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Walking in the Dark

August 22, 2025 //
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I woke ridiculously early this morning. I could hear my Traveling Partner coughing in another room. “Rough,” I thought, as I sat up, “sounds like he’s having trouble breathing.” As I reached for my phone to turn off my sunrise alarm and turn on a dim light, I realized I was pretty stuffy, myself. Allergies? Probably. Or not. Doesn’t matter, if it isn’t going to kill me, I guess. I notice that my head is pounding, too. Nasty headache to begin the day with. Great.

I sigh and stretch, and start getting ready for a new day. I figure I’ll just go get an early walk in, before work, although it’s not yet 03:30, and this changes which trails are available – or safe to walk. I think it over as I dress. My beloved seems a little surprised that I’m going to just go ahead and go, so early, but there’s another heat warning in effect, and it’ll be uncomfortably warm relatively early in the day, so perhaps it is just an opportunity? A lifetime of sleep challenges and insomnia have prepared me well to make use of strange hours. lol A hug, a kiss, and I’m headed out the door to walk in the darkness.

I walked the marsh trail with my headlamp in my hand, pointed down low to illuminate only the ground, and I watched Venus chase Jupiter up the dark backdrop of the starry pre-dawn sky. The morning was ever so still and quiet, and even the traffic was muted. I heard the crunch of my steps on gravel and over dried leaves. The air was still and smelled faintly of mushrooms and summer nights. I definitely had the trail to myself! Sounds in the underbrush as I strode through a grassy stretch covered with sparse old oaks gave me a moment of doubt about my decision-making, but it was only a family of racoons scrambling about, playing and foraging. They took off in other direction when my light reached them.

We spend a lot of our lives “walking in the dark” – life is a journey without a map, and we don’t see clearly where the path may lead. I think about that as I walk. I feel fortunate that this stretch of the journey is a familiar, there’s comfort in that. I stretch as I walk, hoping to ease stiff muscles and joints, and maybe this headache, too. It doesn’t help much, but it feels good to move. As I walk, I think about the tools in my toolkit, metaphorically speaking, and how best to organize my time and manage limited resources in this new here-and-now filled with uncertainty. Isn’t life always a little uncertain? I breathe, exhale, and relax. Could be worse – so much worse. This is only a beginning. Yet another. I wonder where the next opportunity may take me?

…I laugh out loud in the darkness when I catch myself thinking “what do I even want to be when I grow-up?”, realizing I am a long way down life’s path to feel that way, and yet it is still a question I often ask myself…

I get back to the car. I drive to the office that will soon no longer figure into my days at all, most likely. I prepare the budget for this pay period, aware that “things have changed” and that I need to consider new concerns, new details, new limitations – at least for now. Sometimes it’s a little scary. Sometimes it feels rather mundane and ordinary. My emotions are still shifting and I’m still “processing this”. Fuck I will so miss this particular job… on the other hand… it’s a job. There are others. I sigh as I hit “send” on the email to my Traveling Partner sharing my thoughts on the budget and seeking his. I’m grateful this is a shared journey.

I had planned to go camping next week, feeling very secure in my position in life and the world when the plans were made. I cancelled that to make room for uncertainty – and to map a new path. There’s quite a lot to do. I smile to myself; I may even spend time helping my Traveling Partner in the shop – or paint. Change is. Were this 5 years further down the road, I could perhaps simply file for my social security retirement, and breathe a little easier while I look for work, but that time is not now. Doing so now would be a terrible tactical move for the future. I sigh again and shake off the temptation toward wishful thinking. It’s a good time for taking a practical (and where feasible, wise) approach to “right now” – with a loving eye on the future, too.

…Aren’t we all sort of “walking in the dark”, much of the time? I sip my icy cold office coffee and think my thoughts awhile longer. The sun is rising now, and it’s time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, Logic & Reason, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Sleepless Nights, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being

The Stall Point

August 21, 2025 //
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I’m sipping my coffee and feeling sort of cross and “stalled”. Just sort of sitting here, not motivated to act, or reflect, or choose, or consider – I’m a bit stuck, honestly. It’s a very human thing. Maybe I didn’t get quite enough restful sleep? Maybe I haven’t actually consumed enough coffee to get my brain going properly? Maybe I’m feeling (understandably) a little lost, or frustrated, or down? One thing I am definitely feeling is that I am dragging myself reluctantly through my experience, at least for the moment. Maybe I need to take a moment and just… cry?

I’ve been a proper adult over this untimely demise of my current job. I’ve been measured. I’ve been resourceful. I’ve been easily able to pivot to tackling the job search related tasks that need to be done now, and plan ahead to those yet to come. I’ve reached out to contacts likely to know someone who knows someone who knows of an opportunity that may be a good one for me. I’ve handled it. You know what I haven’t yet done, though? I haven’t allowed myself to grieve. I’ll miss this job. I’ll miss these colleagues. I’ll miss so many details of this particular routine at this time in my life. I haven’t given in to the hurt, yet. I’ve simply handled business with a clear head and a sense of urgency and commitment. It still hurts, emotionally, to lose this job – and I haven’t yet dealt with that. I’m going to have to, though, otherwise it will burrow into me, fester, and rob me of my will to act. Not helpful.

I’ve got the office alone, and I close the door, put my head down, and let the tears come – they’re right there, waiting. I let the fear and uncertainty wash over me. I let myself feel the hurt. I let the anger and feelings of disappointment and unfairness surface enough to acknowledge them alongside the tears. I go ahead and feel the feelings, and I cry. From experience I know that if I stifle these emotions and don’t provide myself the nurturing and self-care that I need – physically and emotionally – I’ll pretty quickly reach my “stall point”, and just stop functioning properly. I won’t be able to remember errands, tasks, and commitments, I won’t feel like doing anything, and I won’t be able to interact with people comfortably to talk about what I’m looking for out of a new job (because I’ll be mired in the unaddressed pain of losing the old one and too prone to talking the experience of hurting and loss). It’s like any other grief; the way out is through.

The tears pass pretty quickly, for now. There may be other moments, and other tears, with potential to pull me down and stall me if left unaddressed. Funny how embarrassing it feels to yield to a moment of emotion under these circumstances – there’s no reason for that. It’s not anything besides a very human moment of emotion. Emotion is part of who and what we are. I stretch and yawn, and sip my coffee. I’ve got an interview with a talent agency a little later. Later still, I’ll catch up with a friend who may have contract work that will support the short-term need nicely, for some indefinite time – not ideal, but far better than unemployment. I smile – the same friend got me into the contract that eventually developed into this job, that I’m now leaving with such sorrow. I’m grateful. I chuckle to myself over the value in relationships feeling like some “secret life hack” – it really is the people that matter most, and how we interact with them, and the experiences we share.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I do a quick “body scan” and take inventory of myself in this moment. Pain hasn’t been an issue the past day or two, but this morning it’s ferocious, and I have to deal with that, on top of “everything else”. A very human experience. It is often the case that when I am feeling most overwhelmed, or when I am feeling “stalled”, it may be some one small thing that needs my attention so urgently it shuts down everything else until I do give myself the attention I need. Those are generally experiences very much about emotions. When I feel overwhelmed or stalled, I go looking for the feeling that isn’t “being heard”, and give myself a moment to sit with that feeling, deal with it head on, and provide myself with the genuine nurturing from within that I am needing. Self-care. It’s a big deal.

I sigh and drink my coffee in the stillness. The clock ticks on, without any regard for what I may want out of the moment before moving on to the next. It’s already time to begin again – and there’s a lot to do.

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Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, breathe, Despair, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, grief, Healthy Living, Logic & Reason, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Summer, The Art of Being

Hey, What’s That Sound?

August 20, 2025 //
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Oh, damn – that’s the sound of “the other shoe dropping”. Familiar. Well, hell – that means change, eh? I get a fresh glass of cold brew, take a breath. Honestly, the uncertainty is more stressful than the knowing. Seasons, cycles, and change – it’s just time, again, to begin again. I’d maybe even say “nothing to see here”, but it feels bigger than that from this vantage point, and I’m feeling that moment. I breathe, exhale, relax, and take a deep satisfying drink of icy cold brew. I let thoughts come and go, reflecting on the circumstances a moment longer.

…Doesn’t much matter what the circumstances are, this is a very human experience, and it’s likely we’ve all been through (so many) “shoe-dropping moments” in life. Change is – and we don’t always choose it. I’m okay, for most values of “okay”. It feels good to have my partner in my corner, encouraging and supporting me. This particular bit of change is job-related, and honestly seems rather mundane, considering some of the heinous shit going on in the world right now. I definitely do like things easy, not gonna lie, and it’s disappointing that I won’t be enjoying this role until I eventually retire (because yes, I’ve enjoyed it that much), and I really don’t enjoy the chaos of changing jobs at all. But I also feel more or less okay. Fine with it in the sense that it really is pretty mundane as changes go, and I’ve been through it before. So many times. I smile to myself, thinking about my “professional timeline” and all the many stopping points along the way.

…I would have retired a long time ago, if I could have afforded to do so, but even if I had it would not stop changes from coming, they’d just be other changes…

It’s easy to be angry when change comes. It’s rarely useful (except in the rare circumstance in which the motivational power of anger can be harnessed with a sense of purpose for good use). I sip my coffee content to deal with the change.

I sigh to myself. I’d like to take time to paint. I’ve no shortage of inspiration, but the household feels “crowded with activity”, and I’m often (usually) a participant. That sounds like an excuse, but I do find it difficult to paint productively while also juggling conversation, caregiving, and the day-to-day routine of keeping a household humming along. Then, too, there’s this thing I have been having to deal with all year… my hands. The specific position and grip pressure of my hand and fingers when I am holding a brush or pastel has begun sporadically (and unpredictably) causing me pain in the joints of my thumb. Arthritis? Feels different than that. Tendonitis? Closer, but I really don’t know. I do know the pain is aversive and creates a reluctance to paint at all, sometimes. Disappointing, but real. Between wanting uninterrupted time for doing creative work and finding that hard to get, and the pain that turns up unexpectedly when I do paint, I just … don’t. This, too, will pass. Probably. For now, it’s not the thing that is truly top of mind… I just happened to think about it, just now. A passing thought about something other than work and looking for work.

…I let my mind wander on…

Life’s journey isn’t a reliably easy one. I am even pretty sure, based on my own experiences and observations, that “easy” is more a matter of luck than anything else, and “ease” is not an expected part of the human experience. We’re fortunate when we find a moment of “ease” to rest within, and to enjoy. I sit sipping my coffee, reflecting with gratitude on the many moments of ease and good fortune that have found me, over a lifetime. They aren’t “everything” – life can be fucking hard – but they are something worth cherishing. When hard times come, I don’t look back on the easy times and good times with anger, frustration, resentment, or despair (not any more). I’m far more likely to take a moment, now and then, to appreciate how good I’ve had it, and how often that has been the case, and “fuel up” to endure whatever hardships have (or may) come my way. They’ll pass. Generally things do – good or bad.

I’ll find a new job. Maybe even very quickly (though that isn’t a given, and this is a difficult time for jobseekers, generally). Will it be the amazing experience of “work joy” this one has been? Maybe not. Hell, probably not – such experiences are quite rare (so I hear). Most of my work experience has been some degree of tedium, or aggravation, or pure hell in some environment that feels a like purgatory, watching a clock tick off the hours until the next pay check, while I do my damnedest to produce my best work and to be the best professional I can, hoping for better next time. I work to earn my pay, and use that pay to support my life. In a very real sense, I am converting the finite mortal hours of my life into spendable currency. I reflect on that for some moments, and consider my worth. Each time I find myself in this in between place, I am also… “finding myself“. It is an opportunity to learn and grow. Fill in gaps in my professional qualifications. Understand what I want more than I did at the start of the last job. Understand what I need better than I understood it previously. Look ahead. Plan. Consider new options.

The very first time I was ever “out of work”, it hit me hard. I was pretty young, but I’d had that job, advancing through the ranks, for 15 years. I had literal hysterics over it. I felt as if I had lost my sense of purpose. I did not handle it well at all. I felt really lost. I felt “blown off course”. Then, later, I felt really… spoiled and stupid and foolish, because I had known it was coming, refused to deal with the reality, and done nothing to actually prepare. I pulled myself together, and figured out what resources I had. I moved to a new place on the other side of the country (in a battered used Ford F-150, with all my mechanic’s tools in my toolboxes strapped down carefully in the bed), and I began again. (I make it sound simple, but it was a process, and it was weeks, and the outcome wasn’t ideal.) In the two years that followed, I changed jobs 4 times before I found something that could last (it didn’t). I moved 4 times. I left my first marriage. It was a complicated season of change.

During that two years, I learned something that would be valuable for all the years that followed, and continues to serve me well; jobs end. They are not the totality of our lives, they’re just… jobs. I learned how to handle lay-offs and ends of jobs graciously while I was in construction. The job always ends. Each new job, I’d show up, do the needful, and be sent back to the union hall once the job was over. Job after job. Season after season. Year after year. In the downtime in between, I painted. It was brutally hard work, paid pretty well, provided good medical care, and I had seasonal breaks for leisure (and for physical recovery from the effects of manual labor on this fragile vessel). The most important thing I learned in construction was how to face the end of a job. I haven’t forgotten.

So… here I am sipping my coffee in an office that will soon no longer be a place I come for work. Probably. (I could end up with an employer who seats me here in this co-work space – hard to know, it’s a small world.) I’ve got a few more days. I’ve got options. There are verbs involved. Tasks to deal with. A resume to refresh and “version” for the various industries that hold my interest (and higher than average potential for jobs I’ll do well).

Change is.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. This all feels so… commonplace. I feel fairly “unbothered”, although I also feel a mild amount of annoyance over it; the work I do here has been valued, necessary, and no doubt there will be consequences if those tasks are not assumed by someone, but that’s not my concern, now. No, the annoyance is simply that I really liked this particular job, company, and team, and was figuring on staying in this role until I leave the workforce (probably at 70). It is what it is. It’s not “personal”. I smile to myself, grateful to have had the chance to really enjoy the work I do for awhile. That’s been rare. I’ve often been employed doing things I’m really good at, and don’t enjoy at all. Less than ideal, but quite practical and commonplace. I feel a pang of disappointment and… grief? It passes quickly. The future is unwritten, and the menu of life’s Strange Diner is vast and filled with things I’ve yet to try. The trick is to choose wisely, eh?

The sun rises beyond the window. I arrived before dawn. It’ll be a warm summer day, and sunny, later. The morning is mild and pleasant. The air in the neighborhood around the office is filled with the scent of garden flowers. It’s a lovely time to get a walk in before the heat of the day. The need for self-care does not diminish when change comes (quite the contrary, it intensifies). I think a walk sounds like just the thing. It’s a good time to begin. Again.

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Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, art and the artist, breathe, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, grief, health, Healthy Living, inspiration, joy, Logic & Reason, meditation, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Summer, The Art of Being, The Big 5

Start Where You Are

August 19, 2025 //
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I finished my very early morning walk in the darkness. I arrived at the office still very early. Still dark. There’s a busy day ahead, and plenty of uncertainty about the future to exist within, and to get beyond. I breathe, exhale, and relax. Sip my coffee. Office cold-brew, and it’s fine. Not great. Not bad. Completely unremarkable in every way. Another big, deep, breathe, and I exhale slowly, completely, and feel myself relax (again) as I do. My head is stuffy (which is what woke me early this morning). I’m feeling sort of cross for no obvious reason.

Do you find yourself wondering, ever, why it is I so often focus on just these random-seeming here-and-now details and observations? I mean, what’s the point, really? It’s all about those new beginnings; it is far more likely to get me somewhere if I begin where I am. That’s it. No mystery, it’s just a more effective choice to begin where I am, rather than begin somewhere else (whether that somewhere is in my thoughts or on the road to a destination). It’s rather difficult to go from Baltimore to L.A. if I’m standing in the wilderness of Montana. I can anchor myself in the present moment by making observations about my experience, here, now. It’s not a fancy practice, as practices go, but grounding myself in this moment, right here, through observation and awareness, is a very useful tool for establishing a feeling of perspective, and giving me a starting point on the next moment that is definitely connected to the moment I’m in. I’m struggling with my anxiety a bit this morning.

My stuffy head is vexing me. I woke around 03:30, and clearly wasn’t going to be able to sleep; I couldn’t breathe. I got up. Now I feel my anxiety surge – and each time it does, it is eased by blowing my nose and restoring my breathing. It’s almost comical. I notice the anxiety before I notice I can’t breathe, again. It is easy to conflate the anxiety with other potential causes – the world of 2025 contains plenty of anxiety provoking moments, events, and circumstances. I could get all spun up over this or that bit of doubt, fear, or insecurity and lose myself in my anxiety, but it’s really all about the breathing, right now (at least, that’s the situation this morning). Other mornings it is more about pain management. It’s frankly very rare that my anxiety is driven by some real world experience that is not about something to do with this bodily very human existence. lol It’s nearly always my body screaming at me through my emotions to do something about some uncomfortable physical experience.

I chuckle and think happy thoughts of my Traveling Partner sleeping at home. He is peculiarly sensitive to my breathing; if I am struggling, he’s aware and uncomfortable. I’m glad I went ahead and started my day, and I hope he can get the rest he needs. Maybe I didn’t wake him as I left? I sip my coffee and smile. Without any added context, thoughts of love create such beautiful points of bright light in a human experience. This love we share feels like a “firm foundation” for a good life.

There is real uncertainty, and real cause for anxiety now and then, those are ordinary commonplace parts of the human experience. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I let the thoughts come and go, and consider the moment and the day. “The winds of change are blowing,” said my Traveling Partner yesterday, while we talked about work, the future, and a certain “funny vibe” in the office. Change is. Am I ready? (Is anyone, ever, really “ready” for unexpected change, or change they don’t look forward to, or did not choose?) I don’t know how much longer this good thing may last… but… we never do, do we? Whatever it is, however good or bad, it is as temporary a thing as everything else. There is damned little permanence in a human lifetime, and trying to cling to what is, in defiance of what is ahead, isn’t an effective strategy.

I smile to myself, and in my thoughts I unfold the vastness of the menu in life’s Strange Diner. Any time now, it may be time to begin again… I wonder where this path leads?

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Sleepless Nights, Summer

A Useful Sort of Stillness

August 17, 2025 //
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This morning I am waiting for the sun. Well, I’m at least waiting for enough light to easily see the trail. It’s a gray cloudy morning that hints at rain. I arrived at the trailhead before dawn this morning, feeling quite a lot better and eager to walk. On some other morning, the early hour wouldn’t stop me, I’d just grab my headlamp and go…

…I took my Traveling Partner’s truck this morning, and forgot to grab my headlamp…

Parked and waiting for the sun.

No headlamp, no walking (only waiting). 😆

So, I’ve got this moment of stillness and waiting, and a head full of noise (and it isn’t just my tinnitus!) – seems like a good opportunity to meditate and reflect. No pressure to perform, no time-sensitive tasks facing me, just this quiet moment before a walk on a summer morning. Useful. I approach the moment with gratitude; it can be difficult to find a moment of real stillness to pause and reflect. Time well-spent, when used thusly.

I sit with my thoughts, letting them pass through my consciousness, noted, observed, but without clinging to any one thought. I breathe, exhale, and relax, allowing myself to appreciate my own presence for some little while, simply breathing and being. I make room for life’s questions to surface in my thoughts, one by one. I allow them each to move on, some answered, some “for another time”.

I write for some little while, sharing these thoughts and practices.

The sky lightens as minutes pass. The oaks along the trail are silhouetted against the gray sky. Definitely looks like rain… but it doesn’t smell like rain, and my arthritis is not griefing me in any noteworthy way this morning. Maybe it won’t rain? I look down the trail and wonder if I will regret not grabbing my rain poncho? I shrug it off as a concern; the temperature is quite mild and even a drenching downpour would only mean a shower and a change of clothes after I return home. Inconsequential. I’d just be a bit uncomfortable as I finished the walk, and that’s not that big a deal.

I swap boots for shoes, happy that I didn’t turn back over the lack of a headlamp; there is no reason to hurry through this moment. It’s mine, and I can do with it as I please. I look out at the gray hills on the western horizon and wonder again if I have been over there, looking back at this place, ever. It’s just another thought that drifts by, and I let it.

A new day, a new moment, a new beginning.

I can definitely see the trail now. I stretch as I get to my feet and grab my cane. Even the most familiar path may have more to share, if I approach each new beginning with open eyes and a calm heart. It’s a new day, and it’s time to begin.

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being
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