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Friction

December 7, 2025 //
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The first hints of daybreak touch the sky as the rain starts again. I waited out the darkness, after getting to the trailhead early (so early). It was raining, then, and may be raining when I finally start walking. I don’t know. It’s not the most important detail.

Daybreak on a rainy autumn morning.

My mind is cluttered and full of chaos. I half-woke ridiculously early, to the sound of my aggravated Traveling Partner swearing about something (probably about being awake). Some brief time later, (minutes or seconds, I don’t know), he specifically wakes me to check on me. I get up to pee, just to be certain I could just go back to sleep and not have biology waking me prematurely in another hour or two. The next couple of hours pass restlessly; I’d fall asleep, be wakened by some noise or other, and drop off again. At some point I remember beginning, finally, to sink into a really deep sleep. “At last,” I remember thinking contentedly, “sleep. Real sleep.” I woke again, when my Traveling Partner went back to bed. Fuck. I knew I wouldn’t go back to sleep, even as tired as I was. I could feel my brain getting going, preparing for a new day, and I was suddenly aware of an owl hooting loudly somewhere nearby. G’damn it. I went ahead and got up, dressed, and left the house.

… How the absolute fuck is my sleep this g’damned bad even after all these years and so much careful practice, good sleep hygiene, treating my apnea, adding a  noise masking device to my sleep space… Part of me wants to be really angry about this – but part of me recognizes that the anger itself only further impairs healthy rest (for me). I let it go, but resolve to ask my beloved to please just not wake me when I’m sleeping unless there is some emergency. I’ve got to get some fucking sleep (and I know he understands, as someone with sleep challenges, himself). I rarely have the opportunity to go back to bed later on, and get that lost rest. Working a full-time corporate job really limits that potential.

This morning I’m very tired, my head aches, and my eyes feel gritty. I have errands to run, and a business trip to prepare for.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. The morning is a bleak foreboding gray. I listen to the geese overhead, and the tinnitus in my ears. This morning the tinnitus is so annoying that if I thought pithing myself with an ice pick might be helpful in a practical way, I’d probably do it. (Do not do that!!) My tinnitus definitely gets worse and louder over time as I lose sleep. I remind myself that tonight is another night, tomorrow another day; this will pass.

I sip the hot (now only warm) coffee I picked up at the gas station on my way out of town after filling the gas tank. It’s a genuinely bad cup of coffee, acidic and somehow vaguely sludgy. It’s still coffee. Who the hell knows how long real coffee will still even be available? Instead of pouring it out wastefully because it’s terrible, I sip it slowly, letting the caffeine (and the ritual of morning coffee) do its work. I stay in the moment, present, aware, sipping this coffee and appreciating that I have it. Dawn comes. A new day. I’m cross and tired and vexed by physical pain. I look down the trail irritably, aware that I’ll likely feel better on the other side of my walk, in spite of the lack of sleep, and I’m stupidly also managing to be annoyed about that (which just makes no damned sense).

… I try not to dwell on this fucking headache or my arthritis pain…

I look back over my writing, checking for spelling mistakes and incoherence. (Huh. I bitch too much.) I sigh to myself, impatient with my very human limitations. I stretch and grab my cane and my rain poncho. All I can do is my best, and that path begins right here, now, in this moment. It’s time to begin again, again.

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

Why Bother?

December 2, 2025 //
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Why bother? Why bother trying? Why bother working so hard? Why bother “fighting it”? Why bother making the extra effort to get some particular outcome? Just… why bother, at all? The shortest answer for that one that I’ve got, myself, is simply this; because I’m better than the challenge I’m faced with right now. That’s it.

Things could be worse, for just about any of us. Some momentary challenge is not enough to amount to an excuse not to make an effort to do a better job of being the person I most want to be, to live a good quality life built on healthy values lived authentically, and to just maybe also manage to be helpful, kind, encouraging, curious, compassionate, approachable, considerate, thoughtful, fair-minded, and ethical (if not every minute of every day, then doing my best to be these things in as many moments as I realistically can be)… these are all qualities I value. So… I try. I practice. I share honest insights into my challenges. I work on bettering myself and contributing positively to my household, my community, and my world, if only in some small way. I mean, seriously? I’m one woman; I’m not moving any mountains by myself with a teaspoon, and determination. Not in this lifetime. My actions and choices of words still make a difference in the moments I live and in my interactions with others. I try to stay mindful of the implied power this does have, and do my best to be a basically decent human being, day-to-day. Don’t you? (If not, why not? The answer to that question is an exercise for the reader.)

Holiday lights at 04:30.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. It’s a new day. I woke at some ridiculous hour – 3 am? Maybe. I didn’t check the time, I just wanted to sleep. I could hear my Traveling Partner awake in the other room, blowing his nose. It sucks that he’s awake dealing with his sinuses and struggling to breathe. I fall asleep, wishing he could sleep, too. Some time later, I’m awakened again. It sounded as if my beloved was clearing his throat and blowing his nose right outside the door. I know that’s not the case. He’s most likely seated at the dining table, which is at the end of the hall, opposite the door to this bedroom. The sound is basically piped straight to the door. I sigh, and roll over, and return to sleep. A short while later (I think), I’m awakened again. I’ve no idea if a long while has passed or only a few minutes. I’m groggy. My head aches, and my eyeballs feel gritty. The room feels too hot. I toss around for a moment or two “trying to get comfortable” again. No luck. I must have drifted off, though, into a sound deep sleep, because the next thing I recall is my partner calling to me softly in the darkness, but I don’t recall the question, or whether I understood. I struggled to wake enough to respond to him – I wanted to sleep so badly. The door closed quietly. I know I said something…but I’m not sure what, and the uncertainty itself, and a sudden concern that I would somehow be infinitely trapped in a pattern of waking from deep sleeps without being able to get rest, ever, fully woke me. I could not even imagine returning to sleep. I turn on a light and struggle to sit up. Vertigo. The room reels for a moment, before things steady, and the vertigo passes quickly. I’m grateful for that, and get up to use the bathroom and splash cold water on my face, still trying to really fully wake and maybe somehow manage to feel rested in spite of the interrupted sleep. Restless nights happen now and then, for one or the other of us. After so many years, I generally just move on from it, and practice letting shit go, because there’s no real value in taking an unpleasant tone over a sleep scenario neither of us can change. Sometimes one of us is wakeful. Sometimes we sleep badly. He greets me with a smile and sweet words when I enter the livingroom. I put on my boots and my cardigan and kiss him on my way out.

Holy shit I’m in a ton of pain this morning – and as I drive to the office, I wonder whether my pain was making me restless in my sleep, without waking me, but enough to disturb my Traveling Partner’s rest? Seems possible. Fucking hell, I feel bad for the both of us this morning. I hope he manages to go back to bed for awhile.

Another breath. Another exhalation. Another attempt to fully relax and let stress and pain fall by the wayside. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it’s just practice. Does it matter which it will be? No, I’ve still got to make the effort; it’s the consistent practice that creates incremental change over time. I sigh to myself, and glare at my packed meeting calendar. Tuesday. Fuck. Well, I won’t get much else done than meetings, today, but they are the plan, and that’s what I’ll do. I smile happily when the thought of my beloved’s birthday crosses my mind; my time off for that day is approved. I grin to myself. It’s not that we have elaborate plans, I simply enjoy the man’s company. I’m happy we’re together. He’s worth celebrating, and as I consider the man and the moment, my heart fills with joy.

…For a moment I forget about the pain…

I look at the clock. Always ticking. It’s a new day, and new opportunity to be the woman I most want to be. Feels like I’m off to a good start, this morning, in spite of feeling less than ideally well rested, and a little groggy. I think of the holidays ahead. This year won’t be lavish – everything costs more in Trump’s America, and resources are more limited. That won’t stop the holidays from being magical – I’ve done plenty with less, in years past. It’s more about presence than presents, anyway, isn’t it? I remind myself to propose board games of an evening, or a hand or two of cribbage… Maybe a walk or a drive to see the holiday lights? We’ve got so many ways to enjoy the holidays together!

It’s time to begin again. It’s definitely worth the effort. Why bother? Because you are better than your challenges. Change is. Choose wisely.

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Categories 2024 Election, Allegories, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Sleepless Nights, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women, Words

It’s Like That

October 22, 2025 //
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Sometimes life feels easy. Mostly life does not feel easy, at all (for me). Stress comes and goes. Uncertainty. Doubt. Worry over this or that new challenge. Circumstances that are a poor fit for the life we want to live. It’s not always a money thing. Sometimes it is. It’s not always about trauma, chaos, and damage. Sometimes it is. One thing I’m pretty clear on, these days; we’re each having our own experience, colored by our expectations and assumptions, filtered through our experiences, and understood using an internal dictionary it is highly likely no one else really shares. We bitch about left and right, about right and wrong, ignoring the likelihood that whoever is listening means something a bit different by those terms than we do, ourselves. We default to speaking in sound bites and slogans, even when we know how empty those may be. Human primates are weird. We treat each other poorly, even though our relationships with each other are the single most important thing about our individual experiences.

I sigh to myself. I’m in the co-work space getting settled in to begin the work day. The commute into the office was easy to the point of being surreal; I hit all the traffic signals along the way green, and there was never a car ahead of me going slower than I was, nor anyone creeping up on me from behind wanting to go faster. I hope the entire day feels like that. Seems unlikely; I slept poorly, and I’m already feeling signs of fatigue (or, perhaps, not quite fully awake, yet).

If someone asked me, right now, how I’m doing, I would say “not bad”, and the realization that such a conversation would go that way makes me roll my eyes and sigh softly with some measure of impatience and frustration. That sort of negative turn of phrase suits me, creatively, but isn’t ideal for communication. It was one of the first things my Traveling Partner ever asked me to consider changing, when we were getting to know each other. Hilariously, I misunderstood that request so thoroughly, I proceeded down a path of personal growth that wasn’t the intention, and became someone far more positive in general than I’d ever been previously. I have no comment whether this is – or was – a change for the better. I suppose, probably, and I am more content and joyful in life, but I don’t know that there is a causal relationship between that change and this experience. It’s just an interesting, mildly amusing recollection, as I start my day.

…I’m tired, and my mind wanders…

No walk this morning. Maybe later? It is a lovely autumn morning, and daybreak is just beginning. I smile and stretch, and think about recent other walks, and other mornings.

The colors of fall inspire me, and I think about paintings I have not yet painted.

I think about walking my path, as a metaphor for progress, growth, and forward momentum – changes over time, step by step, along a journey without a map. This life thing has so many options, choices, and “side quests”, it is sometimes difficult to imagine it as a single path. It twists, turns, and detours through experiences I hadn’t considered, or even imagined. The menu in The Strange Diner is vast.

I enjoy the routine of walking a familiar path, but change is often waiting for me somewhere along the way.

I find myself missing the library desk from which I most often work, these days. My “happy place” is not some fixed point of geography. It is my office & studio at home. It is in my garden. It is on the trail at dawn, watching the sun rise. It is in a quiet moment with my Traveling Partner. It is in a library, perhaps most of all. The library was one of the first places where I felt truly safe, surrounded by stacks of books, and rows of shelves, the air still and quiet and smelling of… history? Smelling of stories and narratives and the printed word, and seeming almost infinitely grand and somehow limitless. I love libraries. Small libraries in modest homes, big university libraries, legendary libraries that have stood the test of time over actual centuries – they each have that “library quality”.

How can someone be bored, in a library, when every shelf holds unexplored knowledge and infinite adventure?

I let my mind wander awhile longer. I’m okay for most values of “okay”. It’s an ordinary work day, in a fairly ordinary life – and that’s entirely fine. It’s enough. I glance at the clock, and notice the time. I breathe, exhale, and relax, before I begin again.

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, joy, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, The Art of Being, Words

Too Early, Too Much

October 20, 2025 //
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I woke around 03:00, to some noise most likely, or perhaps my Traveling Partner’s wakefulness, though when I returned to bed from the bathroom, he seemed to be snoring softly, asleep. I hope he gets the rest he needs. I sure didn’t, not last night. Took me some time to fall asleep, and I was awakened abruptly at some point by raised voices. I returned to sleep shortly after waking, but my dreams were restless, irritated, and unsettling. I was tired when I finally woke, too early, but I couldn’t find sleep again, and gave up – hopefully before my restlessness woke everyone else.

…I got up, dressed, and slipped away quietly…

I don’t much feel like walking, this morning. Aches and pains and bullshit, nothing of real consequence. I sit with my thoughts, perched on a picnic table near the trail, ready to walk if I get past my moody and irritable moment of ennui. I listen to the background noise of machinery, traffic, HVAC systems on nearby buildings… the sounds of humanity mismanaging a planet. There is a glow along the western horizon, the clouds overhead being illuminated by the city below. Pretty mundane stuff. I sigh quietly. My ankle aches, even within the comfortable security of my hiking boots. My left hip hurts in a way that suggests arthritis may be developing there. My head aches, feels mostly like fatigue and the studious, focused, effort to maintain top down control in spite of it. I catch myself gritting my teeth, and purposefully relax my jaw and let go of that bit of stress. My tinnitus is shrieking and whining in my ears. I’m not bitching about any of it, just noticing each detail, as I inventory my sensations and experience the moment with as much presence and awareness as I can.

… And I still don’t feel like walking…

I had an excellent brunch with a colleague on Sunday. Feels like, potentially, a real friendship forming. Maybe. Harder to be sure than it might have seemed when I was younger…or… before the pandemic, although I’m not at all sure how that is relevant. I really enjoyed the conversation. The food was good, too, but that clearly wasn’t the nourishment I was seeking – or what I found. It was more about the human connection. We talked about doing it every month, and talked about having some kind of holiday get together with our families, in December. That might be a lot of fun.

I sit enjoying the morning quiet. I think about love and my Traveling Partner, and how much faster his recovery is going these days. He’s able to do so much more now, and more every week. It’s a relief to feel some measure of day-to-day work being reduced as my beloved begins to resume tasks that he was handling routinely before his injury. Out of habit, I sometimes forget to give him the opportunity to do for himself. I’ve got to knock that shit off, for myself as much as for him.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I meditate in the chilly autumn darkness before dawn comes. For a moment, the world seems peculiarly peaceful and undisturbed. I find that it often does in these solitary moments. The world’s chaos and hardship is almost entirely created by the human primates clinging to the surface of this mud ball hurtling through space. I almost sympathize with the “burn it all down and start over” cynics and nihilists. I was once among them, a like-minded sort, but it seems like a wasteful approach to problems that could be solved quite differently, and with a greater good in mind. Another distracting argument keeping us all preoccupied while billionaire grifters empty our bank accounts in exchange for empty promises.

…I sigh and let that go, too…

There is still no hint of daybreak, yet. The clock is ticking, though, and this moment is finite. I get to my feet with an impatient sigh, feeling more resigned than purposeful. I commit to dragging myself along the trail again this morning. I’ll feel better once I’ve gotten a walk in, I know. I just don’t happen to “feel like it”, but I also decide not to let that stop me.

…Fuck, I really want a nap. 😂 Instead, I begin again.

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Categories Allegories, anhedonia, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, health, Healthy Living, meditation, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Sleepless Nights, solo hiking, The Art of Being, War and News of War, Words

Even When It Feels Personal

October 8, 2025 //
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It isn’t personal. Even when it feels personal, and pretty much whatever it is, it isn’t actually personal.

That car that cut you off in traffic, or “brake-checked” you on the highway? Not personal. That other driver is having their own experience.

The rude barista, check out person, or frosty receptionist? It’s not personal. They’re having their own experience.

Random moments of unpleasantness and stress day-to-day are so incredibly unlikely to be “about” us in any way. Even the targeted attacks of bullies have more to do with their poor character and mental health than anything to do with their victims. We make shit personal in our own heads. We “take” shit personally – and there are choices and verbs involved. We could choose to practice non-attachment and refrain from centering ourself in someone else’s experience. One of the hardest things for me to learn has been how very little of what is going on, even in my own relationships, has anything to do with me, personally, at all. It’s actually a disturbingly impersonal world.

An autumn morning at daybreak, a new day.

I sit at the halfway point on my morning walk, perched on a bench under a cloudy sky that hides a full moon. Feels like it might rain… but the air doesn’t have that scent. The air smells of autumn, fallen leaves, the persistent dampness left behind in shady places by last week’s rain.  It smells, too, of distant wildfires, and nearby chimneys. I’m cozy in a new cardigan, chosen for fit, price, and appearance, that turns out to also be quite comfy and warm. “Unbothered”, I think to myself when I seek to define my feelings this morning.

My night seemed brief and restless. My Traveling Partner had a difficult night struggling with some sort of unwellness. I woke from a deep sleep at his vexed exclamation, and for the next four and a half hours snatched whatever brief naps I could between his bouts of illness and physical difficulty. Was he “keeping me awake”? Not exactly. Partly, sure, and not through any intention – noise is noise. That surely wasn’t personal. The rest was me; half awake, alert to hear him if he called out to me, concerned, wanting to be available and ready if he needed me.

I woke minutes ahead of my alarm. I thought I’d turned that off to get some little bit more sleep? Apparently not. Didn’t matter, I woke early anyway. I was groggy and stupid, but also more concerned about slipping away quietly and letting my beloved get the rest he needed.

My thoughts wander back to a couple nights ago when he angrily chastised me for clearing my throat in an adjacent room and preventing him from sleeping. That also wasn’t personal – just irritating; I had “swallowed wrong” and was choking a bit on saliva that had gone down my trachea instead of my esophagus, making me cough and clear my throat several times, in a few short minutes. I had expected some amount of concern or sympathy, and feel a bit hurt looking back on that, as I compared circumstances. It wasn’t at all personal, though. We are each individuals having their own experience. Things aren’t always “about” us, even when we’ve centered ourself in our own experience, or lack understanding of some other. It feels a little unfair, but it’s not about that either.

I hear my Dad’s voice in my memory, “life isn’t fair,” he often said, not bemoaning the fact, just pointing it out. I guess that’s true… but “fair” is a helpful goal and “perspective” is a useful tool.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. Self-care is going to matter sooo much today. I’m starting the day tired, and the day ahead will be a busy one. I struggle to recall any tasks or errands I may have committed to beyond the work day. I feel certain there was something… but it evades my recollection. Fatigue reliably impairs my cognitive function before it really shows. I remind myself to slow down and be patient with myself, and to set clear, firm boundaries, and use expectation setting to support my practical limitations.

… I wish I didn’t have to work, but wishing is not an effective practice…

None of it is personal. Humans being human. Circumstances. Choices. Time and timing. I take another deep cold breath of the autumn air as daybreak creeps up on me. Chilly fingers yearn to find warmth and comfort in deeper pockets than these… and even the stupidity of tiny pockets on women’s clothing is an impersonal vexation. I let it go. I chuckle to myself; I let a lot of things go. I’m generally happier for it. Non-attachment is a powerful practice.

I sigh and watch the clouds overhead, shifting and roiling across the sky. It’s already time to begin again. I’ll do my best.

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Categories Allegories, anger, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, health, Healthy Living, meditation, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Sleepless Nights, The Art of Being
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