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Adaptation

August 5, 2026 //
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This morning I do my walk, taking the loop around and heading back to the car. The air quality index is 139, unhealthy, due to wildfire smoke mostly. Worse than yesterday. I don’t really want to be out in it.

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

I walk with my thoughts before the sun rises. Cooler. The poor quality air seems to have somewhat less effect on my breathing, although still uncomfortable. I go through an entire pack of travel tissues before I complete the 1.5 mile loop. Still worth it to get out of the house awhile, before the heat of the day, and to give my Traveling Partner an opportunity to sleep, to wake, and to enjoy his coffee quietly.

My beloved delighted me with an unexpected gift yesterday evening – a handy bag for my RC car. So super cool. The best part is feeling seen and loved. I am eagerly looking forward to driving again, but this heat and the smoky air are keeping me mostly indoors. Maybe this weekend? There’s a nearby public track I’d love to check out, and maybe I will make the drive back to the hobby shop for… some reason. 😆

… I feel a bit as if I’ve found my way back to something that is part of who I am…

I’m grateful to have a partner who “gets me”, loves this person that I am, and encourages me to grow and be even more of the person I most want to be. This is a special relationship – not an “easy” one, but in the context of this romantic relationship (and really no other) I have grown so much! I think back to the woman I was in 1975, just barely on the edge of womanhood, reflecting on who I might become and what life could look like, then – I never imagined I could be here, now, living this life. A life characterized by contentment and love was so far beyond my understanding of what life could be, I hadn’t imagined such a thing. I was more focused on stuff, and money, and getting the fuck out of my parents’ home.

Smoked oaks.

I look at the trees along the trail. A smoky haze obscures the more distant horizon. The haze looks almost like a foggy morning, but for the hint of dirty brown to the color. I breathe, exhale, and relax.

The wildfire map, today.

As recently as 2016, wildfires were not yet a seasonal occurrence in this state. They definitely seem to be, now. It’s disappointing that we’ve managed to break our planet, and the people with the means (whether money or power) seem unwilling to do the needful to turn things around. I sigh to myself, wondering how much longer humanity actually has… The clock is ticking.

The sinus headache from the smoky air vexes me. There’s nothing much to be done about it; breathing smoke is unhealthy. Once I return home, I’ll definitely stay indoors as much as possible. I remind myself this too will pass. Fires will be extinguished. The wind will change direction. “Fire season” will end. The rain will return. Change is.

… In the meantime, I’ll adapt, and I’ll begin again.

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

Birdsong In The Darkness

November 13, 2025 //
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I reach the halfway point on my walk, still in darkness. I woke early, but that isn’t important this morning. What seems most interesting is the bird I hear singing – it’s just a little odd to hear sweet snippets of cheery birdsong in the autumn darkness. It’s more of a Spring sound, somehow, and this particular song seems both familiar (I’ve heard it before, I’m sure) and strange (I don’t think I’ve ever heard it here). I listen awhile. The song begins. Ends. Resumes. Repeats.

A soft rain begins to fall. I don’t fuss about that and it isn’t vexing me at all. I’m properly prepared for the weather, warm in my sweater and soft fuzzy cardigan, and dry with my rain poncho over those. Sitting beneath overhanging branches, I’d be sheltered from the rain, here, almost completely in summer, but most of the leaves have now fallen, and the only shelter from the rain are the fewer evergreen branches. I’m for sure getting rained on. I don’t really care much. It’s fine. The air smells fresh and the morning is a mild one. I’m comfortable for most values of “comfort”, sitting here in the predawn darkness.

… I’m not really looking forward to work this morning. No particular reason besides having plenty I’d like to be doing for my own purposes, like wanting to paint but not having the energy to paint and work, generally. It is one of the most concrete signs of “aging” that I notice in my everyday experience; I am more likely to yield to fatigue than I am to paint in an exhausted frenzy of creative passion. I’m less inclined to stay up late painting after work, and less willing to drag my subsequently groggy, irritable, ineffective consciousness half awake through the next work shift. 😆 That was once pretty routine for me (and yet I managed to wonder why my mental health was so poor). It’s a change for the better, as far as taking care of this fragile mortal vessel is concerned – but I paint less, which frankly (from my own perspective) sucks.

I sigh to myself in the darkness and brush a damp strand of hair off my face. I probably need a haircut, I think to myself, and for a few moments I contemplate matters of appearance, aware that I am traveling down to the bay area for work in a couple weeks. I live in Oregon. The company is in San Francisco. The styles of dress are somewhat different, professionally and I sit wondering how much I actually care and how much that really matters anymore. The world has changed a lot in the years since the global pandemic first hit. I chuckle to myself. How much these details matter, generally, to “people”, and whether they matter to me personally in any practical way, now, are definitely different questions.

I smirk at myself in the darkness and wonder if there’s any value in telling the Anxious Adventurer that knowing oneself is an ongoing journey in life, and that figuring out “who am I?” is one of humanity’s big enduring questions. I keep asking it. I keep answering it. The answer is always evolving and changing over time as I learn more about the woman in the mirror. There is no one right answer to some questions – and that doesn’t change the importance of the answer to some one human primate (or, possibly, to the world), nor diminish the need to explore the question.

Daybreak comes. The rain stops. I sit enjoying the moment of solitude. I can almost imagine that the entire world is at peace. Awareness that it isn’t peaceful for everyone, everywhere, surfaces exactly long enough to provoke my anxiety, which surges and renders me momentarily breathless, stalled, heart pounding, chest tight. I gasp for air, and immediately begin taking the steps to reduce the physical experience of anxiety as much as I can, while I also begin the internal conversation with myself that seeks perspective and relief. Anxiety is a liar, and I know this to be true from my own experience. Over a few minutes the anxiety eases.

A lot of things can kick off my anxiety or symptoms of my PTSD. I’ve learned to take most of it in stride, and to accept that my subjective emotional experience is an unreliable indicator of imminent harm. I breathe, exhale, and relax. The anxiety eases. It’s been awhile since I’ve had a serious panic attack. I’m grateful it passed quickly. I’m grateful to have more, better, tools to manage my anxiety and soothe myself than I once did. I take time to meditate. It is an ordinary autumn morning, and everything is fine. I’m okay. This moment is okay. I’m grateful to be here, now.

… I’m grateful to avoid becoming trapped in an emotional mire…

I hear that bird singing. I get to my feet, ready to walk on. It’s already time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, art and the artist, 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, War and News of War, women, Words

Listening to the Clock Tick

November 10, 2024 //
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It’s a quiet morning. I’m sitting with my thoughts before my walk, and before the sun rises. I’m drinking coffee and thinking about how far I’ve come and what a strange journey life is.

About 14 years ago, my Traveling Partner nagged at me for being “so negative”. I worked hard to change my approach, and was pretty successful (especially after I got help through therapy). I found out much later he was intending to be critical only of the way I used language, not my attitude towards life! For example, my most common response to being asked how I was doing would have been, then, “not bad”, instead of “fine”, or “good”, or however I was actually doing. This was the specific thing he didn’t care for, and purely a matter of style. What I worked to change was my actual, legit fundamental negativity toward my experience of life, the lens through which I perceived all my experiences. I succeeded in making profound changes to the way I view and experience life. I’m glad I did, but I was puzzled and more than a little annoyed that what my partner had been criticizing was a matter of communication style, nothing more.

Hilariously (in a funny/not funny sort of way), I now find deeply negative people – people whose outlook on life is chronically pessimistic, or always anticipating some shitty outcome – super irritating to have to be around for long periods of time. People who respond to circumstances with sarcasm and bitter disappointment before anything actually goes wrong vex me. I just don’t want to be around that all the fucking time. It’s exhausting. Doesn’t matter that I used to be one of those people, I’m generally not anymore, and I don’t really want to waste precious mortal hours being annoyed with life – nor with the people who are themselves annoyed with life. I have other shit to do.

I sigh to myself, stretching and working to ease my physical pain, before my walk on a chilly foggy autumn morning. It’ll be beautiful along the marsh trail. The quiet is lovely. Daybreak reveals the gray of the fog obscuring the view. The park gate groans and screeches as it opens, then clangs in place. I think to myself that I haven’t walked the river trail in a while, and change my plan. Change is. I smile to myself. We can’t know in advance what the outcome of a change may be. We can’t be assured that anyone else will appreciate a change we’ve made, however much it suits us. We can only do our best, walk our own path, and over time find out where that leads us. I’m content with being a more positive person day-to-day, inclined toward general optimism and joy, and leaning away from bitterness and disappointment. Life will surely dish out enough of that shit without me seeking it out or making a practice of it!

Untitled, 7″ x 9″ pastel on Pastelmat, 2024

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I contemplate the time I’ve spent painting since I switched to pastels. It’s fulfilling and healing time. Artistically, I’m in a good place as a human being. I’m enjoying the medium and the work I’ve been doing. I learn more every time I sit down to paint. I “feel heard” (at least by the woman in the mirror) every time I look at these new paintings. It’s a good feeling, satisfying and nurturing. Self-care comes in many forms. So does communication.

This mortal life is too short for negativity and bullshit. There’s so much to see and enjoy. I lace up my boots and grab my cane. I silently dare my pain to keep up with me. It’s time to begin again.

This path won’t walk itself!
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Categories anger, art and the artist, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, grief, Healthy Living, inspiration, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, The Art of Being, women, Words

This One’s For Me

November 6, 2022 //
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Self-care is hard sometimes. I’m sipping my first cup of (less than good) coffee this morning, and reflecting on the challenge of managing my self-care, when the actual act of caring for myself and meeting my own needs is one of the actual anxiety triggers I find myself fighting. Yeesh.

I needed some time to think deeply without interruption, and to weep or rage if that is where my thinking happened to take me – without concern about criticism, or self-consciousness, or needing to “put a good face on it” if someone attempted to offer help expecting a result for their efforts. I “had some homework to do” and needed time and space to do it with care. So, I booked an inexpensive room on the coast (love the off-season specials!) and took my camera, my laptop, and my madness out to the coast for an overnighter of self-reflection. I mean… that’s all this trip was honestly good for. “King tides” and absolutely terrible rainy weather definitely kept me mostly indoors, other than breezes and rain and fresh air out on the balcony.

…Hell, I was so focused on the self-work I wanted to be working through, I explicitly planned not to go out for dinner (or lunch), and brought along a pack of ramen noodles and some snacks. Good enough. 🙂

Funny thing is, I was started on my “homework” before I even got to the coast; just making the plans took me through an anxiety “fun house” as I tried to communicate my needs and how I wanted to meet those – and I hadn’t even booked the room yet! See, it’s like this; if going to the coast meets needs of my partner’s, I feel quite relaxed about going, and even eager to enjoy that time. Fair enough. Why not? But, each time I framed the trip (in my own thoughts) as explicitly for me, my anxiety went through the roof. This is not uncommon in my experience with my anxiety; willful, considerate acts of self-care and choice often come with a huge increase in my anxiety that taints both the planning and the experience itself. Makes it very emotionally difficult to balance my needs with the needs of those around me; mine cause me anxiety, and I tend to select away from that emotional experience. Over time, my resentment builds until I can’t mask it anymore, and that creates an unpleasant experience for everyone involved. Not ideal. I can do better….

…Can’t I?

So. I danced around wanting to do an overnight on the coast. I brought it up once. Twice. I wasn’t getting traction on the idea with my partner; he was eager to have me around, having completed the most complicated set-up work with the new CNC. He misses me when I’m gone. Shit. This kept getting more difficult each time I tried to sort of slide into the idea for a win. Then I really took a look at what I was doing and saying, and observed how I was failing myself. My partner even explicitly said to me “I sure won’t stop you if you want to go to the coast for you, Baby.” He invited me to take care of myself. He simply expects me to own that in an honest way. Makes sense.

So. I tried again, Friday afternoon. I clarified that I wanted to go to the coast and do some emotional homework and reflect on my anxiety without concern that my emotional experience may be encroaching on his, or awareness of his presence (and his needs) that could distract me from the self-work I wanted to do. I laid out my plan, and asked him to tell me if any of the details were a pain point for how he would manage his day on Saturday. He pointed out that if I lingered at home into the afternoon, I would cut his productive time in the shop short. So I adjusted my plan to account for that; I’d enjoy morning coffee with him, run a couple local errands right quick, then head to the coast around 10:00, putting me at the hotel shortly before noon. I arranged an early check-in with the hotel for convenience. It felt good to be heard, and to have a clear plan that supported my needs. It also caused me quite a bit of anxiety into the night on Friday – just because I made a point (and a plan) to meet my own needs without also couching that in the terms of meeting the needs of others as well. It passed.

I woke feeling light and merry yesterday. We enjoyed a lovely morning and shared coffee together. I ran those errands. While I was out and about, my Traveling Partner pinged me to ask “Are you going to the coast today?” My anxiety spiked hard. Did he not know? Had I failed to clearly communicate? Was it not okay to go after all?? I stopped the car nearby and parked for a minute. Nothing he said was at all a criticism or an attack; he just asked a question. Commonplace stuff that, to check one’s assumptions and expectations. Nothing to fear from that. I breathed through the moment, and answered the question. “Yes”. He sent back smiles and kisses and hearts. Huh. That wasn’t scary at all. It’s as if he was just asking a fucking question. Anxiety is such a liar.

I finished my errands, headed back, and started getting ready to go to the coast. My bags were already packed (it honestly took no time; one overnight, and my camera and laptop bags are pretty much always ready to grab-and-go). “You’re going?” my partner asked. I could see he would actually rather I stayed, and that he would enjoy my company. Anxiety. I shook off the momentary inclination to abandon my plans and smiled “yep, I’m ready.” We kissed good-bye and exchanged loving words and well-wishes, and off I went.

…The traffic wasn’t even bad, and the heavy rain didn’t seem to rouse my anxiety any further. Huh. Something to think about.

The entire drive to the coast was “productive” time alone with my thoughts. Uneventful autumn drive with some truly lovely spots in spite of the heavy rain obscuring that sometimes obscured my view, so I spent it thinking deeply… about anxiety. About, specifically, my own experience of anxiety. I didn’t spend that time berating or criticizing myself, just thinking about how it seems to “work” and what most often triggers my anxiety (specifically in my relationship with my Traveling Partner). Thinking about how I communicate, and where that may be undermining my emotional wellness when anxiety becomes “a thing” in a given moment. Thinking about “fear” and “anxiety” and also thinking about “anger” and “anxiety” – where those overlap, or fuel each other, where they seem to be at odds, and what I can do about – or with – any of it. I spent quite a bit of the drive simply reflecting on how different the outcomes were trying to planning this overnight, depending on how I attempted to communicate my needs, my plan, and how I sought his thoughts or support. It’s a lot. Which sometimes also causes me anxiety.

Once I settled into the room, I sat on the balcony in the chilly wind, watching the tide recede, and thinking about anxiety. I had a list of questions to reflect on and to answer for myself. I got to work on that. No, I did not “solve for X” and wake this morning having cured my anxiety… but I feel pretty good, and I think I have a clearer understanding of some useful ways to diminish my anxiety in the moment, and allow it to dissipate more readily. Do I still need help with it? Fuck yes. I’m grateful to have a loving supportive partner and a really good therapist. 🙂

Late in the evening, my partner pinged me with a progress report on his day and some loving chit-chat. He asked if I would be home “in the morning”. I understood him to be saying he’d like me to be home in the morning (vs later in the day). He asked if I would bring donuts. 🙂 Hell yes. 😀

So…now I’m sitting here sipping hotel coffee, watching the dawn unfold, rainy and gray. I woke to darkness and a low tide. No surprise; Daylight Savings Time ended last night and I also read the tide tables yesterday. lol The featureless gray that woke me as “daylight” wasn’t actually daylight at all, really, it just wasn’t quite dark, and I was well-rested. I’ll be gone before the next high tide – so I’m glad I saw the one yesterday. 🙂 The wind blew so hard during the night it scooted the chairs on the balcony from one side to the other. It’s a stormy sort of morning, lovely to watch from the warm of this room. I enjoy my coffee.

…It’s already time to start packing and getting dressed; I don’t want to miss the good donuts. LOL

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Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, Love, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, The Art of Being

Patterns, Threads, Rhythms, Beats

January 23, 2022 //
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This morning I am grooving to the sound of new beats from an old friend. I’m sipping my coffee, feeling relaxed, loved, and even “merry”. It’s a pleasant, leisurely Sunday morning. My pleasant moment is interrupted by a commercial interruption on Soundcloud; an ad break between tracks. I roll my eyes, look for any chance to skip it (that doesn’t amount to paying for a subscription to a rarely used service), and settle on ignoring it for the required 31 seconds. It’s a distraction, and not a pleasant one; this is “where we are” culturally – our attention held in servitude to commercial endeavors, with or without our consent.

I sip my coffee and think about the media, my shorter attention span, the nature of likes, clicks, and views, and the monetization of human attention, and individual data. I think about our “global culture” – and how it sometimes seems “the fabric of society” is being torn apart…only… that’s just one perspective on a very complex, only somewhat shared experience. While there certainly seem to be “norms” and commonplace expectations of a dominant group in our social hierarchy being challenged, undermined, and perhaps also “misused”… There are also huge swaths of humanity who were never invited to that party, who don’t (and did not) have the advantages that are said to be being “undermined”, and for whom the system as it is has existed is punitive, hostile, prejudiced, and has long prevented them from thriving as groups. Labeled, cut-off from the benefits of “mainstream” society, and worse still often shamed for “doing it to themselves” instead of humble acknowledgement of inequities in our laws and institutions, so many people in so many places see patterns that amount to willful inhumanity. Fixing that mess… now that’s a global challenge for a global society. Will we fix our mess before the clock runs out on humanity’s presence on this planet?

I let the beats carry my thoughts onward… sipping my coffee and a glass of water, sort of in alternation.

I think about the day’s housekeeping tasks ahead of me. I think about getting a walk in on some nearby trail – if the day warms up just a little. I think about maybe baking brownies and trying a different recipe, seeking that exceptional brownie result. None of these thoughts, however delightful, have anything whatsoever to do with the actual outcome; that requires some verbs. Real action. Choices. Follow-through.

…Another fucking advertisement begins to play in the background. I do not give a shit about the advertiser or the product. I tune it out…

Patterns in my life; I do housekeeping on Sundays, generally. When I write, most of the time, I write in the morning. There is a cadence, a rhythm, to the day-to-day, and to each week. When I write, or think, or reflect, or daydream, there is often some kind of thread that connects my thoughts. When I struggle, there is often another sort of “thread” that, once tugged, begins to unravel some bit of baggage or bullshit. Noticing a pattern, pulling on that thread, following a path; all these things lead me onward. Even these beats in my ears right now, and so also in my head, guide me along my human experience, giving me a pace, a flow, a sort of carrier wave upon which the signal that is my own individual experience can be layered. My breathing shifts; slower and more even with the chill ambient beats. Glacial. Slow perspective. Ease.

…Another advertisement? Really?? Fucking hell…

The beat shifts again, energizing me, lifting me, bring a smile to my face and an eagerness to my moment. My breathing is a bit faster. I feel an increasing readiness to move on with the day. There is a rhythm to the tasks and habits and routines I set for myself. It works for me, mostly. When it doesn’t, breaking down the missed moment, the lost beat, the unraveling thread into smaller parts gives me a chance to understand myself a bit better, and to creep ever closer to being the person I most want to be.

…It’s not “everything”, it’s only “something” – sometimes something is enough. 🙂 It is, at least, enough on which to begin again. 😀

Today, I’ll do my best. I’ve got a list. I’ve got all day. 🙂 It’s enough.

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Categories Allegories, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, The Art of Being, winter, Words
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