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Poised to Begin Again

November 12, 2025 //
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Another morning, another walk down this familiar trail on my way to the start of a new day. Veterans Day is behind me, and Thanksgiving is ahead of me. My tinnitus is loud in my ears, and my arthritis pain is making damned certain I haven’t forgotten about chronic pain.

I head down the trail purposefully, one step after the next. The morning is pleasant, although the sun is not yet up, and it’s tough to see what sort of day it might be, weather-wise. Trying to forecast the weather based on arthritis pain is not sufficiently precise to be useful, I just know I hurt, a lot. I took my medication a little early over the pain. I hope it starts helping soon. I keep walking and distract myself from my pain by trying to see into the darkness enough to spot creatures along my way. Without a bright moon to light my way, my headlamp casts a small bobbing bright circle of light just ahead of me, or wherever I look.

I get to my halfway point and stop to write and meditate. It’s chilly enough that I wonder if I should have worn my gloves? My fingers are chilly, but it’s not actually cold this morning. It does get me thinking about the new backpack sitting in my home office – work swag sent by my new employer. It’s a nice one, and I hadn’t decided what to do with or about it. It might be a good one for my walks, which have gotten enough longer to make being more easily able to bring along things like inclement weather gear, without overdressing a win. It is a solution without a real problem to solve. I let it go; there is no reason to hurry.

Daybreak comes and I see a lone doe resting in the tall grass to the side of the trail, a few steps further on. No stars visible in the sky, so I begin anticipating a cloudy day. It’ll be a busy one at work, too, with a bunch of little things to catch up on, and one item at risk of being past due. I resolve to tackle that first, which puts my anxiety over anything work related to rest. Sometimes I just have to face the thing that is worrying me in s practical direct way, to ease my anxiety. I sneeze unexpectedly, and the doe leaps to her feet and runs off into the trees.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I could do without my anxiety coming and going all the g’damned time. It’s unsettling, and tends to provoke feelings of imminent disaster, even in conditions that clearly lack any obvious potential for disaster to occur. Subtle things stoke the feeling of anxiety, mostly things that also happen to be well-outside my sphere of influence and most definitely beyond my ability to control. If I can’t change the causes of my anxiety, I don’t have to endure it awash in a feeling of doom and futility. I have more tools in my toolbox than that. One by one I select practical tools and helpful practices from my available options, and do those things I know help ease my anxiety. I meditate. I make use of specific breath practices that calm my nervous system. I reframe the feelings and look for alternate explanations for the physical experience of anxiety. (Am I feeling some measure of excitement or uncertainty about work after four days off? Am I sublimating my pain, causing to be expressed as anxiety? Am I experiencing “second dart suffering” over world events that I simply can’t change and don’t have a personal stake in, at all?) I make a point of letting things go which are outside my control. I take steps to put things into a broader perspective. I make time for gratitude.

My anxiety begins to ease. In its place, there’s just arthritis pain, my headache, and an awareness that I’ve got a bit of catching up to do at work. I’m okay. Ordinary day and “nothing to see here”, besides the slow coming of dawn, and a new day.

I clear my throat and reach for a tissue. I’m reminded that it’s flu season and make a note to schedule a flu shot. (Vaccines are settled science, people. Take care of yourself, and your community.)

I get to my feet impatiently with the next surge of anxiety, deciding to discuss with my therapist whether going back on an anxiolytic makes sense right now, or what else I can do to fight it. I sigh, feeling some relief with my exhalation. I’ll keep practicing; it does help. It’s a good time to begin again.

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

Picture This

November 4, 2025 //
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I take a lot of pictures. I mean, since I got my first camera with a phone in it phone with a camera feature, I do. That was back in… 2010? I guess so, that sounds about right. The same year that I got together with my Traveling Partner. Wow. 15 years ago, I got my first smartphone with a camera. I still love “real photography”, but film and film processing were crazy expensive, and my tendency to take a lot of pictures to get one good shot made 35mm photography too costly to bother with, other than vacations and occasions. Now, I am out and about everywhere with a good quality camera in my hand. “A picture is worth a thousand words” is a common enough saying. It’s harder to describe a thing than to see it first hand and “get it” in a glance. Not only that, there are so many interesting and useful metaphors that can be found in an image, and so many interesting sights to see that I might want to look at longer or really study! So, yeah, I take a lot of pictures.

Autumn leaves on the lawn after a rainstorm.

…I am not “a photographer” in any but the most literal sense of “a person who takes photographs”, at least “photographer” is not part of my own sense of identity. I’m an artist, and writer, and even a poet… but my artistic endeavors are generally to do with paint or pastels, my writing is… right here… and my poetry… yet to be published because I am just that g’damned lazy. lol I truly do like things “easy” as much as possible, and I am prone to walking away from an unfinished project entirely if I am too frustrated by it. I’m not bragging – I consider my laziness a pretty noteworthy character flaw, frankly. But, and this is maybe more important, I also recognize how incredibly tired I often am, and how relatively unimportant some projects actually are, and I do try to put self-care ahead of “busy work” as much as possible. The woman in the mirror is generally doing her best to balance the demands of adult life with the needs of her “inner child” in a way that feels successful, reasonable, and productive. I sip my coffee and think about that for a few minutes. I am taking this time for me.

Halloween is over, and all the pumpkins go on clearance. Is there a metaphor here?

I breathe, exhale, and relax. Busy work day ahead. I got the rest I needed, but I am definitely yearning for more sleep. I chuckle to myself – humans are weird. I catch myself daydreaming about sleep, as I sip my morning coffee. A new morning, a new day, a new beginning – sleep is not even on the agenda for many hours to come.

Small town living, dressed up for the holidays ahead.

I let my mind wander to the holidays ahead. The stores are already full of Giftmas merchandise, and online retailers are already making their “Black Friday Deals” known. I’m not generally interested in Black Friday shopping because it’s typically limited to heavily advertised, marked-up goods that get marked down ahead of the holidays so the sales feel “special”, and the intent is to drive people to buy a lot of stuff they may not even actually need, but the price looks like a deal (and in difficult times, that’s quite a lot of incentive to buy). Mass-market trade goods of various sorts are not usually what I’m looking for, so the Black Friday hoopla is not “for me”. I’m okay with paying a reasonable price for the things I actually want or need, and shopping with intention and care in local shops.

…G’damn things are expensive right now, though, aren’t they? Fuuuuuuck…

I feel my anxiety level begin to rise, thinking about money. That’s not strange. I suspect most people are anxious over money matters these days. Furloughs, lay-offs, unpaid involuntary labor (um… isn’t that “slavery”?) – with the government shutdown lasting weeks, folks are not just feeling a pinch because there’s a gap in their pay – they are facing real hardships, because there’s no money for food, heat, rent, bills, medical care… you know, life. It’s hard to believe that something as fucking stupid as partisan loyalties to political parties is enough to pit Americans against each other, most especially when their fucking job is running the g’damned government. Assholes. (Sorry, this really vexes me, I guess. You, too?)

Happy holidays may be ahead; you have choices.

I sigh to myself. I love the winter holidays so much. I love the lavish sparkle of lights and ornaments, and the festive packages under the tree. It’s not so much about the money, though it does come at a cost each year, it’s purely about the delight. My Traveling Partner and I have already discussed setting clear limits and scaling way back this year, due to the high cost of … everything. That doesn’t subtract from the joy or the warmth or the delight, just means finding the shining center of that holiday spirit in something other than purchased goods. Easy enough. I’ve got recipes – books and books of them – and the basic ingredients for holidays baked goods are available, and mostly sort of affordable, with wise decision-making. It’s certainly not a good year for careless spending. (Maybe it never is?)

I think about my disappointment when I saw that the assorted old-fashioned glass Shiny Brite ornaments are all marked “made in China”. I remember when that was not the case. I remember buying beautiful glass ornaments that were made in Germany, in the Czech Republic, and in Pennsylvania. I sigh to myself. Fortunately, I’ve got so many ornaments already that there simply is no reason to buy more, other than to commemorate the year, and my beloved Traveling Partner has been making those for us each year for a few years now. 😀 Nothing lost, and my moment of disappointment is built on nostalgia, not any kind of legitimate hardship or change that affects me in some practical way. I let it go.

I look over other pictures of recent things and places, and smile. It’s nice to hold on to a memory in the form of a photograph. It feels so real.

Places and memories, captured in photographs.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I sip my coffee and think my thoughts. I prepare for the day ahead. It’s time to begin again.

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Categories 2024 Election, Anxiety, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, joy, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, The Art of Being, Words

The Path We Choose

November 3, 2025 //
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It is early morning on an ordinary Monday. I’m awake, and feeling as if I’d slept in, but that’s more to do with the end of Daylight Savings Time than anything else. I got up and dressed and left the house without waking anyone, as far as I could tell. I reached the trailhead before daybreak and got to my halfway point before sunrise. The sky is just barely showing any hint of daylight yet-to-come.

It can sometimes feel as if my choices are very limited, or potentially even that I “have no choice” in some moment of stress or urgency. That’s rarely true. Just this morning, getting to this ordinary location for an everyday experience that is quite commonplace for me, I made many choices. Fleece or cardigan? Put my boots on while seated on the edge of the bed, or carry them down the hall and put them on right before I leave? Hair pulled back, worn in a twist, or loose? Grab a yogurt drink or a bottle of water on my way out? Do I need to stop for gas? Most of these choices happened almost in the background, requiring very little of my attention. They’re still choices.

I smile to myself in the darkness. I’m okay with my choices so far, today. If I weren’t, I could begin again, and walk a different path (literally or metaphorically). The small everyday choices may seem insignificant, but they say something about my values, and how well I do (or don’t) live them. That’s information worth having. It can be hard to correct the path we walk, if we don’t notice we’ve stepped off that path.

A sprinkling of rain begins to fall. I can continue on, until I reach the parking lot, or I can turn back. In this instance, the choice won’t be about distance; it’s about the same either way. 😂 I laugh and pull my tightly folded rain poncho out of my pocket, and pull it over my head. It was a smart choice to bring it, I think to myself. Then the rain stops, making it completely irrelevant. It rained only long enough to make my poncho too wet to shove back in my pocket. I chuckle to myself. Sometimes choices do work out that way. I don’t really mind being unnecessarily prepared. It’s far better than being unprepared.

I think about the day ahead. Am I prepared? Ready to make choices? Ready to do the many verbs awaiting me further up life’s path? I don’t know… I’m at least ready to begin. Again.

It starts to sprinkle again, and I get to my feet, ready to walk on. Prepared.

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

Those Howling Winds

November 1, 2025 //
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Here it is, the morning of All Saints Day, the Day of the Dead in some traditions. The wind blows fiercely, wuthering and howling past the car, and rocking it as it blows past. Autumn leaves fall, blown sideways they gather in drifts against curbs and embankments. The sturdy oaks sway stiffly in the wind. Even in the predawn darkness, I see their shapes tossing to and fro against the backdrop of the pale stormy sky illuminated from below.

I stepped out of the car at the trailhead, and was almost knocked off my feet by the wind. The everyday challenges of life seem far away and insignificant right now; there’s this wind to deal with first. My hair is lifted, tossed, and tangled by the wind. It pushes me to the side of the trail, as if each new gust seeks to push me into the marsh, or off the edge of the bank into the lake. The wind howls through the trees, insistent. Then it begins to rain. First a sprinkle, then a downpour.

I’m nearer to the photographer’s blind than I am to my usual halfway point. I’m grateful to find it unlocked. The trailhead parking is farther on, and I’d have been soaked to the skin trying to make it back up the trail, blinded by the wind-driven rain. Inside the blind I’m sheltered. It’s quite noisy. The blind is a small box-shape constructed of wood. Some effort to camouflage it has also served to make it mostly safe from the rain. There’s no floor, but a small crate serves as a seat. The view of the marsh and the small lake and ponds that dot it is very good, with views of east and west. No windows, really, just openings covered by hinged drop down panels that can be propped open, for a photographer’s convenience. With the wind blowing the rain about so wildly, I open only one, and only about halfway, letting the rain drip off of it. Very little rain makes it into the blind, although the dirt floor manages to be soft and a little muddy, anyway.

I sigh contentedly. I enjoy the sound of the rain on the wood roof of the photographer’s blind. Daybreak soon. I listen for a break in the rain, without being stressed over time or progress. It’s quite early and I have no reason to hurry. After my walk, my Saturday routine will take me to the grocery store, and I’ll run any other errands on the way home, after that. Very ordinary, “nothing to see here”, and I smile to myself. I have lived through some exciting times. I’ll take ordinary, and embrace and enjoy it. There is plenty of joy and satisfaction to be found in life’s ordinary moments. I’m not chasing adventure. It’s not any lack of enthusiasm for new experiences or fear of the unknown, I just personally think excitement, generally, is overvalued. I’m rarely bored as an individual, and any time I might seem to be facing boredom, I quickly move on to… something. There’s always something. It’s a big world and the menu in The Strange Diner is vast and full of options.

Daybreak comes. The rain falls as a dense misty curtain, obscuring the view of the marsh. I see the trees more clearly, tossing wildly in the wind. Stormy morning. I sigh, resigned to a very rainy walk back to the trailhead. Not yet, though.

A fluffy mass tucked against the corner of a narrow “shelf”, created by the exposed interior 2 x 4s which the blind is built from, shifts as if alive, and I see that I’m not alone here. Some small mammal has built its nest inside the blind. Field mice maybe? I scooch back a bit and watch without making any move to disturb the nest. The sky outside is now a dirty looking gray. “Sunrise” has come, colorless and subtle, revealed only by the view taking on more detail. It barely counts as “daylight”.

… Stormy weather…

The rain slows to a sprinkle. I’m not expecting that to last and quickly plan my exit and the shortest route to the parking, and get to my feet as I exit the blind. It’s clearly time to get out of the marsh. The path is partly covered in rainwater – or is this the lake beginning to rise beyond the bank? In either case, it’s time to begin again.

As I cross the marsh, I think I see someone else on the trail, in spite of the rain… but I quickly lose sight of them, and find myself wondering if they were ever even there… It is, after all, the Day of the Dead, and life is full of mysteries.

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

Better…And Worse

October 30, 2025 //
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The work day ended gently, and it’s been productive. which surprises me. The morning passed pretty quickly, but the minutes became prolonged and tedious as the afternoon began, and by 13:00 I was definitely aware that I’m ill. The headache that seemed to have diminished during the night is very much back. My sinuses feel weirdly dry and irritated, in spite of my drippy nose. I finally noticed that I had forgotten to remove my shoes after running a brief errand… then still managed to forget about them entirely until some minutes ago. I ache all over, although the chills and sweats seem to be over with. I’m “tired” – but not the healthy tiredness of the end of a long day at hard work, nor the anticipated tiredness of bedtime. Just feeling generally rundown. The malaise of illness seems so utterly mundane. But…

…I’m okay for nearly all values of “okay”, presently, in spite of being sick. It’s just a headcold. Pretty commonplace, and very ordinary. Hell, it’s that time of year, anyway, eh? I sigh, and let that go. It’s not really worth bitching about, and I’m snug at home and cared for…

My Traveling Partner asks me, every so often, if I’m feeling better. I mean… mostly? Sort of. Some? A little bit? As with the way I often answer questions, the answer isn’t helpful at all, and fails to communicate anything worth knowing. It’s a challenge I deal with often, and I know it frustrates people. What frustrates me is how often people who know I have brain damage either completely forget that there are some very specific things that result from that (which affect communication in some cases) that I can’t reliably do much about, or behave as though it is as simple as doing things differently. Practicing doing some particular thing in some very particular way can be helpful over time, but (most especially) when my executive function and communication impairments are most severe (like, when I’m sick, or deeply fatigued), there’s often damned little I can actually do about it in any practical way. I just have to deal with the experience of struggling to communicate, when it happens. Frustrating all around.

I take a break with my Traveling Partner. He’s working on a project in the shop. He’s having his own experience with frustration and shares details with me. He offers to show me something he’s working on, or something to do with the thing frustrating him. I’m aware that I’m too sick to be sharp enough to appreciate and value the experience, putting us both at risk of still more frustration – so I decline in favor of more self-care, and maybe laying down for awhile. This fucking headache is kicking my ass, and has now partnered with my “everyday headache” to bring real oomph to my headache experience. I sigh to myself, alone in this comfortable space. My headache is not eased by whatever the fuck that low frequency whine outside is. A leaf-blower? A distant train engine idling on a siding? One of those vacuum or carpet cleaning trucks over at the apartment complex on the other side of the creek? It could be any number of things. One thing it definitely is, is incredibly irritating and I’ve got a fucking headache. I snarl quietly to myself, then remind myself it isn’t personal, at all. It’s just noise.

…This headache, though…

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I’m not at risk of death. I’m not headed to the ER. I’m not immobilized. I’ve got a headcold. Some random virus going around the community at the start of flu season caught up to me. I could have rolled d20 and predicted the outcome, most likely. Annoyingly mundane and not at all interesting. (Sorry.)

I sit quietly for a moment, appreciating the other details. The good stuff. I pull my focus back to this moment, this relationship, this little house situated between town and farm. There’s a lot to be grateful for. I’m grateful that the Anxious Adventurer is willing to make dinner, and that I had ingredients on hand to make that relatively easy on him. I’m grateful to have the means to quickly go to the pharmacy for cold remedies, and the freedom to do so at my convenience, even on a work day. I’m grateful that I can afford to do so, without worrying about trade-offs. I’m grateful for the good quality well-roasted sustainably sourced fair trade coffee beans from which I made my morning coffee. I’m grateful to have the opportunity to make that choice. I’m grateful to have become the kind of person who cares about the other human beings in the supply chain for the things I want or need in life, and the sort who makes choices that are informed by that caring nature. I’m grateful to recognize my relative privilege in life, in spite of the tough times I’ve endured along the way. I’m grateful for the computer that sits here on my desk; my Traveling Partner built it with my needs in mind, and it suits me so well! I’m grateful to be so well-loved by such a very interesting and delightful human being, one that I love so well. I’m grateful that my problems in life aren’t worse than they are – and that I am aware of my good fortune.

…Even when I’m sick, a few minutes of sincere gratitude is a powerful mood-lifter…

When I’m sick, my emotions are often very much “at the surface” of my awareness. This puts me at risk of losing my temper, or weeping over nonsense. In addition to those risks, though, it also puts me in touch with the softer subtler emotions, the little joys, the childlike delight over something that sparkles, the pure radiant happiness of a hug. It’s a weird time. I’m tired, but energized and restless. I’m volatile, but capable of beautiful moments of great joy, love, and delight. I’m kind of stupid, but barely matters because I’m also feeling accepted and safe and cared-for. Being human is peculiarly complicated. Nuanced. I try not to take it personally. If things go sideways, I know I’m loved anyway. I smile to myself and finish my tea. The work day is behind me. I can begin again tomorrow – for now, I’ll just take care of myself.

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Categories Allegories, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, health, joy, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, The Art of Being, The Big 5, Words
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