Archives for posts with tag: practicing the practices
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Any Given Day

May 10, 2026 //
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My tinnitus is shrieking in my ears this morning. (Well, okay, more of a high pitched static in the background, if static were made up of tiny chimes vibrating aggressively, with a touch of morse code in the background that I can almost but not quite make out.) It is a beautiful Spring morning in spite of that.

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

In the sunrise, all the promise of a new day.

I slept well and deeply. I woke gently. I dressed, watered the lawn, and headed to the local walking path to get a mile or two on my boots. So far an ordinary enough day. It is a Sunday, and Mother’s Day, but there’s not much to do about that around our house. I’m not a mother. My maternal figures have all passed. I sent my sister a Mother’s Day greeting and let it go. I suppose my Traveling Partner will phone his mother at some point today.

I think about yesterday as I walk. I think about today. Yesterday had some beautiful high points and some frustrating low points, too. I made a batch of excellent brownies. It was all very human. Today will no doubt also have highs and lows, beautiful moments and aggravating mistakes, failed communication and delightful moments of connection. Fucking hell, I’d like to get everything right all of the time, but I don’t see living perfection among the options on life’s menu. I guess I’m grateful that the brownies turned out well, if nothing else. I sigh to myself and keep walking.

Order, and chaos, and beginning again.

Yesterday was spent creating order from chaos. My Traveling Partner continues to move things around in his spaces, preparing for the work ahead, this week. Exciting to see. I help where I can, when I’m asked, and try my damnedest not to break shit, forget something, or misunderstand something obvious – with mixed success. I had expected to spend the weekend relaxing and focusing on my own needs, and my own spaces, and taking care of myself, but it didn’t play out that way; my partner asked for my help. Today, I have less to give. I’m not in as much pain, but my mobility is more limited. Today it takes longer to get to the halfway point on this walk. I’m actually fatigued when I get here. (I’d take a nap right this moment if that were convenient. It isn’t.)

I take a seat on the bench that is next to the trail, under the trees. My legs ache. My back, too. My head spins for a moment with unexpected vertigo and I half wonder if walking was a terrible idea, after all, but I’m here and the Spring air is sweet with the scent of flowers. I breathe it in deeply. The soft scent of joy is in the Spring breeze, it seems to me. I stretch and groan from the sensation of muscles protesting, and stretch again. In each movement, I feel yesterday’s effort.

I make a point of letting all my yesterdays go. This is a new day, and a new moment, all its own, to be lived and savored and enjoyed. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I commit silently to reviewing my to-do list and tackling the tasks that most directly support self-care in some way, and hope that my Traveling Partner doesn’t need much from me. I feel pretty drained and have little to give, but I don’t find denying him easy; I want to help. (Sometimes even at the potential cost of my health, safety, or sanity, and that’s not healthy.)

… Brain damage is hard to live with, and also hard to live around…

A small herd of deer steps from the trees, one by one. Probably the same little herd I see here now and then. Two of the does are obviously pregnant, the other two seem younger. I don’t see a buck anywhere around,  just the four does. They watch me with calm eyes and munch their way along the grassy edge of the trail, nibbling at the grasses and shrubbery. There is blue sky overhead, streaked with clouds, and the tops of the oaks are dark green against the sky. I could sit here for hours just watching the clouds and the wildlife.

Be present.

I meditate awhile. The deer move on. The clock keeps ticking. I wonder if my beloved got the rest he needs for the day ahead? I sigh to myself and get to my feet. It’s already time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, joy, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being, The Big 5, Words

Sitting With a Quiet Moment

May 7, 2026 //
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Ordinary day. Ordinary Spring morning. Overcast skies, mild temperature, still air heavy with the scent of flowers, grass, and tilled soil. The tall oaks along the start of the trail are green now. The visible patches of snow on the distant hills are dwindling.

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

I enjoy this bit of solitude in the mornings, rain or clear skies, fog or a brilliant sunrise, winter, summer, Spring, or fall. This is beautiful quiet time well spent. Vita contemplativa – maybe not achievable for every moment of every day in every lifetime; we don’t all have it like that. I’m grateful for the precious moments I can devote to solitary contemplation, or art, or just daydreaming as the minutes tick past.

Yesterday evening I looked around the house with some amazement. In the short time since the Anxious Adventurer returned to his familiar life and routine in Ohio, we’ve moved things around a lot, reclaimed a lot of space, done some spring cleaning, and generally gotten things more organized. It’s nice to see my Traveling Partner so capable once again, and improving every day. It’s hard to keep up with, though, and I had worn myself down a lot during the most demanding 16 months or so of caregiving. I’m still recovering. This morning I’m feeling the efforts of recent days in the form of an aggravated rotator cuff injury, aching knees and hips, and simple fatigue. (It still beats the hell out of the headache I had yesterday!)

My beloved suggested to me that I take off for a couple days the weekend after payday. (He’d go himself, and give me some alone time at home, but he’s in the middle of a job, and can’t just wander off for a weekend.) The idea is appealing. Would I go to some usual place? Somewhere new? I think it over without coming to any conclusions. It’s an appealing “maybe”.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I repeat as needed. It’s an ordinary work day. I have limited time for daydreaming. (It nearly always feels that way, and I always find it time well spent in spite of that.)

I remind myself gently that there is no pressure, no urgency, and that most seemingly stressful things are likely blown way out of proportion by my aggressively concerned primate mind. I imagine an ape with a laptop frowning at a calendar and chuckle to myself. Yeah, that seems pretty apt. A robin hops past my feet, more attentive to whatever is in the grass than to anything to do with me. I’m reminded that my thinking will be informed by whatever I put my attention on. Choices. I can guide the quality of my experience by choosing what I put my attention on. Useful.

Another breath, another moment, and a new day filled with new experiences. A chance to begin again. What will I do with it?

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being, The Big 5, Words

More Than a Happy Place

April 19, 2026 //
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I sipped my first coffee, feet up, sitting by a cozy fire, watching the light change with the gray coastal dawn. The view to the west is layers of gray and soft blue. For me, this place is more than a delightful destination to get away for a little while; the ocean symbolizes a relentless force of reality that compels self-reflection and forces me to face myself as I watch the waves roll in. There’s no arguing with the ocean. It represents a resilient nature indifferent to external storms, even in the midst of them. Obstacles are washed away, or, like driftwood, piled on the shore, visible, removable, and easy to avoid. The ocean is unyielding about her boundaries, and for me she provokes deep thought, and a presence that I find I must linger with.

…The views from this hotel are spectacular…

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

I pour a second coffee. The coffee machine here is quite clean, and the coffee must be fresher than usual (for a hotel); it’s quite good. I sit watching the waves. The tide is going out. I am surprised by a deer ambling up the steep slope just beyond the window.

It’s worth it to slow down and observe what’s going on, even when nothing seems to be going on.

She looks at me through the window, pauses to nibble some tasty plant, and ambles on.

Two of the women most dear to me (and most significant in my own life as a woman), loved the sea and seaside places. My Dear Friend and my Granny have ended their mortal lives some time ago, but when I am at the seashore, I feel them with me. It doesn’t matter whether it is the rocky coastal beaches of the Pacific Northwest, or the marshy edges of the Chesapeake Bay, or the kitschy seaside towns that tourists flock to each summer. I love being by the shore, too, if only because it connects me so deeply to these two women, who are so much a part of who I am myself. Sometimes when I most need to be alone, I am taking that time to “talk with my ancestors” in a way I find difficult to describe. It sometimes seems funny that I never feel my Dad’s presence in such places; his are the forests and meadows. The ocean seems to me to be a very feminine sort of energy. I find myself wondering if sailors feel that way, too? Theirs is a very different relationship with the sea…

Fisherman early in the morning.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I feel well and whole, and capable. I feel comfortable in my skin and grounded in the goodness of my life. I’ll head home eagerly to see what my Traveling Partner has done while I’ve been gone. He is, himself, a force to be reckoned with, and as his abilities return he is capable of moving mountains (and definitely furniture). Certainly, he moves me.

For now, it’s me and this beautiful expanse of beach, and this gray ocean under a cloudy sky – and another cup of coffee. I’ve got plenty of time to begin again, a little later.

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Categories Allegories, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Practices, Relationships, Spring, The Art of Being, women, Words

Like Ripples on a Pond

April 3, 2026 //
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Yesterday was busy. So busy. Changes. I took off work to help the Anxious Adventurer finish moving out. It was a lot of manual labor and by the time we were finished, I was “done” – but there is so much more to do.

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

I’ve spent the past two years accommodating a relative stranger in our home. No ill will; it seemed like the right thing to do at the time. I got used to a lot of compromises. Now… I’ve got my space back. My own bathroom once again, and my studio, my library… my peace. I’ve also got to deal with the changes, and it is a lot for me. So much upheaval, so suddenly.

Around 17:00 in the evening, I “hit a wall”, figuratively speaking. My feet were hurting. I was fatigued. I just couldn’t move one more thing and started weeping. My Traveling Partner, set up a lovely footbath for me, it smelled of orange blossoms. It felt wonderful. We relaxed together and watched a favorite show. He reminded me there is no hurry and to have fun with the process. I feel very loved and understood.

Last night we both slept well and deeply, through the night. That has been rare for the past two years. I woke to my alarm, also rare. My routine is a bit broken, but I’m adaptable as hell, and a new routine will quickly develop. This morning, though, was a bit chaotic. “Be careful what you wish for,” I muttered, as I wandered around looking for my boots.

… I still managed to be on the trail by sunrise, with plenty of time for my walk before work…

This morning my muscles are sore, and very few things are where I remember leaving them. There are paintings to rehang, and paintings in storage to bring home (to store in better conditions). There are work surfaces to return to my studio, and books to put back on shelves. It is all joyful work, really, but change still feels like a lot to take. For me, that’s a complication that exists at the nexus of brain damage and PTSD. I’ve learned to deal with it more skillfully than I once did. That’s not nothing. In fact, it’s an important improvement in my experience and I’m grateful for how much better this experience feels now, because of it.

… That, and having a partner who is willing to help, and to love me as I am…

One moment of many. Change is.

There’s so much yet to do. I’m okay with that, I just have to give myself time and some consideration. I sit with that thought at the side of this trail watching the dawn of another day. I’m grateful to see it. I’m even grateful for the joyful work ahead. I look up the path. It disappears around a bend. That’s a bit how life feels. Or, perhaps more like ripples on a pond after a stone is cast into the water? I consider that for some little while.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I meditate. I write. I enjoy the quiet of morning on this trail. I glance at the time and get to my feet. It’s time to begin again, and this trail won’t walk itself.

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

333

March 23, 2026 //
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I sat for a few minutes at the trailhead before I set off down the trail. The available mileage read 333, and I thought wistfully of turning the car around, calling out from work and driving east to catch up to the sunrise. It’s early. The sun won’t rise for another two hours.

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

I take a few more minutes to calm myself, to avoid pounding down the trail more stomping than walking; that’s too hard on my feet, ankles, and knees. Pointlessly damaging. Once I am calm, I set off down the trail in the darkness.

I reflect on my experience as I walk, and get to my halfway point annoyed to discover my phone at 35% charged. Wtf? Did I not plug in the charging cable when I went to bed? It’s possible, but the possibility does nothing to charge my phone now. I sigh to myself and toggle on “extreme battery saving”.

This morning I was awakened abruptly by the bang of a cupboard or a door. I dislike being awakened by loud noises. It sets off my PTSD. I’m hyper vigilant as I sit here in the darkness, heart still pounding, tinnitus shrill in my ears, pain amplified by anxiety – all this in spite of well-practiced tools for managing my PTSD. It takes time.

I sit here taking the time I need.

Fucking hell. And on a Monday after a couple days away from work, too. It’ll be a busy Monday. Maybe a busy week. I remind myself that although I can’t reliably control the circumstances in which I find myself, I can control my reaction to them. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I meditate for awhile in the darkness.

I sit listening to the HVAC of a nearby building. This is no wilderness trail, just a pleasant space between human endeavors. Behind me, the acreage of the air museum and a water park, vineyards filling every bit of space in which grapes could be planted. Ahead of me, on the other side of a creek that winds its way to the Yamhill River, an apartment complex, invisible but for a few lit windows and some balcony lights. Later, after daybreak, the farmworkers will begin to arrive, and the construction workers building a luxury hotel none of the locals actually want will begin their work. I sit with my irritation; it has nothing to do with these details, although it is tempting to connect them with my experience.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I let that shit go.

I dislike drama. I dislike displays of temper. I dislike unexpected loud noises. It’s a human life; there’s likely to be some drama, some temper on display, and some loud noises. Hell, sometimes I may be the cause. I sigh to myself in the darkness. My anger over being awakened by shit that isn’t even to do with me at all doesn’t help anything. I let it go. G’damn, I’ll be glad to see the Anxious Adventurer move out. The friction between him and my Traveling Partner is unpleasant to live with.

… They are each having their own experience, and in either case, it isn’t about me…

It’s just two more weeks.

My head aches. I take my medication a little early. I hope it helps.

I sigh again in the darkness, and pull my attention back to me, here, now, in this moment. I’m eager to be painting again. The background tension in the household has made that difficult. I sit reflecting on several views, images, and ideas I have in mind to paint. Being in less physical pain day-to-day has increased my feelings of being inspired. I love this feeling. I focus on the feeling of being inspired and “anchor myself” to that feeling, instead of clinging to my irritation. It’s a good choice, and I feel lifted from my anger.

Soon the sun will come. I’ll finish this walk and return home to work – and to make a good cup of coffee, and begin again.

For now, I’ll enjoy this quiet moment, listening to the HVAC in the distance and the creek nearby, and think thoughts of paintings yet to be painted, and moments of joy yet to come. I’ll open my heart to gratitude, and enjoy fond recollections of the time I’ve been spending with my Traveling Partner, which has been exceptionally pleasant lately, and romantic and connected. Time and moments worth savoring, for sure. I glance at the battery indicator on my phone. 31% now. I shrug, look over my writing and prepare to hit “publish” on this very human experience, before I begin again.

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Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, art and the artist, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, meditation, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Sleepless Nights, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being, The Big 5, Words
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