Archives for posts with tag: meditation
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One Thing and Another

August 13, 2026 //
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Daybreak comes, revealing cloudy skies. I walked to this spot rather unenthusiastically. I’m not in any sort of bad mood, just “feeling the weight” of it all. It is a subjective feeling, and it will pass. I pay it no particular attention, I notice it and let it go.

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

The stormy looking clouds gathered to the east probably don’t hold much potential for rain; it is summer; August in the Pacific Northwest, and a dry, hot one. The weather forecast says sunny today, hot in the afternoon. Right now the air is cool and mild and I regret not grabbing my fleece. My arthritis aches from my fusion to the base of my skull, finally completing a journey that began sometime around 1990, some 36-ish years ago, with the vertebrae immediately above the fused ones. Every year since, it has climbed a little further. About two years ago, I think, I developed arthritis in my shoulders and my collar bone (did not even know that was a thing). Last year I developed arthritis in my thumbs. Osteoarthritis sucks (any pain does, really), and it’s not really feasible to take enough of whatever pain remedy to really be “pain free“. Movement helps, but it’s more pain to have less pain. Vexing. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I let it go. Again.

Cloudy morning. The sky to the west is a smooth homogeneous soft gray, with occasional streaks of clouds drifting past. The work day is ahead. I’m fine with it. Maybe I just need some coffee to shake off this bland disinterest in this moment (or, if I’m being fair, any other). I’m fine, for most values of “fine”. As I said earlier, I’m not in a bad mood, just sort of sitting here glaring somewhat uninterestedly on this new day, which seems a bit unreasonable. It’s new, full of unrealized potential and so many options! I sigh to myself. My inner cheerleader is nowhere to be found.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I take time for meditation. Who knows how I’ll feel after I begin again? Change is. Moments are fleeting.

I get a good morning greeting from my beloved Traveling Partner, and it puts a smile on my face that pain can’t stop. I stretch and get to my feet.

… It’s a new day, time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, anhedonia, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, health, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, Words

Don’t Settle for Slop

August 12, 2026 //
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It’s early and still dark when I reach the trailhead. I am reminded that my Traveling Partner has already reminded me (twice?) to replace my headlamp so I can walk safely in the dark. I take care of that while I wait for daybreak.

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

I set off down the trail at first light. I’m glad to be enjoying real activity in the physical world. The “quality of life” online continues to degrade as enshittification pours AI slop all over basically everything.  It’s super annoying. Worse, there are real signs in everyday life, and interactions with real people, that stupid may actually be taking over. I’m not exaggerating or being unkind, I’m observing a perceivable degradation in the quality of conversations, the reduced vocabulary, and the increasing apparent difficulties regular people seem to be having with the most ordinary shit. Looking things up in a library, or reading a page of text and actually understanding it – really simple, critically useful cognitive tools are becoming less well honed. It’s honestly a bit scary.

… These will be the people we hand the world to when current leaders “age out” of governance. We should probably all be quite terrified…

I sigh to myself as I walk. I’m grateful to be able to read. Grateful to be able to write and to have the opportunity to sit down and easily write a few hundred words without ever needing (or using) an LLM or relying on AI. I’m grateful to be able to comprehend what I read and to be able to interrogate the ideas of others, and to form my own opinions and original thoughts. I don’t want to lose these abilities. As with walking – I keep writing, and reading, and talking. (I could do better with the listening, for real, that’s an underdeveloped skill I work to improve every day.)

….Lacking a crystal ball, I don’t know where the world is headed, but it’s not looking good, and that is a massive disappointment…

Another work day ahead of me. I’m fine with it. My Traveling Partner has finished up the project he’s been working on in the shop for a customer. I’m incredibly impressed and proud of him; he’s made a lot of progress in a short time. (I’ll work from the library today, and give him a chance to enjoy a proper day off. I can be a bit of a distraction. 😆)

Today feels pretty good, subjectively. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I let go of my concern and frustration with the enshittification of American culture and the sad degradation of the once amazing Internet due to corporate greed and billionaire bullshit. I know to put down the connected device(s) and go outside. I smile at a bunny hopping timidly out of the underbrush alongside the trail.

“The world” drives a lot of my anxiety. War. Racism. Sexism. Misogyny. Rudeness and incivility. Hate. Greed. The breakdown of “the social contract”, generally. A lot of these sorts of things are only within my control to the extent that I manage my own behavior to avoid this toxic shit, myself. Don’t do it. Don’t encourage it. Don’t excuse it. Don’t stand around enduring it. That’s generally the best I can do, myself, and all the rest that is outside my control? Yeah, that feeds my anxiety. That’s the piece I have to manage with the greatest care. It’s not always easy (in fact, it’s mostly not easy at all). One thing that definitely helps, a lot? Log off and walk away from the screen. Pretty much any time I “put down the Internet and walk away”, my anxiety is reduced.

… I’m not telling you what to do, just making an observation about my own experience…

AI slop definitely makes my anxiety worse. AI voices put me on edge. AI writing is poorly done to the point of being a distraction that causes me considerable stress. AI videos are ugly and strangely unnatural, and in spite of improvements in quality, generally, I find them objectionable in principle; no one needs these garbage LLMs filling our feeds with slop that isn’t worth even one moment of precious, limited mortal lifetime. I’d rather listen to an awkward actual human being doing an uncomfortably amateur read on some new channel on a topic I don’t care about at all than waste one minute of my time on slop.

Not convinced? That’s okay; I’m not trying to persuade you, I’m having my own experience. If you “don’t see any harm” in AI, maybe try asking it. No kidding. Try “list three reasons using AI for [put your most common use here] is a bad idea”. It’ll tell you. 😂

I sigh to myself and look down the path. The sky takes on soft hues of pink and pale blue. There’s a new day beginning, full of wonder and promise. Choose your adventure. Choose wisely. It’s time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, thoughts on AI, women, Words

Who Were You, Then?

August 4, 2026 //
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Roll back the clock to some distant past moment in your life. Who were you then? Who was the most important influence over the person you became from that moment? What do you think of that person, now? If you could guide your past self, give them a word of advice or redirect their attention… would you? What would you say? Do you ever look back and… wonder?

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

I found myself thinking about my early influences as a young adult, yesterday. The remembrance was sparked by seeing a 1975 interview of Hunter S. Thompson in my video feed. I had watched that interview then (or excerpts of it). At the time he made a huge impression on me. It would not be an exaggeration to say he influenced my approach to writing. Was the actual person who was Hunter S. Thompson likely to be a “good influence” on a brain damaged bookish ‘tween girl eager to explore the adult world? Hardly… and by “hardly”, I suppose I mean to say emphatically “no”.

I look at the smoky hazy morning sky. The air quality is looking pretty bad. It’s probably not ideal to be out here walking in it. The weather report calls the air quality “acceptable” today. I’m not sure I agree. (I can feel that it is harder to breathe.) The moon that had greeted me as I left the house was a distinctive rust sort of hue, against the night sky.

In more primitive times an omen, perhaps. Now only a reminder that the western United States is on fire – “omen” enough, I guess.

The funny thing about the people who influence us most (and I don’t mean those vapid performative self-identified online “influencers” shilling products to make a buck), they are also other human beings, having their own experiences and fucking shit up more often than we can ever know. Just other people. Humans being human. Growing and changing over time just as we each are, ourselves. They aren’t really any different, in that regard. We are each having our own experience. Walking our own path. That’s an idea worth facing, embracing, and making real use of. Where does your path lead? Is it your own, of your own choosing, or are you chasing someone else’s dream?

Where does this path lead?

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I can taste the scent of wood smoke in the air. The haze has become, overnight, sufficient to obscure the view of the hills and mountains to the west. The sky is a peculiar color. The wind has changed direction and now it’s our turn to see sickly orange-brown skies.

I sit a little longer thinking about the various influences there have been over the woman I have become, some positive, some not so much.

…I don’t actually recall where I thought I was going with this; I am distracted by the strange smoky sky, and now it is already time to finish this walk and begin again.

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Categories Allegories, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Practices, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, Words

Life is Defined by Decisions

August 2, 2026 //
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Walking with my thoughts at daybreak. I have a Benjamin Tod song stuck in my head. The refrain is direct and deeply meaningful for me.

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

Life is defined by decisions
You may burn bridges you ain’t got time to mend
You’re too old to be in this condition
You’re too young for the lord to take in

Real. Life is defined by our decisions, or at least shaped by them significantly. We are shaped by circumstances. Shaped by trauma. Shaped by our decisions. When I give it too much thought I begin to feel the mighty fist of fate squeezing and molding me with as little regard for me individually as a toddler with Play-Doh. Here I am.

Yesterday was “defined by” decisions, for sure. A lot of words come to mind, but I still have a lot to consider and process and put into future decisions. Verbs.

My beloved reads my writing (almost every day). One of the most delightful things about my Traveling Partner reading my writing is that I feel very “seen” – visible. Understood. When I make some point very well, he takes a moment to let me know and sometimes shares my writing. It’s something I appreciate.

One of the most uncomfortable things about my Traveling Partner reading my writing is that I am very visible; he sees where I am falling short on good self-care, and when I let some critical practice fall by the wayside. He points out hypocrisy. He calls me on my bullshit. When I’m struggling with something I’ve dealt with before, he observes the pattern and redirects my attention to some previous bit of writing with which I can support myself and get back on track. This too I appreciate – but it is uncomfortable as hell. I’m grateful. We don’t grow from comfortable experiences.

…If I were a better person, perhaps I would find a more gracious approach to accepting his support. I sigh to myself. I can be a resentful defensive asshole about feedback sometimes. I can do better. I’ll practice…

Our conversations yesterday were powerful, raw, deeply meaningful, heartfelt, frank, and vulnerable. I’m not going to call it a good time – but it was needed and I feel more deeply connected with my partner as a result. That’s good stuff. The discomfort doesn’t last. The feeling of connection can, if I feed it some verbs.

The sun lights the treetops, looking a bit like autumn.

The morning is cloudy. It feels like it may actually rain. After I finish my walk, it’s another day of laundry, and chores and housekeeping. My pain feels pretty well managed. I’ll work on keeping it that way.

… Life is defined by decisions…

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I’m still more questions than answers. Still a student of life, practicing practices, doing my best, and taking this journey without a map one step at a time. Incremental change over time really does add up, but it is a slow process, and we definitely can’t expect the promise of future progress to satisfy every circumstance. It is what it is (which is to say slow and uncomfortable, but worth the effort).

I smile thinking about enjoying a cup of coffee with my beloved before I set off for my walk this morning. Vulnerable is hard. Connected is supremely beautiful. These experiences are related; connection requires vulnerability. I am good at neither of these. I sigh to myself at the admission. Okay, now that I’ve said it, where does that leave me? Standing on the edge a beginning, I guess.

Summer meadow flowers

I sit watching a new day begin. It’s time isn’t it? We create a lot of our experience. Our lives are defined by our decisions. Choose wisely. Do the verbs. The clock is ticking. Fuck it all up? Well, shit, learn something and begin again. Learn what matters most. Decide who you most want to be. Do those verbs. Didn’t work out? Do something different. Incremental change over time will continue to shape and define you. It’s a process.

I sit awhile longer reflecting on the progress I’ve seen my partner make in the lifetime we’ve spent together. He’s certainly playing the game on advanced settings. We’ve traveled a long and difficult journey together. It is an adventure I hope to continue all of my mortal days (and whatever may be beyond them).

It’s time to begin. Again.

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Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Summer, The Art of Being, The Big 5

Shapes of Things

August 1, 2026 //
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I woke early, in spite of wanting to sleep in. I got up, dressed, and left the house. Filled my gas tank. Got coffee on my way up the highway to the nature park to walk the marsh trail, more meadow than marsh at this point in the summer.

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

Scene from a summer walk, we choose what we pay attention to. Mostly.

I sigh to myself as I walk. My left ankle has decided for me that this spot, right here, is “halfway”. It isn’t. Not at all, but it is definitely where I am stopping!

There is a convenient viewpoint with a bench only a little further. I take the next few steps slowly and carefully, grateful for my sturdy trekking pole that is my outdoor cane. I sit down, grateful, relieved, and content to be here in this place. I have the trail to myself – or did when I got started (first to arrive, pulling in just as the gate opened with a screech). It is quiet and cloudy. Looks and feels like maybe rain later… the forecast disagrees. Another heatwave soon. I am reminded to add a “hose” to my shopping list to replace a section that split and began to leak just a couple days ago.

The meadow grasses are dry and brown, with the white flowers of wild carrot or maybe Queen Anne’s Lace seeming to float above the waves of brown. The yellow clusters of wild St John’s Wort here and there add a bit of color. The wild roses are mostly done blooming, but don’t yet have hips. The lupines are long gone, even the seed pods have split and spilled their seeds, and withered. I breathe the scent of the summer meadow, exhale, and relax.

… It’s a good thing I’m not in any hurry today, the walk back will be a slow one…

I think about the day ahead. There’s housework to be done. I can probably fill the day with it. I feel myself shrug, an involuntary gesture of acceptance. I guess I’m okay with it. I’ll put on a playlist and dance through the chores until my body just can’t do more, and maybe get caught up a bit.

My mind wanders to RC cars, N scale railroad, Barbie dolls, and painting cast figurines… “hobbies”, past, present, and considered once or often. The clock is ticking. How do I pass my time, find joy, and indulge in play as an adult? A healthy life isn’t built on chores, wage earning, and sleep – there’s more to it. Isn’t there? I have choices and options.

…We shape our experience with our choices…

I breathe, exhale, and relax, and think about the way I have shaped my life, and what shape it might take if I choose differently. Small changes add up. It’s a lot to stay on top of, seeking to make willful changes… Verbs. Choices. Repetition. Reminders. Self-reflection. Incremental change over time, moment by moment, experience by experience, action by action. We become what we practice. (This is serious and powerful, because it is true both of what we want to become, and also of what we loathe, but persist in practicing.)

I’ll finish my walk. Do some grocery shopping, and head home to shape the life I want to live through the use of some well chosen verbs (meaning to say, doing some housework). Where the path may lead me from there, I don’t know. It is the path I choose, but I’ve still got to walk it. I have to begin again.

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