta and orange of the colorful sky. There’s a convenient large rock to sit on, and I have the trail to myself.

I’m in no hurry, and have no plan for the day besides staying cool and hydrated, and maybe getting a little bit done around the house. It’s a weekend, but changing jobs comes with a period of time not regulated by the requirements of work days nor bookended by weekends. Days are days, and tasks are tasks, and these mortal moments are mine to spend as I wish. I’ll make a point of enjoying that while it lasts, simultaneously hoping it doesn’t last long, which amuses me for some reason I can’t pinpoint. (At this point, I think we probably all understand that if I could, I would spend my days painting, writing, and dancing barefoot in my kitchen while I prepare something tasty, right? I wouldn’t work if I didn’t have to, I have other things I’d rather be doing. Reality doesn’t care about my daydreams.)

The sun peeks over the horizon and the trees to the west of me are illuminated. I see hints of russet and gold mixed in the green of summer foliage. It hints that autumn is coming. The seasons of the Pacific Northwest: winter, spring, summer, fire, fall… It is the season of fire, and it feels like the world is burning.

I sigh quietly and brush the small twigs, dirt, and bits of leaves off my jeans as I get to my feet. There’s further to go, and this trail isn’t going to walk itself. We’ve each got to walk our own mile, and do our own work. The journey is the destination. I look down the trail ahead, and get ready to begin again.

.

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*And these details are included. I failed to read with sufficient care and was corrected by my Traveling Partner (thanks!). Fact-checking matters. Stupid can come for us all. 😂

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

Happy Place

July 27, 2025 //
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I’m sitting at the edge of the meadow along a favorite trail. It’s a Sunday morning. I slept in a bit and by the time I arrived here, the sun was well up. I’m trying to organize my thoughts regarding dinner much later, and go over my list of housekeeping tasks I’d like to get through, today (just basic stuff, nothing overly demanding or complicated).

A place, a moment, a feeling.

Yesterday was weird. I was so tired and sleepy. I went home, ran an errand for my Traveling Partner, and then crashed out for a nap. I slept deeply for four hours. I more or less slept the entire day away. 😂 I must have needed the rest. I had no trouble sleeping last night. I feel fine this morning.

It’s a lovely morning. Suitable for beginnings. The neighbors were partying late into the night. They’re generally pretty quiet, so we shrugged it off, though much later I thought I heard my partner calling to them out the window. I couldn’t rouse myself enough to ask. I managed to wake feeling quite rested in spite of the noisy night.

Grateful for the mild summer morning.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. From this beautiful place, it’s hard to imagine that life is ever difficult, but sometimes it is. Perspective is helpful, so is having a break. I smile thinking about my upcoming camping trip next weekend. I hope the weather is pleasant and mild like it has been this weekend.

It is a pleasant summer Sunday, well-suited to beginning again. I should get on that; the clock is ticking.

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Categories Allegories, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, Uncategorized
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