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When the Rain Comes

September 6, 2025 //
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I woke to a bright flash and the sound of thunder a few minutes ahead of my alarm. There was a message from my Traveling Partner sent during the wee hours of the night, asking if the thunder was keeping me awake, too. It wasn’t, but it eventually did wake me. As I dressed, I looked at the forecast. If it’s still raining, it won’t be for long, maybe.

I head to a more distant favorite trailhead, meadow and marsh, fewer trees. When I get there it’s still dark, not yet daybreak. I park facing west and watch the lightning illuminate the western sky at unpredictable intervals. I make a futile attempt to get a photograph of lightning; this is not the camera for that purpose. I give up and sit quietly, just watching, and waiting for the gate to the nature park to open.

Lightning before, lightning after, but the click of the shutter doesn’t catch the sight. There’s a lesson here.

… So much lightning seen, and not photographed…

I sit watching, as daybreak arrives and becomes the dawn of a new day. Most of the lightning I see arrives without thunder. It must be far away, I guess. Most of it flashes horizontally across the western sky, seeming never to touch the ground. Instead of a blinding pure white light, some of it appears almost orange, and I wonder at it, and contemplate what the cause could be and whether I’ve ever seen that before. We rarely get thunderstorms here, but lacking the sound of thunder, does this count as that?

I watch the lightning for more than half an hour, as the dawn sky brightens. Is it even safe to be out on the marsh trail in the open during a lightning storm, I eventually wonder? I’m content to wait and wonder, there is no reason to rush; it’s a Saturday.

…It isn’t even raining, at all…

Once there is enough daylight to make out the trail easily, I lace up my boots and go.

I enjoy the hues and shadows of the blue hour, as they change.

I get to my halfway point on the other side of the marsh and the meadow safely. I perch on a fence rail near a small pond and watch the western sky. The lightning seems less frequent, and when I see a flash, it is more to the north. The storm is moving. No surprise; storms move. An unexpected really bright flash of lightning tears across the sky, this time with the crackle and boom of thunder, catching me with my eyes wide open looking directly into the brilliant white light. I’m momentarily blinded, and wait, grateful I wasn’t walking at the time.

I breathe the rain-fresh summer air. It smells clean and fresh and healthy. I breathe deeply, filling my lungs with cool joy. I enjoy the moment of solitude and quiet. I watch a large-ish herd of deer crossing the meadow. Three does with eight fawns, almost grown, their spots almost gone. I scan the meadow and treeline looking for the buck, but don’t see him. This is a delightful moment simply to exist in the world. I sit with that thought and a feeling of contentment and joy, awhile longer.

After some little while, I notice my legs becoming stiff. Seems a good time to move along down the trail to the next moment. I wonder briefly whether my beloved Traveling Partner managed to get the rest he needs, and whether I should find something to do after my walk and let him sleep in, or head straight home after a short trip to the grocery store on the way? I chuckle to myself. I can rely on him to let me know, and don’t need to guess.

I get to my feet, stretching and looking down the trail. It’s time to begin again.

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

Weather or Not

September 5, 2025 //
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I am waiting for the sun, at a local trailhead. I’m not in any hurry, and it is a calm, quiet morning. The forecast says maybe it’ll rain, later. For now, I amuse myself wondering if that’s lightning I just saw. What I definitely saw was a brief very bright diffuse flash of light somewhere beyond the clouds obscuring the predawn sky, and then, later, another. I didn’t hear thunder, so I guess that if it was lightning (what else would it be?) it must be quite far away.

In the darkness, before dawn, it’s easy to wonder.

Another work day. Nothing much to say about that.

My tinnitus is crazy loud in my ears. My spine is a column of pure pain; I tell myself it’s “only” arthritis. It’s an unhelpful bit of exaggeration, but I count on it to persuade me that the pain can safely be ignored. I take my morning medications, which include prescription pain relief. It helps some, but only serves to “take the edge off”. It’s been a long time since it was any more effective than that.

I sigh to myself and grab my cane. I’ve got enough daylight now to walk this trail safely. I get started…

… I walk, lost in my own thoughts, and find that I’ve gone down and around and back to my starting point, already. It’s still early, barely daybreak. I decide to walk the loop again (it’s only about a mile and a half)…

I stop at a favorite resting point, when I reach it. My mind wants to dart ahead, to focus on work, but it is not yet time for that, and I pull myself back to this moment, here. The sky is gray, and cloudy, with the look of a sky that might rain, maybe. The air smells of rain, too. Another flash of distant lightning, another hint at rain.

Weather…or not.

The hills far to the west are hazy, looking more like a watercolor impression of hills on the horizon, and a bit unreal. This moment even feels a little unreal. Too quiet. Too still. The darkness of the trees between me and the river beyond seem vaguely spooky, although they have no secrets. It’s just a row of trees along the river bank. I walk here often.

I watch the sky continue to lighten, as daybreak becomes dawn, and an unseen sun rises somewhere beyond the clouds. The sky shifts from night black, to the deep blue of dawn, to the gray and cloudy sky I see now, and hints of pale blue behind the clouds peeking through where the clouds shred slowly as they move… north? North. I breathe, exhale, and relax. Somewhere nearby, the noise of a trash truck interrupts the stillness.

I sigh to myself as I get to my feet to finish my walk and head to work. Whether or not it actually rains, there’s still weather of some sort. Whether or not my path takes me where I expect to go, it still leads me somewhere. Having the experience is what matters most – the being and doing are the point. The journey is the destination. Isn’t that enough? I think about that as I stretch. The clock is ticking, and it’s time to begin.

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

House of Pain

August 31, 2025 //
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Yesterday was a pretty relaxed day of getting things done, although not that many things, and rather slowly. I spent the day in pain, and that put pain management as a high priority, competing for my attention through the day. My Traveling Partner was also dealing with pain, and struggling to focus on the work he was doing, too. We managed to enjoy the day together in spite of pain. Later, when the Anxious Adventurer returned home from work, he brought his own pain along with him. Nonetheless, we all mostly managed to mostly enjoy the time, without complicating the experience with pain. That’s something, and I sit for a moment this morning, grateful for the good day yesterday in spite of pain. Everybody hurts sometimes… Living with chronic pain is its own special hell, but it can be managed to some extent.

It could have been worse; I found enough “spoons” to bake cookies.

I woke this morning from a deep restful sleep, and was awake for a few minutes before I realized I wasn’t asleep anymore. I got dressed and headed to the local trailhead I favor. I don’t have any reason to drive further, really, and this is a pleasant trail and it is a quiet morning. It’s Labor Day weekend, and there’s no one here but me, so far. It’s the sort of weekend a lot of families use to go to the coast or to the mountains, this little suburban trail is neither of those.

A hazy summer sky reminds me that the world is burning, elsewhere.

I walk the trail, down through the oaks, between the parking lot and the vineyards, winding around the bend past mature grape vines, and down into the trees that grow more densely along the creek, until I get to this spot, convenient to sit a moment with my thoughts. I’ve grown very comfortable with practicing meditation outside, somewhere along the trail I’ve chosen, in the early morning. I’m rarely interrupted. It’s pleasant and quite calming. Lovely morning for it, in spite of the haze of distant wildfires.

… I’m still in pain (again) today. Like a lot of people, I live with chronic pain…

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I reflect on age, and aging, the vagaries of the absolutely crap-tacular US healthcare system, and what it means to balance endurance with joy, and what it takes to thrive in spite of chronic pain. Then I let all that go and enjoy this lovely morning moment of quiet contentment out here on this trail. I’m less anxious, knowing I’ll go back to work on Tuesday, which is helpful. Like a lot of other things, anxiety tends to worsen pain, or at least seems to make it more difficult to manage or ignore.

I watch some chipmunks playing at the edge of the trees. They delight me. I would definitely pet one if it came close enough, and laugh at myself over it. It’s probably not a good idea to try to pet wild creatures, generally speaking. I spend a moment wondering if I’m such a chucklehead that I’d actually do something so foolish, or would I only want to? I find myself unable to be entirely certain. I hope I’d choose wisely. My ability to apply self-restraint and impulse control are much better on the GLP-1 I’ve now been taking for more than a year. It has improved my life quite a lot, because I’m not so likely to do dumb shit “because it seemed like the thing to do at the time”.

The rising sun illuminates the strip of meadow beyond the trail that separates the forest from the vineyard. I see an elder couple walking their dog slowly approaching from the farthest point along the trail still visible to me. Nice morning for it, and I knew I wouldn’t have the trail to myself indefinitely. They wave and offer a cheery greeting as they pass. I wave back and reply.

More housework today, I guess, that’s the routine. Pain slows me down, but I try to avoid letting it stop me. There’s just too much to do, and we’re all in pain (in this household) – someone still has to get things done. When we all commit to doing what we can and coordinate our efforts, we still manage a pretty good quality of life, and sometimes even manage to forget the pain for a little while. It doesn’t do to let things go too long, it’s harder to catch up than it is to stay on top of things.

…New job Tuesday…

I sigh to myself and enjoy the cool summer morning and the scents on the breeze. Meadow flowers. Mown grasses. Forest and creek. The lavender scent I’m wearing, that reaches my nose when I move. My hair feels soft on my shoulders and I wonder again if I should get it cut? I feel comfortable in my skin in spite of my pain, and grateful to have worn a sweater over my lighter summer top. The first hints of autumn approaching are all around, and the cooler morning is just one sign.

I’ve lingered here awhile and my legs are beginning to feel stiff. It’s time to walk on. This day is a good one to get things done… but there are definitely some verbs involved. lol It’s time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, joy, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Practices, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, weight loss secrets

Not As Advertised

August 29, 2025 //
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I’m sipping water, and getting my boots on, preparing for the morning hike. It’s a gray cloudy morning, cooler than originally forecasted. I’m okay with that, but as I dig through my gear bin in the back of the car for my fleece, I wonder if I should have worn a sweater?

A new day, full of potential.

I step down the trail contentedly. Later this morning I’ll meet with a former colleague (who is also a friend) to discuss a job offer. I’m grateful for the opportunity, and feel fortunate that it is coming so soon…but, in practical terms, it’s not 100% of everything I was hoping for. It’s not a bad offer. It’s not in any way unreasonable. It is in every way an excellent offer and one that should meet all my practical needs and even get me ahead a bit, although perhaps more slowly than I’d ideally like. The salary is a small step back (very small). Here’s the thing though; it’s still quite outstanding. I’m not even bitching, and I expect to accept… I’m just saying it’s an imperfect world and circumstances don’t always go along with our plans, dreams, or expectations. That’s just real.

I’m grateful for the practical wisdom of my Traveling Partner. I likely wouldn’t be where I am without having had the benefit of his insights, wise counsel, and thoughtful perspective. I’ll head to this meeting later able to act from a position of strength. Feels good.

… Funny thing about this perception of “taking a small step back” – in some ways it is an illusion. This illusion is built on the foundation of my expectations and assumptions (about the world, about my worth, about the economy, about the job market, about “have to” vs “want to”…) and mostly isn’t at all relevant to my success in life or my decision making process, until I make it relevant by clinging to those (potentially wildly unrealistic) expectations and assumptions.  Quite a few folks leaving college with their freshly printed degrees fall into this trap.

… There are no shortcuts, not really, and you will have to do the work required, yourself. Your results may vary…

I get to the halfway point on my hike still thinking about jobs, the value of a human life, and the obstacles we place in our own way, time and again, in the form of expectations or assumptions. I remember, when I was first beginning to think seriously about my adult future and what that might look like, I seriously expected to build a career somewhere that would begin when I left high school and end when I eventually retired, well-prepared for leisure living until the eventual end of my life. I didn’t actually see many examples of that scenario playing out in my life among the adults around me, it was merely what I expected, not really knowing how much the world was already changing. TV shows I watched at the time definitely pictured a very different world than I would find when I reached adulthood. lol

I have had friends and associates who invested a lot of time and emotional energy into bitching bitterly about the world not being what they felt was promised (been there myself), but there aren’t any guarantees offered. No assurances regarding what the future may hold, at least none with legitimate practical value. We experience the journey we create through our choices, and framed by our perspective on things. We don’t know what we don’t know. We walk our own path, paved with our own choices. (And let’s not overlook that actual monsters in our midst whose laser focus on personal gain to the clear predictable detriment to those around them do also exist.) There’s an enormous amount of luck involved, and it’s hard to argue otherwise. Our results vary, as do our circumstances. Messy. It’s probably a poor choice to lock oneself into one very specific unique potential experience and snarl at the world that nothing else will do. That’s a very limiting approach to take. There are other options.

Success is not a given. The future is not written, and most of us are just making things up as we go. That’s okay; the journey is the destination, and the success of it is determined by the quality of the lived experience in a wholly subjective way. I can choose whether to accept or decline a job offer. I am the one who will fill the role and have the experience; I define the success. For me, the big wins are to live well, choose wisely, and enjoy the journey.

I breathe, exhale, and relax, watching the sky continue to lighten as dawn becomes a new day. I got started early, and there’s no hurry. I sit thoughtfully in this quiet summer meadow, reminding myself to make notes about various benefits and such other details as will matter, beyond salary. The details matter.

A little brown bird stops on an oak branch very near me and chirps loudly before singing a little scrap of her song. I am pulled back to this “now” moment right here, suddenly aware that I may as well be behind a fucking desk already; I’m not fully “present”, here, now. I laugh and the little bird looks at me quizzically. I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. I pay attention to the softness of the morning air, and the scents of summer. A doe with two fawns, already losing their spots, ambles by unconcerned about me, here on this log. Overhead a layer of low dense gray clouds slowly drifts westward. The air smells like it might rain.

I get to my feet, and brush bits of bark and grass from my jeans. It’s time to walk on, to embrace a new experience filled with new potential. The map is not the world. The plan is not the experience. The brochure is not a guarantee, and the advertising is not the truth. Hmph. It’s easy to say what an experience is not. In more positive terms what is it, though? I chuckle to myself as I pick up my cane and look down the trail. What is it? It’s time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, Logic & Reason, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, Words

Don’t Forget To Breathe

August 28, 2025 //
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I’m waiting for the sun. Daylight will arrive, I’ll walk this local trail, then it’s job search activities, appointments, and errands. I’m grateful that planning and task management are among my skills; the fatigue of what I’m presently going through finally caught up with me yesterday. (I even snapped at my Traveling Partner in a misdirected moment of frustration and cognitive overload.)

There’s nothing noteworthy about a human primate feeling emotional or overwhelmed by stress, or distracted by competing priorities. Hell, there’s nothing noteworthy about having to manage stress, or needing to reinforce good self-care practices. It’s not even noteworthy that I finally reached the tipping point between purposeful action, and disabling fatigue. Just happens to be that I got there yesterday.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I needed the deeply restful sleep I got last night. Today feels a little less overwhelming. I sit waiting for the sun, drinking water, and thinking about a recent conversation with a friend (who is also a former colleague). I may not be out of work very long, which is reassuring. I’ve even gotten a couple of “lucky breaks” this week that serve to reduce my stress quite a lot. I’m more okay than not, just very human and enduring a stressful circumstance.

I watch the sky lighten to a dishwater gray. The hills to the west are hazy from smoke of distant wildfires. A walk will feel good. I remind myself again how critical good self-care is, especially right now. I’m fatigued from managing stress, and I’m in pain from my arthritis. The physical discomfort piles on with the background stress, and in spite of a good night’s sleep and good self-care, I feel rundown and quite exhausted. Hilarious that I see more physical work as something to re-energize me. It probably will, though, for some little while. Eventually there has to be a reckoning and I wonder what else I can do to help myself through this?

I can almost hear my Traveling Partner’s voice reminding me, “don’t forget to breathe”, and realize I was indeed holding my breathe. I exhale, and breathe deeply. The summer air is sweet and floral with the scents of summer flowers and mown grasses. It is a pretty morning, pleasantly cool, and very quiet.

Nice morning to walk with my thoughts.

I lace up my boots and grab my cane. The beautiful summer morning calls me to come walk and enjoy the moment. I’m grateful to be reminded that I don’t have to hustle frantically from task to task and moment to moment. Better to take things one by one, to be truly present, and really enjoy things as they are. This won’t last, and overloading myself with self-imposed stress and nonsensically strict obligations is just silly. Life is best lived, savored, and enjoyed!

I smile and sigh to myself, and stretch. I look down the trail and think about it as a metaphor for forward momentum and progress, and this journey that is life. It’s time to walk on. Time to begin. Again.

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