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The Plan Is Not The Experience

September 7, 2026 //
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I made my plan yesterday evening, after returning from the coast. I’d take my walk in the morning, and return home, do a needful housekeeping project, do laundry, and paint. My plan has already begun to unravel.

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

I stepped out onto the trail and it … squished. Mud. Quite a lot of mud, actually. I guess I’m not surprised; we’ve had a couple days of rain. In late fall and winter, I don’t bother with this trail, because it becomes treacherously muddy and difficult for me. I sigh to myself. It’s not going to be that bad, but I don’t see enough with my headlamp to feel wholly secure tackling this trail that runs alongside the Willamette River for quite a distance. Sliding off some bit of river bank into that icy water is not on my list of desirable adventures to enjoy on a Monday off! 😆

I get back in the car to write and meditate and wait for daybreak.

When daybreak comes, I embrace the opportunity to see the world with new eyes.

The trail is slick in spots and muddy, but not impassably so. I slow down, grateful for my cane. The morning is cool and still smells of rain. The robins are out, calling to each other from the trees, and scurrying along the ground, looking for tasty morsels. Chipmunks, squirrels, bunnies – it’s a fun morning to spot creatures along my route. Before I got started, there was an owl calling from somewhere very nearby. I take my time and enjoy the walk.

One of many bunnies. So many bunnies. 😆

The bunnies – young from this year, I think, based on their size – cavort happily in the weeds and shrubbery along the path, now and then darting across the path to the other side. They disappear into the brush as I approach, and reappear behind me after I pass. I wonder to myself how many will survive the hungry owl I heard earlier?

I notice leaves already beginning to turn. It seems “too soon” for those changes, but the equinox is only two weeks away. I keep walking.

The sun begins to rise above the trees on the opposite bank of the river, to the east. It shines golden through the trees. Hints of gold, amber, and russet hues among the leaves and dense summer foliage are more pronounced in the sun beams stretching across the path. Seasons change. The clock ticks on.

Annoying loud voices approach from behind me on the trail. I pause and step to the side, turning to have a look. Loud older men, with fishing gear and a rather ridiculous amount of genial camaraderie, making their way to some favorite fishing spot, with as much right to be here as I have myself. They’re still fucking annoying, being all loud and stuff on this lovely quiet morning. They each raise a hand in greeting and offer me a boisterous good morning greeting. I nod, wave, and return their greeting, staying back from the path until they pass by, then continue on my way, happy that the branching trail takes me up the hill and around the other side of the meadow, in the opposite direction.

A new day will come, and with it a chance to begin again.

“Softly, as in a morning sunrise…” I begin to sing as I walk, feeling the moment differently as the golden light fills the space between the leaves of the trees along the path. Oh, to be sure, the legacy of Nancy Wilson has nothing to fear from me. 😆 I can’t carry a tune – but I love the way it feels to sing the song in my heart.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I definitely still plan to paint today, but I know the value of a plan, and I have been humbled by circumstances too often to count on a plan becoming reality. Maybe it does, maybe it doesn’t. Maybe I sit down to my easel, but inspiration won’t make the short trip from my mind to my hands, or maybe my hands won’t cooperate in bringing my inspiration to life? Maybe my Traveling Partner will ask for my help with something else? Maybe… Life is a sea of maybes and the plan is not the experience.

Practice non-attachment. Count on impermanence. Change is.

My headache reminds that this fragile vessel has its own limitations to be accounted for. I sigh quietly. I keep walking. The clock keeps ticking. The sun rises on a new day.

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Categories Allegories, art and the artist, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, joy, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, women, Words

Easier Said

September 5, 2026 //
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I get to my halfway point on this morning’s walk just at daybreak. On one side, a slope of meadowed hillside dotted with oak trees. On the other, a view across the expanse of meadow that will soon become marsh once again, as the season changes. This is my way; I wake, I walk, I clear my mind as the steps become miles. It’s not fancy or costly, and as practices go, it seems to me to be one of the easiest to start and to follow. On the other hand, “easy” is pretty subjective.

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

It’s a better view in real life. Be present in your lived moment.

I hadn’t noticed until the night sky began to yield to the new day; there is an autumn mist clinging to the ground all around me and over the meadow. A couple days of rain have returned hints of green to the amber and gold hues of the dry grass. Well, and the cooler nights have resulted in some trees beginning to turn their summer greens to autumn hues of russet, yellow, and hints of red. Fall. The equinox is approaching, too.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I’m comfortable and content with this moment just as it is. The air still smells of recent rain, and a little bit of something musty. No breeze, really, but the slow movement of air currents brings with it a hint of a fireplace somewhere, a pleasant reminder of being cozy at home.

I consider my general good fortune in life (at least this portion of it, say the most recent 10 years, about) has been mostly pretty good, and generally getting better as things go along. Certainly, I’ve made a lot of progress, myself, and I find myself feeling grateful. I sit with that awhile.

… Everything is a little damp from recent rain, and I notice my jeans have soaked through, sitting on this fence rail. I don’t mostly care about that, I just happened to notice…

The thing about practices, whether they are to do with walking every day, or practicing gratitude, or practicing the four agreements, or practicing good self-care, or practicing anger management… “practice” is a verb. There is real work to be done. We may commit to a practice and discuss it enthusiastically, but if we’re not doing the practice..? Well, obviously, if we’re not doing it, it isn’t being done. We become what we practice. So…yeah. Got to do the verbs.

I sit thinking about my strength training. So many verbs. Very verb-y ones, too. There is unquestionably doing going in when I am strength training, even with my small dumbbells. Some practices are less visually obvious, like meditation, but the effects of the thing being done are profound. Still takes effort. What I’m getting at is that simply talking about practices isn’t enough. The doing matters more. That’s the practice.  I sit with the thought awhile longer.

No colorful sunrise this morning. The day begins quite gray and overcast. I don’t need it to be anything else. I’m just over here practicing. Self-care. Meditation. Gratitude. Anchoring myself to this moment and being present. Walking in the morning. All practices. It adds up. To what exactly? I guess that depends on the path I choose.

… it’s a very human experience. Choose wisely…

I stretch and get to my feet. This walk won’t finish itself, and I’ve a way to go to get to the other side of the nature park, and back to the trailhead. Then some errands, and maybe painting this afternoon? I sigh contentedly, looking down the trail into the mist. Seems like a good time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, Healthy Living, joy, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, The Big 5, weight loss secrets, women, Words

That Ticking Clock

September 4, 2026 //
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Damn, mortality is a massive buzz kill, sometimes. I heard at work yesterday that Gloria Steinem had died. I sat with that awhile, then. I’ve been thinking about it this morning.

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

She was an important figure in the feminist movement, sure. She was an important figure in a lot of the progress women have made in the past 6 decades. That’s a lot of influence in the lives of women.

Gloria Steinem was all that and probably more. I never met her, but she was important to me on a more personal level than purely as an icon. In 1995, sometime shortly before I left my violent first marriage (finally), I read Moving Beyond Words. I read it again, my first solitary weekend in my new apartment after I left that marriage (and after my Granny had returned home from helping me move out – and move on). This book got my attention and really moved me. It reignited something inside me that had been collecting dust a long time.

I wrote Gloria a letter. It wasn’t a fan girl missive, so much as a quick and vulnerable thank you note. She replied, eventually, and I was surprised and grateful. She wrote telling me it might be hard, this journey that is one woman’s life, and to honor myself and trust in my worth. I’ve continued to treasure that letter, in the years since. Taking it from its envelope gently now and then, and reading it again. Gloria knew that the clock is always ticking.

… I know it, too ..

I was saddened to hear that Gloria Steinem had died.

The weekend is ahead. I very much want to spend it painting. There’s also housekeeping chores to be done. Grocery shopping. Errands. The new SDR my beloved Traveling Partner got for me calls to me for my attention. My RC car wants to play. Life and love want my attention, too. The clock keeps ticking. Everything is a distraction from something else. Choose wisely.

I sit by the side of this rainy trail at daybreak. The changing colors of the morning sky, cloudy and gray mostly, distract me from the night as it passes, too.

… And I still want to paint…

What are you going to do about it?

I sit with my thoughts awhile. I breathe, exhale, and relax. Rain spatters my rain poncho. The clock ticks on. This is a finite mortal lifetime, and choices are necessary to narrow down the options some little bit.  So what’ll it be? I sigh to myself. I rub my aching hands.

I’m making plans for an autumn trip to the coast, to paint and celebrate the equinox. Remembering that intention stops me from fretting about the weekend at all. I like to plan ahead. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I notice the time and get to my feet. I’ve been sitting here for a little while and it’s time to begin – again. There’s a whole new day ahead. What will I do with it?

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Categories Allegories, art and the artist, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, women, Words

The App Is Not The World

September 1, 2026 //
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The air feels somehow heavier than usual. Daybreak is yet to come. My bones ache, and years of arthritis tell me it’s going to rain sometime soon. Today? Tomorrow? I have no idea. The sky is blank smooth darkness, no visible clouds, and also no stars at all. This suggests a dense cloud layer overhead. I step out on the trail, turn my headlamp on and start walking.

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

I get to my halfway point and stop to write and to meditate.

… I had an interesting idea in mind for this morning’s writing, yesterday evening. It’s gone now…

I’m peculiarly groggy this morning. I check the app for my CPAP machine to see how I scored as a representation of how I slept. It looks nearly perfect. I scored 100. So, I would appear to have gotten enough sleep. That’s the sort of silliness that comes of trusting a fucking app. 😆 I slept okay, based on my subjective experience. I’m also groggy. These experiences coexist in this moment. An app has nothing whatsoever to say about it.

Making assumptions based on what some app says, or clinging to expectations obtained through some app is just as foolish and fraught with problematic consequences as any other means of acquiring expectations and assumptions. The app doesn’t make a poor practice better… and if there are verbs involved (and there nearly always are), an app isn’t going to do them for me. The effort to walk my own path is mine.

Scrolling through some feed on some app? Do you really not have better, more entertaining or educational, ways to spend time? Seriously; the app is not the world, and it is not the experience, and it is not a gateway to human connection. I think more people are catching on to a better understanding of all that they lose by becoming dependent on this or that app. I’m encouraged to see it, and I hope it continues.

… there’s so much AI slop and algorithmic bullshit in the world right now…

… Maybe make a point to go outside..?

Daybreak comes, confirming my suspicion that the day would be quite cloudy. There is only the thinnest sliver of pale blue sky down low on the western horizon showing through the dense gray clouds. The rest of the sky is gray. The clouds to the east are quite dark and stormy, and sitting here in jeans and a T-shirt no longer feels like an appropriate choice.

I stretch and get to my feet with a sigh and get ready to begin again.

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

An Uninterrupted View

August 30, 2026 //
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I arrive at the trailhead in darkness. In one direction, fog in the low places, a bright waning moon overhead. In the opposite direction, a clear starry sky, a “Starlink train” of (probably) recently launched satellites still very much visible to the naked eye. I count seven, and watch them wink out of sight as they pass into the Earth’s shadow one by one.

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

A moon with a view; the kind of thing more suited to canvas than to camera.

I make my way down the trail in the moonlight. If it weren’t for this fog, the moonlight would be enough to light the way. The fog obscures my vision and I’m grateful for my headlamp. The air is crisp and cool, and the scents of Spring are gone. Already, the scents of summer have begun to yield to those of autumn. A smattering of scattered leaves on the trail (clearly not left from last year) tell me that the change of seasons is coming. I walk on. I’m okay with the seasons. Change is.

Yesterday was a pleasant day. Uneventful. Simple. Uncomplicated. I enjoyed that. I savor the recollection as I walk, and give those pleasant moments as much attention as I might give some stressful moment. It is a practice that gently improves my implicit experience of my life and reinforces the good in it. This is an important practice for anyone trapped in feelings that life is “always” miserable in some fashion. Life is not “always” anything at all. Nor is life “never” something, aside from death itself, I suppose. There’s simply too much variety of experience.

Subjectively, my experience of chronic pain tempts me into thinking I am “always” hurting at the maximum possible amount of pain I ever experience, when I look back during some especially pain filled day. It’s not accurate. My pain level varies, some moments worse than others, and some rare days almost pain free. Failing to really pause and appreciate moments and days with less pain slowly results in my implicit recollection of pain becoming “always”, and leaving no room to enjoy other experiences.

Where are you right now? What is the experience like? Savor the moment, it won’t be repeated.

I get to my halfway point shortly after daybreak. As my view of the meadow and oak savannah become clearer, I see other people on the trail at distant points. Even from here, I see the cameras. Photographers, probably birdwatchers hoping for a great shot of some particular bird. It’s a good time for migratory shore birds and song birds, and the herons that visit look grand and mysterious standing in a shallow pond wreathed in mist. I’m still reliably surprised when there’s anyone here this early besides me. 😆

Later this morning, I’ll make the drive to enjoy coffee with the Chaotic Comic. She’s been struggling with some health difficulties and it has kept us from meeting up. It will be good to catch up, although it also serves to remind me of other friendships I have neglected that are deserving of my attention. I miss the Author, the Writer, and the Elephant Keeper, and other friends around whom my days revolved in the 90s. It seems a long while ago, and a lifetime away from here and now. I miss those friendships and the sweltering summer nights in the Tower District, prowling the local cafes for entertaining conversation until closing time.

I sigh and pull myself back to this moment betwixt meadow and hillside, looking out over the marsh ponds, quite small in the dry summer months. The sky is a pale autumn blue, dotted with cottony gray clouds. It’s a pleasant moment, uncomplicated and quietly joyful. I sit with it, grateful for the peace and solitude for some little while, and still managing to miss my Traveling Partner.

I take my GMRS radio out of the pocket of my fleece and request a radio check for the hell of it. I get a reply from someone in Dayton, between here and home. Not bad. I feel somehow safer from encroaching chaos and disorder, though it may be an illusion. I shrug and put my radio back into my pocket. Cellular service is not reliable here, and that’s true of many places I walk. It’s nice knowing I could get an emergency communication to someone with my radio, if I fell and were injured.

… I breathe, exhale, and relax…

I watch the sunrise. For no clear reason, I hear “Vincent” by Don McLean in my head. I softly sing the words out loud to myself, surprised that I remember them. Unexpected tears slide down my face. I don’t do anything about that. I sit with my feelings. They aren’t my enemy, they are telling me something, and I pause to listen.

… And then I begin again.

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Categories Allegories, art and the artist, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, gratitude, grief, inspiration, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, Words
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