Archives for posts with tag: chronic pain
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An Uninterrupted View

August 30, 2026 //
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I arrive at the trailhead in darkness. In one direction, fog in the low places, a bright waning moon overhead. In the opposite direction, a clear starry sky, a “Starlink train” of (probably) recently launched satellites still very much visible to the naked eye. I count seven, and watch them wink out of sight as they pass into the Earth’s shadow one by one.

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

A moon with a view; the kind of thing more suited to canvas than to camera.

I make my way down the trail in the moonlight. If it weren’t for this fog, the moonlight would be enough to light the way. The fog obscures my vision and I’m grateful for my headlamp. The air is crisp and cool, and the scents of Spring are gone. Already, the scents of summer have begun to yield to those of autumn. A smattering of scattered leaves on the trail (clearly not left from last year) tell me that the change of seasons is coming. I walk on. I’m okay with the seasons. Change is.

Yesterday was a pleasant day. Uneventful. Simple. Uncomplicated. I enjoyed that. I savor the recollection as I walk, and give those pleasant moments as much attention as I might give some stressful moment. It is a practice that gently improves my implicit experience of my life and reinforces the good in it. This is an important practice for anyone trapped in feelings that life is “always” miserable in some fashion. Life is not “always” anything at all. Nor is life “never” something, aside from death itself, I suppose. There’s simply too much variety of experience.

Subjectively, my experience of chronic pain tempts me into thinking I am “always” hurting at the maximum possible amount of pain I ever experience, when I look back during some especially pain filled day. It’s not accurate. My pain level varies, some moments worse than others, and some rare days almost pain free. Failing to really pause and appreciate moments and days with less pain slowly results in my implicit recollection of pain becoming “always”, and leaving no room to enjoy other experiences.

Where are you right now? What is the experience like? Savor the moment, it won’t be repeated.

I get to my halfway point shortly after daybreak. As my view of the meadow and oak savannah become clearer, I see other people on the trail at distant points. Even from here, I see the cameras. Photographers, probably birdwatchers hoping for a great shot of some particular bird. It’s a good time for migratory shore birds and song birds, and the herons that visit look grand and mysterious standing in a shallow pond wreathed in mist. I’m still reliably surprised when there’s anyone here this early besides me. 😆

Later this morning, I’ll make the drive to enjoy coffee with the Chaotic Comic. She’s been struggling with some health difficulties and it has kept us from meeting up. It will be good to catch up, although it also serves to remind me of other friendships I have neglected that are deserving of my attention. I miss the Author, the Writer, and the Elephant Keeper, and other friends around whom my days revolved in the 90s. It seems a long while ago, and a lifetime away from here and now. I miss those friendships and the sweltering summer nights in the Tower District, prowling the local cafes for entertaining conversation until closing time.

I sigh and pull myself back to this moment betwixt meadow and hillside, looking out over the marsh ponds, quite small in the dry summer months. The sky is a pale autumn blue, dotted with cottony gray clouds. It’s a pleasant moment, uncomplicated and quietly joyful. I sit with it, grateful for the peace and solitude for some little while, and still managing to miss my Traveling Partner.

I take my GMRS radio out of the pocket of my fleece and request a radio check for the hell of it. I get a reply from someone in Dayton, between here and home. Not bad. I feel somehow safer from encroaching chaos and disorder, though it may be an illusion. I shrug and put my radio back into my pocket. Cellular service is not reliable here, and that’s true of many places I walk. It’s nice knowing I could get an emergency communication to someone with my radio, if I fell and were injured.

… I breathe, exhale, and relax…

I watch the sunrise. For no clear reason, I hear “Vincent” by Don McLean in my head. I softly sing the words out loud to myself, surprised that I remember them. Unexpected tears slide down my face. I don’t do anything about that. I sit with my feelings. They aren’t my enemy, they are telling me something, and I pause to listen.

… And then I begin again.

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Categories Allegories, art and the artist, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, gratitude, grief, inspiration, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, Words

Watching, Thinking

July 30, 2026 //
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I’m already at the halfway point on my walk. It is some time between daybreak and sunrise. I’m watching the full moon sinking through the tangle of oak branches along the trail.

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

Streaky clouds begin to take shape as the sky lightens. I sit with my thoughts. I meditate. It is a gentle start to the day – until I start sneezing. Some meadow flower or tree pollen, dust, or spore, more than likely. I’m grateful to have shoved a travel pack of tissues in my pocket. I feel very human, and just a little grossed out by the time I’m over that. I sit contentedly watching the clouds evolve as the light changes. The sunrise is bland and not particularly interesting this morning, and I’m grateful for the new day, anyway.

Breathe, exhale, relax. Meditate. Write. Think. Repeat. It is a particularly pleasant morning.

Pleasant or not, the amount of pain I’m in this morning is ridiculous. It is very specifically osteoarthritis pain, and very specifically located at my spinal fusion and below it. This is new. Over the years more and more of the joints above my fusion (T12-L2) have become arthritic. The first year or two of pain in a given new area is the worst. After awhile it begins to blur with all the rest. I keep catching myself trying to flex or somehow move this area of my spine that does not move. It is futile and uncomfortable. I glare at the clouds thickening overhead. Rain? The pain says yes, or at least a strong maybe.

I sigh to myself and do my best to let it go. I accepted the pain a long time ago as a consequence of my actions. No regrets, I paid a high price for my survival and escape from domestic violence, and it has been worth that price and more.

I get to my feet, and rub my aching knee as I do. What the hell did I even do to that knee? I no longer recall. I sigh and stretch and look down the trail. Somewhere down the trail, around that bend, beyond this new beginning, is a whole new day. I wonder where this path will lead?

Ask the questions. Do the verbs.
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Categories Allegories, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being

Too Much, Not Enough, and the Pain in the Space Between

July 22, 2026 //
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I wrote this the morning of my second day camping, this past weekend. There was no connectivity at all, so uploads had to wait.

By “the end” of the day, yesterday, (which was not quite 18:30 as it turned out, in spite of being a Friday night) I was in so much pain I no longer much cared whether I had trekked “enough” of my gear to my campsite. It was only 137 steps each way, from the car to the site, but I had walked it so many times I couldn’t continue. My knee ached. My plantar fasciitis was seriously aggravated. I managed to resurrect an old shoulder injury setting up the tent. The opposite shoulder and neck were screaming at me to take something for that pain. My headache was bad. My back ached too. I’m not cataloging my pain for sympathy, I’m just saying this fragile vessel had had enough and was making it painfully obvious (lol).

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

Getting off my feet helped. Getting some sleep helped – and the luxury of 12 hours of deep sleep interrupted only once (had to pee) was thoroughly appreciated when I woke, slowly, to the sound of birdsong and breezes, and sunshine. The morning was cool and mild. I made myself a dreadful cup of (thoroughly insipid) coffee (too much water, didn’t grind enough beans). I didn’t really care,  it was good enough to wake up over.

Sometimes it’s about something other than “quality”. 

My feet hurt less this morning, but I need my cane to walk at all. My arthritis screams at me for attention, but my headache is much reduced. I guess I’ll make a point to notice and appreciate that. I brought a couple unread new books, and in the shape I’m in, it seems a good day to laze about improving my mind through the written word, or, you know, napping. 😆

I make myself a breakfast of cup noodles and half of a small sweet melon, and sit in the sunshine. Next, a book and a better cup of coffee. For now, me, a moment, and quiet time with my own thoughts over breakfast. I sigh contentedly. Right now the pain doesn’t even matter. Too much gear? Not enough gear? Doesn’t matter.  What matters is taking care of myself on my own terms. What matters is this moment of sweet quiet solitude and this opportunity to begin again (in spite of the pain I’m in).

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Categories Allegories, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, health, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, women, Words

Zoom Out

June 18, 2026 //
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The morning begins gently, if a bit earlier than I’d hoped. I dress, water the lawn, and head to the trailhead.

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

I started down the trail as the sunrise began, walking towards the west, counterclockwise on the loop that circles the vineyard. I walk with my thoughts, still processing an epiphany I brought back with me from my coastal getaway. Something to do with time management and presence and meeting my need for solitude and creative time “on the cheap” and more reliably (and without having to upend my routine every time I need to catch a breath or practice self-care more skillfully). I am grateful for the opportunity to “reset” my understanding of my Traveling Partner’s improved capabilities, too. I feel more easily able to simply enjoy him as he is, without constantly working to anticipate (or soothe) every need and every circumstance. It feels good to be able to focus on what I also need, again.

Zoom out, see a bigger picture.

My self-care “stall points” are pretty commonplace I suppose. I enjoy my beloved’s companionship greatly, and I am easily tempted into doing nothing at all aside from enjoying his company, which definitely prevents me from getting things done. I often attempt to counter this by jumping to immediately handle any task mentioned to me, to avoid forgetting it. The result is that I am constantly spinning from distraction to distraction without making room for what I need for myself, to be well and to thrive. It’s a puzzle. Stepping away and considering my life while a bit removed from it gave me a new perspective from which to compare, contrast, and evaluate. Useful time spent on self-reflection.

Zoom in, consider the details.

I reflect on my thoughts about better self-care, and being a better partner from the vantage point of my halfway point on this familiar trail. These aren’t new thoughts, not entirely, it’s more that they have resurfaced and gained my attention at a moment when I can give them deeper consideration. Useful.

I’ve decided to add two practices to my day-to-day routine, and resurrect another that I had dropped when life was too full with caregiving. The two new practices are rather simple and mostly about time management: firstly, I’ll take 15-20 minutes after work each day for solitude, (just sitting quietly and allowing my mental buffer time enough to clear out anything still queued up at the end of the day would allow me to feel more easily able to be fully present with my partner) and secondly, I’m going to begin committing two hours on the weekends for studio art. I’ll take the time from time I often spend just chilling on the couch with no purpose in mind and which could be better spent – and giving up a portion of the weekend to artistic endeavors sounds very nurturing, to me.

As far as a practice that got dropped being resurrected, I’m going to get back to practicing yoga. Healthy movement has lasting value and I definitely spend too much time just sitting. 😆 I can begin slowly and work around my injuries gently. It’ll be good for me. (And hey, better fitness will likely mean better sex, too! Win!)

I watch the trees become filled with light. The sun has crested the horizon and it is a new day. I have a new opportunity to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, art and the artist, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, inspiration, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Spring, Summer, The Art of Being, weight loss secrets, women, Words

Just a Monday

June 1, 2026 //
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I slept okay. I woke up okay. The morning seems a relatively ordinary one. The weekend was generally good, although I feel like I didn’t get much done due to swapping out a notable portion of the time I would have spent on housework for self-care, and I still somehow manage to feel uncomfortable with that.

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

I watched the moon setting as I watered the lawn.

It’s forecast to be hot today. I watered before I left for my walk. I ended up going back into the house for a warm cardigan. The forecast may say it’ll be a hot day, but it is quite chilly now. Funny how that sometimes happens.

It’s not important, just an observation on an ordinary Monday, for which I have no particular enthusiasm. That seems odd to me, but even that is pretty ordinary; people feeling some reluctance and lack of enthusiasm for the beginning of another work week is nothing new at all. We’ve probably all been there however much we may enjoy our work. I shrug to myself as I walk this familiar trail. There’s so much I’d rather be doing than working, but working is what pays the bills and unlocks the opportunities to do those other things, often. It’s unfortunate that we spend so much of our lives on this fucking hamster wheel.

Get off the hamster wheel now and then.

Yesterday’s hike was a lovely one. I enjoyed it enough to wonder if I could make it there and back on a workday… I’d be pushing my luck on the timing in a way likely to trigger my time hang-up, and cause me stress, undermining the value of the walk. Probably not a great idea. I’ll have to settle for weekends. This too, is ordinary. Most things are.

My allergies are vexing me, even this is nothing noteworthy. Human beings and spring allergies are a known thing. There’s an entire industry involved in dealing with allergies, and and whole field of medicine devoted to treating them. Mine are not bad relative to how bad they can be. I can enjoy flowers and walks among the trees, and petting cats… but there are a couple things that trigger my allergies, and they cluster in springtime. Tree pollen, mostly. Something about specific foods causes me to break out in sneezing and immediate sinus congestion and a runny nose. Wool against my bare skin can make me break out in hives. Bee stings are the most serious. Bee stings can cause anaphylaxis for me, and this time of year I carry a bee sting kit everywhere.

I’m grateful that I can enjoy the scents of flowers.

I sigh to myself at the halfway point on my rather ordinary walk on this ordinary Spring Monday. I’m not complaining. I’m grateful. Ordinary is okay, and for most values of ordinary, this is pretty good. My lack of enthusiasm isn’t nearly as important as this beautiful morning. I enjoy it for what it is. I enjoy it as I am. It’s enough.

Sunshine and oak trees, and a path; the way ahead is obvious, if not exciting.

I’m just saying, I suppose, that there’s no reason to expect that a healing journey or a journey to become the person you most want to be will lead to an exciting, eventful life of adventure and wild delight. Sometimes – mostly, perhaps – the big win is the relative lack of excitement, and the increase in ordinary pleasures.

Yesterday in the evening, things went sideways for a short time. My Traveling Partner and I stepped all over each other’s trauma and baggage. While that was thoroughly unpleasant, I’m impressed by our ability to recover from it, bounce back, and enjoy the remainder of the evening together. He impresses me. I’m grateful for the work he puts into a relationship. I smile and swing my feet from this bench, kind of wishing I’d worn the new sweater he gave me yesterday (an early birthday gift). I feel very loved. Not just because of the sweater.

What will you find if you slow down to see more?

I breathe, exhale, and relax. Sure, it’s an ordinary Monday, and I’d rather spend it with my beloved than spend the day working. That’s real, and it’s nothing special or extraordinary, just very human. I’m okay with it. I sigh and look at the time. I’ve a few more minutes before I have to begin again. I’ll make a point to enjoy them.

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