I am waiting for the sun, a bit impatiently. I don’t have to wait; it’s a mild morning after a rainy night, and my headlamp is right here. I’m choosing to wait, and I’m not in any hurry. The sense of restless energy and impatience aren’t so much a choice as they are a temporary state of being. Feelings. Sensations. Emotions. I observe them, but don’t make decisions based on them. I choose the quiet waiting. I am eager for the day, and in pain, but neither of these things are decision-making details. They merely are what they are, part of the experience of this moment in all its unrepeatable richness. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I wait.
A smattering of raindrops falls briefly, tapping the roof and windshield of the car excitedly. The shower passes quickly. It’ll be another fifteen minutes or so until daybreak. I’ll start down the trail then.
I sip my coffee content with the waiting, thinking my thoughts, experiencing this moment. It is enough. Each sip of my coffee carries along with it the scent the barista wore today. Where her perfumed fingers had pressed the lid down onto the cup securely, the fragrance lingers. Flowers mostly, and a hint of something classic I can’t name, and each sip makes me wonder again what the name of the perfume is. It is familiar and I can almost remember it.
…At intervals, brief rain showers pass by as I wait…
I don’t bother looking at my news feed. This isn’t the day for that and it has no power over me. No anxiety. No chaos or damage. No anger, frustration, or drama. Just a quiet watchful moment, waiting. It’s a pleasant beginning to a new day and it is enough. Later I’ll run some errands, work on finishing the move from one storage unit to another, and get some routine housekeeping tasks out of the way, but none of that needs my attention now.
Eventually, a new day.
Day breaks, gray and rainy. An enormous flock of geese, uncountably large, passes overhead, unconcerned with the rain. Me, though, I continue to wait – grateful I’m not out on the trail already, caught betwixt rain showers out in open. Now I wait for a break in the rain, watching daybreak become dawn. I smile, content with things as they are. This too is enough.
I look over my writing. “First person, singular,” I think to myself, unbothered by that. I check for spelling mistakes, with care. I breathe, exhale, and relax. It is a new day, a new moment, and a new opportunity to make my choices and live my life. I am here, now, and it is enough. I smile and sip my coffee. This too will pass; moments are fleeting.
I’m working on beginning again. A perfectly adequate reasonably pleasant ordinary sort of moment was poisoned so quickly by frustration. Frustration can be such a toxic thing – it hijacks my experience completely, if I allow whatever momentary bullshit to take over. In this case? The camera on my work laptop. I’m so annoyed by this. Somehow, the “privacy shutter” on this stupid thing is now toggled on, and every help file or article l I look at references some physical or software detail that is not at all how this particular laptop… is.
One suggests I use the small slider above the camera. There isn’t one on this laptop.
Another directs me to use the function key for the camera. This laptop does not appear to have that function key, specifically, and I haven’t yet found any clear guidance on what combination of other keys might get that result.
There are pages and pages and lists and lists of steps I could take, based on operating system – not one of them appears to match the details of this version that I’m using on this laptop.
…This difficulty only presents itself when I am on meetings, and has only done so since the meeting I had yesterday – on Zoom. (“Fuck this stupid bullshit” I snarl to myself, resenting having been talked into installing Zoom for one damned call in the first place.) I sigh to myself. Clear cache. Clear cookies. Uninstall Zoom. Reboot. Check all the privacy and camera settings I can find. All the basics. Minutes tick by unproductively, my frustration builds and spills over to… everything. I am annoyed and cranky.
“Stop.” I tell myself, gently. “Just stop. Give up on it for now, you don’t even have any more meetings today. Let it go. Reset. Begin again. Focus on other things that matter more. Fuck all this noise and bother over nothing.”
The view out the window, a different perspective on a moment.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. I put myself on “pause” and look out the window into the blue cloud-streaked sky.
I sip my afternoon coffee, pleased that it is better than the cup I had this morning. I let that be my focus, for now, just me, this view beyond the window, this cup of coffee. It’s enough. It’s this moment, right here.
The hardest part of toxic frustration is choosing to let it go. Now that I have, though, I can properly begin again. I sit awhile, watching the trees on the other side of the parking lot swaying in the winter wind. They wave back and forth steadily, like inverted pendulums, rocking, waving, hinting at a cold wind I’m grateful I don’t feel. The sun streaming in through the window gives an impression of warmth, though if I put my hand on the glass, I feel the cold come through. Definitely winter.
I remind myself to leave the office early enough to stop at the store for my beloved Traveling Partner and pick up a few things he’s asked for. I’m eager for him to be driving again – soon – but I also greatly enjoy doing little things to be helpful. It’s a small way to show my love and appreciation. I feel needed when he asks for some little thing. He feels loved when I handle it capably. It’s an exchange. I smile to myself, feeling the way our love “balances the scales”. We complement each other in so many ways. We’re so similar, and also so different – we share so much, and enjoy life together so much more than we would without each other. I sigh contentedly; this matters so much more than the earlier frustration.
I’m sipping my fairly bad cup of office coffee. It’s not the worst coffee I’ve ever had, and the price is right (“free”, which is to say included in the office overhead and not obvious to me – nothing’s actually “free”). I sigh quietly. I can see the luminous disk of the full moon beyond the window. I turned off the light in this little office so that I can see it more clearly. It’s lovely and peaceful looking.
I take a minute to reflect with love, and considerable respect, on my Traveling Partner. He’s getting past just recovering from injury and surgery, and beginning to think more in terms of fitness and health more generally. He doesn’t panic – he makes the changes he needs to make. There’s something to be learned from this. It’s not an easy thing – there are still verbs involved. The thinking is sound. He brings his intentions and his will together, and does the work required to be the change he wants to make. He often makes such things “look easy”, although I know they aren’t. I’ve seen him grow a lot as a human being over the years, by choosing willful change and getting to work.
I sip my coffee and reflect on the opportunity his choices for change present for me as his partner. I feel a renewed sense of commitment to my own goals, and motivation to pursue change. We’re in this together. We’re each having our own experience. This morning I’m “feeling my years” more than I’d like to. I breathe, exhale, and relax. Piece together the frayed threads of my thoughts “about things, generally”. My head aches, but my back isn’t bothering me much, for now. My tinnitus is mostly drowned out by the sound of the ventilation, and by the way my earring aids amplify that. I pull myself more upright in my office chair, shifting uncomfortably. It’s not a comfortable sort of life, this human experience, is it? I frown briefly and let my thoughts move on.
…For a moment, I think about small mammals: squirrels, chipmunks, sugar gliders, dormice. No idea why. The “cuteness” of them, maybe? Maybe their resilience? They find ways to thrive on very little, in spite of the encroachment of human kind with its chaos and purposeful destruction. I find that interesting – and a little promising.
I let my thoughts wander to old friends, and remind myself to stay in touch. My thoughts wander to Spring, and I feel reassured that more likely than not it will arrive as expected, and it’s not too far off. I think about the seashore, and walking on the warm Atlantic beach with my Granny, or with my Dear Friend along the cold beaches of the Pacific. It’s been so long, but these are beautiful cherished memories worth enjoying now and then, for a moment.
I glare into my half-empty coffee mug. Cold already? Shit. I could sit here being annoyed about that, or I could “do the verbs” and solve the problem. It’s only a choice, a will to act, and an effort to be made. These are simple things. I think again about my Traveling Partner, and his strong will and willingness to act. I sigh, and smile to myself as I get to my feet…
I return to my desk, mug warm in my hand once more. It felt good to walk around, to stand, to stretch. To act. I could honestly just as easily lay down somewhere soft and go right back to sleep, maybe. (I feel that way in the moment, but I know that in practice it isn’t so easy for me to find sleep.) I find it somewhat challenging to find just the right balance between the soft comfort of ease and stillness, and the productive effort of doing and achieving. I’m generally satisfied if I can get all the needful things done without exhausting myself into immobility. I try to “pace myself” through planning and managing my time. My results vary. For now, I enjoy these quiet moments of morning solitude, grateful to have them. Grateful even for this crappy cup of office coffee, although I will admit it doesn’t “taste good” in any definable way – it’s just satisfyingly hot, and delivers an appropriate amount of caffeine for a workday morning. It has the comfort of the routine.
I think about anxiety, stress, and panic, and how much it can matter to slow down, to consider, to choose change, and to act. I breathe, exhale, and relax. This moment right here? It’s fine. I’m okay right now. For now the world within my view is quiet and calm. It’s enough, and I make room to appreciate it and to be grateful. Sometimes changing the world has to start very small, with a handful of choices, and a moment of action. Once this moment passes, what shall I do with the next?
I write my own words. I share my own thoughts. I don’t get grammar or spelling assistance from an AI tool, nor use one for research, and on the very rare occasions when I’ve made use of some instrusive AI summary, I’ve made a point of citing my source (you can see that on my About page from 2023, when I “tried out” ChatGPT when it was new). I think that’s important; I see using AI to write as a cheat. I see AI “content” in most media similarly; it is not “creative”, and it definitely is cheating (and often plagiarism and uncited content theft). Just my opinion, I suppose, but it is how I see things.
When you read my writing, I am communicating my thoughts, ideas, and insights to you, human being to human being. We’re sharing something which machinery (or an LLM) can not “understand”, because it lacks any understanding in the first place. Perhaps someday that will change and there will come an AI that is truly intelligent, capable of comprehension, observation, and real understanding. (When or if we get to that moment in time, then we’ll also get to worry about our potential unwillingness as a species to truly respect the sentience of other species which are not like us. I mean, whales, dolphins, elephants, and chinchillas should be enough to get us there, but we are not that smart, nor are we that compassionate nor open to others.)
For now, it’s me, here, writing my very own very human thoughts, spelling errors and excessive ellipses and all, and you, here, reading them.
Think I’m making too much of a small concern? Think “AI is here for us” and a “value to humankind”? Maybe think again – and try to see beyond the human greed driving most of the outcomes, presently – think about the impact on your own ability to think and to reason and to solve problems without AI tools. If you rely on AI, now, and lose that cheat code later, what then? Well, apparently the “what then” is something we may already have some insights into. A recent paper by Lee, Sarkar, Tankelevitch, Drosos, Rintel, Banks, and Wilson, April 2025 “The Impact of Generative AI on Critical Thinking” gives us some early assessments to consider. If you’d prefer to have something “easier to read” and already summarized for you, there’s an article by TechCrunch you can take a look at, too. Just saying; now is not the time to “get dumb” – definitely not intentionally! Those reading, critical thinking, and creative writing skills are all very much “use it or lose it” items on the cognitive menu. Choose wisely.
No AI here. That is intentional. This is me. Writing for human beings who are reading. Every word is real. (Every error is my own. lol)
If you abdicate your responsibility to think for yourself, to learn and grow and understand the world around you, to communicate your thoughts and share your ideas with others, how will you create the world you most wish to live in? How will you prevent the “bad actors” among us from doing their worst? “Why you?” If not you (and me, and each of us), then who? I’m just saying – there is no use waiting on a superhero to save us all. We’ll have to save ourselves, and each other. We’re all in this together. Do your best.
I sigh quietly to myself. Another work day. I sip my coffee, grateful that coffee is still something I have available to enjoy, for the time being. I skip reading the news after skimming the headlines. Nothing new, really, and it’s time best spent on other things. Truly. We’ve got to take care of ourselves, and take care of each other, and that sometimes means putting down the devices and going outside, reading real books, having real conversations, and being – not doomscrolling through our feeds, and panicking in between advertisements. Just saying, there really is life to be lived. I sit with thoughts of life and love for a few minutes.
My Traveling Partner restored a treasured antique that my Grandfather had given me many years ago, and returned it to me yesterday evening; I feel incredibly loved, and very fortunate. I’d wept when this much-loved keepsake had begun to fall apart, the shaped metal delaminating from the wood beneath it, the old glue had finally dissolved, or whatever glue does when it fails and goes away. I had hinted that perhaps if it could be repaired…? I didn’t really think it could be, and I “said good-bye” to it, a little heart-sick, but understanding principles of impermanence apply to all things. For years and years I’d kept certain precious things in it, and those things have been sitting sort of… clumped and “lost” looking on a shelf, waiting for a place of their own. This morning, I smiled when I saw the small metal “purse” sitting in it’s place on my shelf, with no clutter around it, precious things safely within it. I am indeed fortunate to be so loved. My beloved did such a careful job of repairing it, cleaning it up (without removing all of the patina), and returning it to me – just in time for Valentine’s Day. ❤
What love looks like.
I linger on the feelings and sip my coffee.
Yesterday evening, I had arrived home so tired. Heart heavy with the weight of the world, too. It’s too much. My Traveling Partner reminded me gently to avoid becoming mired in distant events, and to stay present here, now, in this moment, wrapped in the warmth and love of hearth and home. He was making a good point – one I make, myself, right here, often. It was a timely reminder. I needed it.
I tried my best not to be cross, and (on a hunch about what sorts of things might further lift my spirits) gently asked the Anxious Adventurer to do a thing for me, if he might have the time… some painting rails I’d been wanting to install in my room, and in the dining room, if he wasn’t too busy…maybe… He not only did this thing for me, he made a point of doing it more or less immediately (which I did not expect), and with some helpful guidance from my Traveling Partner about placement, I ended my evening putting new pastels where I can see them and enjoy them, and I found this lifted my spirits quite a lot. I’m grateful. (I’m less than ideally skilled with a drill, frankly, and I am happy that he had time to undertake this for me.) I smile over my coffee. I’d forgotten to get any pictures of the paintings on the painting rails, but I can picture them in my mind’s eye with such clarity. My smile deepens.
Gratitude and coffee – a great way to begin a morning. 😀
Don’t let the terrifying shit going on in the world become your entire experience. Breathe, exhale, relax, and enjoy your joy. Take care of yourself. Begin again.
How do you light your way when you must pass through darkness? Do you use matches? A cigarette lighter? A candle? An oil lamp? A big flashlight filled with D batteries? A headlamp? A portable camp lantern? Do you flip a switch? Count on public streetlights? Maybe you just wait for the sun? You’ve got choices and the choices to vary in suitability and effectiveness. Some are too dim. Some are unreliable. Some won’t last long enough to get you through the darkness. These days there seems to be a lot of g’damned darkness, doesn’t there?
It’s a metaphor. You already caught on to that, didn’t you? How will you “light your way” through the darkness as a new “dark age” begins? Do you sense the darkness falling? What will you do to bring light to the darkness? Your results may vary, but you do have choices. Don’t let your voice be silenced. Don’t stumble blindly through the darkness, persuaded that it isn’t actually dark at all.
In practical and clear terms, as information is pulled off the Internet and made less available, it’s time to make a point to buy, read, and share bound books. Check and double-check the sources of the information you consume. Be wary of hidden agendas.
It’s necessary – urgently so – to “speak truth to power”, and the powerful aren’t going to make that easy. (It’s already no longer possible to directly email many elected officials who “represent you”, including the White House.) Use snail mail. Pick up the phone. Write letters to the editors of newspapers (while those still exist). Gather with others and raise your voices together. You may need to make a real effort to be heard. It’s important that you do. (Me too. All of us.)
The darkness is coming. Lighting a match is less likely to be useful than a headlamp on the trail, but you may need spare batteries. Flipping on the lights makes sense in a dark room, but you’ve got to pay the electric bill.
… Still a metaphor…
I’m just saying, don’t wander in darkness. Seek Illumination. Find enlightenment. Make a point to light the way for others, too, when you can. Don’t trust that it’ll be fine to wait for the sun; we never know when we’ll see another sunrise.
… Maybe don’t share your journey with people who tell you that it’s better that you should live in darkness…
It’s likely to be a long four years, and we’re all in this together.
It’s time to begin again. How will you light your way, until the sun rises again?
Evening Light 