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Fog in the Morning

November 5, 2026 //
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It’s very foggy this morning. It is chilly, but not actually cold. I get to the trailhead safely, feeling eager to walk in the fog (if only because I’ve been painting foggy scenes lately and I enjoy the view of things obscured by fog).

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

The lights of the parking lot are eerie through the trees.

I walk the trail thinking about luck, and how routinely very successful and very wealthy people fail to honestly account for various lucky breaks they benefited from on their journey to success or great wealth. The “pull yourself up by your bootstraps” myth and similar tales of self-made success are frankly dishonest, though people may eventually come to believe that shit in the retelling of their stories over time. We don’t get where we are alone, good or bad. Sure, we’re each having our own experience, and yes, we are individually responsible for our own actions… but luck matters, too. Like, a lot.

I sigh to myself as I walk with my thoughts in the fog. The entire experience feels like a metaphor.

I get to my halfway point thinking about my general good fortune. I sometimes yearn for an easier life than I’ve got, but this life is good, just as it is. I have it better than my parents did, and lacking their lucky breaks getting here was a lot of work over many years. I’m grateful. I’m here, living this modest life in a small pleasant suburb, at the edge of a beautiful rural region of vineyards and farms and beautiful views. It’s enough to live this life, and more than enough to get to enjoy it in the context of my Traveling Partner’s love and good company.

… I somehow still find myself complaining about petty dumb shit that vexes me momentarily, forgetting how good I do have it, after all these years…

I may never be wealthy (by percentages, very few people ever will be). I may never have a life of excess and luxury. I have it pretty good though – there is a roof over my head, a secure home and well-stocked pantry, indoor plumbing and safe drinking water, and clean clothes to wear. I’ve got a good job and skills I can rely on. I live with chronic pain, but I have the medical care to manage it. I’ve got a head full of chaos and damage – but I’ve also got good therapeutic support and the tools for appropriate self-care. This isn’t a bad life. It’s actually pretty good.

What do you yearn for? What is your dream of a perfect life? Are your own desires obscuring your view of the life you live now? Are you “walking in fog”, not really seeing the joy and beauty of the life you have?

I think and walk until I reach a suitable place to stop, rest, write, and just be. It’s not my usual stopping point. I walked past it in the fog. 😆 There’s definitely a useful metaphor or two in this morning’s walk. There’s a piece of construction barrier handy to sit on, so I stop for meditation and writing. I use my rain poncho to make a dry place to sit. I breathe, exhale, and relax, and repeat. I give myself up to breath and calm observational awareness, sitting in the fog.

I could do without this fucking headache, though; I breathe, exhale, and let that go.

I could do without the arthritis pain. Another breath, another exhalation, and I let that go too.

As each internal criticism arises, I take a break, exhale, and let it go.

Every distracting thought is followed by a breath, and exhalation, and a release of that distraction, letting it dissipate into the fog with my breath.

This is not a difficult practice, nor is it costly. It does not require an expensive course. It does not require a subscription. It only requires practice. It is necessary to do the verbs, there are no shortcuts.

The predawn darkness is giving way to the earliest hints of nautical dawn. This may be my favorite time of morning, these moments when the first clear silhouettes of trees become distinct in the gloom. Shapes appear and become recognizable. There is a feeling of anticipation; the sunrise is coming. Even this feeling is released with an exhalation, to dissipate into the fog. It’s not as if I have any control over the coming and going of the sun anyway.

Lovely quiet morning, I think as I get to my feet. I peer into the fog. Headlamp? No. No headlamp, just this beautiful foggy twilight of dawn, and this foggy trail. It’s enough. I begin again.

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

Choices, Chances, Changes

November 4, 2026 //
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Wednesday after an election day Tuesday, so half(ish) of the nation is waking up to (predictable) disappointment, the other half to (premature) celebration. A smaller number may wake wondering whether or why it matters at all.

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

Me? I wake up groggy, exceedingly so. I manage to avoid making a lot of noise as I dress and leave the house, but I’ve got a nagging sensation that I forgot something, or forgot to do something… and as I walk the trail my thoughts are dominated neither by the election results nor by the starry sky overhead; I’m wondering if I left lights on.

… G’damn it, I sure hope I didn’t wreck my beloved Traveling Partner’s sleep!

The morning is quiet. I get to my halfway point and stop. The starry sky overhead delights me, although I only recognize a small number of constellations and visible planets. The night sky is quite beautiful. The autumn air smells of past rain and current dampness, leaves, and fireplace smoke. I inhale deeply and exhale slowly. I relax as I sit here.

I breathe, exhale, relax, and take time for meditation. I don’t practice meditation when I’m stressed out; I simply practice. Every morning and evening, and sometimes in the afternoon after work, are my “regularly scheduled” times for meditation. Yes, I sometimes also meditate when I’m stressed out, but isn’t that more akin to grabbing a screwdriver when you need one, than practicing a practice?

…It is the steady practice that makes meditation so effective for stress reduction…

It is a work day, but that time is not now. I sit under the stars on this mild autumn morning thinking about… Giftmas. It’s very much time to plan the holidays. It’ll be a quiet and modest year for it, this year. Minimal expense, maximum joy. (Or something like that.) Thanksgiving is less than a month away… I remind myself to order pie at the farm store down the road.

…Pleasant calming thoughts, apparently; I doze off while sitting here and wake with a physical jerk, probably a response to my head dropping as sleep began to overcome me. I’m still pretty groggy. I stand up – I’ve never been able to fall asleep standing up – and finish my writing on my feet.

A fog begins to gather, seeming to flow up out of the creek bed and pooling in low places as it spreads across the vineyard adjacent to the trail. Coffee will be a much appreciated luxury after this walk. I’m grateful for the mild weather. I’m grateful that although I am groggy and still struggling to shake off sleep, I’m not also struggling with vertigo or my headache. Physically, I feel pretty good this morning, and the touch of arthritis pain is manageable.

Mm… Definitely coffee next. I stretch and yawn, and turn my headlamp back on. It’s already time to begin again.

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

Something About Monday

November 2, 2026 //
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I’m awake. New day. New week, too. Halloween was jolly fun. It already seems like awhile ago, and I guess it was, for some measures of time.

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

I meant to spend more time in the studio yesterday. I chose mostly to hang out with my Traveling Partner while he built an antenna for our radios that could easily be deployed or taken down by one person. The weekend was generally a pleasant one, with some ups and downs.

I get to the halfway point on my morning walk still thinking about the weekend. G’damn I’d rather be sleeping right now. I sigh to myself, still grateful to see another day, even from this leading edge of morning. I rub my hands, as if to spread the heat of my arthritic thumbs to the rest of my hands. Chilly morning.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. November already. Did you vote? It’s time, eh? It really does matter.

The sky overhead is cloudy. No stars to see. The oaks are silhouetted sharply against the sky. Daybreak soon. I get comfortable on this rock adjacent to the trail. The discomfort that shifts me isn’t about the rock, and it would not matter where I choose to sit this morning; the discomfort is me. This mortal body has taken a fair bit of damage over the years. I carry the pain and discomfort with me, everywhere. I guess I should be grateful for the variety 😆. This morning, it is  something like sciatica, down my left leg, which is annoying, but nothing like the pain of my headaches.

…Oh, hey, no the headache yet today! Wow. That’s rare. I take a moment to really appreciate it…

“Tangerine Sunrise” 5″ x 7″, pastels on pastelbord, 2026.

I sit reflecting with some frustration on the dissatisfying creative work this weekend. It’s fine. Nothing like the extreme frustration my Traveling Partner endured working on the antenna project (which was such that it drove me from the house to do shopping that could have waited), but enough to be vexing. I contemplate the idea of reworking the piece I am most irked with. I rarely do “corrections”, but when I have it has resulted in some amazing art. I wonder why I fight that, then? The process of reworking a painting that has “failed” is useful (both in practical terms, and as a metaphor). Humans are weird.

… Sometimes we resist doing the thing we know works best…

A light comes bobbing down the trail. I turn on my headlamp to avoid startling the approaching walker. I rarely see anyone else on this trail so early. No dog, either. The stranger makes a point of shining their light right at me as they near. Oh, of course; a cop. There’s a sheriff’s station in the museum, so I’m not really surprised. I say “good morning” cheerfully. The officer lowers their light and replies “early to be out here, isn’t it?” I agree that it is early, adding that I enjoy watching the sun rise before work, and getting a walk in before the work day begins is a great fitness practice. He agrees, thanks me for my time, and urges me to stay safe as he turns to continue down the trail.

I get comfortable, again, as much as I can. I meditate. I breathe. I sit quietly listening to the sounds of an autumn Monday. I don’t know what’s next today. That’s okay, too. I get to my feet and stretch. I prepare to begin, again.

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Categories 2024 Election, Allegories, art and the artist, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, Healthy Living, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, The Art of Being

First Frost

October 31, 2026 //
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The car crackled as frost broke when I first opened the car door, this morning. It is an icy and cold morning as I start down the marsh trail. Foggy, too.

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

Days of rain and gloom in the mornings have given way to autumn afternoons, some mild, some unexpectedly warm, others drizzly and chilly. This morning we get the first frost here where I am, but the freeze warning for the 24-hour period made it clear colder weather would be happening, and the frost visible all around was a thin glaze of clear ice on bridges and overpasses, and “black ice” is an obvious risk this morning. I drove with caution, mindful to stay at safe speeds for icy conditions.

… Being safe is smart, even if tech bros and AI fanboys don’t understand that…

I am similarly cautious as I head down the trail. I am warmly dressed, appropriately for the weather, and I have my headlamp adjusted for best visibility in foggy conditions. It just doesn’t take much to keep safety in mind. The journey is more comfortable and pleasant when it is a safe one.

Am I “risk averse”? Damn right, I’m risk averse. I’ve taken my share of risks, and based on experience, I finding taking a safe path is generally the wiser choice. Will I take risks? Well, yeah. Sometimes the predictable risk looks manageable and the outcome worth that risk. I still favor a safe path when I’ve got one, in most circumstances.

I walk with my thoughts through the predawn darkness. Daylight Savings Time ends tomorrow. I’m not looking forward to the days of disrupted sleep and medication timing, but I get through it every year, even though the stupidity of DST leaves me bemused. Do people really think that changing the clocks changes the reality of diminishing day length as the season changes? Human primates, eh? So inventive. So imaginative. So willing to make dumb decisions because the idea seemed good at the time. Slow down. Choose wisely.

I get to my halfway point in the dark. It’ll be dark when I walk on, too. Not my preference, but I don’t think changing all the clocks to avoid darkness makes sense. I wear a headlamp instead.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. My breath mingles with the fog. I hear movement on the marsh… somewhere. I don’t see anything. There are no sounds that alarm me, but like the deer I keep a watchful eye. In the darkness, I rely more on sounds for threat detection. The morning is cold and quiet. The source of the noise emerges from the meadow grasses along the trail. Racoons. A large female escorting a group of smaller racoons crosses the trail, some of them playful, some adventurous, some of them stay close to her as the group travels. If one of them spoke to me in a human voice as they passed, “nice morning for it”, or some other polite greeting, I wouldn’t be surprised – but I also don’t expect it. It’s a strange foggy morning on the marsh before dawn.

I meditate awhile. I write. I reflect on thoughts and ideas and inspiration for new paintings. This quiet time is reliably my own, and I enjoy it. Later a manicure and maybe some studio time. For now I am here, now, and it is enough. I’ll walk on when I get too cold to sit longer; that’s soon enough for beginning again.

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Categories Allegories, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Parables, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, The Art of Being

What Weather?

October 27, 2026 //
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I had a restless night, but managed to get enough real rest to begin a new day gently. I woke from strange dreams feeling mostly pretty well-rested. I woke with a song in my head.

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

The morning is off to a comfortable start, although the song in my head hints at more. Likely nothing more than a busy Tuesday at work, but it will definitely be that.

The weather forecast a few days ago had suggested freezing or near freezing weather this week, and probably our first frost, around here. Not even close. The morning is mild and rainy, and feels almost warm. (Warm for the season, if not more generally.) I’m glad I put my rain poncho on. The morning is drizzly, and I am spattered with raindrops as I walk. Feels nice to be outside, actually. I breathe the autumn air deeply, and exhale slowly. I feel refreshed by each breath. I keep practicing as I walk; breathe, exhale, relax.

Shooting the moon.

I try to catch the moon as she peeks from behind dense clouds. I’m successful for some values of “success”. 😆 I’m fine with it. I keep walking, eventually stopping at my halfway point to write.

Over the years, as I have become more positive, more accepting, more adaptable, while learning the practices that would bring me so close to being wholly emotionally “well”, one of the most complicated challenges to emerge has had to be… being okay. Just that; learning to accept and enjoy the feeling of utterly ordinary days, pleasantly uninteresting moments, and the ordinary inconsequential mundanities of living well, has been complicated. I didn’t anticipate being emotionally well and enjoying fairly lasting contentment day-to-day might be more difficult than the process of getting there. 😆 Wild.

…Do you ever find yourself “starting shit for no reason”, or creating “drama” in the middle of a peaceful moment? Could it be that maybe you don’t feel ready to be okay after all this time…?

I breathe, exhale, and relax, watching the stormy clouds churning slowly as they sail across the night sky. It’s still awhile before daybreak. The moon has disappeared behind the clouds. I sit quietly, enjoying the darkness. I swing my feet and wonder what’s next? The year has gone by pretty quickly. 9 Tuesdays left after this one (in the calendar year).

I sigh to myself and get to my feet. Soon it will be a whole new year. Right now it’s enough to have this path (and day) ahead of me. The rain begins to fall more steadily. Time to begin (again).

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Categories 2024 Election, Allegories, Anxiety, art and the artist, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, inspiration, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Sleepless Nights, solo hiking, The Art of Being, War and News of War, Words
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