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Any Given Day

May 10, 2026 //
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My tinnitus is shrieking in my ears this morning. (Well, okay, more of a high pitched static in the background, if static were made up of tiny chimes vibrating aggressively, with a touch of morse code in the background that I can almost but not quite make out.) It is a beautiful Spring morning in spite of that.

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

In the sunrise, all the promise of a new day.

I slept well and deeply. I woke gently. I dressed, watered the lawn, and headed to the local walking path to get a mile or two on my boots. So far an ordinary enough day. It is a Sunday, and Mother’s Day, but there’s not much to do about that around our house. I’m not a mother. My maternal figures have all passed. I sent my sister a Mother’s Day greeting and let it go. I suppose my Traveling Partner will phone his mother at some point today.

I think about yesterday as I walk. I think about today. Yesterday had some beautiful high points and some frustrating low points, too. I made a batch of excellent brownies. It was all very human. Today will no doubt also have highs and lows, beautiful moments and aggravating mistakes, failed communication and delightful moments of connection. Fucking hell, I’d like to get everything right all of the time, but I don’t see living perfection among the options on life’s menu. I guess I’m grateful that the brownies turned out well, if nothing else. I sigh to myself and keep walking.

Order, and chaos, and beginning again.

Yesterday was spent creating order from chaos. My Traveling Partner continues to move things around in his spaces, preparing for the work ahead, this week. Exciting to see. I help where I can, when I’m asked, and try my damnedest not to break shit, forget something, or misunderstand something obvious – with mixed success. I had expected to spend the weekend relaxing and focusing on my own needs, and my own spaces, and taking care of myself, but it didn’t play out that way; my partner asked for my help. Today, I have less to give. I’m not in as much pain, but my mobility is more limited. Today it takes longer to get to the halfway point on this walk. I’m actually fatigued when I get here. (I’d take a nap right this moment if that were convenient. It isn’t.)

I take a seat on the bench that is next to the trail, under the trees. My legs ache. My back, too. My head spins for a moment with unexpected vertigo and I half wonder if walking was a terrible idea, after all, but I’m here and the Spring air is sweet with the scent of flowers. I breathe it in deeply. The soft scent of joy is in the Spring breeze, it seems to me. I stretch and groan from the sensation of muscles protesting, and stretch again. In each movement, I feel yesterday’s effort.

I make a point of letting all my yesterdays go. This is a new day, and a new moment, all its own, to be lived and savored and enjoyed. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I commit silently to reviewing my to-do list and tackling the tasks that most directly support self-care in some way, and hope that my Traveling Partner doesn’t need much from me. I feel pretty drained and have little to give, but I don’t find denying him easy; I want to help. (Sometimes even at the potential cost of my health, safety, or sanity, and that’s not healthy.)

… Brain damage is hard to live with, and also hard to live around…

A small herd of deer steps from the trees, one by one. Probably the same little herd I see here now and then. Two of the does are obviously pregnant, the other two seem younger. I don’t see a buck anywhere around,  just the four does. They watch me with calm eyes and munch their way along the grassy edge of the trail, nibbling at the grasses and shrubbery. There is blue sky overhead, streaked with clouds, and the tops of the oaks are dark green against the sky. I could sit here for hours just watching the clouds and the wildlife.

Be present.

I meditate awhile. The deer move on. The clock keeps ticking. I wonder if my beloved got the rest he needs for the day ahead? I sigh to myself and get to my feet. It’s already time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, joy, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being, The Big 5, Words

Untitled

May 9, 2026 //
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I don’t much feel like writing this morning. Hell, it wasn’t my plan to be walking this morning. My plan was to sleep in and take it easy, and to spend the weekend taking care of myself. It was my Traveling Partner’s idea.

… Plans? Meet reality.

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

It’s a bit later in the morning than I usually write, but only because I simply sat here at my halfway point quietly occupied with my thoughts for so long. There’s no one else here yet, this morning. I breathe, exhale, and… do that a few many more times. I watch the sun rise. I reflect on life, love, mindfulness, and presence. I consider the meaning(s) of words and contemplate the nuances and complexities of communication. I think thoughts. This moment right here? Well-suited to contemplation.

Yesterday went sideways quite unexpectedly later in the evening, and although I don’t much feel like discussing it, it is what is on my mind. Less in a ruminative spiraling way, and more in a gently reflective studious way, seeking to learn what I can that I can put to use to do better later on. Over years of practice, this has become my way. Is it effective? Probably depends on who you ask. I think it is. My therapist has said he thinks it is. What my Traveling Partner thinks probably varies quite a lot depending on what I’m putting him through on any given day. We’re each having our own experience. Differences in perception and lived experience make things kind of complicated. I do my best. So does my partner. Sometimes it isn’t quite enough (of whatever was needed in the moment). The journey may be shared, but we’re still each walking our own path. Individual, separate human beings sharing precious finite mortal minutes.

We become what we practice. Practice is a verb. There’s a ton of practice required to make a permanent change, especially to behavior that developed out of trauma. I sigh to myself.

This morning my head aches. Allergies maybe, but these days it seems like I’ve nearly always got a headache. I remind myself that it will pass. My thumbs ache in  the latest edition of “where has my arthritis gone to now, y’all?” Neck… shoulder… knee… ankle…yep, it’s all there, all still attached and functional, but fuck all this pain, though. I double check that I took my medication this morning. I breathe, exhale, and then stretch and yawn, and encourage tight muscles to relax.

Tomorrow is Mother’s Day. Mom has been gone a long time now. 2019? I think that’s right. Her birthday would have been at the end of May. My Dear Friend, too, is gone. It’s been a couple years now. I still miss her, but can’t remember when her birthday was. Instead I remember losing her. No calls to make for Mother’s Day. It’s weird what seems to matter after someone is gone. I reflect on that awhile.

…I can’t imagine life without my Traveling Partner…

I let a poignant moment of sorrow and gratitude wash over me, and I let it pass without criticism or scrutiny. Emotions are very human. I pause and consider the importance of making room for someone we love to express their emotions and have their own experience of circumstances. That’s not always reliably easy, especially if their experience seems different from our own. I struggle with this, more than a little and far too often. The temptation to explain or correct isn’t generally useful when emotions are involved. Better to listen deeply and understand circumstances from another perspective, and doing so is undeniably difficult sometimes.

Staying mindful and compassionate and open to understanding someone else’s experience is seriously one of the most complex practices among a long list of communication and relationship practices. I need a lot more practice. Even knowing these things, I still get it wrong…a lot. Very human. So beautiful and worthwhile when I get it right (and I often do, after years of practice, but I also fuck it completely far too often to be complacent about my limited successes).

I breathe, exhale, and relax. The cotton fluff of some tree or another is blowing about on the breeze. I eye it with a measure of annoyance; it’s one of the few plant things that I’m definitely allergic to. My sinuses are pretty clear for the time being. I took my morning allergy meds as soon as my feet hit the floor this morning, which turns out to have been a good choice. Probably best not to linger in this strip of trees though. I get to my feet to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, grief, Healthy Living, inspiration, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being, women, Words

Nice Morning If You’ve Got The Time

April 30, 2026 //
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… And I do.

The morning feels a little rushed and also a little… uphill. I slept well and deeply and woke one minute ahead of my alarm. I was at the trailhead with the sun just peeking over the eastern horizon, the western sky streaked with peach and pink hues. Sunshine was already lighting the treetops when I really got started. (My allergies hit hard as soon as I stepped out of the car.) It’s certainly a beautiful morning, and a beautiful moment.

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

But for the allergies, this morning is as nearly perfect as most mornings can hope to be. My calendar feels full though and this feeling seeps into my awareness as “busy”. It’s not, actually. I’ve got a short work day ahead of a long weekend celebrating my anniversary with my beloved Traveling Partner (still a playful mischievous charming man after 16 years of sharing life and love as partners). I adore him. It’s a milestone worth celebrating. We’ve successfully exceeded my next longest romantic relationship, ever, and I think that may be true for him also.

The short work day feels a bit busy. It’s always busy as the month ends. It’s not actually a big deal. Coffee with a friend I don’t see often… A manicure… It’s not really “all that”, it’s just more stuff that shows on a calendar, and most of it weekend fun! I chuckle over my ridiculously variable sense of the flow of time. A lot of our stress as human beings is created in our own minds, and not really a true accounting of circumstances.

… I find myself thinking again that I’d like to return to a pen and ink to-do list, and “feeling busy” definitely reinforces that…

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I listen to the noisy robins and watch the squirrels play. I’ve got time for this moment, and I let myself slow down and lean into it. Presence is also a practice. This moment is enough, and making a point to savor it makes the recollection later much clearer and also more likely to positively influence my implicit sense of “how things are”. Handy. Useful.

We become what we practice. I definitely want to be a person who enjoys a beautiful moment, without rushing through it. I sit awhile longer, enjoying the sights and scents of a Spring morning.

It is a short work day, though. I sigh to myself, glance at the time, and prepare to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, joy, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being

Spring Cleaning

April 26, 2026 //
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Yesterday was one of those lovely days that refresh and deepen an intimate connection through serendipity and shared experiences. My Traveling Partner wanted to begin Spring cleaning, now that the weather was warm and mild, and we’d completed the rearranging of rooms after the Anxious Adventurer had moved out. It made sense, and I had no reasonable excuses to decline. So. Housekeeping together.

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

My beloved regaled me with stories of that aspect of military life that is cleaning. No servants for soldiers (or sailors) in these modern times, and we both have memories of tackling clean up as a group endeavor. Our recollections are very different. He recalls almost fondly the shared experience of cleaning work and living spaces with his Navy peers. My similar recollections of Army life are fraught with feelings of irritation, resentment, and sexual harassment. lol I held my tongue and enjoyed his stories and hanging out together. He kept the music coming, we took turns in some areas and supported each other when needed. It was honestly fun as hell.

G’damn I am glad to see him back to being his “usual” particular and playful self. He’s funny and forgiving, and relaxed, these days. He manages to balance being understanding and accommodating with also helping me gently push myself to do more better, when I’m able.

He’s sexy and funny, and he loves me, and we have history – shared and unshared – that ties us together with a depth that would be hard to describe in practical terms. “You had to be there.” We were.

There was this one moment, yesterday… A piece of music he’s played for me often. I… didn’t get it. Didn’t realize the significance. It’s strange that I didn’t listen closer sooner. I generally do. Yesterday I finally did. He was astonished, and a little hurt too, maybe, but as I listened, I realized how powerfully “us” (and me) this song really is, and we connected (again) over a shared moment. It became part of the soundtrack of love. I think back to where/when he first shared it with me. Even more meaningful in context. I played it for myself again quietly before bed, and again this morning.

Love binds us in the most beautiful way.

I walked with my thoughts, of love, of nearly perfect moments, of how good things can be – even housekeeping – together.

There’s more housekeeping to do. Neither of us have quite the energy and pure force of will to deep clean the entire house in a single day, even together. I’m okay with it; I enjoy the time I spend with my beloved. I spent a short time in the garden, too, and there’s still more work to be done there. The strawberries and blueberries are blooming. Will I get a good crop this year?

Love songs in my head and flowers in my garden.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. Meditation and a golden sunrise, later coffee with the Chaotic Comic, and it is a lovely morning. Strangely, all I can really think about is my Traveling Partner and the love song in my head.

… It’s strange…

The wheel turns. The clock ticks on. I’m grateful to share so much of this journey with this singular human being who is my Traveling Partner. I find myself wondering how many lifetimes we may have crossed paths and found love? It often seems too profound, too deep, to develop in a single lifetime. I breathe in the scent of Spring flowers. I watch the sun touch the tops of the trees.

It’s an interesting journey. I’m fortunate to have such good company along the way.

It’s a big world. Lots of options. Choose wisely.

I smile to myself. I’ve got a heart full of love and a mind full of daydreams. I watch the squirrels and robins in the morning sunshine. It’s a beautiful moment and I enjoy it awhile. I think of my beloved and my smile deepens. When I begin again, he’ll be there. It’s an amazing feeling.

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Categories Allegories, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, inspiration, joy, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being, The Big 5, Words

Perfection and Happily Ever After

April 24, 2026 //
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I started my walk on this beautiful Spring morning feeling rested and merry, capable and unbothered. The moment was as nearly perfect as moments ever really get. There’s no “but”, or “and then”, or “if only” – it was simply a lovely moment to be walking as the sun began to rise. I made a point of enjoying it as I walked.

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

I get to my halfway point still feeling pretty lighthearted and still enjoying the spring morning. The grass is dewy and the morning a little chillier than it has been. I’m glad I wore my cardigan.

A new day, with new opportunities to choose, and to practice, and to begin again.

I smile, sitting here quietly enjoying this solitary moment. My Traveling Partner pings me a loving message. It adds to my delight. I find myself thinking about fairytales and happily ever afters. I enjoy a good story, but damn “happily ever after” is an enticing notion that fucked my thinking up for years and years, provoking me to chase happiness, only to fail to ever be happy, again and again. It compounded my misery for a long time.

There is no “happily ever after”. It’s a trap. The Happiness Trap. It’s so tempting and damaging, someone (Russ Harris) wrote a book about it. A worthy read if you are stuck on that treadmill. I was, for a long time.

Happiness isn’t really something to chase, I eventually learned. Through patient practice I learned to build contentment and resilience, and like sleep catching up with a toddler, happiness eventually caught up with me. Happiness, though, is like a moment; it is fleeting. Its intoxicating joy doesn’t last indefinitely, and what remains when the moment passes depends a lot on the path I’ve chosen to walk. Once upon a time, a moment of happiness left behind only misery and disappointment as it departed. Now, happiness can come and go as moments do, and I relish the intoxicating bliss and let it go without clinging when the moment passes. I rest in contentment between moments. Mostly.

See, there’s also no perfection – and no potential for it. The path we walk through life isn’t paved and well maintained in any reliable way. There is no map. No user’s guide. No “training game”. We try things and fail. We learn from mistakes, which we make plentifully (all of us). We walk on. Life is imperfect. People, too. One of the best things I ever did for myself was to stop clinging to the bullshit idea that I could perfect anything, including myself. Imperfect is fine. Imperfect is real. Authenticity matters more than “perfection”. This doesn’t stop me from seeking to become the woman I most want to be, just stops me from being frustrated when even she is not “perfect”. Mistakes will be made. My results will vary. It’s a very human experience.

I watch the sun rise, feeling close enough to “happy” that the difference can’t possibly matter, and it’s enough. More than enough. We become what we practice. Practice savoring each small moment of joy, and refraining from clinging to moments as they pass, and I find myself feeling joy more often, and really feeling it, in the moment (not just noticing as it slips away). It’s nice. Worth the effort. Worth the practice.

Here it is, another morning. Another moment. Another chance to begin again. I breathe, exhale, and relax, and welcome the joy of a moment in springtime before I begin again.

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Categories Allegories, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, joy, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Practices, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being, women, Words
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