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What’s Good, Though?

January 27, 2026 //
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It’s easy to focus on the negative, isn’t it? Whatever is amiss right now, whether here or far away, is often so compelling we dive headlong into that mess, and give up on all the good things going on, too. We get mired in some bit of unpleasantness, large or small, or let conflict live in our heads, and forget to live our lives through any other lens. Yesterday was hard. I had a nasty headache that persisted through the day, I was cross from the moment I woke until I finally called it a night. It’s rare for me to be stuck in a bad mood for so long. I’m glad I woke without it.

Look, I’m not saying don’t protest injustice (please be safe, and please protest peacefully), nor am I discouraging you from speaking up about how you feel or what you are going through. (Use your words! Speak truth to power.) I am pointing out that the picture is nearly always bigger than the moment any one of us is in right now, and there are opportunities to get to a more positive outlook, and a better state of being. In some cases, it may take a night of good sleep, in others maybe a moment of perspective is all that is needed? You results may vary – I know mine do. lol Adulting is hard sometimes. I’m grateful that with expectation setting and taking care with my words throughout the day, the consequences of yesterday’s crappy headspace ended up being generally good; a deeper connection with my Traveling Partner, and no one having to go to bed mad or with hurt feelings (as far as I could tell). Win. Small wins matter; sometimes small wins are all you get.

Sometimes it’s a good idea to take a minute, and sort things out.

This morning, I’m thinking about “what’s good?” – because I spent too much time yesterday focused on the things that were off, or going wrong, or just seem crappy and unfair. My Traveling Partner was correct all those years ago, when he pointed out to me that my negativity was doing me real harm (in addition to being unpleasant to be around, generally). “Toxic positivity” is not the solution; this is not “fake it until you make it” territory, though speaking in terms of practices may suggest that it somehow is. It is more to do with perspective, and balance, and self-awareness, and consideration, and compassion – and the very real likelihood that most of the time, in most circumstances, things are not as bad as they may seem in the moment. Emotions like sorrow and anger and frustration are still valid useful emotions that tell us something about our experience. The way out is through – squashing our emotions does not resolve them. Forbidding ourselves to experience our feelings in order to more carefully craft a feigned pleasant exterior and a smile suited only to commercial purposes is not emotionally healthy. There is another path. Savor the small pleasures and simple joys. Enjoy each fleeting moment of delight unreservedly. Share kindness. Assume positive intent. Don’t take things personally. When hard times hit, the resilience you’ve built over time will sustain you. We become what we practice. (Practice calm, we become calmer over time. Practice freaking out over small things or losing your temper over small mishaps, we become less able to manage our emotions in a healthy way, and unable to maintain our perspective on events. Seems like we’ve got some choices.) I sip my coffee and think about it awhile longer. Am I satisfied with how I handled my crappy day yesterday? Mostly. Could I have done better? Probably. I have today ahead of me to do that; it’s a whole new experience, filled with new moments.

It is an ordinary enough Tuesday. I may even work from home. My Traveling Partner suggested it. I woke way too early for that, though, and I did not want my wakefulness to wake everyone else. I dressed and slipped away into the darkness – hopefully without waking everyone.

What’s good? This cup of coffee, actually. It’s pleasant, mellow, and no bitterness detected – characteristics I’d like very much to develop and deepen, as a person. I think most days I get pretty close. Progress. I think about the work on-site annual strategy meeting that I am not attending in person this week, afterall. Sure, I could get all wound up in whether not being there in person may “hold me back” professionally… or… I could focus on what’s good; I’m home, available to care for my Traveling Partner when he needs me, and not faced with the inconvenience, cost, fatigue, or risk of illness that inevitably comes with professional travel. What I choose to focus on may set the tone for many moments ahead of me. It’s not a new lesson for me – I knew it yesterday when I was mired in my bleak mood. I struggled to make an effective change, not because I did not know I could choose otherwise, but because making that choice in the first place was so fucking difficult in that moment. (Moments pass.) I’m not inclined to understate how difficult it can be to choose change, to go another direction, or to soothe an angry heart. Sometimes it is hard, and my results vary. I keep practicing because I keep improving through practice. It gets better. It gets easier. It gets more reliable – until at some point, on some detail of behavior, thinking, or character, I will find that I have changed.

Walking my own path, one step at a time.

What’s good? Right now the warmth and cameraderie of this chain cafe! It’s a silly thing, but heart-warming; the baristas here have gotten to know me by name, and are familiar with my early morning coming and going on these work days. I write quietly in the corner, people-watching a bit now and then, sipping coffee and reflecting on life. If I don’t come by, they notice. If I am wearing a frown for no obvious reason, they ask if I’m okay. It’s a very human experience of community. It’s good. I enjoy it, even when I’m headache-y and cross. Yesterday it was one of the highpoints of my morning – just that moment of recognition that I was not at my best and clearly having a difficult morning. “How’s the morning?” backed up with a concerned look, and authentic interest in the answer hits differently. I reflect on authenticity and sincerity. A much younger me might have sneered dismissively at the suggestion that these are character qualities with real value. That younger me was wrong about a lot of other shit, too. I chuckle with fond affection and a smile with a little sorrow at the corners; we don’t know what we don’t know, and we think we know a lot more than we actually ever could.

What’s good? Simple pleasures, like a hot shower, or a good cup of coffee. Unexpected delights, like a gift on a non-birthday, or a letter (or email) from a faraway friend. A pleasant moment over a cup of tea at the edge of my garden in Spring? Definitely good. An unexpected compliment is also good. I sip my coffee and think of as many little things that feel good to me as I can, and I turn those around “in the other direction” – so many are things I can easily do and deliver that moment of joy and delight to someone else. I smile thinking about it. Maybe this evening is a good one to write letters (or emails) to far away friends? Perhaps it is a good one to enjoy a shower with my Traveling Partner – or share a good cup of coffee together in the evening (I could pick up some decaf for me)? Is there some little thing I could give to a friend to demonstrate my affection? Perhaps I could invite my pleasant neighbor over for a cup of tea? The joy we give others is returned to us multiplied. There are verbs involved. Choices to make. Actions to follow-through on. Living life is not a passive process.

Seems to be very effective so far… probably doesn’t hurt that the path is mine, and that I choose it myself.

I sip my coffee. I think to message my Traveling Partner to let him know I will return home later, after he wakes, to work from home. Useful expectation-setting that I don’t expect him to see until he wakes later. Minutes later, he replies; he hasn’t slept as well as I had hoped, apparently, but lets me know he’s going back to sleep. I hope he does and that his rest is deep and satisfying. I know how rare that it is, and how much he needs it.

My coffee has begun to cool. There is a bossa nova playing in the background, reminding me of my grandparents and summers at their house; the favored radio station playing there was some sort of smooth jazz, and often featured samba and bossa nova music. It’s not music that I greatly enjoy, neither do I dislike it – it definitely fills me with nostalgia, and memories of a different time and place.

Meditation over coffee… like a sunrise in my thoughts.

What’s good with you? Take a moment to think it over (no need to get back to me, though I’d certainly make time to enjoy your comment and to reply, it’s really for you more than for me), especially if the here and now of your experience is difficult. Give yourself a moment to appreciate the things that are good. Let it lift you up and color your perspective. Go ahead and begin again. 😀

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Categories anger, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, Healthy Living, joy, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Parables, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Sleepless Nights, The Big 5, War and News of War, winter, women, Words

Low Drama Insomnia

January 23, 2026 //
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My sleep was poor last night. Frequently interrupted by one noise or another, but also sometimes just because I simply woke up for no obvious reason. It’s fine. I’ve had a problematic relationship with sleep all my life. I finally woke at a time sufficiently close to the time I generally get up that I went ahead and got up. Would it be coffee or walking? The forecast suggests coffee – another freezing morning. I dress and head out, hoping that I avoided waking anyone, and grateful that in spite of my restless night I’m not feeling groggy.

Each time I woke during the night, I’d turn over or shift the covers or fluff my pillow seeking new comfort, eventually returning to sleep (once waking from a deep sleep surprised to find myself waking; I had been dreaming I was awake, laying there in the darkness lol). I wasn’t stressed or anxious over being wakeful, it happens. Insomnia lost a lot of its power over me when I stopped being anxious about the insomnia itself, or the lost hours of sleep. (Now and then, if wakefulness overtakes me more thoroughly, I just get up, read or write or paint or meditate for awhile, but last night wasn’t that kind of night.) I woke often, returned to sleep eventually, and repeated that experience several times during the night, about every 90 minutes or so. I’m okay for most values of okay, in spite of that. I couldn’t get by on this kind of shitty sleep indefinitely (although I have in years past). I may be tired to the point of being fairly dull or actually stupid later today; I remind myself to get important cognitively dense tasks and work requiring focus knocked out early in the day.

Perspective is a big deal; the spiders in life are not actually as big as they sometimes look.

The restless night causes me less concern that this feeling lately that I “just don’t want to be part of any of this”, and a latent yearning to “walk away” from “all of it”. I know myself pretty well. There’s nothing specifically “wrong” such that resolving that would clear up this feeling, it’s more to do with just not being easily able to get a particular need met well in a way that satisfies it (a need for solitude and a break from emotional labor). I struggle to escape awareness of all the madness going on in the world, and every day there’s some new bit of unbelievable petty unfathomable craziness from the demented elder cohort leading the nation (the cruelty of this adminstration is astonishing and revolting). It stresses me out even to the minmal degree news reaches me at all. (I’m really trying to avoid it for my own sanity.) I’m still – to an extent – in a caregiving role, and present circumstances being what they are (economically, financially, socially…) I can’t just drop everything and check-in to a beachfront hotel, turn my notifications off for a a long weekend, and just paint, and write, and be alone. (In 2023, I could get an off-season room on the coast for $40-$50 per night, right on the beach. Now even off-season rooms are $200 per night at old rundown motels on the other side of the highway, with no view or beach access.) It’s definitely too cold (for me) for camping, too. The time is not now. I’m tied to this experience by the requirements of work and life, the limitations of my circumstances, and I’m reluctant to tell people I care about to fuck off (for awhile) and just leave me alone. I want very much to meet my need for solitude without causing anyone pain or suffering or hurt feelings (creating chaos and drama while seeking to escape chaos and drama defeats the purpose entirely). Anyway, I’m painfully aware that regardless, I’d be dragging my baggage with me, and it is in fact something within myself that I’m seeking to evade, escape, or “fix”. Reliably. I sigh at the inner recognition and acknowledgement. So… what to do about it, though? I sip my coffee and reflect on that awhile.

As with any choice, there are verbs involved.

I find myself feeling sympathetic towards the Anxious Adventurer – this “self-awareness”, and “self-reflection” stuff isn’t without its challenges, and this human journey that is so much about self-discovery and growth is not an easy one. We are each having our own experience on a journey without a map.

Walk your own path, choose your own verbs, and build your own practices.

It is Friday. The weekend is ahead. I breathe, exhale, and relax. A week of working from my employer’s San Francisco office follows the weekend (I fly down Tuesday, return home Friday night). I smile at myself for the tempting thought that I might get some solitary time, if only in the very early morning and in the evenings after work, while I am in San Francisco, but it didn’t work out that way last time at all. The opportunity to collaborate with colleagues in a shared space resulted in longer work hours, and no time alone of note. The company puts us up in a comfortable clean hotel, and I’m grateful for that. I will probably sleep well, but I don’t expect much solitary time, or leisure unless I make a point to carve out time for myself and set very firm boundaries. I smirk at myself knowingly; it’s a coin toss. That’s why I keep practicing; I clearly need the practice. lol

Perspective is sometimes about the view from a singular moment. If I stand somewhere else, doesn’t my perspective change? 🙂

I sigh to myself. I’m okay for most values of “okay”. Life is pretty good, most of the time. Hell, I may not have slept well, but the morning is not as cold as forecast, my headache isn’t bad, my arthritis pain is well-managed – I feel okay. Things could be worse. A lot worse. I’m bitching that I don’t have everything, and can’t satisfy every need I have or soothe every emotion I feel. Shit, we’ve all got problems, right? This journey isn’t effortless or infinitely pleasant, and our “second dart suffering” is the larger share of our suffering for much of our mortal life – and we can make choices that reduce that a lot. I breathe, exhale, and relax, and make a point to let go from clinging to my suffering. In this moment, here, now, things are pretty much fine. Good coffee. Warm cafe. Pleasant music in the background. A weekend just a few hours away. Less than usual physical pain. What is there to suffer over, really? I mean, right here, right now? I’m among the very fortunate; I have a paying job, a cozy home, medical care, potable drinking water, and there are not bombs dropping here, nor am I at high risk of being assaulted or kidnapped by the government thugs roaming our communities in masked packs. Viewed that way, it’s more than a little annoying and self-indulgent to sit here with my hot coffee on a cold day bitching about not being able to get away (from my pleasant life)! I chuckle softly to myself; I am a human being, being quite human.

My coffee has gone cold. Tepid, at least. I don’t really care; I notice and move on. The clock keeps ticking. The music plays on. Daybreak will soon touch the horizon. The pings on my consciousness of various notifications start piling up. Seems like a good moment to begin again. I wonder where this path leads?

Once we choose our path, we’ve still got to walk it. The journey is the destination. 🙂
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Categories 2024 Election, Allegories, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, meditation, Mindfulness, Moments, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Sleepless Nights, The Art of Being, War and News of War, winter, women, Words

Having My Own Experience

January 17, 2026 //
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I’m sitting at my halfway point on this local trail, before dawn.  Venus is bright above the western horizon. It is a clear, mild morning. The forecast suggested it would be near freezing this morning, but it is much warmer. 45°F (7.2°C). Pleasant, compared to freezing, and I am enjoying it. I am comfortable in the warm clothes I chose.

One by one the primroses are beginning to bloom in my garden.

I smile when I recall the primroses blooming in the flower beds along the front walk. They don’t understand that it is winter, they bloom in the mild Spring-like weather regardless what the calendar says. I think about that awhile, and the phrase “bloom where you are planted”. Like garden flowers, human beings also bloom at the time most right for them individually.

I watch Venus slowly sinking towards the horizon. I reflect on how peculiar it is that this appearance of movement is not what it seems. It isn’t Venus moving at all; it is the Earth rotating on her axis. I have no sense of that motion at all, as far as I can tell, I only observe the apparent movement of the stars. There’s something to learn there, about perspective and reality and truth.

My back aches fiercely. No headache yet, today. My tinnitus is loud in my ears. I sigh to myself, grateful for the mild morning and this walk. The air smells like Spring, already.

A beautiful young buck steps slowly out of the trees, watching me as he steps cautiously onto the trail and walks past, glancing my way as if verifying that I am not going to follow. He stops a short distance from me and steps into the grassy strip of meadow on the other side of the trail. I am watching him, and sitting very still. I don’t immediately see the two does who follow him out of the trees and down the path. They are abreast of me, almost close enough to touch, when I see them. They startle me, my movement startles them, and the herd of three quickly move further down the grassy strip beside the trail.

Today the Author arrives for a short visit. After my walk I’ll stop by the store and pick up a few things. My Traveling Partner hustled me and the Anxious Adventurer through a bunch of little changes and housekeeping tasks that had fallen a little behind, in order to restore order from chaos that had crept in while he was (far more) disabled (than he is now), and to prepare for company. The last of the holiday changes made to accommodate the Giftmas tree were returned to more typical placement, too. I was grateful to have help, and for the vision and encouragement provided by my beloved; sometimes the thought work or emotional labor is the most tiring part of some project, and I don’t have vast reserves available for either, lately.

I went to bed exhausted, aware that my fatigue was as much cognitive as physical. Lately I struggle to “find a quiet moment” at home, often turning my attention to a book or a show, only to face frequent interruptions from “noise”. Hyperacusis leaves me feeling as if I can’t get a moment of peace, but it is symptomatic and highly subjective. The coffee grinder isn’t louder than usual. The cupboard doors aren’t being slammed. Someone putting away the dishes isn’t an intentional assault on my senses. Stray remarks lobbed at me unaware of my attention being elsewhere are neither more frequent nor louder. The timing is not deliberate. It’s a “me thing”. The only real solution is the stillness of solitude. It’s a feeling that the literal only time my consciousness is fully my own is when I am alone with my device set on “do not disturb”. Definitely a “me thing”. It is an illusion, and a bit of madness, perhaps.

I breathe, exhale, and relax, and pull myself back to this present and quite solitary peaceful moment. These walks meet many needs, and a little solitude is one of them. I savor the stillness as daybreak comes. Venus is lower on the horizon now, barely above the dark smudgey silhouette of the treetops. The Earth keeps spinning. The wheel turns. The clock ticks on.

I check the time and sigh to myself. I fill my lungs with the cool morning air and exhale slowly. A new day, a familiar path, and I’m having my own experience. I remind myself to let small shit stay small, and to avoid taking things personally. I stretch as I stand. It’s time to begin again. I turn and face the sunrise and start down the trail.

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Categories Allegories, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being, winter, Words

And If You Get What You Want?

January 14, 2026 //
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What then? What turn does the path take once you’ve achieved your goal, or fulfilled some dream for your future, or completed some grand project, or obtained some wonder you long yearned for? What then? I’m sipping my coffee and thinking about that, no idea why; it was the thought in my head when I woke from a deep sleep, groggy and trembling, unprepared for the day. (At first, I wasn’t at all certain “what was wrong”, and it took me a moment to realize I was simply awake.)

The clock ticks on. The calendar turns another page. A new day begins and the path unwinds ahead of me.

…And I’ve got this cup of coffee…

…And also pain. This morning I woke to pain. Well, shit. It is winter, and the cold and damp definitely do worsen my arthritis pain. I sigh to myself, sit up straighter, and stretch. I guess it could be worse. What did the Chaotic Comic call it? “Radical acceptance.” I sip my coffee and reflect on that. It is a concept commonly associated with DBT (Dialectical Behavior Therapy), an offshoot of CBT (Cognitive Behavioral Therapy). Radical acceptance sound rather grand and impressive to me… I smile a crooked smile and sip my coffee. I just think of it as coping, and as refusing to let pain make my decisions in life, when I have a choice (which tends to be “most of the time”), particularly since it’s been hanging around since I was in my late 20s. There is work to do. There are moments to enjoy. There is a whole life to live. Pain doesn’t change that, it’s just a… complication. I do my best to keep it managed and in perspective. I’m not saying that’s easy. My results definitely vary. Some days are harder than others. I sigh to myself, and let my thoughts move on.

I frown for a moment, looking at the browser tab I used to find linkable resources for the terms “DBT”, “CBT” and “radical acceptance”. What a world; I scrolled through many pages of links to various costly “resources” (booksellers, clinics, specialists, merch) before I gave up and went directly to Wikipedia. A Google Search is just about pointless these days; the first page is an error-laden overly-simplistic AI overview I have no use for, followed by sponsored link after sponsored link to some bookseller, or costly clinic or specialist, dwindling to videos by various unknowns. Wikipedia? I scrolled all the way to page 5 before that turned up (in spite of it being one of my own most-visited resources). The continued enshittification of the internet is vexing. “Platform decay” is real, and “AI” is not an improvement. I sigh, and wish Google a silent “go fuck yourself” before moving on.

Wednesday. Right – today I take my car for an estimate on the repairs it needs following it’s mystery collision in a parking lot on the last day of 2025. Stress shoots through me at the recollection and my anxiety spikes, hard. I breathe, exhale, and relax, reminding myself the collision is in the past, the insurance coverage is already approved, this is just another step on the path. I unclench my jaw, and take another breathe, and a sip of coffee. The memory of the feeling when I first saw the unexpected damage to my parked car brings it back; the sorrow, the hurt feelings, the stress over the damage and the repair cost to come. The feeling now is as visceral as the feeling then. PTSD. I breathe, exhale, and let that go. Again. I repeat the exercise until my heart is beating in a normal and comfortable way, and the pressure in the pit of my stomach has dissipated.

It can be hilariously difficult to describe the experience of PTSD, what it is like to feel it, to go through it, to have a flare up of one symptom or another. The way it is portrayed in the movies isn’t particularly accurate. It’s not always some massive meltdown (or lost-in-the-past flashback) – sometimes it’s a physical re-experiencing of the stress of some moment that is not now, and little more (although surely that’s enough). Sometimes it manifests itself as a lack of perspective or ability to anchor to here and now, a struggle to recognize that this is not that moment, at all – whenever or whatever “that moment” was. For people suffering with Complex PTSD (not recognized in the US DSM-V, but recognized by WHO’s ICD 11), the moments have piled up one upon the next and made things that much worse for being compounded and complicated by each other.

I sip my coffee, reflecting on my life, and finding it maybe just a little bit marvelous that at 62, after years of therapy and practice, I can at long last let my consciousness gently touch some terrible moment of pain or trauma or horror (intentionally!) without immediately losing myself in that past moment, without tears or terror, without profound anxiety or seething latent rage surfacing (sometimes). I can even, if I choose, tenderly and compassionately support myself through processing some detail without falling apart over it (sometimes). Oh, it’s an unreliable skill, and still wants further practice and reinforcement, and it requires self-care and presence, and willingness to let it go and step back if I begin to feel swamped, but it’s surely progress worth a moment of acknowledgement. It took a long time to get here, and it’s a better place to be in my life – and I didn’t know, ever, if I could even make this journey and stand in this better place. My results have varied – a lot.

I silently wish my beloved Traveling Partner well, hoping he still sleeps. I’ve come so far – and for much of the journey he has been my companion through the ups and downs, and the new practices, and the moments lost to poor mental health, and the challenges of every day life, and all the work and the bullshit and baggage and chaos and damage. The therapy. The work. The love. Fuck, I am so grateful to love and be loved by this singular human being. My heart fills with gratitude and spills over as unexpected tears. Human beings are weird. lol I sigh to myself, and my inner voice mocks me kindly, understanding, “bitches always be trippin, y’all.” I laugh out loud. A barista calls to me merrily, “good joke?”. I reply “life!” and she laughs, too.

Once upon a time, I dreamed day and night about being “a regular person”, less “quirky”, more able to endure stress and able to heal from trauma. Less “plagued by misfortune”. I yearned for things I didn’t yet have an understanding of… resilience… emotional intelligence… and love. I wasn’t certain life was worth living. I had only the most limited sense of agency. I felt lost and crushed, pushed and pulled, and I seethed with the sort of buried rage that if exposed might erupt into something really terrible. I felt invisible, and unheard, and lacked a sense of worth or purpose. Tough times. It seems very far away now. I can’t claim to be “over it” or “cured” or so thoroughly mentally healthy as to set (or comply with) some standard of “a regular person”…but I am no longer an outsider in my own life. I’m no longer mired in despair and filled with a sense of futility. I’ve got better tools for coping with the reality of who I am. I’m grateful. I’m generally content with life. I’m grateful for love and friendship and good times. I’m okay for most values of okay, most days. G’damn that’s… wonderful. It’s been an interesting journey, and not an easy one. I smile to myself, when I try to pin down “when it started”. I don’t think that’s so easy…so many beginnings, so many steps on this path. The journey is the destination. “Are we there yet?” is not a question with a satisfying answer; we walk on.

I finish my coffee, still smiling. It is, after all, time to begin again. Again.

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Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, joy, Love, meditation, Mindfulness, Moments, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Rape, Relationships, The Art of Being, The Big 5, turning 60, War and News of War, winter, women, Words

The Journey of a Lifetime

January 13, 2026 //
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I’m on the trail this morning. It’s been a few days. There aren’t many changes. The morning is foggy and chilly, but not really cold. This trail is mostly paved and about half of it is lit by parking lot and walkway lights. The dense fog makes everything look mysterious and a little spooky.

Foggy winter morning on a journey that is the destination.

I get to the last bench along the trail, not quite halfway. Daybreak? Sort of. The sky is beginning to lighten, and faint silhouettes begin to be visible as shapes in the fog. I set down the hot coffee I’ve been walking with, switching hands now and then for warmth. I write a few words.

It feels good to be on the trail, even as chilly as it is. I also really appreciate that I’ve finally (re)developed local options for comfortably working from an alternate location, without a long drive. I sip my coffee and let the cup warm my hands again. I listen to the quiet.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. My breath forms a cloud that mingles with the fog.

My Traveling Partner pings me details to do with a work project he is in the middle of. I reflexively look at his messages, although ideally I’d be here, in this place, enjoying a moment of solitude, focused and present in the moment. It is habit after almost two years of trying to maintain constant awareness that he may need me at any moment. I’m finding it a difficult habit to correct. Life is like that, though; we walk our path, overcoming obstacles, and learning new ways. Those ways don’t always prove useful indefinitely. Detours. Bumps and potholes and a variety of potential pitfalls. We take the journey a step at a time, seeking the best path forward and balancing the awareness of the path immediately ahead, while also giving the destination attention. Losing sight of one could result in injury, losing sight of the other could result getting lost.

…Funny what a good metaphor for living life walking this trail can be…

I sigh as I get to my feet. It’s time to finish my walk and start my day. I finish my coffee before it goes cold, and then begin again.

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