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Resilience In Practice

October 25, 2025 //
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I woke later than usual. It was almost 05:00 when I woke. I felt rested and positively merry. I dressed to head out for my morning trek down the marsh trail that circles the nature park.

As I checked the weather, and the time, I see I’ve got a message from my beloved Traveling Partner. The love and concern in his words is clear. He suggests I keep my walk short, maybe local, and proposes I maybe stay home entirely and get my miles on the elliptical, while watching a favorite show. He proposes that we could do something together, later, an idea that appeals to me. I feel loved. I sit with that feeling for a moment, letting it fill my consciousness.

The idea of a shorter walk and better self-care is a tempting idea, for sure, I admit. I really like being out on the trail, though, enjoying the short quiet interval of solitude… and my walks at the nature park put me nearby a favorite grocery store, and I generally stop there after my walk on a Saturday morning… The temperature is mild… I head out, remembering my commitment to one of the grocery checkers to share some items my Traveling Partner made, and deciding to keep my walk short, any way.

The drive to the nature park was quiet. No traffic. I enjoyed it, smiling to myself as I drove with my thoughts, grateful for my loving partner who cares about my well-being, and for the lovely morning. Before I reach the nature park, it begins to rain, first just a sprinkle, then as I reach the trailhead parking, a proper steady rain. I grimace, and laugh, betting my Traveling Partner had checked the weather report more closely than I had.

Now I sit, waiting for a break in the rain. I’m unbothered and relaxed. Hadn’t I already decided to make my walk a shorter one, anyway? No stress. No agitation. Just change. I breathe, exhale, and relax, listening to the rain on the roof of the car.

At its heart, resilience is simply that ability to bounce back in the face of change, uncertainty, emotional disregulation, or even trauma. Resilience needs development, as with things like muscular strength. Specific practices build resilience. Meditation, as a practice, helps build resilience. The practice of “taking in the good” is another that directly builds resilience. Forgiveness, as a practice, is another that contributes to resilience, by limiting how long our hurt feelings or injuries inflicted by another can dominate our thoughts. Practicing non-attachment and embracing related ideas such as impermanence, sufficiency, and building depth and breadth into our perspective on life, generally, are helpful for building resilience.

What’s it good for, though (resilience, I mean)? Why do I put so much value on it? Partly due to this; it improves pain management results.

Resilience let’s us bounce back and carry on, without becoming mired in our pain, sorrow, or anger. Resilience is that quality that gets us quickly past a difficult moment, and on to enjoying the next. Well-established resilience, over time, may become the difference between having some troubling mental health episode or meltdown, and simply acknowledging a difficult experience, dealing with it, and moving on with things calmly. I don’t know about you, but that sounds pretty good to me.

…So I practice…

Sometimes, I fall short of my commitment to one practice or another, but that’s also why I see such things as practices in the first place, instead of tasks to be checked off as completed, or skills to be mastered. Mastery is inconsequential. Practice is ongoing. It is a doing that doesn’t really finish. Each practice with real world value in my lived experience becomes a lifestyle change, over time. Each practice becomes part of my routine, and part of who I am. The result? I am more resilient. It becomes a character trait, and in that regard, it also becomes easier to maintain. Such results don’t mean no practice is required, just that the effort and will involved in the practice itself is greatly reduced. Sometimes, though, I still find myself not practicing some practice or other, through circumstances or forgetting. I’m human.

… I just begin again, and get back to practicing…

The rain stops, but it’s not yet daylight, and I’m not in a hurry. There’s no need to rush my walk, or hurry home to barge in on my beloved’s quiet time over his coffee first thing. I sit quietly a little longer. Daybreak soon, and I’ll walk the short loop, and watch the sunrise – then, I’ll begin again.

…It is a good day for self-care.

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

Next Steps, New Moments

September 16, 2025 //
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It was still dark when I stepped onto the trail this morning. It’s only barely daybreak now. My tinnitus is loud in my ears, and the morning is otherwise quiet and still. It is a peculiar solitary moment, not quite lonely, but a little poignant, perhaps, though not for any particular reason. I sigh quietly, and sit with my thoughts.

Yesterday was a good day. I enjoyed a lovely evening at home, after work, with my Traveling Partner, watching favorite shows in the newly reorganized media library. Time, well-spent. I slept well and deeply. I woke feeling rested. I feel pretty good now, too.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I sit in the solitary stillness, wrapped in contentment. For a time, there is no moment but this one, here, now. I think about sunrises and new beginnings, autumn rains and the end of summer. I realize, as I blow my nose on the last tissue in my pocket, that I forgot to pick up travel tissues for the car yesterday. I guess I was just that eager to get home after work.

I reminisce about former colleagues and past jobs, and smile thinking about my new team. Four analysts, soon to grow to seven – it’s not the biggest team I’ve ever lead, and I find it a very manageable size. Comfortable. Each team member brings a unique skillset to the work we share. Fun people, too. I’m enjoying this element of the new role. There’s so much to learn and to do. The “hardest” part, for now, is consuming all the policy documentation and learning all the new tools fast enough to be really useful, as close to immediately as I reasonably can. It is a fun and busy time. I remind myself that it is still “just work”, and relative to other things in life, it isn’t the most important thing going on, at all. There’s more to life than the job we do for the money to live that life.

Another breath of cool autumn morning air fills my lungs. I sit quietly, breathing, aware, and letting my thoughts pass through the open sky of my consciousness for a little while, like fluffy clouds.

… I am out of tissues…

I think about the upcoming Autumnal Equinox. I usually take that day off from work. My Traveling Partner had asked if I have plans. It wasn’t even on my mind, after the chaos and upheaval of losing one job, and the scramble to find the next. I’m reluctant to take time off during the first thirty days. I probably could, though. I think about it for some little while. Then I let myself think about the winter holidays, coming up so quickly. It seems only weeks ago that it was New Year’s… But it also seems an unimaginable long time ago, too, with so much going on in the world. What’s next, I wonder?

… And what about dinner, tonight? Beef and broccoli, stir-fry? That does sound good, and I’ve got everything I need to make it…

I sit with my thoughts awhile longer. Soon enough it’ll be time to begin again…

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Categories Allegories, autumn, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, The Art of Being, War and News of War, Words

Hey, What’s That Sound?

August 20, 2025 //
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Oh, damn – that’s the sound of “the other shoe dropping”. Familiar. Well, hell – that means change, eh? I get a fresh glass of cold brew, take a breath. Honestly, the uncertainty is more stressful than the knowing. Seasons, cycles, and change – it’s just time, again, to begin again. I’d maybe even say “nothing to see here”, but it feels bigger than that from this vantage point, and I’m feeling that moment. I breathe, exhale, relax, and take a deep satisfying drink of icy cold brew. I let thoughts come and go, reflecting on the circumstances a moment longer.

…Doesn’t much matter what the circumstances are, this is a very human experience, and it’s likely we’ve all been through (so many) “shoe-dropping moments” in life. Change is – and we don’t always choose it. I’m okay, for most values of “okay”. It feels good to have my partner in my corner, encouraging and supporting me. This particular bit of change is job-related, and honestly seems rather mundane, considering some of the heinous shit going on in the world right now. I definitely do like things easy, not gonna lie, and it’s disappointing that I won’t be enjoying this role until I eventually retire (because yes, I’ve enjoyed it that much), and I really don’t enjoy the chaos of changing jobs at all. But I also feel more or less okay. Fine with it in the sense that it really is pretty mundane as changes go, and I’ve been through it before. So many times. I smile to myself, thinking about my “professional timeline” and all the many stopping points along the way.

…I would have retired a long time ago, if I could have afforded to do so, but even if I had it would not stop changes from coming, they’d just be other changes…

It’s easy to be angry when change comes. It’s rarely useful (except in the rare circumstance in which the motivational power of anger can be harnessed with a sense of purpose for good use). I sip my coffee content to deal with the change.

I sigh to myself. I’d like to take time to paint. I’ve no shortage of inspiration, but the household feels “crowded with activity”, and I’m often (usually) a participant. That sounds like an excuse, but I do find it difficult to paint productively while also juggling conversation, caregiving, and the day-to-day routine of keeping a household humming along. Then, too, there’s this thing I have been having to deal with all year… my hands. The specific position and grip pressure of my hand and fingers when I am holding a brush or pastel has begun sporadically (and unpredictably) causing me pain in the joints of my thumb. Arthritis? Feels different than that. Tendonitis? Closer, but I really don’t know. I do know the pain is aversive and creates a reluctance to paint at all, sometimes. Disappointing, but real. Between wanting uninterrupted time for doing creative work and finding that hard to get, and the pain that turns up unexpectedly when I do paint, I just … don’t. This, too, will pass. Probably. For now, it’s not the thing that is truly top of mind… I just happened to think about it, just now. A passing thought about something other than work and looking for work.

…I let my mind wander on…

Life’s journey isn’t a reliably easy one. I am even pretty sure, based on my own experiences and observations, that “easy” is more a matter of luck than anything else, and “ease” is not an expected part of the human experience. We’re fortunate when we find a moment of “ease” to rest within, and to enjoy. I sit sipping my coffee, reflecting with gratitude on the many moments of ease and good fortune that have found me, over a lifetime. They aren’t “everything” – life can be fucking hard – but they are something worth cherishing. When hard times come, I don’t look back on the easy times and good times with anger, frustration, resentment, or despair (not any more). I’m far more likely to take a moment, now and then, to appreciate how good I’ve had it, and how often that has been the case, and “fuel up” to endure whatever hardships have (or may) come my way. They’ll pass. Generally things do – good or bad.

I’ll find a new job. Maybe even very quickly (though that isn’t a given, and this is a difficult time for jobseekers, generally). Will it be the amazing experience of “work joy” this one has been? Maybe not. Hell, probably not – such experiences are quite rare (so I hear). Most of my work experience has been some degree of tedium, or aggravation, or pure hell in some environment that feels a like purgatory, watching a clock tick off the hours until the next pay check, while I do my damnedest to produce my best work and to be the best professional I can, hoping for better next time. I work to earn my pay, and use that pay to support my life. In a very real sense, I am converting the finite mortal hours of my life into spendable currency. I reflect on that for some moments, and consider my worth. Each time I find myself in this in between place, I am also… “finding myself“. It is an opportunity to learn and grow. Fill in gaps in my professional qualifications. Understand what I want more than I did at the start of the last job. Understand what I need better than I understood it previously. Look ahead. Plan. Consider new options.

The very first time I was ever “out of work”, it hit me hard. I was pretty young, but I’d had that job, advancing through the ranks, for 15 years. I had literal hysterics over it. I felt as if I had lost my sense of purpose. I did not handle it well at all. I felt really lost. I felt “blown off course”. Then, later, I felt really… spoiled and stupid and foolish, because I had known it was coming, refused to deal with the reality, and done nothing to actually prepare. I pulled myself together, and figured out what resources I had. I moved to a new place on the other side of the country (in a battered used Ford F-150, with all my mechanic’s tools in my toolboxes strapped down carefully in the bed), and I began again. (I make it sound simple, but it was a process, and it was weeks, and the outcome wasn’t ideal.) In the two years that followed, I changed jobs 4 times before I found something that could last (it didn’t). I moved 4 times. I left my first marriage. It was a complicated season of change.

During that two years, I learned something that would be valuable for all the years that followed, and continues to serve me well; jobs end. They are not the totality of our lives, they’re just… jobs. I learned how to handle lay-offs and ends of jobs graciously while I was in construction. The job always ends. Each new job, I’d show up, do the needful, and be sent back to the union hall once the job was over. Job after job. Season after season. Year after year. In the downtime in between, I painted. It was brutally hard work, paid pretty well, provided good medical care, and I had seasonal breaks for leisure (and for physical recovery from the effects of manual labor on this fragile vessel). The most important thing I learned in construction was how to face the end of a job. I haven’t forgotten.

So… here I am sipping my coffee in an office that will soon no longer be a place I come for work. Probably. (I could end up with an employer who seats me here in this co-work space – hard to know, it’s a small world.) I’ve got a few more days. I’ve got options. There are verbs involved. Tasks to deal with. A resume to refresh and “version” for the various industries that hold my interest (and higher than average potential for jobs I’ll do well).

Change is.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. This all feels so… commonplace. I feel fairly “unbothered”, although I also feel a mild amount of annoyance over it; the work I do here has been valued, necessary, and no doubt there will be consequences if those tasks are not assumed by someone, but that’s not my concern, now. No, the annoyance is simply that I really liked this particular job, company, and team, and was figuring on staying in this role until I leave the workforce (probably at 70). It is what it is. It’s not “personal”. I smile to myself, grateful to have had the chance to really enjoy the work I do for awhile. That’s been rare. I’ve often been employed doing things I’m really good at, and don’t enjoy at all. Less than ideal, but quite practical and commonplace. I feel a pang of disappointment and… grief? It passes quickly. The future is unwritten, and the menu of life’s Strange Diner is vast and filled with things I’ve yet to try. The trick is to choose wisely, eh?

The sun rises beyond the window. I arrived before dawn. It’ll be a warm summer day, and sunny, later. The morning is mild and pleasant. The air in the neighborhood around the office is filled with the scent of garden flowers. It’s a lovely time to get a walk in before the heat of the day. The need for self-care does not diminish when change comes (quite the contrary, it intensifies). I think a walk sounds like just the thing. It’s a good time to begin. Again.

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Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, art and the artist, breathe, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, grief, health, Healthy Living, inspiration, joy, Logic & Reason, meditation, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Summer, The Art of Being, The Big 5

An Eye on the Horizon

June 5, 2025 //
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I’m sipping my coffee as the day begins. My walk this morning was pleasant, uneventful, and frankly rather ordinary. The day is cloudy, and looks like rain. I’m in a thoroughly manageable amount of pain (for now), and I make a point of appreciating how (relatively) comfortable I am. In a life where chronic pain is a day-to-day experience, it is critical to really pause and be aware of it when pain is not a characteristic of the moment. Most of us don’t actually experience “chronic pain” as 100% of always every moment of every day all the time – it does come and go, and the severity varies. Our implicit memory and sense of “how things are” is notably affected by what we hold on to as “how we always feel” – so making room to be mindful and aware of a lack of pain becomes incredibly important for managing the whole experience of pain over time. Perspective matters. So, I sip my coffee, noticing how (relatively) little pain I am in right now, and make room for gratitude; it could be so much worse (and often is).

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I think about sunrises and sunsets, and views of distant horizons. I think about miles I have not yet walked, and contemplate trails I’ve yet to try. I think about camping, and I wonder when I might next spend a couple days on the coast, painting. I sip my coffee, and let my diffuse feeling of general contentment grow larger in my awareness. My eye falls on a small Hue Forge “painting” my Traveling Partner did from a photograph I’d taken. I feel loved and visible and appreciated as a person, as an artist, and as a partner.

Hue Forge rendering of a sunrise, Mt Hood silhoutted on the horizon.

That distant horizon is a good metaphor for goals and progress and walking my own path; there it is, just out of reach, that thing I think I want to get to. A goal, a vision, a destination – it could be any of those things, or just a place to camp that happens to be within view, but quite far away. What’s on the horizon? I never actually know, I only imagine, based on what I think I see. I have an idea, and a limited view. The closer that thing seems to get, the more detailed and real it may become – but it changes as it comes into closer view, more subject to scrutiny. Is it what I imagined? Is it actually what I want? Am I actually going to get “there” – or is that “there” quite different than I expected it might be? Am I being true to myself, and staying on my path, or has something fantastical on that distant horizon distracted me from my sense of purpose? Is it even real, or only something I thought I saw?

I sip my coffee feeling surprisingly content with “now”. Nice moment for it. Sure, the work day is ahead, but I don’t find that I mind. I’m fortunate to have a job I enjoy, working with a team of people I appreciate and respect (and even like), I feel appreciated in return. We get shit done. I’m working from home, which has the lovely quality of taking my breaks in my garden, or being able to run a quick errand during the day, and not finding myself quite so exhausted when the day finally ends. Nice “now” – I feel fortunate, and pause for gratitude; this too could be so much worse. Most of us do have to work to keep the bills paid and the pantry stocked, and it’s a difficult world. It’s not uncommon to have to endure a terrible work environment in servitude to a company whose values one can’t respect, simply to keep the lights on and the gas tank filled. It’s a lucky few who do jobs they love for companies they appreciate in an environment of mutual respect while being paid a good wage. If you’ve got it, be sure you appreciate it. Change is. Be kind to those who struggle with shit jobs for terrible bosses – it could be you at some point.

…Good cup of coffee…

My Traveling Partner gave me an early birthday gift last night. A new cookbook, and one that I’d spotted thinking “oooh, I’d like to have this one!” quite recently. I thought I’d added it to my wishlist, and was delighted that he had selected it. More delighted still – and a little amazed – when I discovered that I had not added it to my list at all. He knows me so well. I feel loved. This morning when my mind wanders, it is often to the kitchen, and thinking about what new adventures I may find there, between the pages of a new cookbook. 😀

Life can be experienced as a journey. I find it a useful metaphor. No map, lots of choices, and the path is mine to choose for myself. The horizon never really gets any closer – but it’s out there in the distance, tempting me onward. It’s a worthy journey – each step down the path has the potential to reveal some new delight, or to teach me a lesson I probably need to learn. We are mortal creatures – at some point, this journey will come to an end. Hopefully, I’ve learned all I could, experienced much worth sharing, and made a point to jot down some notes for anyone who may follow me down the trail (or simply wonders where I wandered off to).

I glance at the time. The clock is always ticking, and there are things to be done. It’s time, again, to begin.

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

Primroses By Happenstance

April 13, 2025 //
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Cold morning. I woke a little early to quiet darkness, happy to maybe catch a glimpse of the full moon, but thinking mostly about primroses. I dress and head to the trailhead.

A first glimpse of the full moon – first one of the Spring.

Yesterday I planted strawberries in the flower beds, thinking they’d make a good ground cover. My Traveling Partner surprised me by having a decidedly strong negative opinion on that idea. He’d put a lot of work into the lawn, and he was worried about the strawberries spreading into the lawn and taking over. (Seems less than likely to me… but my partner knows plants.) Although I’m willing to watch for that and take preventative measures, the truth is, I’m also somewhat lazy, and prone to letting shit fall behind if I lack sufficient energy for the task. I see how under such circumstances, strawberries could become…weeds.

Rather than cause my beloved lasting stress, I propose replanting those strawberries in their own raised bed on the west side of the house, instead. He likes that idea much more. I’ll do that later today. The Anxious Adventurer helps out by assembling an inexpensive raised bed for that purpose from a kit I purchased at the garden store. (I could have done that, true enough, but I’m notorious for doing a pretty half-assed “good enough” job on such things, and both my Traveling Partner and his son like to see things built well.) I’m grateful for the help.

Those bare expanses of border around and between the blueberries? I decide I’ll fill those in with primroses, which are doing very well at the other end of the bed and needing to be divided as it is. Primroses, though? Primroses?

Pink primroses thriving in my garden.

The primroses are a story of their own, I suppose. I never had “a thing” for them before I moved into this house. They’ve grown on me as they grow in my garden. They were just a couple of garden store primroses added to the front flower bed by the previous owner for last minute “curb appeal” when the house was put on the market. There they were. Blooming. lol Just some random flowers, added to the edge of the bed, visible each time I left the house. Unimpressively commonplace, I used to think. Over five years those three original primroses have become large beautiful clumps, well-established and thriving, and blooming like crazy from the earliest Spring days well past the end of summer. They do so well, and they’ve got such fun bold colors, I’ve added a couple more, on some whim, each Spring. Those are spreading too. Don’t know why I thought strawberries were a necessary addition – just divide the damned primroses! Welcome them and take them seriously!

So, now I have what feels like a proper plan in mind and I’m impatient to proceed. My Traveling Partner’s lawn is under no threat from the primroses, the strawberries will do well in a raised bed protected from slugs, and I get flowers and strawberries. Win.

It’s hard to get a clear picture, sometimes it’s better to simply observe. It’s a metaphor.

I watch the moon set over the marsh, and add a reminder to read up on primroses. I really don’t know much about them. I guess knowing more makes sense. They’re pretty. Do they have history? Where are they native? Are there wild varieties? I know so much about roses. I know so little about primroses. Are there other colors and shapes that might look good in my garden, too? What else is there to know? I smile to myself. Such a simple thing to give me so much joy.

Where are you finding simple joy? What do you do to cultivate that in your life?

Begin again.

A mist has developed on the marsh, clinging to the ground, thick in low places. It’s a cold morning. I look down the trail. The full moon attracted quite a few early risers to the trail this morning. I lace up my boots and grab my cane. The clock is ticking and it’s time to walk the path I’ve chosen. Another day, another beginning.

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