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Love and Luxury

January 10, 2026 //
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He asked me “what’s your plan for tomorrow?” I replied with a short summary of a fairly typical morning for me, I’d dress when I woke, head out quietly for a walk, and stop at the store on my way home afterward. He looked at me with a very serious look, and a lot of love. “I don’t like the idea of you being out so early in the cold and the dark, that can’t be good for you after being sick, and with your arthritis. I read your blog, you know.” (That was the gist of it, I’m sure I’ve gotten the words a little wrong.) He asked me to consider staying home, waking up whenever, and having coffee before I get started doing things out of the house. I’ll admit, it’s an idea I enjoy. I love a leisurely morning over my coffee, and some writing, embraced in the warmth of “home”. I agree that I will stay home and have my morning coffee before I got out…and I did. (Well, I am.)

…This is definitely a better cup of coffee, and the soft lo-fi in the background is lovely, too…

What a luxury this is! I mean, it’s such a simple thing, but I feel very loved, and I am enjoying the morning. No tinnitus. I just now noticed that these noise cancelling headphones with the right music playing do a pretty sweet job of masking it. If I focus on it, I can still hear it, but otherwise it fades into the background, dim and unnoticed. Good coffee. Quiet morning. I breathe, exhale, and relax, and savor this simple luxury. Weekends.

I love a weekend. I’ve got this book, too. I’m already so eager to read it that I’ve set aside “A Canticle for Leibowitz“, which I got for Giftmas. I can pick it up again after I read “The Stand (1990 complete and uncut edition)“. I choke briefly on a sigh that became a chuckle; “too many books to read” feels like a fun problem to have. lol It is quite possibly one of my favorite “problems”. I think fondly back to walking to the local library each summer (often) and returning from hours among the aisles of shelves with an armful of books. I spent so many long summer days quietly reading, uninterrupted as I visited far off places and other lives through those pages. It was the 1970s, and even at nine years old, I was allowed to walk to the library alone (it was only half a mile), and had my own library card. By the time I was 12, I was reading from the adult section, too, although the librarian always double-checked that I wasn’t checking out something wildly inappropriate (I was 13 before she let me check out books by Anaïs Nin or Henry Miller).

When I deployed for Desert Shield, in the summer of 1990, I tucked books into small spaces here and there in the maintenance truck I loaded for transport to our destination. I filled my own footlocker with books (and my cribbage board, a monopoly set, and assorted sundries – which turned out to have been an excellent idea, later). I took quite a few books, and they passed through many hands over those many weeks and months of deployment, once the other people in my unit were aware of them. Even people who might otherwise not ever pick up a book, found themselves purusing my wee “library” after some time spent well and truly bored. War may be hell (it definitely is) – but it can also be quite boring between the moments of chaos, destruction, violence, or terror.

After I’d left the military, and while I was leaving my first marriage, I hurriedly boxed up the books I had, and put them on the truck, discovering only later (as my Granny helped me unpack into my new apartment) that quite a few of my precious books were missing – and all of my Heinlein books (a complete set of first editions) were among those missing books. Later my ex bragged about grabbing boxes from the truck while my Granny and I were loading it, and burning my books (and my high-heeled shoes – wth?) out of anger and spite, knowing they were precious to me. The books mattered to me more than his senseless destructive bullshit, and I cried – and replaced what I could, over time. I had very little furniture, and here and there stacks of books served as “side tables”, nightstands, or a place upon which to put a small lamp, for quite a while, until after the construction season picked up again, and I could afford some second hand furniture. Life lived, achievements unlocked. Hopefully I learned some things from it.

I like books. Real bound books. Before the Anxious Adventurer moved in, I had a small library here at home – a room set up specifically as a place to read, shelves and books lining the walls. I miss it. I don’t grudge him the space – and I’d rather not have him bedding down in some temporary arrangement in the livingroom or garage; those spaces have their purposes, here, already. Instead, we added the hutch and bookshelves in the dining room, and now my lovely breakables have a place where they can be seen (even used), and more space for books. It’s beautiful. It’s hard to be bothered by any of that, at all. Eventually, the Anxious Adventurer will make his own way in the world, and get his own place (sooner than later, at this point), and I’ll have that room back, and even gain additional space for books thereby. Neat. 😀

Do I sound “too excited” about a book or two? I probably am. But if we lost the internet completely for one reason or another, these bound books in my hands will still be as they are – and worth reading, even if only as a happy means of whiling away an hour or two of boredom. Read a book! There are so many. 😀

I breathe, exhale, and relax. My Traveling Partner looks in on me. We exchange a handful of words. I look at the time. It’s already time to get on with the morning. I smile to myself, feeling relaxed and loved, and ready to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, joy, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, The Art of Being, The Big 5, War and News of War, winter, women, Words

The Bitter and The Sweet

January 8, 2026 //
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I slept well and deeply last night. I woke gently at a good time for waking. I think I even managed to get myself ready for the day and leave the house without waking everyone else. The cafe is warm, my coffee is hot, and the background music is different, more to my taste. My first taste of this cup of coffee reminds me that life is not reliably joyful and easy; it is bitter, and tastes over-roasted. I shrug it off. It is also inconsequential. Some coffee is bitter. Some coffee is sweet. As with moments.

Everyone on my global work team is down with the flu, or recently recovering. The flu is hitting hard this year, but it is orders of magnitude less serious than COVID was. It’s easy to forget how terrible the pandemic was. (I’m glad I am finally getting over the flu, and I’m grateful it wasn’t worse; this year’s flu has killed thousands of people in the US alone, thus far.) Last night I did not wake even once to deal with my sinuses or to cough, and didn’t start coughing or struggling with draining sinuses as soon as I sat up – a pleasant change.

Spring is coming. Oh, this morning was freezing cold, and the car was thoroughly frosted over. It’s definitely winter here, now. I’m glad I’m not out walking in the cold and damp, I admit. Not my favorite conditions for walking, these freezing temperatures and dark, wet mornings. I won’t say “no” to a chance to watch the sun rise from a convenient trail, but I’d rather not spend hours in the cold to do that if I can avoid it. That’s just real.

My second sip of coffee seems quite different than the first, pleasant, not especially bitter. I don’t put a lot of thought into; it really doesn’t matter. It was probably something to do with the lingering taste of toothpaste in my mouth. I let my mind move on and enjoy my coffee contentedly. I take a moment to breathe, exhale, and relax, and do a “body scan”, allowing myself to feel my feelings and acknowledge the various physical sensations of being human. No particularly noteworthy amount of pain, this morning, which is something worth spending a moment of my time to appreciate and savor. I feel comfortable in my skin, ready for a new day. (I wonder what it holds…)

The earth keeps turning. The clock keeps ticking. American idiots keeps talking “bigger gun diplomacy” and nonsense about taking fucking Greenland. For real, people? Are we really those assholes?? Fuck democracy, we’ll just take what we want? I honestly thought better of us. Hopefully hateful stupidity and vengeful pettiness don’t win over the hearts of most Americans, and we can look back on this moment in our history with patient astonishment and lessons learned, after the next election. (Ideally sooner than later, because this shit is costing us many dollars, and allies, and destroying our reputation on the world stage.) We’ve got a mess on our hands, and I’ve become very concerned that we won’t dig out of it in my lifetime. I sigh and sip my coffee, grateful we still import this magical bean at all.

Speak truth to power. Don’t let your voice be silenced. Stand firm on your values, and try not to be too discouraged by current events; this too will pass, I remind myself. Change is. Impermanance is a permanent condition.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I let all that go and pull myself back to here, and now. For some strange reason, the playlist the cafe has on is playing surreal sounding … surf music? Weird. I find myself asking a barista what they’ve got playing. Yep. “Indie surf rock“, she says. It makes for an interesting atmosphere in this morning space in the wet gloomy winter of the Pacific Northwest. I’m not even complaining. It beats “shoegaze” or vapid pop breakup songs.

I sit with my thoughts awhile. There is no reason to rush the morning, I’ve got awhile before the work day begins. I think about the years behind me. 62 of those. I’ll be 63 this year. I don’t “feel old”, in spite of aches and pains and such; I’ve had those for years. The osteo arthritis in my spine developed before I was 30 and has continued to worsen over the years, climbing my spine, reaching my neck most recently. It doesn’t have further to go, but manages to keep getting worse anyway. I try not to let it dictate my life or my choices, day-to-day, sometimes that’s hard – but it doesn’t feel “aging related” to me. It’s a reminder of past trauma.

When I was a kid, adults in their 60s seemed elderly to me. That’s not true in 2025 – most of the people I meet in their 60s these days not only seem “my age” (well, duh), but also don’t seem (or appear to be) “old”. Phrases like “60 is the new 40” come to mind. I chuckle grimly; recent changes to vaccine schedules, dietary recommendations, and cost or availability of healthcare pretty nearly promise that aging is going to look very different in the near future (and not in a good way for generations who will find themselves aging very soon). Limited retirement potential for Americans also continues to burden folks as they age out of the workforce (if they can leave the workforce at all, it may not be voluntary). We do a pretty shitty job of caring for our elders in this country. We do a pretty shitty job of caring, generally.

I sigh and shake off my dark mood. G’damn I’m so fucking over people, lately. I call to mind the bright spots in my life, people-wise. My Traveling Partner. My friend the Author. My friend the Chaotic Comic. Far away friends I rarely see but write to more than occasionally. The Anxious Adventurer is also a human being with a better than average heart, of generally good character. Nonetheless, I feel a deep abiding need to “step away for awhile”, somehow, and like a great many people (most people, probably) I can’t really afford to right now. Another sigh breaks the stillness. The deep breath that follows feels good, and I relax as I exhale. I am enjoying the scents of freshly ground coffee as they waft my way, and I focus my attention on that. I rub my hands slowly, massaging my aching thumbs. I can’t say I’m surprised that arthritis is developing in my thumbs; the joints most affected are those that are most involved in holding a pen, a brush, or a palette knife. It’s a cruel twist, but it’s not personal. These are fragile vessels and we learn too late how best to care for them. I look at my hands. I see signs of age there most clearly; small wrinkles tell the tale of years, shadows of fading bruises are reminders of hidden fragility.

…The clock ticks on…

It’s been almost two years since I lost my Dear Friend. I experience a fleeting pang of mortal dread… that ticking clock, you know? I chuckle to myself. A great many people in my lineage lived to advanced years – a handful well past 100 years. Many (most?) into their 90s. There’s no reason to rush toward the end, but it’s on my mind more than it needs to be, lately. I often finding myself wanting to “live forever” – there is much to see and do and learn and explore, and many questions to ask along the way. This moment here is simple and ordinary, but it’s also precious and entirely unique. Moments are fleeting. Savor them! I sip my coffee, glance at the time, and think my thoughts.

A friendlier than usual barista stops by my table to chat – a moment of recognition and visibilty. She(?) is curious about what I’m doing, what I’m writing about. I find a way to describe myself and my writing, briefly. I find this a challenging but sometimes useful exercise. We exchange names, and a few pleasant words. She returns to the work at hand, I turn my attention back to my writing, and this morning moment.

My momentarily dark mood seems to have mostly lifted. As it passes, my arthritis pain begins to return. These experiences are not related directly in any way but timing, and that is coincidental. I sip my coffee marveling at how easily we conflate unrelated events or see causality where there is none, simply due to timing. Human primates are interesting. (We aren’t as smart as we think we are.) I definitely don’t want to be around them all damned time. I sigh, and sip my coffee, daydreaming about getting in the car and just… driving toward the horizon. Alone. I feel a bitter smile twist the corner of my mouth; human primates are social creatures. My love of solitude is a reflection of trauma, of chaos, and damage. I’m not unaware of this, and it is part of “who I am”.

I stretch and sigh, and get ready to begin again.

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Categories 2024 Election, Allegories, anger, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, grief, health, Healthy Living, inspiration, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, The Art of Being, The Big 5, turning 60, War and News of War, winter, Words

Overlooked Value & Unrealized Potential

December 30, 2025 //
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I woke from a deep sound sleep, surprised that it was “already” morning. The lights in the room had reached full brightness before my alarm woke me. This surprises me, but does not cause any anxiety; even waking with my alarm does not create any condition of “lateness”, it’s simply unusual for me to sleep to that point without waking on my own to some sound or perception of movement in the house (that may or may not be real). I get up, dress, and move through my morning routine until my feet carry me across the threshold of the front door, and out into the world. Hopefully, I managed not to wake anyone, but my Traveling Partner is a relatively light sleeper, and it is often the case that my departure (or some noise as I was dressing) will wake him, if not for the day for some little while. (I hope he slept; he needs the rest.)

I made the drive to the co-work space, as much for the time spent in thought as for any characteristic of being in an office. I’d happily work from home every day (and I’m set up for it, and have a job that expects it), but circumstances being what they are, and faced with the demands of basic consideration, and also just not liking having to “deal with people” first thing after I wake… it’s just easier to go somewhere else for a few hours, if not for the entire day, at least for the morning portion of it. I do everything I can to create some solitary time for myself to properly wake up, drink some coffee, and sort myself out before I interact with other people. I do everything I can to give my Traveling Partner that same opportunity. I consider it a matter of courtesy, but it is also entirely self-serving; I dislike drama or conflict when I’m “still waking up” even more than I dislike interacting with other people at that delicate hour, which is really saying something. The most effective means of avoiding all that is to be somewhere else, preferably where other people aren’t.

The co-work space is quiet. It’s early. I’m alone. There’s only the soft clicking of my fingers dancing across the keyboard, and the background noise of the ventilation. I sip my coffee (iced) and alternate with a hot cup of tea (chamomile & rose, with a bit of honey) to sooth my throat. My head aches, but it could be worse. My arthritis is griefing me, but again – I’ve had worse days than this. I am still fighting lingering symptoms of having been ill… and it’s been just a bit more than two weeks, now. (I knew what I was in for when the ick moved from my sinuses into my throat, then into my chest. I’ll fight this shit for weeks more, probably.) These fucking meat sacks are fragile and bothersome…but life, as it is, offers few alternatives. lol It is what we make of it. I chuckle to myself. I know damned well it could be so much worse. I breathe, exhale, and relax. Sip my coffee. Sip my tea. Think my thoughts.

2025 is nearly over. Good times, and hard times, we’ve seen some things, haven’t we? Wow. Another year over… another new year about to begin.

…the new year is a blank page…

I think for a bit about how easy it is to be down on each other – or ourselves – when things are going poorly, or in some moment of vexation or conflict. We may say some pretty terrible things to people we care for deeply, in some moment of anger or frustration. I’m not excusing that; bad behavior does not benefit from excuse-making. Better to correct it, once identified. We’re each human beings, being human, though, and it is true that hurt people often hurt people. We develope “coping skills” over a lifetime to deal with trauma and petty bullshit, and often don’t reevaluate those behaviors later in our lives when they are clearly no longer ideal (or possibly not even appropriate). Being kind, considerate, and gracious take practice. Saying “I’m sorry” takes practice. Being open and listening deeply take practice. Being an uplifting presence in our relationships instead of a chronically sarcastic buzzkill takes practice. For any one of us to become the human being we most want to be, there is a requirement that we do the work involved in changing who we may already have become at some point in the past. It is necessary to change. That all sounds really obvious… and I guess it mostly is, but…

…Sometimes when we’re stressed or feeling down about ourselves in some moment, we lose track of the real value we bring to our experience, and to the lives of those with whom we are “sharing the journey”. We overlook our value in our relationships. We have so much unrealized potential as human beings, each one of us, but when we are mired in harsh words, hurt feelings, emotional baggage, past trauma and present regrets, we wander around in a fog of hurt and sorrow feeling “stuck” and lacking options. It’s an illusion. We have value as individuals, and unique perspective and our own experience of life and the world.

If you’re having one of those moments when you can’t find meaning in your life, or don’t feel that your existence has value, or you are feeling overlooked, ignored, disregarded – whether for a moment or a lifetime – it is within your power to change that experience! Take time to appreciate you – who you are, where you’ve come from, how far you’ve come over time. Think about times you’ve made someone laugh, or lifted them up when they were blue – how often have you been there for someone? Reflect on the moments of joy and of delight, however small; they are yours to keep and to cherish. Spending more time on those than on the things you’re irked by is a good step forward. Reflect on the things you do well. Savor the details of some pleasant moment, however inconsequential. You are not defined by someone else’s anger, frustration, or expectations. You get to live your own life, and you are having your own experience. However disrespected you may feel by some other person, ideally you can always count on being respected by the person in the mirror. Treat yourself well, with consideration and respect. Give yourself a moment to be heard – by the person you, yourself, are. This isn’t groundbreaking new thinking, just some suggestions for lifting yourself out of a funk when you’re feeling low (because frankly sometimes people can be dicks, and it has nothing to do with whether you “deserved that” at all). Emotional lows are also part of the human experience (“deserved” or not). You are the surfer riding that wave – and you are also the water.

You know what you are not? You are not the sum of the negative opinions of other people. You are not defined by someone else’s anger, frustration, or disappointment. You’re also not the sum of the compliments you have received. Opinions are not the substance of reality. Who you are as a human being is defined by your actions, your choices, your behavior, and the quality of your relationships; and these are within your control. So… if you don’t like where you are in life, go somewhere else, or make changes (or both). Here we are, standing on the edge of an entire new year. This could be the beginning of something amazing! What will you do with your unrealized potential, and how will you choose your next steps? Where does your path lead? The menu in The Strange Diner is vast…you may have more options than you recognize in some moment of stress or sorrow.

I guess I’m just saying…don’t stand waste deep in the shit someone else flung at you telling yourself you have no choice but to stand there. You do have choices. You create meaning from what is otherwise meaningless – and this puts a lot of power to change your life into your own hands. You can defeat an emotional spiral threatening to suck you down into despair. You can walk away from conflict – or even heal the hurts that created it. You have more power than you know.

…And there’s a whole new year ahead…

It’s time to begin again. Where does your path lead? What will you do to become the person you most want to be, in 2026? Are you ready? The clock is ticking…

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

This Is A Journey

December 28, 2025 //
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There is no map, only fellow travelers along the way willing to share a tip, or offer a warning. Listen or don’t, either way you’re making your own journey, and having your own experience. Sometimes you’ll be the dumbest person in the room. Sometimes it won’t be about you at all. Sometimes the path is clear, the way ahead smooth and steady. Other times, every day will present some new obstacle to be overcome. I guess I’m just saying…

…Keep walking (metaphorically speaking). The “way out” is through, and ultimately, the journey is the destination.

The co-work space is hushed and empty, this morning. I am alone for now, and it will be hours before anyone else shows up to do the things they do to bring home a paycheck, pay the bills, feed their families, and get by for another handful of mortal days. Yeesh. That sounds sort of gloomy, doesn’t it? I sigh to myself. I’ll admit that I’ve been yearning for some kind of retirement, or other opportunity to exit the treadmill of the modern workforce since I was… 17, and just joining the Army. Honestly, one of the selling points of that adventure was being able to “retire” at 38. I probably should have done more homework on that notion – since the practical truth of it is that very few people who retire from the military at 38 are actually able to properly retire at that point. Most go on to some second career, and work until some more typical retirement age, if they are able to retire at all. There’s no point holding back the truth of it; the military does not pay well. Those retirement benefits are often not sufficient to afford even a working-class quality of life, unless one is fortunate almost to the point of ridiculous luck, and living quite a charmed life, indeed. Again and again, I’ve looked ahead to some milestone and hoped to be done with “gainful employment” by then, only to find myself reaching that point quite unprepared to be able to retire (for a variety of reasons, some to do with me, some to do with circumstances). Our dreams and our realities don’t necessarily intersect in some fortuitous way that results in a fairytale life of leisure and good company. Mostly they don’t, actually, and we live the lives we work (sometimes too hard) to have, and we get by on some combination of circumstances and decision-making that falls short of our fantasties – that’s just real. No point being unhappy about that; reality does not care what we yearn for in our fondest daydreams. Everything we want in life has some sort of cost.

…Keep walking, and make wise choices…

I pull myself more upright, and take some deep cleansing breaths. My headache is not as bad today as it was yesterday, and I’m grateful – yesterday’s headache was much, and I got very little done as a result. My arthritis pain is what it is – and it’s winter, so what it is, is pretty awful. I shrug to myself, an expression of some combination of feeling resigned to it, and also being mostly rather unbothered by it; it has been part of my life, year after year, for close to 36 years now, slowly worsening over time. And if I had been offered a choice? Told about the arthritis is clear very certain terms? Would I have chosen not to have the surgery that kept me on my feet, and out of a wheelchair, in favor of some potential imagined future without the arthritis that would eventually develop in my spine? No, I would not have chosen to leave my shattered spine in the state it was in on some fantasy hope that it might magically heal on its own. There was no scenario – no realistic scenario – that was going to see me pain free in my 40s, 50s, and 60s. That would have been magical thinking, and the consequences would likely have been worse than any I deal with now. I’d have been seeing the world from a different vantage point, too (a wheelchair). Very few of the trails I am so fortunate to be able to enjoy walking are accessible to someone in a wheelchair. I take a moment for gratitude; I do love seeing those sunrises from the trail.

…Chronic pain is nothing if not ongoing. It could be worse, though. I got good sleep last night, and I face the new day feeling mostly pretty chill and comfortable, mostly pretty prepared. It is an ordinary enough work day, and the pain I’m in is manageable. I make a point to be grateful for that, too.

Are you making careful choices, or following along with someone else’s?

Our individual journeys are paved with our choices, our decision-making, our actions – and we’re walking a path that we largely create ourselves, moment-by-moment. Where does this path lead? Does it have any potential to take me to my goals? I sit with my coffee, reflecting on my life, my decisions, the consequences of my actions, and incremental changes over time. The new year is ahead. Am I the woman I most want to be? Are my day-to-day actions aligned with my values? Are my choices a reflection of consideration and will? Am I getting all I can out of this journey that is my lived mortal life? If I could change one detail of “who I am” effortless, like toggling a switch, what would that detail be? What would I change it to? Having identified this detail as something I’d like to change – am I prepared to then also make the choices and do the work to see it change over time? I think about how long it can take to make some kinds of changes really “stick”. It can be so much work! Sometimes the path seems unreasonably long as it stretches ahead of me. Sometimes that distance is an illusion. Your results may vary… We do become what we practice. Choose wisely.

…Keep walking…

I think about the pleasant holiday, and the weekend. I feel fortunate to have enjoyed both so thoroughly. I think about the gifts, the sweets, the moments, each so very beautiful, so delightful. We didn’t spend much (didn’t have much to spend), and that mattered not at all – it was all so well done, and there was so much love and genuine joy involved. The company was good. The food was good. The amount of consideration given to each other was exceptional. Presence definitely mattered more than presents, this year – and I’m grateful for all of it.

Stickers, and a novel I’ve never read – simple joys are worth savoring.

I sigh contentedly. I don’t need more out of this moment than I’ve already got. I’ve even got some time before work to enjoy a walk through this suburban neighborhood, still lit with holiday lights. After that? Another opportunity to begin again.

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Categories Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, inspiration, joy, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, The Art of Being, The Big 5, winter

Tumbling Through the Strange

December 28, 2025 //
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Weird dreams last night, surreal and strange, filled with conversations with long gone friends, and with my Dad (deceased, for many years now). It all seemed very real at the time. I woke feeling disoriented and somehow misplaced.

The drive to the trailhead was quiet and uneventful. No traffic at all, this morning, which is eerie enough on its own, but with the freezing stillness of winter and the fog, it was very spooky. The world looked as if it was being rendered immediately in front of me as I approached, and erased behind me. The morning is dark and cold, properly wintry, frost sparkling under street lights, and the temperature only 30°F (about -1°C?). Nothing looks icy, just frosty, but the highway feels different around the curves and on the bridges and overpasses. I take my time and drive with care. There is no rush. It’s Sunday.

The parking lot at the nature park is empty. No surprise there, I suppose; there aren’t many people who enjoy a walk in this cold so early in the morning. Same with me. I’m not here, now, preparing to walk because I have a fondness for walking in the dark on a freezing winter morning! It just happens that I wake quite early, and this is the timing that has developed over years of practice. I wake and begin my day with a walk, generally. Exceptions are rare. What I do enjoy greatly, even on a freezing morning (and  much of the point of this practice is about this characteristic), is the solitude. Time alone with my thoughts is precious.

Before dawn, with a longer exposure; the picture is not the reality.

A hint of daybreak coming is evident in a subtle change in visibility. The sky seems faintly lighter, the silhouettes of the trees darker and more clearly outlined against the sky. Details of my surroundings are becoming clearer. In the cold, I won’t be inclined to stop for long at my halfway point, and I won’t want to write with stiff cold hands. I take my time with it now, before I step out onto the trail.

My head aches. My tinnitus is loud. My arthritis is griefing me. My sinuses are congested with the lingering effects of having been ill. I could go on; being human can be messy, annoying, uncomfortable, and unpleasant. None of that shit is “the important stuff”, is it? Just distractions and obstacles on the path, right? Human. If I give in and let all the mundanities of pain and aging and illness command my attention completely, it tends to diminish the joy and beauty and wonder that are also very much part of this experience. Which has more value – watching daybreak unfold into a new day, or being vexed by pain? Where we focus our attention has a lot to do with the quality of our experience in a given moment. I sit with that thought as I watch the sky slowly change from night to day, content to enjoy this moment as it is.

I sigh quietly, thinking about 2025. It’s nearly over. There’s a whole new year queued up, ready for whatever we make of it. I have no “resolutions” or grand plans. I do have practices, and hopes for the future, and a handful of intentions I’d like to make good on. There are always verbs involved. My results reliably vary; this is a very human experience. I will do, and fail, and learn from my failures, and begin again. Sure, I’ll likely also succeed many times, and celebrate those successes, but I’m not likely to learn as much from them. (I hope to be appropriately grateful for the circumstances that are pleasant and comfortable. I hope to be gracious about help, and sufficiently self-aware to understand that I’m not “getting there” alone.)

We become what we practice. Choose wisely.

Dawn comes. Fog clings in the low places, obscuring the marsh trail and the meadow. It’s a bit warmer (35°F, now, about 1.5°C I think). Better for walking. I wrap my scarf around my neck, and pull my knit hat on. I look down the trail, feeling fortunate for this quiet solitary moment. It’s time to begin, again.

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Categories Allegories, Brain Injury, 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, Uncategorized, winter, women, Words
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