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Wanting to Make It Work Isn’t Enough

February 8, 2026 //
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Yesterday… fucking hell.

The details don’t much matter, and the decision to have the Anxious Adventurer move out was already made (planned for April, after winter weather is not a serious risk). I had hoped we’d all coexist relatively peacefully in the meantime. Yesterday evening was revealing, and unfortunately nonnegotiable boundaries were violated (and had been for some time, although I was not explicitly aware of it, yet). I’m disappointed, and honestly still rather angry. The plan is still locked in, that hasn’t changed. How I feel about this third human being under my roof has changed –  a lot. I sigh to myself, annoyed to be sitting here dealing with that bullshit at all.

Well shit. I really wanted to make things work comfortably well with the Anxious Adventurer coming to move in with us. There are a lot of potential advantages to shared living, and our society places value on family.

…Wanting something isn’t enough…

I am disappointed that this won’t work long-term, and my Traveling Partner admitted that the downsides and inconveniences outweigh the value for him, too. I know the additional emotional labor, for me, has outpaced the day-to-day advantages to having an additional family member in the household. This shit is hard. I keep asking myself if I’ve done my best, and wondering if I have failed to be… something. If we were each different people dealing with different issues, this totally could work. I keep thinking about that, too. Am I depriving my beloved Traveling Partner of the opportunity to be close to his son? I think I’ve been persistently encouraging and supportive, coaching where I could…

I’ve struggled with having less privacy, with being required to do too much emotional labor, with the lack of personal space, and the frustration of trying to cohabitate with someone who showed up wholly ignorant of some commonplace life skills, and basic manners, but I am not looking forward to the practical requirements of the changes ahead; more g’damned work. I’m simultaneously very much not sorry this will soon be over, and also deeply regretful and disappointed that it didn’t work out.

…If you invite a feral animal into your home, you mustn’t be surprised when it shits on the carpet, but you also don’t have to let it stay if it won’t learn new ways…

I breathe, exhale, and relax. Human beings being human. Communication is complicated. Moving into a strange household in a faraway place where the manners and expectations are new is challenging. I knew going into this that it would present some variety of difficulties, but figured we’d work them out together, as families do. Like an orchestra with musicians looking at different sheet music than the players alongside them, there was little harmony and a lot of wrong notes. I’m fucking over it. I’m annoyed with myself for being as angry as I am. It’s not reasonable to blame a feral animal for not being well brought up. I just also don’t want to deal with the associated bullshit.

We each make choices. The Anxious Adventurer made his. He chose poorly, in my opinion, and in spite of steady support, encouragement, coaching and guidance. I sigh in frustration and disappointment. I don’t wish him ill, but I do wish I weren’t dealing with these circumstances at all. I remind myself how close April really is. I lived in a tent for almost a year with 15 guys, most of whom i barely knew, a couple of whom I actively disliked, and it was…fine. I can endure 60 days more of this crap, too. It will pass.

Once he’s gone, I have no doubt there will be things I miss. He’s my Traveling Partner’s son, and I hope he visits in the future – I just don’t want to live with him, at least not right now, and I don’t think I can persuade myself to trust him again. If nothing else, he needs to take some time and work on the man he wishes to become, and I really can’t help him with that (and he does not know how to accept help yet). Sitting here this morning, listening to the rain falling, and waiting for the sun, I don’t even want to try to help him further than I have. It’s not a useful way to spend my time.

A new day dawns, full of promise and opportunities, but we’ve each got to make our own choices, and do our own work.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I feel settled with myself and my decision making. I feel comfortable in my skin, and accepting of the person I have grown to be over time. The journey is the destination. There is further to go on this path. We each walk our own mile, each having our own experience. I do hope the Anxious Adventurer finds his way.

I turn my attention to this moment here, now. The rain falls steadily. I watch the predawn twilight become the dawn of a new day, and in spite of the dreary gray of this rainy morning, I’m filled with eagerness. I am having brunch with the Chaotic Comic this morning. She shares some of the communication challenges of the Anxious Adventurer (as do many others in their general age group). There is a key difference that limits my irritation with those challenges in our friendship; I’m not having to live with them. My friend is also more receptive to discussion, and more open to considering suggestions for potentially useful changes and able to speak up to explicitly reject suggestions she does not favor. It feels like a conversation – because it is. Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised; she’s a comedian and “yes, and…” is an important part of improvisation, a learned skill.

We become what we practice.

… Still… I do wish I could have made things work, for my Traveling Partner and his son. I’d have liked to provide a firm foundation for them to deepen and build on their relationship, and I’m disappointed to have failed. I sit listening to the rain and considering what I could have done differently, myself, but it mostly isn’t about that. I can’t do that work for someone else, only for me. I’m walking my own path.

I sigh to myself and make room for gratitude. I have much to be grateful for, even within the context of this disappointing and aggravating shared living experience. I’ve learned some things about myself. Having some help was… helpful. I truly needed it, so many times. I breathe, exhale, and let my anger go. It has served its purpose and only gets in the way, now. Brunch soon, and a chance to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, Healthy Living, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, The Art of Being, The Big 5, winter, Words

Relatively Speaking

February 4, 2026 //
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It’s nice to find a moment of beauty in trying times. I took a picture of a lovely sunrise moment the other day. Yesterday? The day before? It does nothing to capture the context, an empty fallow field, not suited to sports or play, uneven and treacherous to walk, with a well-used “fitness trail” wrapping around it like a muddy ribbon. In full daylight, it’s not an especially beautiful or enticing location. This picture though? A beautiful sunrise, captured to inspire me far longer than standing there in person in some other moment could.

Is it a beautiful sunrise, or an unkempt empty lot?

Reality is what it is, but what we each understand reality to be is very much a completely other thing, mostly made up in our heads. We’re each having our own experience. We understand the world filtered through the lens of our own experience and whatever useful perspective we may have adopted (or been trained upon) over a lifetime. Human primates appear to be creatures capable of reason, and great depth of understanding…but we’re also shortsighted, emotional, and prone to self-delusion. We use words carelessly (and sometimes aggressively) and we walk away from a great many interactions with a very different understanding of what was said than others involved.

I had a powerful reminder of how easily human communication goes quite wrong in spite of good intentions. I recently asked the Anxious Adventurer to share his “move out plan” with us, hoping to have a better idea of his hoped for timing, target dates for various commonplace milestones in any move, and knowledge of his general plan and how far along he is with all of it. This felt very routine to me; we’re looking at an April move, most likely, and that puts things in the upcoming 90 days.

… Communication is complicated…

The Anxious Adventurer misunderstood me to mean “get the fuck out as soon as possible and tell me how you are going to do that”, although I don’t think my words or tone suggested that. I can only imagine the stress that caused him! I didn’t notice how my request hit him. My Traveling Partner spotted something amiss, but it wasn’t clear what. The Anxious Adventurer, a “millennial” by generation, kept his feelings to himself, and struggled alone without asking any clarifying questions. Obviously less than ideal all around. Hopefully an educational experience for each of us.

Once the miscommunication was revealed, we sorted it out and talked over the basic plan. I guess the short lesson is use your words with care and clarity, ask questions, and make a point of defining terms and assessing the quality of a shared understanding. Like that picture of a lovely sunrise looking out across an unkempt empty field strewn with obstacles and litter, what we think we understand may not be all there is to know – or even accurate to circumstances. Fact checking, testing assumptions, and asking clarifying questions are basic communication. As I said, communication – good communication – can be complicated. Certainly it requires practice.

…It does tend to begin with speaking the fuck up when clarity and shared understanding are lost…

(Sometimes we just don’t know we didn’t understand, or failed to communicate clearly.)

I sigh to myself, sitting at my halfway point on a local trail shortly before daybreak. I enjoy writing in the stillness and quiet before the day begins. A new day feels filled with promise and hope. I savor this quiet moment before a new work day gets going. I sit with my thoughts awhile. The work day will come soon enough. This moment here, now, is mine.

I breathe, exhale, and relax, watching the waning moon slowly setting. I’ll begin again a little later.

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, breathe, Free Will, Logic & Reason, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, The Art of Being, The Big 5, winter, Words

Stillness

February 2, 2026 //
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My tinnitus and an HVAC system somewhere nearby are the only sounds I distinguish in the predawn quiet. Even the nearby highway seems quite silent, although it is Monday, just past 06:00. The morning is foggy and mild and the winter weather that is pounding the east and midwest with blizzards and drifting snow is something I read in the news. We haven’t had much winter weather here.

The trail is wet with recent rain. A dense fog wraps me and obscures the details as I walk. It is chilly, but not really cold, and I’m feeling (mostly) over the cold that slowed me down last week. Colleagues who traveled last week are reporting in with reports of illness, and taking the day to recover. I guess I’m glad I didn’t go. I certainly enjoyed the time at home. My Traveling Partner has been doing pretty well lately, and we’ve been able to enjoy ourselves and each other more.

Today? Just a Monday. Half day of work, then the afternoon at the VA for my annual visit. I shrug as if I were saying it aloud. Sitting here at my halfway point with no view, before sunrise, just the fog and my tinnitus, I find myself quite unexpectedly deeply contented. This moment is mine. It’s not fancy, but neither is it noisy, troubled, nor complicated. I sit with my contentment, appreciating it as it is.

I sigh to myself, looking down the trail, as it disappears into the fog. Useful metaphor, I think. The wind changes direction, and the fog begins to dissipate. I smile, and stretch as I stand. Seems like a good time to begin again.

Seen and unseen, in the predawn darkness. (Different camera settings would have revealed more. Feels like there’s a metaphor there.)
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Categories Allegories, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Practices, solo hiking, The Art of Being, War and News of War, winter, Words

Taking It As It Comes

January 25, 2026 //
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I woke earlier than I had hoped. It is a colder morning than forecast. My Traveling Partner is awake, coughing in the living room. I blow him a kiss as I leave the house, realizing moments later I could have actually kissed him. He sends me his love in the form of cute “stickers” in a message as I pull out of the coffee stand with a hot cup of coffee, ready to head up the highway. I reply with a couple cute stickers back, and find myself hopeful that he may be able to get a little more sleep.

Daybreak on the horizon.

It’s 22°F (-5.5°C)  as daybreak touches the horizon. Cold. Properly wintry. I sit in the warm car, with my coffee and my thoughts, waiting for the sun. I feel fairly certain the sunrise will bring the temperature up. It’ll still be a cold walk, and I’m already looking forward to a warming luxurious hot shower after I return home, but it’ll be better than walking in the dark on such an icy morning.

I saw a shooting star as I drove up the highway this morning. Yes, I made a wish on it. No, I don’t think making wishes on stars is actually something that works. lol What did I wish for? You’d laugh if I told you.

…What a weird scary world we’ve created…

I sigh to myself and turn my gaze back to the western horizon, now a streak of dirty orange with some blue-ish sky above it. The outline of Mt Hood becomes visible. The oaks that dot the meadow begin to take shape. There is comfort in real things in this real lived moment. I take refuge from my anxiety in this gentle “now”. Nothing much going on right here; a woman in a car at a trailhead, watching the sun rise. Pretty peaceful calm stuff. I have high hopes for a pleasant day ahead.

My head aches ferociously this morning. I take some medication and hope for relief. The cold hasn’t yet had its opportunity to seep into my bones, and my arthritis is not yet vexing me. That’s something, anyway. It’s enough and I’m grateful. My pain may be less manageable by the end of the day, but for now, I’m feeling pretty fortunate. Other than the cold, it’s a lovely morning to walk the trail here.

…I think about maybe getting my nails done before I head to San Francisco this week for work. It’s a definite maybe. 😂 I mean, I’d like to, but I’m reluctant to spend the money. It seems pretty frivolous… Choices.

Dawn comes.

The gate into the main parking area opens with a screech. I move the car closer to the access point for the year-round trail. I add my scarf, hat, and oversized fleece to my layers and put my gloves and cane handily within reach. I won’t want to stop long this morning, so I finish this now, before I set off down the trail. The colorful sunrise is a beautiful backdrop to the oaks.

I take my time enjoying the sunrise.

As the first light of day begins to touch the treetops, the frosted meadow grass sparkles. The hint of white suggests snow from a distance, but there’s been none of that. I’m selfishly grateful, but dismayed when I also think about summer ahead, crops, and the possibility of wild fires. Being good stewards of this one planet that is our home has not been easy for human primates; we tend towards self-serving greed and shortsightedness. We could do better.

Daylight. Across the highway I can see the lowland farm fields that in previous years have reliably become a shallow seasonal lake favored by migrating birds each winter. This morning it is a grassy field, mown short, covered in frost. G’damn I hope the planet recovers from the damage we have done (with or without us). I’d like to be around to see that.

Walking my own mile. Where does this path lead?

I sigh to myself, and begin again.

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Categories 2024 Election, Allegories, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, inspiration, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, The Art of Being, The Big 5, War and News of War, winter, Words

When Plans Meet Reality

January 18, 2026 //
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I was finishing up the grocery shopping, yesterday, when I got the message from the Author. His flight was cancelled. The next flight available would push his arrival late into the evening, cutting a short trip on a long weekend by a full day. A little later, he confirms his plan to visit has unraveled – perhaps another time? Maybe. I was disappointed.

I was also in a ridiculous amount of pain. It made sense to let go of my disappointment, and get on with my day. My Traveling Partner encourages me to take it easy, get some rest, and enjoy our cozy tidy home for the day. I did, and it was so worth it. It was a lovely evening. I cooked a simple wholesome meal, we ate as a family. It was pleasant and relaxed. I spent time reading, and playing a favorite video game. The downtime had practical value and I woke feeling rested this morning and eager to walk the marsh trail up the road.

I arrived at the trailhead. This morning the gate into the parking is locked. I’m surprised, but only because it hasn’t been being locked overnight for awhile (since the government shutdown last year). Doesn’t matter, really. I take one of the spaces in the lower parking lot, adjacent to the highway. This morning is a cold one, just at freezing (32°F, 0°C). I’m grateful to be dressed warmly, but mildly frustrated with my gear being “all over the place” (it isn’t, it’s just not as I had placed it, after the Anxious Adventurer used my car recently). I manage to find everything I’m looking for: hat, scarf, gloves, headlamp, and an oversized fleece that fits nicely over layers of sweaters. The effort warms me, and I head happily down the trail in the the predawn darkness.

I hadn’t planned this weekend to unfold this way, but it’s still a long weekend, and all the loose plans I had made were to do with hanging out with the Author and my Traveling Partner. I fall back on familiar things, like this more distant, longer trail. I’m looking forward to reading later, too, and maybe spending more time playing video games – I often just don’t have the time or energy for such things. I smile to myself, feeling very loved by the way my Traveling Partner encourages me to slow down and get some much needed chill time. I remind myself to tackle a handful of housekeeping tasks before I settle into a day of leisure (dishes, laundry, and changing bed linens). Some housekeeping details are best handled, due to their big contribution to perceived quality of life. I’m okay with that, although sometimes it seems tedious and inescapable. The work of living life still has to be done. There are verbs involved.

My footsteps crunch down the trail in the darkness, a small circle of light ahead of me bobbing about with my stride. A possum crosses the path ahead of me as I near my halfway point. She gives me an irritated look. She doesn’t need the light and probably finds it a bit blinding. I pause and turn it off to let her pass, then continue on my way. A tinge of orange begins to shift the hue of the eastern horizon. Daybreak. I walk on.

Daybreak

I get to my halfway point, notice that the log I often sit on has been removed. I keep walking, on around the next bend to a spot further down the year-round trail where there is a bench, near the river. I’ve got a sliver of view of the eastern horizon, and the lights of some business or community beyond the highway on the other side of the marsh. I sit down to write and watch the sunrise. The quiet is… quiet. So quiet. I sigh to myself contentedly. What a lovely moment! Even the wintry frosty morning manages to delight me. Occasionally I pause my writing to jam cold hands into warm pockets to sit with my thoughts and just breathe. Barely freezing. I’m grateful for the mild winter now, but we’ll likely all be regretting it when Spring comes and there hasn’t been enough precipitation to replenish aquifers and water crops. I frown when I think about the likelihood of heightened wildfire risk.

…We plan and we plan. We forecast weather and seasonal needs and resources. Reality doesn’t care about our careful planning; it does what it will without regard to anyone’s plans. It’s good to have a “plan B”, just in case, or a comfortable relationship with change. The orange on the horizon becomes deeper, richer, and more vibrant as I watch. Dark feathers of distant trees are silhouetted on the skyline. Beautiful. I watch silently, happily. I’m okay with this moment just as it is. I make a point to enjoy it. There is no value to rushing through it.

Dawn brings more light to the marsh and meadow. Shapes emerge from the dissipating darkness. Trees. Shrubs. Ponds. The trail. I breathe, exhale, and relax. Beautiful morning to watch the sun rise. A little later I’ll begin again. For now this is enough.

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