Archives for posts with tag: speak gently
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Road’s End

April 18, 2026 //
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Roads end. I mean, I guess they do, at some point, even this one, although it doesn’t appear to end here. That’s just the name of this place, “Road’s End”. It’s a small state park at the edge of the shore, with a trail down to the beach. I am here, listening to the sound of wind and waves (and some asshole with their car radio on loud enough to be heard, which I could do without).

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

The view from Road’s End

I definitely need this time alone. I don’t get much solitude as things are, and my Traveling Partner was encouraging to the point of being willing to find me a suitable hotel and book a room for me. (I was going to make it a day trip and call it good enough.) I felt very loved, and excited to enjoy the day on the coast, and a night of solitary fun, reading, writing, and meditating.

A small bird. A moment.

This morning is different. At least for now I am neither merry nor at peace with myself. Instead I’m wrestling demons. It’s fine. Part of life with cPTSD and brain damage, I guess, and in spite of some 30 years in and out of therapy of one sort or another, I still deal with the chaos and damage. I’m not surprised by that, though I am dismayed, disappointed, and even sometimes despairing over it when shit blows up over some little thing, or I disgrace myself by losing my temper or hurting someone I care about with thoughtless words or actions. I do my best, I still fail. This is human.

… It’s also human when it’s someone else having a moment. It is important to forgive, and to make room for people to grow through experience. We’re each having our own experience…

So I’m sitting here at Road’s End, thinking my thoughts. Thinking about endings and beginnings, and change, and trying to be grateful for the solitude I am fortunate to enjoy. I need this time to myself, it meets needs I struggle to meet without the quiet of solitude. I do wish I were enjoying it on other terms than these but feeling mired in my bullshit, I’m glad to be alone with that.

… But is the sky still blue?

What matters most? I sit with the question for a little while, on a fence rail looking out at the sea. The sound of ocean waves reaching the shore and the sea breezes used to be enough to drown out my tinnitus. Now there is a high pitched whine that I still hear, but only on the left side. I frown, momentarily distracted from my thoughts. I hope it’s nothing serious.

I’m thinking about my “baggage”. Not the carefully packed weekend bag I slid onto the seat of the car. I mean “my baggage”. It’s a figure of speech that is so apt it’s easy to forget it is metaphorical. No matter where I go, no matter what relationship I’m in, I drag my bullshit along with me. Baggage. I’ve made so many changes, and I have grown and improved my thinking and behavior so much over the years, but at any moment I may yet again be standing in the middle of my pile of carefully crafted custom matched set of baggage I still lug around with me, somehow only partially unpacked even after all these years. It’s super annoying. Frustrating. Discouraging.

Beginnings. Endings. Practice.

We become what we practice. We choose what we practice. It is important to choose wisely and stay focused on who we most want to be, because if we choose poorly, we may become someone else entirely.

I sit feeling the breeze and watching the horizon. My head is filled with ghosts and regrets. Weird morning to have them turn up and demand attention. My skill with choosing relationships has been poor: a violent psychopath, a manipulative slacker looking for a meal ticket, a cruel woman who delighted in gaslighting me, an assortment of lovers who may have lacked any explicit bad intentions but found value in my limited capacity to understand that I was being taken advantage of… Then there’s my Traveling Partner. One good relationship in a lifetime of trauma and chaos, but the opportunity came late in life, and I still find myself picking metaphorical shards of past damage out of new emotional wounds. I find myself apologizing a lot. That’s got to wear thin after awhile. It still matters, and I keep practicing.

I sit by the sea feeling the breeze, and the weight of all the many mistakes I have made over 16 years with this singular human being. I wonder if he does the same thing, when he finds that he’s hurt me without intending to. Neither of us are perfect beings of pure love and empathy. I feel confident neither of us would hurt the other intentionally. That’s not who we are. We are, however, quite human. I sigh to myself and let it go, at least for the moment. I remind myself that self-care matters, and in solitude there is no excuse to treat myself as second best, ever. I left rather abruptly this morning, instead of enjoying a leisurely coffee with my beloved. Coffee and some healthy calories would be good…

… The descent into madness often begins with poor self-care and low blood sugar…

I guess I should begin again. I don’t know where this path leads…

Sometimes the path isn’t an easy one.
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Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, Despair, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, Healthy Living, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Spring, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women, Words

What Moves You?

April 6, 2026 //
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This morning I am struggling to focus. I feel merry. Purposeful. Suffused with contentment and joy, even. Yesterday was a good one. Satisfying and for the most part quite pleasant. The latter part of the day found me taking a break, muscles sore from joyful labor. My Traveling Partner joined me. I made salads for dinner. We spent the evening dividing the time between watching videos and love.

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

This morning I woke slowly, some little while before my alarm went off. My muscles protest against every demand I make, however ordinary. Ouch. Healthy effort, healthy work – ordinary sore muscles. I’m not even complaining, just reminding myself to take care of this fragile vessel; more manual labor today. Today the Anxious Adventurer loads the moving truck he’ll drive back to Ohio, back to a life he left with purpose and intention. It’s familiar, and familiar is easier. I do understand.

We’re each having our own experience. Each walking our own path. Each finding our own way – or not. Many people find settling into someone else’s way enough for most of a lifetime before ever questioning that choice. I wish the Anxious Adventurer well, whatever path he chooses to walk; he’s as close to a son as I’ll ever get, and I hold no grudges about his time with us. I do find myself wondering what moves him? I let it go. It’s not like he’d know how to answer if I asked.

What moves you? What shakes off your ennui or distractions and fills you with purposeful energy? What gets you up each day to face a few more steps on your path? What gives your life meaning? I sit with those questions and watch the halfmoon setting between the trees.

It’s not a very good picture, but it is a very good metaphor. What will you do with your moment?

I keep my walk short today; there’s real work yet to do later. I walk the mile it takes to wake up and warm up these sore muscles, pausing along the way for a slow gentle attempt at this or that yoga pose. I get back to the car and check on my work team (I’ve taken the day off, but want them to feel supported). I give myself time with my thoughts, time to write, to meditate, to reflect on love. I sit thinking about purpose, and the way we seek meaning, and where I find that – or create it – myself.

The clock is ticking. The path ahead is sufficiently clear. I suppose the only thing left is to begin again…

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, joy, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Spring, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women, Words

Variations on a Theme

April 5, 2026 //
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I woke early, but not ridiculously so. I got up and dressed, hoping not to wake my Traveling Partner. We worked through the day, yesterday, moving things around and restoring order from chaos. Joyful work, but still work, and by the end of the evening we were both fatigued, in pain, and easily aggravated. I called it a night early, expecting to read awhile, but I quickly sank into an exhausted sleep.

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

We had a great day together yesterday, mostly. Fatigue and pain got in the way a couple times – very human. Today is a new day, and I am not clinging to yesterday’s grief; that’s generally a poor practice. (We become what we practice.)

The morning is quiet and very dark. I reach the local trail ahead of the sun. I decide to wait for the first hint of daybreak before I begin my walk. I’ve got my headlamp, but I’m not in any hurry. Even though it is Easter Sunday for many, there are no early morning events planned here (I checked before I chose this trail).

Yesterday, in the evening, I managed to hurt my knee somehow and managed little better than a slow painstaking limp, gripping my cane to steady myself through each painful step for the rest of the evening. The muscle running up the back of my thigh from the pit of my knee to my ass still hurts, but I’m not limping and for most values of “okay”, I’m okay. I’m just sore from the work of moving things around (and there is more yet to do).

I don’t personally enjoy the chaos of moving, and I’m grateful this is a very limited version of that experience. I’m delighted to have my space back, less so about the bangs and bruises of having my mental map suddenly destroyed. I laugh at myself for a moment, recognizing that as lasting consequences of brain damage go, it could be much worse that needing some time to rebuild routines and to restore a sense of object placement. This may also say something about my fondness for familiar walks and trails. I sit with that thought for a moment.

… Novelty is uncomfortable, but may be better for my cognitive health, long-term…

I sigh to myself as I recognize and acknowledge sore muscles. The walk will be good for me. I think about the day ahead. More to do, and today includes a bunch of basic housekeeping. I’ve been working from home more, which takes the pressure off the weekend, and let’s me spread things out more, and my Traveling Partner no longer requires full-time caregiving (barely any at all now), and has been resuming many household tasks he handled entirely before his injury. Fuck it’s good to have him back! … It’s still Sunday and there are still household chores to do. 😆

It’s funny, I had had it in mind to “put things back the way they were” when the Anxious Adventurer moved out… But things have changed, life has moved on, and that isn’t a useful solution in many cases. (I don’t think I have an accurate recollection to work from, either.) Change is. There are different paintings hanging in the library now, and my studio just “feels different”. I’m not even complaining or fighting it; it’s mostly better in obvious ways. There is room for further improvement and this is a choice opportunity for such things. I’ll relearn where everything is, all over again.

… And maybe even change it again, in favor of something better still…

I reflect (with some amazement and a whole lot of respect and admiration) on the way my Traveling Partner embraces the opportunity for change to completely change various elements of his work and creative spaces. I’m astonished by how little such things disrupt him. There’s a lot to learn from that.

I sit awhile longer reflecting on moves and moving and change. It’s a useful metaphor. My mind quickly wanders to art and painting and I am eager to make use of my studio, although it will see use as my office before then. Monday is almost here. I put that thought aside firmly. Neither Monday nor work need my attention today.

I look over the list of things yet to do. The sky has taken on a hint of deep dark blue. I can see the trail. Steps on a path are calling me. It’s time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, art and the artist, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, health, inspiration, joy, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Spring, The Art of Being

A Breathe of Fresh Air

March 31, 2026 //
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Get it while it lasts. I stepped onto the trail this morning feeling lighthearted and merry. I slept well and deeply. I woke feeling rested. I caught a glimpse of a beautiful moon setting through Spring clouds, stormy looking but only a threat of sprinkles, here.

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

It’s definitely Spring here, now. Things are green, all around, and each morning some flower or tree begins to bloom. There’s enough pollen in the air some days to dust my black Mazda in a fine dusting of yellow. I sneezed walking down the trail, grateful to have remembered to add an allergy remedy to my morning medication, and remembered to stuff a travel pack of tissues in my pocket. It passes. Tree pollen gets me, just a couple species, but common here. I don’t let it stop me walking, as I said, it’s not that bad. I walk on to my halfway point and stop to write and watch daybreak become dawn. Soon enough every step will be in daylight.

A sprinkle of fine misty rain dots my phone screen. I don’t do anything about that. I’m sitting quietly thinking about my garden for some little while. Funny that the thought of various laborious tasks seem less daunting in spite of knowing that the Anxious Adventurer won’t be around to help with those, very soon. It’s the emotional labor involved in working with or alongside him; it’s too much, and often undermines the value of his help. I’m not complaining, just an observation.

I needed the help while I had it, and don’t need it so much now that my Traveling Partner is so much improved. I move slower than I did at 30. I plan with greater care, and have to account for physical limitations that change as I age. Sometimes I have to do things quite differently than I once did, but I am quite capable, and using my muscles keeps them strong. I’m eager to be in the garden again.

Another new day, another step on the path.

I’m not looking at the news. I know it’s bad. War mongers war-mongering, profit-seekers seeking profits, billionaire nihilists are assuring us all that their greed and destruction are good for society, pronatalists are begging everyone to have more babies, while christian nationalists remind us they only want white babies. What a fucking mess. I don’t need to indulge in the consumption of repetitive slop about that bullshit, not because it isn’t real (it very much is) or doesn’t matter (it definitely does), not even because I’m powerless (I have the power to choose wisely and speak truth to power), it’s just that I am choosing differently now, and this moment is mine.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. The Spring air is fresh and scented with flowers. The sky is a rainy day gray. I smile contentedly, thinking about love and laughter and roses that need weeding. I glance at the time and get ready to begin again. I chose this path, and I will walk it with purpose.

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, gardening, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, joy, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being, The Big 5, thoughts on AI, War and News of War, women, Words

When It’s Good

February 22, 2026 //
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Enjoy the moment.

Stormy but mild, the weather is what it is.

Yesterday was lovely. Oh, not without a brief moment that was less than ideally harmonious, but we are human primates after all, the emphasis being on “primates”. Sometimes communication is more difficult than we’d like it to be, and in any household that includes me, this is complicated by both PTSD and brain damage. Still, generally speaking it was a lovely day spent in my Traveling Partner’s good company, and the rare moment of irritation or discord resulted in a better connection and clearer understanding of each other. Useful.

I make it a practice to focus on the positive, to reframe conflict in terms that allow me to grow and become more the person I most want to be over time, and as a means of allowing me to appreciate each finite mortal moment with my beloved. We’re both quite human. There’s no doubt we love each other deeply, and it truly matters to both of us to to heal, to support each other, and to move on from moments of conflict. Yesterday didn’t require much effort in that regard; it was a lovely day in good company.

I spent a good while reading, yesterday, which I enjoy quite a lot. I spent time writing and enjoyed sorting the many stickers my beloved Traveling Partner had gifted to me. (So fun! So delightful!) He worked on a project nearby, and we hung out together, each contentedly doing our own thing, together.

Today begins well. I get to the trailhead at sunrise, feeling well rested and merry. The walk down the marsh trail is pleasant, if a bit “squishy” from prolonged recent rain. It is sprinkling this morning. I don’t really care about that. I do care about the pain in my left foot (which I have been thinking was a flare up of tendonitis or maybe plantar fasciitis), which slows me down a bit. It becomes obvious as I walk this morning that it may be something much more practical in nature; I think the heel in these boots has some kind of “air cushion” or similar design, and I think the left side has blown out from wear. I’m annoyed by this because these boots can’t be re-soled. Well shit. They’re three, maybe four years old, and I’m probably due to replace them. I don’t really feel like dealing with that, but the path ahead will need sturdy boots, eh? That’s not even a metaphor; good boots make a lot of difference in the quality of a walking experience. I mean, okay, it’s also a metaphor.

…But I guess either way, I need new boots…

I stop a little farther on from my “halfway point”. I’m in no rush. It begins to rain a little harder and lacking overhead cover from the trees, I walk to the photographer’s blind grateful to find it unlocked, and unoccupied. It is a good spot to write and to take shelter from the rain.

What about the day ahead? No idea, really. Yesterday was lovely. There is no shopping to do, no errands on my to-do list, nothing on my mind. I’ll walk, and maybe do a bit of boot shopping before I head home to do some routine housekeeping and such. Maybe bake some bread if I have the energy later? Seems a good day for it. Maybe chili for dinner? I remind myself to check that I have all the ingredients.

Life being lived. Nothing extravagant or fancy, all pretty ordinary stuff. Where it gets complicated is that it is too easy to become wound up and twisted over some moment of disharmony or disappointment, and overlook all the joy and contentment. Savor the joy! Be present for the moments! Appreciating the pleasant moments and the small joys with the same focus, commitment, and energy we seem to save for arguments creates emotional resilience and a more accurate implicit sense of who we are and the life we lead. It’s also simply a very nice way to experience life fully; be present for each moment. That’s a pretty useful practice.

The rain stops. My Traveling Partner pings me a good morning greeting as he wakes. A large flock of geese passes overhead. There are more storm clouds on the horizon. The sky is a homogeneous milky gray. I sit with my thoughts and this quiet feeling of joy, and prepare to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, joy, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, The Art of Being, The Big 5, winter, Words
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