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TBD

September 26, 2025 //
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I slept through the night, waking to the artificial sunrise of my silent alarm. I dressed and left the house in the usual way. I arrived at the trailhead before daybreak, put on my boots, grabbed my cane, and began the trek down the trail.

I walk and breathe, my mind a mostly barren place, nothing really amounting to actually thought going on. I just walked.

… Strange morning…

My Traveling Partner pings me. No “good morning” greeting or inquiry about my state of being. Instead I get a hurt reminder that I had said I would pick up a package waiting in the mailbox. I’d forgotten, distracted by a moment of discord shortly after I got home yesterday. Shit. For the time being (and it is a recent change) we’ve only got one key to the mailbox, and picking up the mail now requires a return home to grab the key, or the foresight to take it on the way out the door. A suprisingly complicated change, once brain damage is accounted for. I sigh to myself. I do my best to do everything that needs to be done… Seems always just out of reach.

I’m now at my halfway point feeling aggravated, disappointed with myself, and fairly disinterested in interacting with “the world”… And it’s a fucking work day. Great. I ignore the slow tears dripping down my face. For the moment I have no patience with this very human experience. My Traveling Partner is having a difficult morning, himself. I do what I can to be supportive, compassionate, and kind. Maybe one of us will turn our morning around and have a good day?

I breathe, exhale, and… Well, I try to relax. I persist with trying to meditate, trying to let go of my irritability, trying to simply breathe and be… Inhale. Exhale. Repeat. How fucking hard does this shit have to be?!

Daybreak comes. I look down the trail and get to my feet. It isn’t all lovely mornings, big smiles, and beautiful sunrises. This is a very human experience, and sometimes there’s real work involved, and however “successful” the outcomes seem to be, the moment may still be quite unsatisfying or unpleasant. It is what it is. Another reason to begin again… and it’s time. I’ll do my best.

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Categories Allegories, anger, anhedonia, Anxiety, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, Frustration, health, Healthy Living, meditation, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, The Art of Being, The Big 5

Hanging Out Between Moments

September 24, 2025 //
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It’s rare to begin a day “on empty” without something else going on. I woke feeling a bit dizzy, and vaguely nauseous. I arrived at the trailhead before dawn, nonetheless, ready to walk… for most values of “ready”. There’s a work day ahead of me, and I face it with the strange sensation of not being certain how many days of work I have completed this week, nor am I certain how many remain, at least not initially. Eventually, out on the trail, I get my bearings. Now, having a clearer sense of what day it is, I proceed down the trail with more confidence.

… Am I just tired?…

Not “just” tired, I’m also in pain. As I walk, silently urging myself to continue down the trail, I begin to wonder if my fatigue and weirdness are all pain related…? Seems more and more likely as I walk. I sigh to myself. Pain is aggravating, and tends to shrink my world. I’m halfway down the trail and get to my resting point before continuing on, and I’ve no particular recollection of the walk so far. Rough. I sit down on the rock I find convenient for the purpose and look around me without much enthusiasm. It’s hard to focus my attention on other things, this morning. If it weren’t a work day, I’d just go back to bed.

Now, I’ve annoyed myself by emotionally giving in to pain. I frown for a moment, irked with myself for “making it so easy” for pain to get the upper hand this morning. I remind myself that it’s only a moment, and to avoid taking it personally. I’m still irritable over being in this much pain – and also for being so ridiculously sleepy. I catch myself being unusually unkind to myself over the pain I’m in, almost to the point of cruelty, and I work on letting that go. I’m already doing what I can to manage the pain I’m in, there’s no excuse to also be cruel. I’m human, with human injuries, human damage, and human limitations. I’ve also got extraordinary human will, better than average endurance, and I’ve learned to value and demonstrate compassion – surely I can trust myself to provide myself with care and consideration? Pain isn’t a joke. It isn’t something we seek out. Pain is not entertaining. This morning’s pain is way beyond “discomfort”, and taking care of myself is an important step to take. I sigh to myself again. More practice? Definitely.

My Traveling Partner pings me a greeting. He’s in pain this morning too. I’m grateful to be easily able to work from a different location. I’m having enough trouble managing my own pain. I’m pretty confident trying to work from home when we’re both hurting so much would be a poor choice. Still, I feel loved and I am grateful for his affection, and his good morning greeting. I hope we both find our way through the pain to the other side.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. There’s time for meditation before I finish my walk. There’s time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, gratitude, health, meditation, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, pain, Perspective, Practices, solo hiking, The Art of Being, The Big 5

Finding Balance, Getting Centered

September 22, 2025 //
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It is the fall equinox. I took the day off from work to reflect, and to find balance. It’s the equinox, after all. It is a time for balance, day and night briefly the same length, a reminder that balance can be found, but not held static. Balance is not a permanent condition.

Lincoln City, at Road’s End, before sunrise.

I sip a hot coffee. The paper cup is warm in my hands. The morning is chillier here on the coast. I’m grateful for the foresight to have worn a warm sweater. I listen to the roar of the waves and the sea breeze, watching the sky begin to lighten, as daybreak, then dawn, each arrive in turn. As the dawn lights the horizon, I begin watching the waves roll in, in rows, stretching along the now-visible beach. The horizon itself is obscured by morning fog or dense clouds. I hear sea birds taking flight, calling to each other.

Where do I find balance? I guess anywhere that I create it, from whatever chaos is handy in the moment. Balance is in the choices I make. Same with “finding my center”. I create that center, that firm foundation, that moment to pause, to reflect, to breathe, and to simply be. I know that I’ve made it sound too easy. It’s not reliably easy. I sometimes choose poorly, or attempt to snatch a sense of balance from a moment that wanted something else of me entirely. As with painting, composition matters – just because a sight exists, doesn’t make it visually beautiful, worth putting on canvas – and so too with moments and seeking (or finding, or creating) balance. It’s not always “time for that”.

Moments later, same location, different perspective.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. This is a good place for meditation, and a good moment for it. I take time for that as the sun rises, watching the waves, listening to the sea breeze, letting my thoughts float gently by, observed but not engaging with them. I focus on my breath, and the waves, and the distant horizon. There is time later for other things. For now, this is enough.

… Time passes. What’s left of my coffee is now cold. So are my hands. Curious gulls stand very near the car, eyeing me curiously. The misty western horizon has taken on a delicate shell pink hue, and the waves are steely gray edged in frothy white as they reach the shallows along the shore. Beautiful.

After meditating, before walking on the beach.

Certainly there is enough daylight now to easily see the steep path down to the beach. It’s quite chilly this morning, but I’m warmly dressed, appropriate for the chill of an autumn walk along the ocean beach early in the morning. I’ll take my time and enjoy the sights. The morning is mine, for finding or creating balance, on a lovely fall equinox. Later, I’ll return home and prepare a lovely meal and celebrate at home. It’s nothing particularly fancy, and doesn’t need to be (although the recipe I’m following is complex, and the dish suited to a celebration). I’m simply observing the change of seasons my own way.

…Then, I’ll begin again.

Pause and reflect.
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Categories Allegories, autumn, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, joy, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Practices, The Art of Being, Uncategorized, Words

Do Not Become The Thing You Despise

September 18, 2025 //
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I’m just saying, it’s a short distance from anger, resentment, and thoughts of paybacks to becoming the person you despise for the same characteristics you’ve adopted over time, as your anger and hate ate away at your good heart, good values, and sense of self. We can’t correct the injustices we see in the world by becoming less just, ourselves. We can’t force the world to be a kinder more compassionate place through violence. Worth thinking about, isn’t it? I mean, generally speaking, there is value in self-reflection, self-awareness, and becoming the person we most want to be through willful practice of those qualities we value most highly, isn’t there?

… I’m not telling you what to do, just pointing out that you are making choices (we all are)…

I breathe, exhale, and relax. It’s a week of cool nights and warm afternoons. In the morning, I wear my fleece. In the afternoons, I remove layers and enjoy bare arms and the sun on my back. The darkness on the trail before dawn requires my headlamp. The walk after work from the university library to the parking nearby is lit brightly by summer sunshine. It is time for the season to change (here), and I feel it everywhere. Fall is coming.

The trail is dry under my feet, and the night sky is dark. I get about half way, and it’s still quite dark. I turn off my headlamp and sit quietly, gazing into the night sky, scattered with stars, the thin crescent moon rising in the east. I enjoy the quiet.

“A season for change,” I say to myself, softly. Aren’t they all, though? Change is. I sit awhile listening to the zing and buzz of my tinnitus, and the sound of my heartbeat in my ears, like a ticking clock. I remember a time when even the recollection of a ticking clock (and definitely the sound of one) could immediately transform me into a seething quivering wreck, breathless with anxiety, and keep me from sleeping. Not now. Now a ticking clock is only a ticking clock. Oh, surely, a ticking clock is also a useful metaphor, a reminder that time passes, that moments are individual and precious, and time itself finite… but it no longer has the power to keep me awake at night or cause an internal solitary war of nerves. We made it up, that ticking clock, and it need not hold power over us.

… Let the clock tick. It will, regardless. Be here, now, in this present moment. Let change happen. Embrace it, and make each change another milestone on your journey. Better to grab each moment of joy and savor it before it passes, than to fight circumstances we do not control.

I sit with my thoughts awhile. I’ve got time. The day begins quite early, this morning, and this lovely moment, now, is mine to enjoy. “Nothing to see here.” True. I’m just one woman, alone in the darkness, waiting for daybreak, enjoying the quiet, alone. Where will this day take me? To my desk and to work, and later to return home. It’s not fancy or extraordinary or particularly interesting as moments go, but it is a lovely quiet one (aside from my tinnitus, which is very loud this morning). It’s enough to see another sunrise. I sit waiting for the inevitable changes.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. Later, I’ll begin again, and face new, other, changes.

It is a new day. Daybreak comes, revealing the trail I walked to get to this place, and the trail ahead that I will follow next. The map is not the world. The trail is not the journey. The plan is not the experience. The choice is not the outcome. The whole of our lifetime is not any one moment we live. It is a worthy endeavor to live each moment fully present, to find out where our path truly leads… but it isn’t as easy as wanting to. There is effort and will involved. Choices. Action.

I smile, watching the sun rise on this new day.

Ask the questions. Do the verbs.
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Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, autumn, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, Healthy Living, joy, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, The Art of Being, War and News of War, Words

Welcoming the Moment

September 14, 2025 //
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It was dark when I left the house, even though it was an hour or more later than usual. I’m slowly convincing my body to shift the day to a somewhat later start (and finish). It was still so dark partly due to the rainy weather and dense cloud cover. It was still raining gently, but had clearly rained harder during the night. I have a vague recollection of hearing the pleasant percussive chime of raindrops on a vent cover, during the night when I got up briefly to pee.

I arrived at the trailhead as the rain became a soft misty drizzle, grateful for my rain poncho, but I’m laughing now, because it isn’t raining at all, and my poncho’s only purpose is as a dry spot on this fence rail, where I often like to sit for some little while.

A favorite perspective on a moment.

My Traveling Partner pings me, asking if I am sitting in the car, waiting for the rain to stop? It’s not raining here, now, and I share that information. Simple communication, and I feel loved that he cares enough to ask. I sit watching the many little birds doing little bird things; they don’t mind the wet morning at all. Looks like the squirrels and chipmunks are sleeping in, though, no sign of them this morning. There are more migratory birds on the ponds each time I come, lately, another sign of autumn approaching. The cool rain-fresh air is another sign. The dark green of the oaks isn’t any different than summer, too early for them to change, but other deciduous trees are beginning to turn and I see hints of yellow and orange here and there. Somewhere a rooster crows.

This is one moment of many in this finite mortal lifetime, and soon I’ll return home to other moments, with a sense of being refreshed and recharged, feeling rested and purposeful, ready to tackle the Sunday housekeeping chores, and maybe bake something.

My mind wanders to yesterday. My butane stove, which I use with my wok, failed me. The nozzle or the carburetor, or some smaller part between the two, wasn’t working. It wasn’t an expensive stove, and may have simply used up what it had to offer, but it was a gift from my Traveling Partner. We looked it over together to determine whether to fix it or replace it, and decided in favor of replacement, though we both have the necessary skills to tear it down, and rebuild it. (It wasn’t obvious whether it could be repaired and safely used after doing so.) If the replacement really does arrive today, I suppose I’ll make stir fry tonight and try it out…

I breathe, exhale, and relax. Nice start to the day. I enjoy rain, and the fragrance of petrichor. I watch a rather large nutria waddling down the gentle slope from the oaks back to the edge of the pond, where I see her little ones playing on the bank. They pay no attention to me.

I sit awhile longer with my thoughts, aware of my breathing and distant sounds of traffic. I remind myself to stop at the big box DIY store on my way home for something my beloved asked me to pick up for him. I’m pleased that I didn’t forget, and didn’t need my many notes and reminders on my calendar, shopping list, and to-do list. Win! It’s a small thing, but always pleases me to remember something without help.

These gentle lovely moments really matter. I sit with this one awhile. There is no hurry, today, and there is value in savoring each moment of joy. This moment will end, soon enough, and it will be time to head back down the path and begin again.

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Categories Allegories, autumn, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, joy, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, The Art of Being, War and News of War
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