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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

Your Results May Vary

May 16, 2026 //
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I am sipping a really terrible coffee, looking out over the ocean at low tide. Funny, I’m in the room right next to the room I had on my last visit here…but the view is diminished (one window instead of three side-by-side), and the coffee is terrible. My results vary. Yours will, too, most likely. It’s a very human experience.

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

Low tide, sunrise, western horizon.

I’m still drinking the coffee, as terrible as it is. I’ll go out for better, later, but for now this will do. I am still enjoying the view from this room. It’s beautiful. No complaints, and no need to journey elsewhere to see the sea. Surely, I’ll see more, and from other viewpoints, later today, but for now this is quite enough. This room is somehow smaller than the one next door (and no kitchenette, just a coffee machine and a mini-fridge). Doesn’t much matter; I’m not here about the amenities, I’m here to relax with my thoughts and reset myself, my thinking, and my approach to the day-to-day, hoping to come home feeling refreshed and energized, and somehow more myself than when I got here.

…Will that work? Maybe? It has before…

Here on the seashore I feel my Dear Friend’s presence and my Granny’s. Both women loved coastal places. Whenever I was low, talking with my Granny on the phone from some distant place, she would say “You should come to the shore, Sweetie, and take a rest from all that. It’s just noise in your head. Come listen to the birds, and feel the breeze on the marsh. We’ll take a drive into town and have crab cakes.” I’d often laugh, just feeling relieved to be heard. I couldn’t go as often as I would have liked, but on those occasions that I did, it saved me.

I sip my terrible cup of coffee, marveling at just how really awful it is. The morning sun begins to light up the distant clouds, high in the sky. Beautiful. A seagull stands on the bit of ground between the window and the straight drop to the beach, and looks into the window at me. The ocean is a sleek polished aluminum gray, breaking on the rocky beach in waves of white foam, shining with reflected light. I could sit at this window and watch this views for many uninterrupted hours – even with this gull standing there watching me, as if expecting I might toss some tasty morsel his way. It is windy today (yesterday, too), and it’s expected to be rainy, too. I don’t even mind. Storms make for dramatic skies, and rain means a good night’s sleep (for me).

I sigh to myself. This coffee is even worse once it’s begun to go cold. I chuckle to myself. It’s a good indication that it’s time to begin again, perhaps? The tide is as its lowest, and the tide pools here are something special. My clothes are already laid out. A walk on the beach, then a proper cup of coffee sounds like a lovely start to the day. I let go of my expectations; there is no sense in clinging to what I do not yet know. I already know that change is, and that my results may vary. I’m walking my own path, and that’s enough for this moment right here, now.

I finish this coffee, and think kisses at my Traveling Partner. He’s having his own experience – I hope it is a good one.

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Categories Allegories, art and the artist, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Moments, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being, women, Words

Milestone

May 1, 2026 //
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Today is my anniversary with my Traveling Partner; 16 years together, a bit more, and 15 married. As long-term relationships go, it’s not exactly “a lifetime” – I’ve had to try a few times to “get it right”. This anniversary is a major milestone for a minor reason; it is my longest long-term relationship.

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

My next longest long-term relationships (14 years together, never actually married, and another that was 14 years married, but only 10 of those together) were problematic extensions of traumatizing models of “family life” I’d dearly like to erase from memory, but for the fact that my path through the chaos and damage eventually brought me here. I wouldn’t change a moment if it might mean missing out on the love I’ve found with my Traveling Partner.

“Communion” 2010

So here I am, walking as the sun rises, smiling and hearing love songs in my head. We have dinner plans tonight, and I’m excited about that. I haven’t gotten him a gift. I don’t know how to give a gift worthy of a love like this one on the limited budget I would have. Dinner together at the best restaurant in the area seems fitting. (His idea, which tickles me so much.)

“Contemplation” 12″ x 16″ acrylic and iron oxide. August 2011

Is love “enough”? I walk and think about that question and find myself answering “enough for what?” before shrugging off the question as irrelevant to my lived experience of love and loving. Love is love. Questions of sufficiency seem to lead down a path of price tags and comparisons and cost/benefit analysis, and that seems foolish. Love doesn’t have to be “enough” to fulfill some other purpose, it is enough to experience love, ever. I get to my halfway point, still smiling and feeling lighthearted. It’s a beautiful morning, and I am fortunate to be in love.

“Cherry Blossoms” 2011

I breathe, exhale, and relax. Meditation is difficult this morning. I fidget like a child in church, restless, excited. My mind wanders (don’t forget to pick up your Rx, don’t forget your manicure appointment, don’t forget to double-check the grocery list and stop by the store…). S’ok. It’s a very human experience. Most people don’t notice my brain damage; little glitches in the background, unusual difficulties with communication, oddball “quirks” that are actually coping mechanisms for getting around “thinking holes” and shit that just doesn’t work the way it should. I’m used to it, mostly. I’ve improved a lot over the years (so much). My Traveling Partner sees more of it than most people – and manages to be kind, loving, and generally very supportive, without succumbing to the potential temptation to exploit me to his advantage. (Not true in previous relationships, one of which apparently had exploitation as it’s specific purpose.) I feel safe and loved, which is pretty wonderful for this busted up weird human primate doing her best to figure life out, I must say. 😆

A token of affection. Love on a chain. The only heart-shaped locket I have ever owned.

I sigh contentedly, even happily. It’s a beautiful morning and I feel loved. I watch the sun light the vineyards along this trail. Such a beautiful moment. I sit here awhile longer. I have some errands to run before I return home to my beloved. I feel fortunate and merry, and supremely pleased to have taken the day off (and grateful to have had that option). Love makes it a beautiful day to be alive.

I smile and breathe the sweetly fragrant Spring breeze. I let the clock tick on (how could I even stop it?), soon enough it will be time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, art and the artist, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, joy, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Practices, Relationships, Spring, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women, Words

Skill, Talent, Practice

April 21, 2026 //
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It is a rainy morning. It wasn’t raining when I left the house, but it clearly had been. It is raining now, as I sit parked at the trailhead, waiting for a break in the rain. Sort of. I’m less waiting than taking time to write and meditate before I walk. Seems likely to be a poor morning for sitting quietly along the trail. 😆

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

Some long while ago I made a note to myself about the perplexing puzzle (for me) that is boundary setting:

Every boundary we set, however healthy, is an obstacle to the person being advised they may be encroaching on a boundary. That’s just real. It is what it is. We either set healthy boundaries – and respect those ourselves – or the world walks over us.

I made that note years ago on a scrap of paper that I later tucked between the pages of the book I was reading at the time. It was a meaningful and relevant observation in that moment; the boundary I was setting was simply that I was reading and did not wish to be interrupted for chit-chat by my then partner (now ex). I found the note recently, while moving things around on bookshelves, when it slid to the floor, a reminder from a past version of myself that this has been a challenge for me for a long time. Brain damage, cPTSD, and a lifetime of anxiety-driven “people pleasing” mingling to form a persistent bit of chaos and damage. It’s been difficult to “fix” while living it.

I’m grateful that my Traveling Partner is aware of (and alert for) this problematic bit of code in my operating system. He is quick to take note if I am exhausting myself trying to tackle every casual request in an instant, or frustrating myself by walking over my own reasonable boundaries. He reminds me to put myself first, often, and to practice good self-care. He respects clearly set boundaries with genial acceptance. But… The boundary setting is mine to do. It’s up to me to manage my boundaries, to respect them myself, to provide kind reminders when needed – before I’m frustrated, before resentment develops, before I might become likely to snap at someone I care about. It’s basic communication. I have to do the verbs. I find boundary setting uncomfortable. This is one small part of the legacy of trauma and abuse that I’m still dragging with me through life.

Working on this crap is hard, not gonna lie about that, but protecting and nurturing healthy agency is worth the effort required, and I’ve got a partner who truly enjoys me at my whole, healthy, and sane best, even when I set a boundary. I’m much better with boundaries these days, and finding the scrap of paper with the note written on it (from sometime before 2010) is a meaningful reminder that this is something I’ve had to work at for a long time.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. Basic communication skills are something human primates still have to work at to develop those fully. We’re not born as great communicators. We learn as we go. We practice what works – and sometimes what works in the context of trauma and unhealthy family dynamics is not at all healthy, nor particularly functional, outside that dynamic, in the larger world. I still struggle with some of this. Still dragging along some unnecessary baggage. I sigh to myself and imagine setting down a heavy suitcase with busted wheels, scuffed and worn and shabby looking. I imagine letting a heavy backpack slide from my shoulders to the ground. I visualize unpacking them both, and chuckle to myself because this thought exercise actually gives me a real feeling of relief in the moment.

I have no native talent for communication. I work at building my skills in this area – and have done so for years (with considerable success), and I practice what I learn about healthy communication. I improve over time. I’ll continue to work at it until it feels easy and natural. That seems like a better choice than continuing to endure being poor at basic communication. 😆 I have choices. I make choices. I practice. I improve over time.

How many times have I stood in this place, and faced my limitations aware that I have so much further to go? Doesn’t matter at all. The journey is the destination. We become what we practice. Incremental change over time is an effective approach to changing who I am and becoming who I most want to be.

I notice that the rain has stopped. I grab my cane and my rain poncho, and begin again. This is my path. Walking it requires me to do the verbs. 😄

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Categories Allegories, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being, The Big 5, Words

Dream a Little Dream

February 5, 2026 //
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I woke rather oddly thinking I was already awake, and uncertain how I “suddenly ended up” horizontal, wrapped in a comforter, on a soft surface, when I’d been contentedly seated at my desk, drinking coffee and writing – “finishing my book” – happy to be done with it. It was an odd sensation. For some minutes, the phrases I’d been typing (in my dream) were still lingering in my thoughts, becoming a sense that it would be a good topic to write about, and slowly dissipating from my recollection as dreams generally do.

Now, I’m up, out of the house, sitting with a cup of coffee and my thoughts, on a chilly Thursday. It’s not cold. 40F (4.4C) – so relatively mild for February. The whole season has been “relatively mild” in this location, although elsewhere, in many places, blizzards rage and snow piles up. I hope you are safe and warm, wherever you may be. I sip my coffee wondering how bad the fire season will be this year, having so little rain over the autumn and winter months, and so little snow in the higher elevations. Today’s forecast was precise as to temperature and quite accurate, but the car was frosted over in spite of the mild temperature. The morning manages to feel like it’s almost winter. Early Spring? Late autumn? The seasons “don’t feel quite right” anymore. I fear we’ve broken our planet beyond repair. This does not bode well for humanity, nor for many other creatures whose lives depend on climate. Scary. I’m no expert, and I’m not interested in succumbing to this or that whispered conspiracy, I just see what I see, and live my experience; this very mild winter can be expected to be followed by a difficult summer of wildfires dotted around the state. I’ll have to be very careful when and where I camp this summer, and plan on closely monitored very contained cooking fires (I like my Jetboil best).

I remind myself not to forget coffee!

I sigh to myself. I miss being out in the trees, listening to birds and chipmunks and forest breezes, and watching the sun rise and set filtered through trees that have seen more years than I have myself. I don’t have to wait on camping… I could drive out into one of several large wilderness areas and be among those trees in less than an hour, being fortunate to live approximately midway between the coast and Mt Hood National Forest. The thought jolts me back to this moment; today I have to take my car to the body shop to have the damage done on New Year’s Eve (day) repaired. I won’t have my Mazda for some little while. Weeks maybe? Days definitely. My Traveling Partner graciously offers me the use of his truck in the meantime, and it’s a dream to drive (so much so that I’m planning to buy that make of SUV to replace my Mazda when the time comes). So, today I’ll drop off the car, and he’ll pick me up in the truck. The work day will bookend that errand, and for the most part life will be remarkably unchanged – except tomorrow morning when I step out of the house and am reminded that my car is gone. I’m sure I’ll forget, until I see it missing. lol Very human.

Life is filled with adventure – and misadventure. Choices. Opportunities. Change. Getting hung up on some particular detail is often a poor choice. Mostly the details don’t matter to anyone else; they are having their own experience. We’re all in this together, in a grander sense, though we regularly forget that and start giving people on hard times side-eye, like we have never struggled, or fallen on hard times, or failed to choose wisely. Human beings can be jerks. We like to talk about “pulling ourselves up by our bootstraps” in spite of the practical matter that every one of us relies upon others, depends on others, and probably wouldn’t survive long isolated and utterly alone (think “no internet”, “no credit cards or banking system”, “no infrastructure”…). If you’re feeling quite smugly independent about your individual success, I’d like to point out that the infrastructure, delivery systems, and basic building blocks of your experience are not things you did “all by yourself”. lol

I sip my coffee and smile to myself. The morning feels relaxed and peaceful, and I realize one reason why that is; there is no background music playing this morning in this chain coffee shop. One less bit of noise to filter out as I sip coffee and consider life, this moment, and this woman that I most want to be. Nice morning for it. Chilly, though. I’m grateful for this hot coffee. I’m not too proud to drink branded industrial chain coffee from a Big Coffee Chain Cafe in my neighborhood. lol I don’t necessarily prefer it. I’m that coffee drinker who prefers carefully brewed freshly ground coffee from estate-grown varietal beans imported from the cradle of civilization…but will most definitely lick the bitter dregs out of a packet of instant coffee moistened with a tablespoon of tepid water rather than go without. LOL I have abruptly returned home from a camping trip I was excited about – broke camp and returned home less than 24 hours into it, after driving hours – over forgetting to bring coffee!

…Would I survive without coffee? Sure. Getting past the first few deeply irritating days without would be annoying, but I’d survive – I just don’t want to. I recognize that this is characteristic of addiction. I’m grateful it’s just coffee.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I consider logging into work tools and beginning that part of my day a little early, but I don’t have to; this moment is mine. I smile to myself happily. Nice moment, this. I sip my coffee and enjoy that feeling. So much less anxiety this morning. Like… none. I slow down and appreciate that, for what it is. I’m grateful. I’ve endured much over the past two years, and it’s been harder than I imagined it could be, and I’ve done more/better with most of it than I would have expected myself to be up for. Things are turning a corner. Change is. Hard times come and go. This too will pass. Impermanence is a characteristic of life – even our human lives, however much control we seek to exert over events. I don’t necessarily like that – I’m a big fan of stability and comfort and ease – but reality does not care about my preferences, and having an easy life was unlikely to turn up in the hand I was dealt; the odds were poor (still are for me, and for most human beings). I’m okay with “okay”. I’m grateful for my good fortune in life, wherever it finds me. Enough really is enough, although I sometimes have to pause and consider my blessings, and take a moment to be aware (again) of how fortunate I truly am. (Like anyone, I find a stupid about of bullshit to bitch about rather pointlessly some days.)

Walking my own path, one step at a time.

Crazy world we are living in right now, eh? There’s a lot of terrible stuff going on here in the US and in the world. What we say about it matters. What we do about it matters more, if we can be moved to action. Heroes will rise. Villains will fall. I feel hopeful this morning (probably because I am not looking at the news). I breathe, exhale, and relax, and prepare to begin again.

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Categories 2024 Election, Allegories, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, Frustration, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, joy, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, The Art of Being, winter, Words
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