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A Useful Sort of Stillness

August 17, 2025 //
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This morning I am waiting for the sun. Well, I’m at least waiting for enough light to easily see the trail. It’s a gray cloudy morning that hints at rain. I arrived at the trailhead before dawn this morning, feeling quite a lot better and eager to walk. On some other morning, the early hour wouldn’t stop me, I’d just grab my headlamp and go…

…I took my Traveling Partner’s truck this morning, and forgot to grab my headlamp…

Parked and waiting for the sun.

No headlamp, no walking (only waiting). 😆

So, I’ve got this moment of stillness and waiting, and a head full of noise (and it isn’t just my tinnitus!) – seems like a good opportunity to meditate and reflect. No pressure to perform, no time-sensitive tasks facing me, just this quiet moment before a walk on a summer morning. Useful. I approach the moment with gratitude; it can be difficult to find a moment of real stillness to pause and reflect. Time well-spent, when used thusly.

I sit with my thoughts, letting them pass through my consciousness, noted, observed, but without clinging to any one thought. I breathe, exhale, and relax, allowing myself to appreciate my own presence for some little while, simply breathing and being. I make room for life’s questions to surface in my thoughts, one by one. I allow them each to move on, some answered, some “for another time”.

I write for some little while, sharing these thoughts and practices.

The sky lightens as minutes pass. The oaks along the trail are silhouetted against the gray sky. Definitely looks like rain… but it doesn’t smell like rain, and my arthritis is not griefing me in any noteworthy way this morning. Maybe it won’t rain? I look down the trail and wonder if I will regret not grabbing my rain poncho? I shrug it off as a concern; the temperature is quite mild and even a drenching downpour would only mean a shower and a change of clothes after I return home. Inconsequential. I’d just be a bit uncomfortable as I finished the walk, and that’s not that big a deal.

I swap boots for shoes, happy that I didn’t turn back over the lack of a headlamp; there is no reason to hurry through this moment. It’s mine, and I can do with it as I please. I look out at the gray hills on the western horizon and wonder again if I have been over there, looking back at this place, ever. It’s just another thought that drifts by, and I let it.

A new day, a new moment, a new beginning.

I can definitely see the trail now. I stretch as I get to my feet and grab my cane. Even the most familiar path may have more to share, if I approach each new beginning with open eyes and a calm heart. It’s a new day, and it’s time to begin.

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

Timing, Weather, Etc.

June 18, 2025 //
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I slept in, like, properly slept in, waking a couple hours later than I ordinarily would, feeling well rested, and ready for a new day. Being home feels good.

A familiar view from a favorite trail.

My legs ache. It’s just sore muscles, from recent days of more than usual walking. I mostly ignore it, and walk on. The blue skies of recent days have yielded to encroaching gray clouds gathering overhead. The air feels heavy with higher than typical humidity. I keep on walking, through oak groves and alongside meadows and vineyards. I pass by a creek, and lush dense weeds and wildflowers that grow along the banks, edged by trees. Farm workers in the vineyard eye me warily as I pass. I wave. They wave back. We have nothing to fear from each other. I continue walking.

It was an ordinary walk on an ordinary morning. I hope I have many such walks (and mornings) ahead of me. Gray skies or blue, the details matter less than my ability to walk on, and my freedom and opportunity to do so.

I sit quietly after my walk, on a convenient picnic table tucked among the oaks trees that line the beginning of this particular trail. It’s not remote or exotic, and lacks any sort of features that might attract crowds. It’s just a convenient local trail, well maintained, paved and mostly level, and even lit in some sections (which is nice for very early mornings before sunrise). It feels safe and familiar, and long enough to be satisfying (it’s about a mile and a half all the way around), but short enough to be quite manageable even when I’m having some difficulties. This trail is rarely crowded, which is a nice bonus.

My tinnitus is annoyingly loud in my ears. I do my best to focus on other things. I breathe, exhale, and relax. It is a pleasant morning and I am happy to be home. I remind myself to stop at the store on my way home, but can’t recall what I need to get. I chuckle to myself; I have an app for that. I probably rely on that too much.

I sigh contentedly, savoring this pleasant moment before I begin again. The clock is ticking on a new day. It’ll soon be time to begin again…

Where does this path lead? What will I see along the way?
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Categories Allegories, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, joy, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Practices, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being

Breathing. Being.

August 27, 2024 //
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I woke early and beat the sunrise to the trailhead. I meditate, then sit quietly waiting for the sun. The cloudy sky creates a sort of false dawn, reflecting back the light of human spaces in the distance.

Quiet time well-suited to reflection.

I wait.

I’m sitting here quietly grateful to be without the headache that ended my day yesterday evening. It go so bad I felt like the left half of my face was on fire, and the sound of human voices was painful and seriously aggravating, without regard to what was being said. That always sucks, and fortunately doesn’t happen often. Generally speaking, yesterday was excellent, aside from the headache that developed early and worsened over the course of the day.

Today is fresh and new. New opportunities. New moments. New choices. New experiences. New. I can begin again with each sunrise and walk my own path. That’s pretty exciting, and full of hope and promise. What will I do with it? Where does this path lead?

… Sleeping felt so good last night. I woke after sleeping through the night feeling rested and refreshed. I am already looking forward to sleeping, again…

This morning the temperature is mild and feels more like summer than imminent autumn. The air is sweet with the scent of wildflowers and meadow grasses. The quiet and stillness wrap me in a sensation quite unlike a workday, though it is a pretty ordinary Tuesday and I will soon be sitting down to work. I hear a distant train whistle break the stillness. Daybreak comes with the sound, almost as if caused by it.

I smile and stretch and reach for my boots and my cane. It’s a good morning to put a couple miles on these boots and a little distance between myself and whatever baggage I am still dragging through life. The sky is a soft moody blue – no colorful sunrise today. I can see the trail stretching out ahead to the next bend.

A soft misty rain begins to fall, so delicate it’s barely there, but I see it on the surface of the car as I walk away. I smile to myself and keep walking.

… It’s time to begin again…

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, inspiration, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, weight loss secrets

It Could Be Worse

August 11, 2024 //
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Trite but true, it is a near certainty that things could be worse. I sigh out loud, annoyed by my persistent headache when there’s so much going on and so much to do (or prepare for). Thinking, planning, and doing, while also fighting through pain has difficult moments. I struggle to maintain focus on things that matter and routinely find myself distracted by things that matter just as much. lol I try not to be overly hard on myself over it, but it does vex me, especially when the task at hand is something intended to support my Traveling Partner.

… I breathe, exhale, and relax…

A new day

When I left the house it was still quite dark. The season is changing, as seasons do. Daybreak comes much later than it did weeks ago, when spring turned to summer. I was amazed and delighted to see meteors streak across the predawn sky as I drove to the trailhead, this morning. Then I started thinking about what it might mean should some unusually large meteor actually plunge through our atmosphere intact and impact the planet directly…my anxiety surges as I consider that. Then I let that shit go.

… Letting an imagined worst case wreck a lovely lived moment is a poor practice…

I breathe, exhale, and relax. Today is final preparations for my Traveling Partner’s surgery. Tomorrow. It’s a big deal, and one with a very good prognosis. I’m more eager than nervous on my partner’s behalf, which I guess is a good thing. I feel well prepared. I hope he does, too.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I’d meant to bring my colored pencils and my sketchbook along this morning. I forgot them. There are really only one or two places, at home, where something can be placed, that reliably get my attention on the way out in the morning. I can’t count the number of times I have forgotten to grab something I meant to take with me, because it wasn’t in one of those places. lol Generally a harmless sort of oversight, and I don’t make it a big deal this morning – because it isn’t.

… I keep promising myself more time painting. I keep not painting…

I had the trail to myself, initially, and sitting here in the morning quiet at the halfway point it manages to feel strange to hear voices and approaching footsteps. A small group of photographers walks past. Cheerful greetings are exchanged as they walk by.

My mind wanders. I distractedly check my task list and my calendar. I check the grocery list. I try to identify needful things I may have overlooked. My mind feels very busy and chaotic. I’m not here for that. There’s time for lists and tasks later.

… I breathe, exhale, and relax. I make room for this “now” moment, present, observing, breathing. Only this. I let my thoughts come and go, like the clouds overhead. (I definitely need more of this calm time spent present, simply being.) My mind wanders, this time I bring it back to my breath. My tinnitus is loud and distracts me. I bring my awareness back to my breath. For an unmeasured time I reflect and meditate, bringing my attention back to my breath each time it wanders. Good practice.

It’s a good day for a quiet moment. After a while, I get to my feet to finish my walk and begin again.

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Practices, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being

Nothing to See Here

August 10, 2024 //
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The sun seems to rise slowly against the pastel shades of pink and peach. The sky is hazy with the disbursed smoke of far away wildfires. Summer. Fire season.

Outcome to be determined.

I walked with my headache, my tinnitus, and my thoughts. The sounds of traffic on the highway nearby, and construction somewhere, create a “fuzzy” nothing sort of background noise. My thoughts are not important, nor are they particularly coherent. I’m just walking and thinking. I let the thoughts come and go. I stop at a favorite view point to sit, meditate, write, and watch the sun rise. I’ve got the trail and the park alone this morning, so far. I breathe the meadow-sweet morning air contentedly. I enjoy this moment; whatever else the day may throw at me, I’ve got this lovely peaceful moment to enjoy.

Yesterday was a strange mix of pleasant and difficult moments. Very human. I don’t stay focused on the difficulties; those things were sorted out yesterday. Resolved. Corrected. I do reflect further on the pleasant moments, letting them fill my thoughts for some little while. Savoring those moments because they matter most. I let my heart fill with recollections of joy, love, and laughter. I smile. I have a good sense of what matters most (these days, to me).

The yellow and white meadow flowers bobbing back and forth in the slight breeze atop brown summer stems are a pleasantly fragrant distraction from my headache. I watch small birds picking at the ground next to the trail. The sun continues its slow journey upwards from the horizon. Mornings hold so much promise. I sit quietly thinking about the day ahead without forcing it to become more than this moment, here. The future is unwritten, undetermined, and full of potential. I let it remain so. I watch the sun rise.

Every journey, every new beginning, starts where I am.

I experience a moment of sorrow, and a stray tear wells up and spills over. I am missing people who are dear to me, now gone. It’s a lonely sort of moment; there is so much to share, so much that I would talk about… I quietly say “I miss you” out loud, to no one in particular, and cry a little. Poignant. Human.

…The journey is the destination. Loss is part of the human experience…

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I let go of my sorrow. It’s a new day, and it’s time to begin again. I get to my feet and stretch, and turn back up the trail…

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Categories Allegories, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Practices, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being
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