Archives for posts with tag: mindfulness
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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

What Looks Like a Path…

December 24, 2025 //
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…May be an obstacle. Sometimes it’s a matter of perspective and expectations.

I’m sitting quietly in my meditation/studio/office space, which also serves as my “anything specifically me” space, and has a comfortable couch well-suited to sleeping, napping, reading, and meditation along one wall, my work desk on the opposite wall filling the space from the door to the corner. I’ve got the lights dimmed. I’ve got noise-cancelling headsets on, set to “quiet”, and no music playing. Just quiet. All around me, little things my beloved Traveling Partner has made for me, built for me, done for me, suggested to me – that’s a lot of love in this small room. Even the “do not disturb” sign presently hanging from the door knob as a cautionary suggestion was made for me by my Traveling Partner.

…This afternoon, I am “enjoying” a rare hour home alone by “dealing with” my PTSD. Not what I had planned, for sure, but it is the set of circumstances in front of me. Maddening – and thus, I am soothing myself through the madness. So far, so good. (The solitude is helpful for me – well-timed – I am most successful at managing my symptoms and nudging myself back to a grounded emotional place if I am not also having to interact with other people.) The muffled quiet and the heavy embrace of the headphones feels comforting, like a boundary being respected. I breathe, exhale, and relax – well, I make the attempt. It’s going to take some practice. My shallow breathing, tight chest, and trembling begin to diminish a little at a time, breath by breath. Progress. I keep practicing. Meditation works pretty reliably for me.

(Before I begin writing, I split my display into two windows, and keep messages open in case someone needs to reach me, this only works because I’m in an environment where boundaries are generally respected with care. I’m not trying to be hurtful by stepping away, just taking care of myself.)

In 2013, a similar situation might have resulted in a major emotional meltdown, yelling, tears, hysterical rage, finishing with some sort of physical collapse, often followed by succumbing to illness and not being able to bounce back emotionally for days or weeks. I lacked emotional resilience (that’s putting it very gently!). My PTSD and my anxiety were out of control. I teetered on a precipice and got a lucky break when one more attempt at seeking therapy finally paid off in new tools, and real improvements. That’s not the point though, the point is – I’m still me. I’ve got some “issues”. I manage them better than I’ve ever done before, and it has been a worthy journey. Therapy, treatment, for some mental or emotional issues (or even for some physical ailments or injuries) isn’t going to be 100% a “cure”, or fix that fixes everything in some permanent way. Results vary. Years of trauma often don’t have a reliable permanent “fix”, at all; those experiences change the way we’re wired. For some people, that’s exceedingly hard to change for the better, in adulthood. We do become what we practice, though, and given better tools and more effective practices, it has been possible to get pretty fucking close to “fixed”, and that’s amazing. It’s also something I recognize as feeling like it “isn’t enough”, now and then, when I find myself fighting my demons in the darkness, again, or fall through some thinking hole when I’m fatigued beyond my capacity to reason, or get triggered by a circumstance (or someone dear to me who would never do me an intentional injury). That’s hard. It’s also only an emotion, and potentially unreliable. Today? Today I’m just dealing with my bullshit. I’m okay for most values of “okay”, just super irritable and doing my best not to let that reach beyond this room.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I’m okay. Moments are fleeting. Perhaps the next will be much better, filled with joy and laughter and love? I’m open to that. It’s time to begin again.

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Categories anger, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, Despair, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, meditation, Metaphors, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, The Art of Being, The Big 5, Words

Sometimes “Enough” Looks Different

December 18, 2025 //
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I’m sipping my coffee (hot, black) grateful to have it. The hot liquid feels soothing on my still-raw feeling throat, although the discomfort is no longer up high near my uvula, and is definitely showing indications of having moved into my chest instead of lingering in my sinuses. I’m still unwell, but I’m working today; there is much to do as the year winds down, and giving up on it is not an effective strategy for making more money at some future point. (I don’t much like that this matters more to me right now than my fucking health, but this is America.) The box of tissues on my desk, alongside the hand sanitizer, and me wearing a mask, gives adequate caution to others that keeping their distance is a good choice.

My Traveling Partner woke me this morning, early, checking whether I was okay. I mumbled something about being okay, because for most values of “okay” I surely was. I was dead asleep when his voice roused me, but having wakened and seeing it was nearly time to begin a normal work day, I went ahead and got up, dressed, and left for the co-work space I typically use when the university library is not open. There was no traffic at all, but it was also too early to get coffee on the way. It was fine. I was awake, and the rainy drive was much improved by how little traffic there was.

None of this really “matters“, it’s just the set up for the punchline to a joke that isn’t actually funny. I let that go. I’m grateful that I feel well enough to face a work day, honestly. I’m grateful for the hot coffee that was available when I got to the office. I’m grateful for the instant chicken soup which proves to be far more satisfying than the coffee. I’m grateful for a few quiet minutes alone with my thoughts before this co-work space fills with other co-working professionals, and grateful for a desk that puts considerable distance between me and others. I’m grateful for my Traveling Partner, who does so much to care for me when I’m not well. I’m okay for most values of “okay” now, and I definitely feel better than I did yesterday, in spite of the cough I’ve now developed, that will likely linger for days or even weeks after I’m fully over whatever ick took me down in the first place.

…I can’t say I feel much like working, there’s just a lot to do…

I savor the hot too-salty flavorful instant chicken soup. There’s an intense comfort to it when I feel this way. It’s enough to satisfy what limited appetite I’ve got, and enough to genuinely “make me feel better”, every bit as much as the cold remedies I also took. Funny how “enough” changes with the circumstances, eh? On a beautiful summer morning, on some beach or forested trail, there’s little chance this off-brand cheap poor quality instant chicken soup would be at all satisfying, but here, now? It’s definitely enough and I’m grateful to have it. That brings my thoughts to the Giftmas holiday ahead. I think over the unwrapped gifts stacked in an out of the way spot needing to be wrapped and placed under the tree. Are they “enough”? G’damn, I sure hope so. They seem less than I’d like to be putting under the tree this year, but… this is what we had to work with for resources, and anyway, it’s more about presence than presents. I do like presents, no need to be coy about it, but it’s not “the big deal” it felt like in some years past.

I sigh to myself, eager to see the other side of the day, though it should be quite manageable and pretty chill, generally. Pain and illness color my subjective experience of work and even this one moment of quiet, solitude, and peace. It would be ease to slide into anger, frustration, or despair – I’m one bit of bad news or moment of Other People’s Drama away from it almost all the time, these days. Frankly, I’m appalled by the state of American governance, and it lurks in the background of my consciousness however often I attempt to resolve it, somehow. That is one of the “secrets” of human suffering; how often we choose it. I don’t bother with looking at the news today; the president gave another one of his rambling ill-informed misleading fatuous self-serving narcissistic vile and cruel speeches yesterday, and the news feeds will echo that slop for days to come. Fuck that shit; I’d be stupider for every word of his bullshit I allow into my consciousness. I’ll wait for any rationally fact-checked breakdown of that nonsense that may surface, but I certainly don’t want to expose my mind directly to that fuckwit’s voice. (If I’ve offended you, dear reader, my apologies. If you voted for that grifter and his corrupt clown car of cronies, I can’t say I understand your choice at all, but this is a democracy – for now – and it is your right to cast your vote as you will and endure the consequences of your choices, however ridiculous or hateful those look to me. It’s a shame so many other people get hurt along the way.)

I correct my posture, and breathe more deeply. Breathe, exhale, relax. I meditate. I make a point of crafting detailed mental imagery of myself as a woman standing in an airport, setting down baggage and walking away. I feel lighter for doing so, even though it is only an imagined moment. This is a practice that can bring real change of perspective and subjective experience. “Visualization” works as a practice, but indulged without consideration and care, it can drag one into a nasty negative spiral, too. Still a good practice, but associated (as many things are) with an inherent risk. Visualizing trauma and negative experiences or feelings can bring those much closer, rendering them in a very immediate and visceral way that can cause further damage. Visualizing positive experiences and moments (real or pure imagination) similarly renders those in a more immediate and visceral way, seeming to make them “more real”, and incorporating those feelings into our implicit “sense of being” in a truly useful way. Choose wisely.

I read an article recently that touched on the concepts of positive visualization for dealing with anger. If you’re someone who struggles with managing your temper in relationships, flaring up over small things that likely don’t rate that sort of escalated reaction, this one may be worth a read. Useful and practical, the basic idea is that imagining positive interactions, and reinforcing positive feelings about an individual, will tend to improve the relationship with the real person in real life interactions. That seems worth knowing, doesn’t it? Worth practicing? We become what we practice. It may be a poor choice to practice being angry and hateful… It seems unlikely that any of us would actually want to become angry hateful people. I sit with my thoughts awhile.

I stretch and refill my coffee. There’s an entire work day ahead to get through and much to do. It’s already time to begin again.

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Categories 2024 Election, Allegories, anger, Anxiety, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, Logic & Reason, 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, War and News of War, winter, women, Words

Wind and Rain

December 15, 2025 //
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I’m at a local trailhead, waiting for a break in the rain to walk this trail. It’s dark, not yet daybreak, and a Monday morning. The rain is falling hard, and the wind is blowing hard enough for the strongest gusts to create the appearance of waves on puddles reflecting the lights of the parking lot. If I were to walk now, I’d be soaked almost immediately, and having to fight my rain poncho every step as it whips about. No thanks. I’ll wait. 😆

The weekend was lovely. I sit thinking about the upcoming Giftmas holiday. It is shaping up to be a merry one, if modest in scale (appropriate to these peculiarly dark times here in the US).

My mind wanders to work. I pull it back to this quiet moment, here. Now is mine. At least, this “now”, right here is mine. I make a point to be present, here, listening to the wind and the rain. I think of other rainy moments that left lasting memories for one reason or another. In the distance, I see holiday lights shining through the trees along the creek beyond the vineyard, most likely decorating some otherwise hidden apartment balcony. Seeing the lights makes me smile. Seeing communities “dressed up” for the holidays in colorful lights is one of the best parts of the winter holiday season (to me).

Things on my to-do list for today continue to intrude on my consciousness – or try to. I continue to set a boundary with myself; this is not that time.

The rain stops, starts, and stops again. It’ll be daybreak soon. Can I get down the trail and back to the car before the rain starts up again? I decide to chance it, and grab my cane and pull on my poncho.

…

I’m most of the way along the trail before the rain begins to fall again, softly. I’m almost back to the car before the intensity increases from a soft sprinkle to a seasonally typical downpour. The heavy rain catches up with me just as I reach the car. I feel fortunate. I’m not soaked to the skin, missed the worst of the rain, got a good walk, and managed to avoid tromping through any deep puddles. I’m chilly and damp, but otherwise fine. I get comfortable in the car and start drying off with a microfiber towel from my gear bin, grateful for the gear I keep in the back for whatever emergencies might arise (and for hiking and camping).

The gear bin in my car sometimes gives a sort of “Mary Poppins” vibe; I often surprise myself with what is in there, and how prepared for what sorts of things I actually am. This delights me every time I open the bin with some need to address and find that I’ve got just the thing, although I often don’t recall that I put it there. 😆

The wind is blowing ferociously again. It almost drowns out the sounds of my tinnitus. I close my eyes and am fascinated by how much I am reminded of the seashore.

There’s really nothing particularly noteworthy about the morning. As is so often the case, it’s an ordinary weekday morning. The pain I’m in makes me aware of my fragile mortality for a moment, but as bad as it is, it’s not the worst I’ve known. Far from it. I’m grateful to experience the morning aware that things could be much worse; it is reliably useful perspective. I continue to sit with my thoughts awhile longer. I’ve got a little while left for myself before the desk in the library I’ll be working from today will be available. It’s still too early. I think about coffee.

I think about holiday cards (we haven’t done them this year and probably won’t; at some point I had to admit I don’t have the energy, or the will). I think about the last bit of gift shopping yet to do. I think about Giftmas morning and brunch. Biscuits and gravy this year? I find myself wanting to pair that with Bloody Marys, as my Dad would have done most Giftmas mornings. I rarely drink, and the thought makes me smile; it’s an idea built purely on nostalgia, and maybe some desire to celebrate a certain gratitude for the holiday magic my parents achieved in spite of hardship. I’ve carried that holiday spirit into the rest of my life, year after year, and I’m grateful that it continues to last.

Curtains of dense rain continue to sweep over the car. The wind rocks it with the firmest gusts. I am warm and dry, and grateful that I am not forced to be outdoors in this. There’s privilege implied in being free to choose to walk on a rainy day. I’m grateful for the choices I have in life. I may never be wealthy (nor have any notable affluence), but I do get to choose whether (and when) I walk in the rain. That’s more good fortune than many folks have. I sit thinking about that for a few minutes longer.

In spite of the darkness of the stormy morning sky, eventually daybreak comes, and it’s time to begin again. I sigh to myself, and get the day started.

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

5:15 on a Saturday

December 13, 2025 //
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A noise woke me. It might have been a noise I made myself. It wasn’t loud, just some quiet but audible knock or clunk or bang, like something small had fallen to the floor. I got up and dressed after checking the time, and got the day started as quietly as I could.

“This is more like it,” I think as I walk a familiar trail in the darkness. It is 05:15. The scent of the air, the dark silhouettes of the trees against the cloudy sky illuminated by the suburban lights below, this is not San Francisco, nor any other notable urban place. This is home. This is Oregon wine country. The pace is slower here, and I’m grateful. Walking the city sidewalks before dawn in a big city may not even be safe, depending where I am. I feel safe here on this familiar trail. I never felt unsafe walking in San Francisco, but I also didn’t find any opportunity for peace, balance, or meditation on those walks, nor any solitude, really. There was always some traffic, and other people also walking (or standing, sitting, even sleeping in doorways).

….It feels good to be back. To be home.

My homecoming was delightful. There was a hot meal waiting for me. The house was quite tidy. The newest episode of South Park was available, and we watched it together as a family. The laundry (other than my own) was done, and only needs folding. The household felt peaceful and harmonious. In spite of travel fatigue, I stayed up a bit later than usual, enjoying my Traveling Partner’s company. He welcomed me with loving words and kisses, and a useful and beautiful box he made for me. While I was away, the Anxious Adventurer brought my art home from storage to be more safely stored at home. Working together, they even found suitable placement for the rolling cabinets that store many of my smaller pieces. I don’t think I’ve ever had such a fond and warm welcome after being away from home, in any relationship. I feel really cared for. I feel appreciated, understood, and respected.

I walked smiling, slowed down by a slight limp; my left foot is very sore for some reason, as if the bottom of my heal were bruised, and my spine is stiff with arthritis. I laugh when I think, momentarily, how this must “age me”, but I’ve had the arthritis since I was 26, and the messed up left foot and ankle since I was about 33, hardly a youngster, but certainly not “old”. (Barely “older”.) I’m smiling because I feel joyful and appreciated, and for now the pain is inconsequential. It doesn’t matter. I do get to my halfway point relieved to pause and sit awhile, grateful for the mild dry morning.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I slept well, and feel rested, although it was a short night. I generally retire much earlier, because my body (or mind) reliably wakes me very early (either long practiced habit, or sleep difficulties, it’s hard to be certain which, sometimes). The result of my “late night” is that I only got about five and a half hours of sleep last night. I’m grateful that it feels like enough, this morning. I sigh contentedly, at the recollection that I’ll be showering in my own shower this morning. I didn’t realize how much I am looking forward to that.

My paycheck hits my bank account a couple days early, a quirk of timing. The notification ping is my first communication with the world, this morning. In Trump’s fucked up terrible economy, it really makes a difference though, especially so close to Giftmas. I feel something I hope doesn’t become a feature of future holidays; relief. I wonder for a moment how often my parents may have faced Giftmas knowing three little girls eagerly awaited a visit from Santa Claus, dreading the knowledge they might have to choose between a little girl’s happiness and paying some bill? I didn’t understand then what goes into Giftmas magic. I do now, and my heart fills with gratitude and love and warm regards; they may not have been fantastic human beings, or great parents, but g’damn did they understand Giftmas.

I sit with my thoughts and my contentment and merriment. I’m grateful to see another Giftmas. I’m grateful for each chance to begin again.

I get to my feet to finish my walk in the stillness, as daybreak comes. It’s already time to begin again.

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Categories 2024 Election, Allegories, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, inspiration, joy, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Sleepless Nights, solo hiking, The Art of Being, women, Words
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