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Dawn and a Hot Cup of Coffee

December 4, 2025 //
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I’m at the trailhead with a hot cup of coffee, waiting for the rain to stop. I’m a little cross and don’t feel well-rested. Sometimes that’s the way it goes for me. I’m not cross because I woke up early in spite of hoping to sleep in a bit. I’m cross because the noise that woke me was triggering, and I didn’t manage that sufficiently well to avoid also exchanging harsh words with my Traveling Partner before I left the house for my walk. I’m disappointed, and this makes me cross. It’s my beloved’s birthday and I want only good experiences for him.

… I can do better…

I’m not in any hurry, at least. I took off work today, and after my walk I will pick up the birthday cake and head home to enjoy the day. I’ve got time to sort myself out before the day really begins.

The soft sprinkle of rain that is falling isn’t really enough to stop me from walking. I’m enjoying the freedom to choose my timing and my experience, and waiting for a little daylight. I’m hoping to give my beloved time to get back to sleep for awhile, too. I meditate. I breathe, and let my thoughts pass by like clouds. “Nothing to see here”, it’s a quiet moment on a quiet autumn morning. It’s enough.

Yesterday was a strange one, and I reflect on it awhile. It was the sort of day when it seemed each attempt to focus on a single task was interrupted multiple times, with the end result that the one task I kept returning to never actually got started. I’d have to begin all over again each time I dealt with some distraction, and each time my focus was broken with a ping, a request for my attention on something, or some other thing someone else wanted done… I ended the day mentally exhausted, and feeling like my time and consciousness are not my own. It was super annoying. On the other hand, my Traveling Partner and I cooked dinner together, and that was fun, in spite of me being so tired I couldn’t easily tackle dinner without his help, and had to rely on the Anxious Adventurer to do cleanup after dinner. I went to bed early, too, and still woke feeling like I didn’t get any real rest.

A steady stream of headlights sweeps past, on the highway adjacent to the trailhead parking. G’damn, I’m so glad it isn’t me, this morning. I chuckle to myself thinking about my last visit with my Granny on the Eastern Shore. That would have been… 1995? Something like that. I was in my early thirties. She was some age between 65-75, and seemed ageless to me. I remember being surprised any time her response to a suggested outing or adventure of some sort was being “too tired for all that”. I definitely get it now. Fucking hell, life is exhausting sometimes. I “run out of spoons” much sooner these days, and things seem to require more of me than they once did. I often fail to account for self-care needs, beyond this quiet time in the morning, and my well-being and quality of life are slowly being more and more degraded by that. It’s poor planning, poor boundary and expectation setting, and also fairly fucking stupid – because I am aware of the negative consequences and also actually know better through direct experience. I could do better, and I’m going to end up paying a high price if I don’t treat myself better.

… I still, often, find it difficult to put my own needs high on my list, in spite of so much growth and progress. I should work on that…

I sip my coffee, struggling to rephrase my thoughts to avoid “should…” in favor of more emotionally healthy language. I don’t benefit from joining the queue of demanding voices pinging on my consciousness. I can do better.

The first hint of daybreak lightens the sky. I think of my beloved Traveling Partner hopefully sleeping at home. I sip my coffee contentedly, listening to the patter of raindrops and watching daybreak become the dawn of a new day, full of opportunity.

One mortal woman, limited capacity to do the verbs, limited opportunity to create change, limited ability to do more, better… I’ve only got so many spoons, and this brief mortal life to live. I sigh, still pressing myself to “do more, better”, aware that more often than not I am already doing my best. It has to be enough when we give all we have, but an unfortunate truth seems to be that sometimes it doesn’t feel like enough, and there’s no more to offer. Still… I guess “everything” is more than nothing, and as unsatisfying as that sometimes feels, it’ll have to do.

The rain keeps falling.

I sigh to myself and stretch as I get out of the car and pull my rain poncho, scarf, and gloves out of my gear bin. I can make out the trail now, in the predawn gloom. I’m so tired… and it’s already time to begin again. That’s okay; I’ll do my best.

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Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, Healthy Living, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Sleepless Nights, solo hiking, The Art of Being, women, Words

Start, Stop, Begin Again

December 1, 2025 //
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Sometimes things feel harder than they seem they should. Misinformation everywhere. The practical details of life getting more costly every week, every month. Paychecks don’t keep up with that unless you happen to be among the very affluent (and then it’s less that the paycheck keeps up than maybe you don’t need to notice the minutiae or count the pennies). (Remember pennies?) Balancing the load takes up a lot of mental bandwidth, even for folks who are very organized and pretty prepared. It’s exhausting.

…It’s okay to admit it when you’re tired…

My head aches. My arthritis pain is actually making me feel ill. I’m distracted from one priority task by the next ostensibly higher priority task. Subjectively, I feel like I “used to be better at juggling all of this”, but I’m not sure that’s literally true. I suspect I’m just feeling a bit overwhelmed by the lingering artifacts of chaos that arrived ahead of me (to this job) or which defy attempts to bring order (the chaos and damage in my own head), or perhaps I am succumbing to the stress of watching the decline of democracy, in spite of my attempt to avoid spending potentially productive time on that bullshit. (It’s not bullshit because it isn’t real, it’s bullshit because it doesn’t need to be this way, and we somehow chose this shit in spite of being told what was coming if we did.)

I’m tired. Not because I’m working my ass off on some construction job site, or laboring on a factory floor, or in a fulfillment warehouse, or on my feet all day. Brain tired. Soul tired. It’s feeling too much like a hamster wheel, some days, and too little like living.

…This too will pass…

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I take a moment to scrounge in my handbag for another dose of Rx pain management, only to discover I’ve already taken that, and I’m already “maxed out” for a work day. Well, shit. I sigh to myself, finish the watered-down dregs of my morning coffee, knowing I’ll likely regret that later tonight. I pull myself upright, and pause to offer someone a compliment for work well done. I find giving others sincere encouragement or expressing gratitude for some task or service someone has provided often distracts me from the pain I’m in. Certainly it’s a better reaction to pain than sobbing or throwing a tantrum. I’d happily just sit somewhere gazing out a window, letting my mind empty itself of concerns, and even thoughts. Parking this fragile vessel and leaving her to idle for awhile would feel pretty good, but… I don’t have time.

…The clock is ticking…

It helps to have a break, and I’m glad I took one. It’s not enough, but it will do for the moment. I imagine the stern look on the face of the woman in the mirror, right now, she knows I could do a better job of taking care of myself than I often do. I make her a promise I probably won’t keep, and hope that she understands. It has to be enough… it’s the best I can do right now. Isn’t it?

…”No. Do better.” I imagine her answering, “You matter. You can at least take a proper fucking break…”

I sigh again, and get up from my desk to take a proper break. The sun is shining. I go outside and get some fresh air, and watch the squirrels play for a few minutes, and stretch. It’s chilly but not cold. The sunshine feels good. Now I feel ready to begin again.

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Categories 2024 Election, Allegories, anhedonia, Anxiety, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, health, meditation, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, The Art of Being, War and News of War

When It Gets Real

November 26, 2025 //
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I started my walk quite early. Before sunrise. Before dawn. Before daybreak even hinted at a new day beginning. I walked down the dark trail, the circle of light cast around me by my headlamp bobbing and shifting with my steps. Nothing much to see besides wet leaves and an occasional slug. It is warmer than recent mornings. I walk with my cardigan open, in spite of occasional raindrops.

For me, trail walking is a useful metaphor for following a path in life. It has everything I am likely to need to more deeply contemplate this very human journey as I walk. I’ve even got occasional obstacles along the way, as in life itself. I walk with my thoughts. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving, and I’ve got a lot to be thankful for. Over time, gratitude has become such a natural practice that I often find an attitude of presumed entitlement to be… boorish and crude, astonishing and distasteful.

I smile to myself as I walk. I’ve come a long way on this journey.

I’ve changed a lot over the years. I don’t have much in common with the woman who left the Army at 30, bitter, damaged, and full of a poisonous diffuse rage waiting to find a target. Nor do I have much in common with the chaotic and bewildered young woman who joined up at 17, fairly certain she had no other reasonable prospects. I don’t have much in common with the woman who quit her job to paint full-time at 52, either. (She quickly discovered that although she loved to paint, she was pretty dreadful at the business of art, and returned to the workforce when her savings ran out.) I probably have a little more in common with some much younger past version of myself…13? 14? Idealistic, optimistic, hopeful, generally cheerful, eyes wide with wonder, and a head full of notions – now that’s a girl worth hanging out with for some giggles and good conversations!

Funny thing about that much younger version of me… she didn’t have many useful tools in her toolbox at that age, and her choices to “just walk away” when things got “too real” taught me a lot, although they were poorly considered, and fairly stupid decisions. Did abandoning everything and just walking away from my life ever fix anything? No, not generally, but once or twice it helped me turn a corner or make a clean break that legitimately served me well. It’s taking a sledgehammer to an annoying fly, though; imprecise, with far greater destructive potential than required. I still think about it, now and then, when life is at its most stressful… there’s freedom in walking on.

… Every morning, I lace up my boots and walk on. It’s a useful metaphor for change and for progress, and for following a path…

Do you ever think about just walking away from everything and everyone you know, and striking out on a completely new path? Do you consider how few and how small the practical changes actually need to be to thoroughly change your whole life as the effects ripple through the whole of your experience day-to-day? One small change, well-practiced over time, could be enough to change your experience of life, generally. That’s kind of a big deal… Useful.

…One step at a time down the path, I keep walking with my thoughts…

A brief rain shower passes by, enough to dampen my hair. I keep walking. I slip on slick leaves at the edge of a puddle, and slide a short distance before catching my balance. I keep walking. A steeper bit of trail slows me down a little, just where the pavement ends and the trail becomes muddy earth. I keep walking. I walk past vineyards and trees, and along the edge of a grassy bit of meadow, and along the bank of a creek. The trail is familiar, but there are new things to see most days – each moment and day are their own unique experience. Each walk, too, is its own experience, wherever it takes me. Wherever I take myself, this remains true, down any path I choose to follow; I am having my own experience, and I have the power to change it.

I’m grateful for the ability to walk these solitary miles with my thoughts. Grateful for the well maintained trails available to me. Grateful for the safe community and parks to walk through. Grateful, too, that I have the will to do the walking. It’s no small effort to go down the path, step after step, in darkness or daylight, morning after morning. I “treat myself” to a few moments sitting quietly at some stopping point to rest, reflect, and write. I’m grateful that I can, and that I do. Sometimes I still find myself thinking about “walking away from it all” when times are stressful and difficult, but I rarely act on flights of fancy, and a nice walk alone with my thoughts is generally enough to sort myself out and find acceptance and a suitable path forward.

Anxiety vexing me? Maybe a nice walk will help? Feeling angry and struggling to deal with it? How about a walk, and some time to reflect and gain perspective? Feeling blue or bitter? A lovely walk in the countryside could be just the thing to put me right. I prefer to walk away from a shitty situation… but the choice of trail or path I take doesn’t need to be some permanent departure from life, the world, or my circumstances. Sometimes I just need a bit of a break, a chance to reflect, and a walk outside in the fresh air.

G’damn, y’all, how fucking basic and mundane am I? I chuckle to myself, remembering a young woman of 14, and her daydreams of an adventurous adulthood filled with amazing experiences, lessons learned over time, and fantastic tales to tell. Sure, sure, I’ve seen some things, done some living and faced my share of struggles. I do manage to find some amusement in discovering that what I enjoy most is a stable, comfortable sort of ordinary lifestyle, without much excitement or drama. A pleasant walk and a good cup of coffee have turned out to be more meaningful and more worthwhile than an elegant fine dining experience, or some long-sought professional achievement. That realization drove a lot of my shift toward a focus on sufficiency and gratitude. Over time it has been profoundly helpful for soothing my stormy emotions, and improving my perspective on life, generally.

None of this is to say that my way is the way, or that this path must also be your path. We’re each having our own experience. Making our own choices. Walking our own paths.

The rain begins to fall more steadily. I pull my rain poncho from my pocket and pull it over my head. Daybreak comes with the rain. I get to my feet in the gloomy half-light of dawn. It’s time to begin again, and this path won’t walk itself.

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Categories 2024 Election, Allegories, anger, Anxiety, art and the artist, Brain Injury, breathe, Despair, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, grief, Healthy Living, inspiration, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, The Art of Being, War and News of War, Words

Walking in Fog

November 21, 2025 //
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A new day, a new perspective, and for the moment, less anxiety, which is a pleasant change from recent days.

I woke up pretty close to when the lights would have begun gradually brightening to wake me. My Traveling Partner was already awake. We exchange pleasantries and I kiss him on my way out. A lovely beginning to a Friday.

Artificial lighting shining through the fog before dawn.

It is a cold morning, just 35°F (1.6°C). I’m grateful to have my cozy cardigan on, over a warm fluffy sweater, and that my gear bin in the back of my SUV has a warm scarf, knitted cap, and gloves conveniently ready for me. ‘Tis the season, I guess. I could give up my outdoor walk in favor of the elliptical machine at home… I have that option. I prefer the real walking on an actual trail or path through some park or wild space. I’m fortunate to have the elliptical available, and grateful too; it really is handy any time I’m injured, or if the weather is too bad for safe walking, like icy mornings, or drenching downpours. Part of what I get from my morning walk, though, is the solitude. I am alone with my thoughts, uninterrupted by others. It is quite possibly my favorite luxury. (One of the benefits of walking at this admittedly ludicrous hour of the day is that I generally don’t see, hear, or even pass by anyone else, at all.)

… I start down the trail in the fog and darkness…

I get to my halfway point and sit awhile, on a favorite bench. I think about change. Last year a small conference center was built on the acreage here, where this trail happens to be. The construction didn’t change the trail at all. Now a small resort-style hotel is also being added, but on the other side of the parking lot. The construction looks like it may impair the trail at some point, making it an out-and-back walk instead of a loop, for at least awhile. I sit contemplating the many such changes I’ve seen over a lifetime. Empty lots that fueled daydreams of gardens became apartment buildings or condos. Friendly country lanes that I walked down became busy commuter byways. Empty houses I fantasized about owning were torn down for office buildings. Countryside became suburban communities adjacent to cities that have continued to sprawl. Change is.

Twenty years ago, I was a different woman, in a different relationship, with a different job, living a very different life than I do now. Funny how much things can change over time. I sit reflecting on change and gratitude; I am living a healthier life now, and I am no longer deeply unhappy. Progress. It wasn’t done with the flip of a switch, and there was no single eye-opening “a-ha! moment”. The changes I chose to make were choices made over time. Back then it seemed very likely impossible to ever be where I find myself now… but here I sit.

This is an incomplete journey. Ongoing. I sit quietly in the fog. I wonder where this path leads? In another twenty years, when I look back on this time in my life, what will I think of this woman I have become? Will I appreciate her efforts and celebrate her successes? Will I grieve something lost along the way, or feel a moment of relief to have let go of some bit of baggage? It’s a big menu and there are a lot of choices. I think about that for awhile. We don’t know what is on the path ahead, and we’re each having our own experience.

My mind wanders to friendships lost over time. Some were deliberately ended. Some seemed to fade away on their own. Some I mourn with some moment of sorrow now and then. Others only bring a feeling of relief that they are behind me now. Human primates are complicated, sometimes we travel together on this strange journey, for a little while at least, other times we just pass each other along the way, exchanging information or enjoying a brief shared experience. No wrong answers, the human experience has a lot of options. (Okay, a few wrong answers, probably, so choose your actions and your friendships with care, eh? Try to avoid creating regrets.)

Daybreak, fog, and unmade choices; a good opportunity to begin again.

The first hint of daybreak touches the sky. The foggy morning seems to change color, now a little bluer. The darkness begins to lift. I sigh as I get to my feet to begin again. I look down the path and wonder what might be around the next bend, and prepare to begin again.

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

Some Quiet Moments

November 19, 2025 //
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I’m sitting at the halfway point on my morning walk, grateful for the warm sweater and cardigan. It’s a cold morning. It’s that time of year, here. The predawn sky is dark and clear, with a few clouds brightened by the lights below. I sit here contentedly, nothing much on my mind, and trying not to think about work. Now is not that time.

For the moment, my anxiety is well-managed, which is nice, and my pain is pretty typical of the season, which is less nice, but endurable. I smirk at myself cynically; I am a survivor. I’ve survived trauma, and heartbreak, and ruin, and mental illness, and profound injury, and domestic violence, and war. It’s been a lot. I sigh to myself. There are so very many people who have survived worse, and more. I’m grateful to be where I am, sitting quietly on this bench on a cold autumn morning before sunrise.

I’m admittedly disappointed with “the state of humanity”, presently. We could do so much better as beings than we have chosen to do. The current US president calls people names like an angry rude child. Legislators seriously contemplate imprisoning women over what should be private medical decision making between women and their physicians. Billionaires hoard vast unimaginable sums of money and assets piled high, while the working people who exchanged their efforts for a pittance worry about their next meal, and people living below the poverty line make daily decisions about whether to buy lifesaving medicine, or groceries. Housing is both limited in availability and also increasingly unaffordable. Are we really immune to all the suffering and violence in the world around us? Are we really okay with people deliberately seeking to profit off that misery?

…We could do better…

I sigh and let that go. I pull my attention back to this moment, here, now.

I take a moment for meditation, and for gratitude. My thoughts, this morning, are more personal than I’m inclined to share. I think about some painful moments in the past, and turn them over in my memory, considering instead what I may have learned or gained as a result of these experiences. It’s a practice I indulge rarely and approach cautiously; it is easy to become immersed in the recollection of pain or failure, and lose my way. There is real value in changing my perspective on such things, when I can. I don’t force it. Authenticity and honest self-reflection have positive value. Tearing myself down ruminating over past trauma or poor decision making tends to cloud my thinking and make me miserable. It is important to practice one and avoid the other.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. The cold has begun to seep into my bones, and my arthritis pain worsens. I sigh to myself and get to my feet. May as well finish this walk and get the day started, I guess. I find myself feeling a little blue. The world weighs too heavily on my thoughts, perhaps, or maybe it’s just pain. Weary. I feel weary of the world and all it’s heartache and chaos, and I’d like very much to simply be alone somewhere for… awhile. Days maybe, but I don’t have the money to spare on frivolous getaways right now, and too much to do that genuinely needs doing, and holidays ahead. Fuck. “Hang in there,” I remind myself, “this too will pass. It’s all very temporary.”

I stand staring down the trail for a moment, feeling unexpected tears rolling down my face. (What the absolute fuck?!) I sigh, a little frustrated with this whole “being human” thing. It’s clearly time to begin again. I see signs of daybreak on the eastern horizon, and start walking.

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Categories 2024 Election, Allegories, Anxiety, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Despair, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, The Art of Being, War and News of War, women, Words
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