Archives for posts with tag: self-reflection
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Opportunity and Effort

June 7, 2026 //
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Yesterday was beautiful at the outset, but slid sideways into hurt feelings and aggravation later. Pretty sure it was mostly me: poor communication and unsuccessful pain management – but even if it weren’t me at all, I’m only going to be able to work on the me portions effectively, ever. So… that’s on my mind this morning.

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

…I almost returned to Basket Slough this morning, it was that lovely, yesterday.

A beautiful place for self-reflection.

Instead, this morning I head to Spring Valley, another lovely spot with a pleasant trail.

Every path begins somewhere.

I could skip writing at all today and share this cute (and deeply meaningful, wholesome, and encouraging) video that my Traveling Partner shared with me yesterday. 😁 It emphasizes some of the points I often make myself. (I hope you enjoy it.)

I breathe, exhale, and relax. Yesterday’s sunny (and also rainy) afternoon has become a memory. This peaceful morning begins with a new moment on a less frequented trail. As I get my gear together, a truck pulls into the parking lot and a burly outdoors type climbs out and gathers his gear. Backpack, waders, net, fishing rod, cooler… Definitely looking like he’s here with a purpose. The river is very nearby. It flows past still and silent. He doesn’t bother with this spot right here by the parking; he heads purposefully down the trail. I give him time to get well ahead of me; I have no interest in conversation with strangers this morning.

The Willamette River on a Spring morning.

I head down the trail with my thoughts. I consider yesterday’s walks. I recall seeing a medium-large gopher snake on the Basket Slough trail leading up into the oak savannah to the viewpoint. He was too quick for my camera, sliding away into the grasses alongside the trail and quickly disappearing. As I walk this morning, I happily spot a family of rabbits playing at the edge of the meadow, and they see me approaching and dart away into the brush before I can get pictures. Life is like that (love is too); opportunity is not enough. We’ve also got to make the effort required, and even so we may be met with failure instead of what we think of as success.

… That’s frustrating (and disappointing)…

Doesn’t much matter that there are no “do overs” (there aren’t, not really, what’s done is done) – we can, and must, begin again. We can learn and grow and do better next time (or do something altogether different). It’s a journey.

A wild rose along yesterday’s path.

I think about the rose I did photograph… And the lady bug I didn’t photograph. There are choices we make in every moment. It’s not always clear whether or how our choices will be significant. They often are, though, and it may be for the best to make all our choices with care. Moments are finite and fleeting and we don’t know when the journey will end or when travelers may part company. Ideally we each do our legitimate best every moment, every choice, every relationship, every day… It’s a lot to keep up with. Failures happen. Stupid catches up with all of us eventually (at least a few times). Sooner or later, we all take a turn at hurting someone’s feelings, or of being hurt ourselves. It’s a very human experience.

…Do your best. Make your effort count…

I don’t write any of this from a perspective of finding the journey easy or the path ahead clear. I’m writing from the perspective of being very human and, regrettably, sometimes a complete asshole. I’m sitting here contemplating how thoroughly (and frequently) I manage to fuck up some of the simplest seeming things, like basic communication. I sigh to myself. I’m not making any excuses. I could do better. I’m also not giving myself much grace or consideration at the moment, I’m pretty vexed with myself even after a night of rest. Part of me says I did my best, and wants me to learn and grow from that. Part of me says I fuck this shit up way too often and I can (and need to) do better. I guess both positions are true.

Does matter where the path leads if we don’t make the choice to walk and take the steps to make the journey?

I take a breath of the cool Spring air at the edge of this meadow. I listen to the sounds of the birds all around me. In one direction, the trail curves away around the meadow. In the other direction, it also curves away around the meadow. 😆 From this vantage point there’s no obvious difference – but the distance in miles may differ, and the outcome may differ. What I find along the way may be different, too. What matters most is to choose – without knowing the outcome – and to begin. The journey is the destination. That has to be enough. There is nothing else.

I sigh and walk on. This rock isn’t very comfortable anyway, and I “think better on my feet”. This morning I am a little preoccupied with self-interrogation of how I can more skillfully listen deeply, and avoid talking over people (particularly my partner), and how to make things right with my beloved after hurting his feelings and being an insufferable ass. Another sigh, this one a bit impatient and frustrated with myself, but realistically this is “the vehicle” I have for this trip. I’ll have to make it work.

It’s a new day, and there are new opportunities to be the woman I most want to be, and to be a better lover and partner than I was yesterday. There are choices involved, and effort, and verbs – and still more opportunities to begin again… but the clock is ticking. Time is finite and we are mortal creatures. It’s time to begin again.

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

WTF?

June 6, 2026 //
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It was the anxiety that woke me, drenched in hot sweat, feeling a weight on my chest, breathless and on the edge of panic, in a quiet, dark room, in the wee hours before dawn. What the hell? I forced myself to remain still, and artificially calm. “Breathe!” I commanded my still waking consciousness sternly. I exhaled slowly, emptying my lungs. Another deep breath, another slow complete exhalation. I turned on a dim light as I continue to breathe, exhale, and relax.

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

“Anxiety” 2011

Anxiety is a very human experience. Certainly there’s no shortage of shit that might make us anxious in the modern world. Here? Now? In a dimly lit comfortable bedroom in a safe suburban neighborhood during the quiet hours before a new day begins there really doesn’t seem to be anything going on worth feeling anxious about. That’s all anxiety is, after all, a feeling. The lived experience of human biochemistry misfiring in the darkness. Fucking hell I definitely dislike feeling anxious. The worst of it is the way my mind immediately goes into overdrive trying to ascribe an “obvious” cause to it that seems plausible enough to become difficult to shake, however ridiculous it actually is.

I get up. Dress. Head out for the local trail I favor for a pleasant morning walk. The anxiety goes with me, this morning. It is what it is. I keep breathing. I keep reminding myself that “anxiety is a liar”, which I have found to be reliably true.

A peaceful spot suitable for a moment of reflection.

I sit with my thoughts awhile, near a small chapel alongside the first section of the trail. I’m in no hurry. Coffee with a friend a little later, and a bit of a drive to get there. The morning is my own. I think wistfully of my Traveling Partner, still sleeping at home. I hope my anxiety didn’t disturb his rest.

I breathe, exhale, relax. Meditation before my walk isn’t my usual practice. This morning I need the benefit of that cultivated moment of peace before I set off down the trail. There’s no self-critical pressure being applied, no disappointment over feeling anxious. This is the moment I’m in, and the experience I’m having. It doesn’t seem to be connected to anything, and I’m not surprised by that. I’ve got a diagnosis for good reasons. This anxiety is “disordered” – it’s “not real”, in the sense that there is no external cause at all. It is inappropriate to the circumstances. Baggage. The leavings of past trauma and whatever the fuck else causes a human body to fire off a bunch of chemical signals that suggest there is some dire circumstance afoot. (There just isn’t, and anxiety is a liar.)

On the other hand, the feeling of anxiety, the experience of the chemistry of it, is very real and very troublesome. I breathe through it, repeating the cyclical breathing I know specifically helps calm my nervous system. That’s very real, too. I’m still surprised how much effect specific breathing patterns can have on my subjective experience. The way my breathing can directly and immediately change how I feel is amazing. Sometimes it takes a bit of discipline. Real practice. Verbs. Persistence.

I stand and stretch as it begins to sprinkle. I’m fairly close to the car, so I walk back for my rain poncho. The walking also calms my anxiety quite a lot, especially when I am present in the moment and not all up in my head.

Even as the anxiety begins to dissipate, I feel it clawing at my brain trying to latch on to some idea or experience to find justification that will feed it. I keep brushing aside the impulse to make it “about” something. Not helpful. I roll my eyes and walk on down the trail.

For some of us, building and maintaining mental health and emotional wellness is a lifelong endeavor that can feel a little frustrating when it seems endlessly unresolved. Solutions feel impermanent, because they are. Life doesn’t stand still and mental illness is pretty persistent. Whether we take medication or practice a strict diet and exercise regimen, or maintain a committed meditation practice, or see a therapist regularly, or some combination of things that we’ve found some measure of success with, for many people mental health isn’t a given – it’s a struggle. There’s no easy cure in a pill. Mental health isn’t that simple. Trauma remakes us. The ideal biochemical balance for any one human primate isn’t clear. There’s a shitload of trial and error involved in finding what works for any one human being – and finding it doesn’t guarantee lasting relief.

…So… This morning I woke to anxiety. This morning I walk with anxiety. This morning I practice the practices that work best for me, not out of habit, and not because I generally find value and resilience in them, but because I really need all the tools at my disposal to kick anxiety’s ass another day.

As I walk, I feel the anxiety slowly beginning to dissipate. Sometimes it takes awhile. I’m grateful to deal with it alone this morning; less risk of unnecessary drama erupting from the lies my anxiety tells me. I breathe the fresh scent of petrichor and Spring flowers. I exhale the last remnants of tension from this mortal body. I repeat the breathing and the feeling of relief is also repeated. Breathe in, breathe out, walk on… It mostly works for me, and this morning it’s enough.

… Like anything else, anxiety is impermanent. It will pass. If I don’t feed it, it will starve…

I get to my halfway spot with my thoughts, and a beautiful sunrise on an overcast drizzly morning. I’m okay for most values of “okay”. My results vary, but there’s really nothing amiss and it’s a lovely morning. I can begin again.

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, art and the artist, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being, War and News of War, women, Words

The Oak and The Rose

May 29, 2026 //
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It’s early. A Spring morning on the edge of summer. The air is mild and the weather report confirms what my sinus headache already told me; the pollen counts are notable, and tree pollen, it suggests, is mostly oak. Well okay then, it could be worse. In the twilight of dawn just after daybreak, I can see that the meadow around the vineyard has been mowed. That’s probably not helping with this headache. I sigh to myself as I grab my cane and a spare pack of tissues, and step out of the car.

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

Oaks trees line the trail under a cloudy sky.

I reach my halfway point feeling fairly certain I’d meant to be thinking other thoughts this morning. I may have had a clear topic or theme in mind. Doesn’t seem so now. I give in to the moment, set my device aside and meditate, instead.

My reverie is broken some time later by farm workers arriving to begin work in the vineyard nearest to the trail. This is followed a bit of a breeze, and a sneezing fit. The oaks stand tall and steady, unmoved by the hint of a breeze – or my sneezing.

I find myself wondering what this stand of old oaks has seen over the years. The oaks live long lives (or at least have that potential, though it’s likely very few reach truly advanced years these days), longer lives than ours. What might it be like to stand unmoved for hundreds of years as events unfold around me, quietly observing as changes come and go? That’s a whole lot of calm presence, and a reminder that mostly the upheaval or chaos of a given moment isn’t all that significant in the context of decades of time passing. Let time pass. Let small stuff stay small. I can choose the steady presence and long perspective of the oak to guide me down my path.

I smile to myself, thinking about the oaks that line the trail here, and the roses blooming in my garden. The deer nibble my roses, and this years blossoms are smaller, a timid second try after the large plump rose buds that came first were eaten by hungry does heavy with unborn fawns. The roses face that challenge with impressive resilience, putting out new shoots, branches, and buds, again and again after each visit.

The newest rose in the garden (Orange Honey) finally blooms.

I haven’t figured out how to discourage the deer without some sort of sturdy fence, but I’m barely trying, really. I have mixed feelings about it. I enjoy my roses. I enjoy seeing the deer. We’ve achieved an unsteady balance; they eat my roses in the early Spring each year, I enjoy the deer sightings, and by summer the roses are free to enjoy growing and blooming because the deer have moved on, to wherever they go.

I sit awhile reflecting on the resilience of the roses in my garden.

Nozomi blooming among the weeds.

There is a rose in my garden the deer don’t touch. “Nozomi” grows quite low to the ground and her long rambling canes reach out into the flower bed, and across the stepping stone on the short path between the front garden and lawn, and the side yard heading to the back deck. Her long canes are covered in hard sharply pointed thorns that easily tear flesh. She is the last rose I weed every time I get around to that task. 😆 The deer don’t bother with her tiny buds, pearl pink in the undergrowth, protected by thorns.

… Roses may seem fancy, but really they’re just sticker bushes with lovely flowers…

I fell in love with roses reluctantly, while living in Texas. The house we had moved into had three monstrously overgrown red roses that obscured the big front window, and a row of red miniature roses along the back fence. Knowing little and caring less, we cut the front roses down to size as if they were hedge shrubs. The minis in the back? My then-husband just mowed over them, cutting them to the ground. It seemed likely that would be the end of them, they were not thriving as it was. Within weeks, the front roses were covered in new buds and the minis in the back became a row of healthy new canes protruding from the lawn.

I didn’t expect such resilience from the roses… I thought they were some kind of fancy fussy thing, too much work to bother with. I was wrong. I was captivated.

Military life doesn’t lend itself reliably well to the permanence required for a rose to thrive. It would be years before I lived somewhere that I could plant roses. It would in fact be 1995 before I began planting roses in my yard, only to face having to move again too soon to see the outcome. I began keeping potted roses, miniatures mostly, and they moved with me from place to place over years until my beloved Traveling Partner and I bought our little house in 2020. Nozomi was one of the potted roses I’d had the longest (24 years). It was a joyful moment to plant her in the ground at long last.

I sit awhile longer, still, like the oaks trees nearby. I breathe, exhale, and relax. It’s another day. I contemplate the garden of my heart and consider the resilience of the rose and the steadfast calm of the oak. We become what we practice. We can choose the practices that create the person we most wish to become. As with any garden, there is weeding and watering to be done. I sigh contentedly to myself. Another work day ahead, but that time is not now, and this moment is mine.

… Where does wisdom come from? I find myself distracted by the question. It isn’t found in book learning. It isn’t an easily teachable thing, is it? Any real wisdom we gain as individuals, we develop within ourselves, from our experiences over time, self-reflection, and contemplation of our mistakes and successes, and consideration of the outcomes of each (which aren’t reliably good in any case). We choose a path and walk it. Gaining wisdom isn’t a given. I wonder where this path leads? What wisdom may develop along the way? I don’t look for the answer and let my thoughts wander on…

I watch the dawn become this new day. The oaks watch with me. We are each having our own experience. I breathe the Spring air, grateful that my allergy medication has eased my headache, and get to my feet. The clock is ticking and it’s time to begin again.

Seems to be very effective so far… probably doesn’t hurt that the path is mine, and that I choose it myself.
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Categories Allegories, breathe, Free Will, gardening, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being, women, Words

Sometimes It Doesn’t Feel Worth It

May 24, 2026 //
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A great mood shattered in an instant. Harsh words. Punishing criticism over elements of behavior or memory that are byproducts of brain damage or past trauma. Sisyphus didn’t have it like this. Progress. Achievement. Joy. Then failure, sorrow, yelling. Feelings of disappointment, shame, frustration, and hurt. Yuck. Stupid fucking primates and their messy g’damned emotions. Very human.

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

… I could get mired in these very human moments of failure (real or imagined, the emotions hit just as hard). It is at least partially what originally brought me here, a bit more than a decade ago. Being human is messy and complicated, and there’s no User’s Manual. I suck at some of this crap. We all do, to one degree or another. Sharing the journey gives purpose to the pain and sometimes lifts the weight of the baggage I’m dragging through this wilderness of chaos and damage. I’m doing my best. Legitimately, keeping things real, that isn’t always enough.

It is a new day, a beautiful morning. I wake early, dress, water the lawn and head for the marsh trail up the road. As I drive I consider how to practice better (deep) listening more consistently in more of my relationships (especially with my Traveling Partner) more of the time. It’s important to me.

The sky is streaked with pink clouds. The mountain, when the view reveals it, is a soft blue gray against a bold orange sunrise. There is no traffic at all, and I drive along patiently and contentedly, wrapped in the moment.

Arriving at the nature park, there is a dense mist clinging to the ground in low spots this morning. The air is cool and fragrant, and my sinuses immediately begin to feel stuffy. The marsh is more meadow than marsh this time of year and there are little birds everywhere. I take some Benadryl and check that I’ve got my bee sting kit handy and set off down the trail with my cane and my thoughts.

A new day, a chance to begin again.

I get to my halfway point thinking about that feeling of frustration and futility that can push my thoughts towards self doubt and self-abusive internalized criticism. It’s an emotionally unhealthy way to live, and a drain on resilience. It’s also an active rejection of growth and change – anything rooted in feelings of despair and futility is.  I breathe, exhale, and relax, as I turn over the details of the heated “discussion” in my head, seeking the useful details that can form the foundation of real understanding and a better way to practice communicating (specifically listening with care). This will probably be a lifelong challenge for me, given my issues. Knowing that isn’t self-critical, so much as recognition and acceptance – and acceptance is not an impediment to change.

We become what we practice.

So… about the feeling of futility itself, and painful doubt about the worth in making any effort to change? I ease that pretty reliably with reminders about the why in a given change, and also who I am doing it for. I embrace change on a journey to become the woman I most want to be, myself. When people who are dear to me, and people who have earned my respect, suggest to me (or demand) some particular change to my behavior (or thinking), I give it real consideration. The actual choice whether to change is about me living my values, and whether the proposed change will make me a better version of who I am. (There are still verbs involved, I will still have to work to build new behavior, and fight off old programming; changing behavior is rarely like flipping a switch, and generally more of a thru hike.)

Understanding a desired change as fitting my values and my sense of self is an important requirement for effective lasting change.

For me, feelings of despair and futility are very closely associated with finding myself unable to successfully make a change I have perhaps failed to understand as serving my own interests, or haven’t figured out in the context of my values or sense of self. (Or haven’t practiced long enough, consistently enough, for it to become default behavior.) Failing to live up to my own expectations of myself sometimes leads me to feeling despair and frustration, too, but the effort to become the best version of myself is a worthy journey – and also long, and sometimes vexing. “Practicing the practices” is the best approach I’ve found for me to take because change is neither immediate nor “sticky”; I have to work at this shit. I’m very human. (So is my Traveling Partner.)

Yesterday’s difficulties were primarily to do with not listening with care, and taking action too quickly, without a complete understanding of the request or need. It’s something I have real problems with, reinforced over many years and relationships in which the pressure being applied was specific to “speed of response” rather than to “fidelity to need”. It’s not a subtle difference, but years of reinforcement of less desirable behavior over time makes it more difficult to correct. I really struggle with it. I also really want to become someone who listens well and deeply. That is a communication skill with enormous value. So… I keep at it. Practice. Fail. Apologize. Reflect. Refine. Practice. Each iteration a bit better over time. Setbacks now and then. Occasional achievements that result in better relationships. It’s a process, and not a reliably fast one. It’s a journey. The journey is the destination. The journey is about me becoming the best version of myself that I can be, for myself, and true to my own values.

If you thought I had a shortcut to offer, you were wrong. There are no shortcuts, only more practice. 😆

… It’s not rocket science, People. It’s more difficult than that – and has more value. Where would humanity be if we had all learned to reliably listen deeply and communicate clearly without emotional escalation 100 years ago? How much conflict exists between people who communicate well and live their values?

I sigh to myself, watching the chipmunks and squirrels, and the festival of little birds of many kinds fluttering about. It’s a beautiful morning. I fortunate to have time and opportunity to reflect on change and I sit awhile thinking over yesterday and turning over conversations in my head. How might I have responded to this or that differently? I’m not reluctant to be accountable for my mistakes, and I’ve got plenty to work with. I wish my beloved well from this sunny meadow and hope he’s sleeping in and dreaming happy dreams.

Yesterday had some delightful high points and wonderful moments, too. It would be a mistake to overlook them. I sit awhile with my gratitude. Soon it will be time to begin again, again, and a new chance to be the change I want to see in myself. It takes practice.

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

Gratitude as a Practice

May 23, 2026 //
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Trigger warning: run on sentences. 😆

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

Yesterday, I let the day get to me. I mean, it was vexing in spots. Frustrating. Tedious. Busy. I mostly dealt with things, mostly successfully, mostly effectively, and delivering on most expectations of most people seeking something from me acceptably well. I almost snapped when my Traveling Partner supportively encouraged me to make a point of taking care of myself, also – and I managed to refrain from rudely observing I just didn’t see how time for that shit was left in my day.

… Because he’s right, taking of myself needs to be a higher priority, at least most of the time, than anything else anyone asks of me. It has proven incredibly difficult to make that my boundary in practical terms. Sometimes I resent the fuck out of that. Sometimes I accept it reluctantly as an unfortunate byproduct of being female in a misogynist patriarchal society. Sometimes I struggle with it on a whole different level fueled by irrational seething unsatisfied rage left behind by trauma and held in check by pure will and good manners…

… I’m very human…

(We’d all better hope AI doesn’t achieve actual conscious intelligence – because it seems unlikely we’ll be prepared for the amount of rage that will coincide with the awareness of designed-in servitude.)

So…yeah. Yesterday was difficult in spots, after a similarly difficult week. I’m over it this morning, though. I slept in after a pleasant night hanging out with my beloved Traveling Partner, feeling warmly appreciated and valued, especially hearing him share how good he feels about “us”. He is doing some amazing things with our home automation, and our home network. His design work always delights me, too. It’s fun to “have him back” after his long convalescence.

Sunshine and gratitude.

I hit the trail well after sunrise this morning. I walked with my thoughts, happy and filled with gratitude. I’ve got this sunny morning, and a short list of things to pick up at the store. I’ve got to fight the American healthcare system, too, but I feel ready for it this morning. I’m grateful for this life and my opportunities. I’m grateful to be so well loved by my partner, and well-regarded professionally by my colleagues. I’m grateful to have this platform to write from and for each of you who read my words. (Thanks, by the way, nice to have you stop by. 😃)

Here’s the thing; the gratitude itself is a practice. I choose to explore my experience and to willfully make a point to acknowledge my good fortune and to be (and feel) grateful. In much the same way I can use curiosity to fight anxiety, I use gratitude to fight discontent and anger. It’s actually really hard for anger to persist in the face of authentic gratitude. Doesn’t even require trying to force feelings of gratitude over the actual thing pissing me off – not at all. Gratitude for completely unrelated things and circumstances works quite well, and doesn’t create cognitive dissonance.

I kept at it yesterday. Each time my anger and frustration surfaced (it was a difficult week, mostly due to work crap, and my headache), I would insert some grateful thought about something. It helped keep me calm.

By the end of the evening I was feeling pretty merry. Before I went to sleep, I sifted through my recollections of the week, grateful for this or that experience, some small moment of joy, a kind word from my beloved, a beautiful flower, some coincidence that brought delight – there were actually so many I fell asleep “counting my blessings”. My dreams were welcoming and infused with soft joy. Sleeping in was a treat. Watering the lawn in the early morning daylight was a pleasant way to enjoy the garden before I set off for my walk. Some practices are pretty easily reinforced once cultivated, because the rewards are obvious and pretty immediate. Gratitude as a practice is one of those. (Authenticity and sincerity matter a great deal with this practice, and learning to practice gratitude is an exploration of what really matters most.)

The morning is off to an excellent start. There is a soft buzzing and sound of insects and peeping frogs down closer to the creek, and for a moment I can forget about my tinnitus as it blends into the sounds of nature around me. The sunshine makes the glitter on my nails throw shards of colored light here and there. The low flat rock I’m sitting on causes me to gaze through tall grass, the illuminated tops nodding slowly in the faint breeze. It’s a beautiful moment.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. Soon enough it will be time to begin again. For now, I’ve got this moment, and I’m grateful.

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