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Drizzle

April 11, 2026 //
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Yesterday… Interesting day, and simultaneously uneventful, and also notable in several ways, which is why it was interesting. My studio is coming along and I plan to be painting this weekend. I got so excited about that idea that I left work early to get the weekend started. My Traveling Partner knows how important that is to me and dropped everything to figure out weekend plans that would give me the house to myself. (I feel very loved.)

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

By evening, two things were clear; there was bad weather brewing, and my partner’s attempts to throw something together for Friday night hadn’t worked out. We’d definitely be spending the evening together. Hell, how could I be disappointed by that? Sure, I’m yearning for some solitude and creative time that isn’t interrupted by all sorts of routine requirements of adult life, but I’m also okay with planning ahead. I’ve long found it quite necessary. And also? I really enjoy the company of my beloved.

… What to do?

My Traveling Partner asked me if I wanted to go get frozen yogurt together? I surprised him with an immediate yes, and went to put on something suitable for to leaving the house.

The sky was stormy looking. I don’t mind such things. We talked about the weather on the way to enjoying a frozen treat together. At least for now, so soon after his prolonged incapacitation due to injury and surgery, every outing feels like romance. Date night. We could have gone to the grocery store and I’d have been every bit as excited. We had fun. It was a good time. He was still talking about fucking off for the weekend to do his own thing, and I was still looking forward to it.

Sometime during the night, I woke for no obvious reason. He was up (still or also was never clear). I mumbled some sleepy greeting, heading back to bed (not really awake, honestly), he called to me quietly and reminded me he actually has a full weekend of project work (business), and really should stay home and focus on that to stay on schedule with his customers. I nodded sleepily, unsurprised (the surprise had been that he was so ready to step away and give me the solitude at home to paint). He assures me he’ll be busy and “won’t be in the way”. I say something, words, affirming I’m fine with that. I’m genuinely unbothered. I’ve got my studio back, and I don’t need much more, really. The solitude is – always has been – a luxury more precious than gems. I’m happy to be mostly left alone more or less to paint. It’s enough. I went back to bed, back to sleep.

I woke this morning in the usual way, no alarm set and still waking up quite early. The darkness before dawn was drizzly. It rained through the night, continuing long after the rare thunderstorm had passed. I don’t mind a drizzle. I hit the trail happily contemplating a day spent at my easel.

A beginning of its own. Beginnings take many shapes.

When I began painting in pastels, in July 2024, I had already collapsed my studio to make room for the Anxious Adventurer. I’ve never had my studio available for working in pastels. This feels exciting and new. After the first flurry of eager creative work in a new medium, the fatigue of caregiving began to overwhelm me, and certainly I had nothing left over for art once life was done with me each day. The Anxious Adventurer proved to be damned little help with caregiving, at all, that was all on me. What help he did provide generally came at the cost of my cognitive capacity, resulting in still more fatigue. He didn’t know our ways, and definitely seemed more an adolescent than the grown adult I was prepared for (based on his age). His chronic negativity was draining. The contentious relationship with his father was… annoying.

…I wouldn’t have an environment I could paint in for almost two years, but I wouldn’t recognize that for some months, and the care my beloved needed and could not get from his son would keep me at home, too… for nearly two years…

Two years. For almost two years I’ve felt my inspiration wax and wane, again and again, yearning for the freedom to paint. The time. The energy. The emotional environment. It’s been rough having to stifle all that for lack of space, resources, or control over my environment. I have resented it more than I wanted to, and mostly because I often felt I’d been taken in by some cosmic bait and switch scheme; the help offered by the Anxious Adventurer’s presence rarely materialized and time and again I felt tricked into having to parent a grown ass man who should have had basic life skills mastered at 32.

… We’re each having our own experience. Sometimes adulting is fucking hard…

I sigh to myself by the side of this rain soaked trail. Things are different today. The rain leaves everything fresh and green. The air smells of petrichor and Spring flowers. The day feels full of promise. I have choices and today I will paint.

There’s a ping in the Anxious Adventurer’s travel chat. He’s almost home to Ohio, just a day’s drive away. He complains about the rain. His mother suggests he complain to the rental firm about the leaky truck and the flat tire. He complains that doing so makes him feel bad. I’m surprised when she and his grandmother rush to offer to do it for him. Huh. That explains a lot. I shrug it off. “Not my circus, not my monkeys”.

… Today I’ll be painting.

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, Art, art and the artist, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, inspiration, joy, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Spring, The Art of Being, Words

There Is No Perfection, Only Practice

April 1, 2026 //
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One step after the next, I walk down the trail, stopping occasionally to answer a ping from my Traveling Partner. He woke me early to tell me the home automation was down (my silent alarm is the lights coming on slowly, and the timing is set in the home automation app). I acknowledged the information and went back to sleep without any worries; my medication alarm is on my phone and would wake me in plenty of time. My partner wakes me again, checking whether I had my CPAP mask on? Yep. Sure did. I started to drift back to sleep…then woke. That was it. No more sleep for me.

I sat up bleary eyed, feeling less than ideally well rested. Already past 05:00. May as well start the day. Stupidly I glance at the notifications that piled up as soon as I turned off bedtime mode on my phone. Work shit. My mood shifted immediately.

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

I reached the halfway point of my trail without really noticing the walk at all. I mostly remember the frequent pings of my Traveling Partner’s messages and the notifications of work shit I’ll deal with later. I stopped to reply to each ping from my beloved. I ignored the rest as much as I could. There’s nothing to see, yet. I walked in darkness.

… Walking in darkness… Yeah, that’s what this morning feels like.

I sigh to myself and answer another message from my Traveling Partner.

Like a lot of less than ideal moments, this too will pass. Moments are fleeting. There’s no value in trying to cling to the emotion of a past moment, either, good or bad those emotions fade with time or get replaced by new feelings in some new moment. The better choice is to let them go, to “be like water“, to be present in the moment I find myself in.

…Be present… that’s a practice. Well… I wasn’t doing that. I sigh to myself and shrug. I need more practice.

There is no perfection in this mortal life, only practice. We may work a lifetime to perfect a craft, to develop a skill, to explore the furthest reaches of the universe or the most hidden functions of human consciousness, we will never know everything there is to know, nor master every element of our craft. We will reliably need more practice. May as well get used to that shit.

For a moment I think irritably about the Anxious Adventurer, ever striving to demonstrate that he already knows something, rarely noticing how much more there is to learn.

I sigh to myself, still somewhat irritated by being wakened from an interesting dream that seemed somehow useful or important, definitely infused with profound joy over… something. I never found out. Like reading a really gripping mystery novel and discovering the last chapter is missing. I breathe, exhale, and relax. It was only a dream. I got enough rest. The day ahead should be an ordinary one. Daybreak comes as I sit with my thoughts.

It’s a good time to practice meditation, and to reflect on impermanence, non-attachment, and new beginnings.

My left “shoulder” is aching. Maybe it’s to do with my neck… Feels like I’ve managed to strain my deltoid somehow. The pain is annoying. It layers on top of other more routine seeming pain, crying out for attention it doesn’t deserve from me. The medication that has been bringing such tremendous relief to me generally does not help with this one. I take an Aleve and hope that it helps.

The clock ticks on. I am earnestly craving some sort of proper time to myself without the world – or anything or anyone else – encroaching upon my consciousness or my time. I yearn for uninterrupted time with my own thoughts, no errands, no work pings, no worries, just boots on the path and eyes on the horizon… Not fucking likely, not for awhile. There’s shit to do and bills to pay, and obligations.

I sigh to myself and ignore the tears that spring up when I think about how challenging it is to meet this core need for solitude. The world is at war and we (the United States) are not the good guys. It weighs on me. I’d like to be alone with my grief. That’s not realistic presently. I take a breath and let those feelings be what they are; feelings, only that. The time will come for solitude. When it does, I’ll enjoy it thoroughly and without reluctance or regret.

… Looks like another gray day. It’s time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, health, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being, War and News of War, Words

The Point of Practicing

March 30, 2026 //
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I’m sitting here on a cold Spring morning with my thoughts. I’m disinclined to walk. My head aches ferociously and my eyes feel gritty. Too little sleep.

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

My first thought on waking precisely “on time” when I had explicitly reset my alarm for just 30 minutes before my work day would start, was “What’s the point of even trying to get more sleep when I need it?” It hit my consciousness as a silent snarl. I was awake.

I dressed, dragged myself through washing my face and running a brush through my hair. I brushed my teeth glaring at the woman in the mirror. I left the house as quietly as I could, hoping not to disturb my Traveling Partner as I left.

Rough night. My sleep was interrupted. My Traveling Partner’s too. I did try to get back to sleep, and I guess I eventually did. Unfortunately my body slept while my mind stayed busy. I dreamt that I was awake, working, the entire time. It was not a dream of a pleasant work day. It was, instead, tedious and consuming, filled with distractions and imminent deadlines. I’m frankly glad to be awake, although less pleased that today is Monday and the work day is ahead of me.

… and fuck this headache…

All of this practicing, and mindfulness, CBT, and positivity bullshit isn’t anything to do with lovely easy sunny Spring days, though. All these practices, study, and work, are for the difficult moments, for the rough nights, and to more easily weather the emotional storms life inevitably throws my way. I’m human. Pain, sorrow, and struggle are just part of the package. How I deal with shit when it comes my way is when all that practice pays off – and it pays off big sometimes. This morning, for example. This is when tools built over years of patient practice deliver results. Headache and all; I’m mostly okay, just cranky and headache-y.

I sit parked at a local trailhead. I write and meditate, and let myself wake up as I restore some sense of honest perspective. I don’t worry about the walking, I give myself time to “sort myself out”. I make room in my heart for kindness and gratitude. I focus on this moment, here, now, and stay present. Daybreak comes, bringing new perspective. I embrace that and anchor myself to practical things I know to be true.

A new day, a new moment.

I sigh to myself. It’s a cold morning, but I’ll warm up as I walk. The fresh air will do me good, I suppose, and I know the exercise is good for me. I set aside my lack of enthusiasm and commit to the practice. I get out of the car with my cane, ready to begin again. Let’s find out where this path leads…

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Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, health, Love, meditation, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Sleepless Nights, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women, Words

But What Will You Do About That?

March 22, 2026 //
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I’ve started including a disclaimer on new posts asserting my refusal to use available LLM tools for writing. I’m annoyed to feel that doing so is necessary, but here we are. I like writing. Why would I cheat to be faster or more frequent, or worse – to camouflage a lack of anything to say? Ridiculous. No thank you. Keep those crappy LLM “tools” away from me. I’ll just write, thanks. 😆

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

In all seriousness, adding that disclaimer is at least a real action I can take to express my objection to having bullshit “AI” garbage forced on me everywhere. I don’t like it. I don’t use it. I’d prefer to keep my own mind sharp, and also to take the time to learn new things myself.

Getting an early start on a new day.

Brunch with a friend, later, on the other side of this trail.  I’m eager to enjoy brunch, but I’m in no great hurry, so I wait for the sun.

After a short wait dawn illuminates the trail and I set off, hands jammed into warm pockets.

Chilly morning. Cold. At just 2°C, it’s a colder morning than we’ve had in several weeks. I’m glad I didn’t rush to plant delicate vegetables more suited to milder weather. That has often been a temptation for me and in many years past, I’ve chosen poorly. This year I focused on the laborious work of cleaning up the garden beds, weeding, and pruning. I am impressed by my own good decision making and self-restraint, recalling years past and frozen seedlings that failed to thrive. I inhale the cold air of early Spring on the marsh. The surface of the marsh ponds are silvery, reflecting the sky as the sun rises. Nice morning, if a bit cold. I’m grateful for the warm sweater I chose this morning.

Choices matter. Actions matter more.

A flock of geese takes flight from the marsh pond behind me. I’m seated on a fence rail betwixt the pond and the trail. The flock rises almost as one and I wonder how they all knew to do so just then? They pass overhead and I pull the hood of my fleece hoodie over my head “just in case”. I consider myself fortunate; no bird poop spatters me. I sit with my gratitude. Sometimes small things leave a big impression; I was once hit by falling bird poop, and getting it out of my hair seriously grossed me out. It may never occur again. I sit considering the numbers of birds, and people, and how often a bird passes overhead, and how rarely someone is actually hit by falling bird poop. It’s not really a high risk.

Go outside anyway. Walk a trail. Smell the flowers. See a sunrise. Trying to avoid all of the obstacles and potential misadventures on life’s journey only results in a life never really lived.

Choose. Do the thing. Experience the moment. Fail, learn, and grow. Walk a path you know you have chosen for yourself. Don’t rely overmuch on your “heroes” to lead the way. They too are mortal creatures with very human failings. Topple them from their pedestals and examine the truth of who they are (or were) as people and maybe do better. It may be easier than you think.

The sunrise is pearly pink and delicate orange, this morning. The meadow grass is tipped with frost. My breath turns to mist each time I exhale. I sit with the moment, enjoying the quiet, feeling myself relax. Looking towards the far side of the marsh and meadow, I see a green haze in the treetops. Definitely Spring.

I sit awhile longer, thinking about this or that vexing circumstance. Each time a grievance or complaint rises in my consciousness demanding my attention, I look it over and ask myself two questions,

  1. Does this really matter enough to give it attention and energy at all?
  2. If the answer (for me) is “yes”, then what will I do about that?

If human primates put as much energy into solving their problems (or changing their circumstances) as they do just bitching about them, we’d likely have a very different world. I don’t know what that world would be like, but I do like thinking about it.

I sigh to myself, filling my lungs with cold Spring air. The wheel keeps turning. The clock keeps ticking. What will you do when it is time to begin again? I think about the path ahead of me, and get to my feet.

Ask the questions. Do the verbs.
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Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, gardening, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being, The Big 5, thoughts on AI, War and News of War, women, Words

The Sand in My Oyster

March 10, 2026 //
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How’s that for an image? It is a useful metaphor for some of life’s irritating experiences, though. A small detail (like a grain of sand) might be nothing in the greater cosmic whole, but for an oyster it’s an irritant so profound it may feel injurious. What to do? Well…an oyster transforms that small persistent irritation into something profoundly beautiful – a pearl.

I sit at my halfway point reflecting on that idea.

I’m enjoying my Traveling Partner greatly of late, even more so than usual. Feels like we’re “on to something”. I’m looking forward to the Anxious Adventurer moving on to his own next adventure, elsewhere. Just saying, he’s a generally well-intentioned guy with a good heart, but a poor fit for cohabitation (with us). He has a lot of self-work yet to do, and needs time and space to do it (if he embraces that work at all), and no one can do it for him. I get it. I also don’t choose to create a soft landing for him if he chooses not to grow and mature. As my Traveling Partner himself has said, “I want my life back”.

I remind myself to get his move out plan. I need to make plans myself, most especially if he’s going to need any help (at all). It’s time.

G’damn, I’m so glad my beloved Traveling Partner has made so much good use of his recovery time.

I watch the dawn lighten the sky. I think about sand and pearls. I think about beginnings. I think about how easily people waste their time and opportunities, minutes and hours trickling away on some app when they could be living their lives. That’s a choice.

… Choose wisely…

I sometimes find myself frustrated by “fellow travelers” unwilling to do the needful. There are verbs involved. There is no instant win. No shortcuts. Just verbs, practices, and moments. We are each having our own experience. Personally, I think I like pearls enough to do that work of transformation.

Where does this path lead?

I watch the dawn becoming day. Soon, I’ll begin again.

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Categories Allegories, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Perspective, Practices, Relationships, Spring, The Art of Being, The Big 5, Words
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