Archives for posts with tag: this too will pass
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Wanting to Make It Work Isn’t Enough

February 8, 2026 //
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Yesterday… fucking hell.

The details don’t much matter, and the decision to have the Anxious Adventurer move out was already made (planned for April, after winter weather is not a serious risk). I had hoped we’d all coexist relatively peacefully in the meantime. Yesterday evening was revealing, and unfortunately nonnegotiable boundaries were violated (and had been for some time, although I was not explicitly aware of it, yet). I’m disappointed, and honestly still rather angry. The plan is still locked in, that hasn’t changed. How I feel about this third human being under my roof has changed –  a lot. I sigh to myself, annoyed to be sitting here dealing with that bullshit at all.

Well shit. I really wanted to make things work comfortably well with the Anxious Adventurer coming to move in with us. There are a lot of potential advantages to shared living, and our society places value on family.

…Wanting something isn’t enough…

I am disappointed that this won’t work long-term, and my Traveling Partner admitted that the downsides and inconveniences outweigh the value for him, too. I know the additional emotional labor, for me, has outpaced the day-to-day advantages to having an additional family member in the household. This shit is hard. I keep asking myself if I’ve done my best, and wondering if I have failed to be… something. If we were each different people dealing with different issues, this totally could work. I keep thinking about that, too. Am I depriving my beloved Traveling Partner of the opportunity to be close to his son? I think I’ve been persistently encouraging and supportive, coaching where I could…

I’ve struggled with having less privacy, with being required to do too much emotional labor, with the lack of personal space, and the frustration of trying to cohabitate with someone who showed up wholly ignorant of some commonplace life skills, and basic manners, but I am not looking forward to the practical requirements of the changes ahead; more g’damned work. I’m simultaneously very much not sorry this will soon be over, and also deeply regretful and disappointed that it didn’t work out.

…If you invite a feral animal into your home, you mustn’t be surprised when it shits on the carpet, but you also don’t have to let it stay if it won’t learn new ways…

I breathe, exhale, and relax. Human beings being human. Communication is complicated. Moving into a strange household in a faraway place where the manners and expectations are new is challenging. I knew going into this that it would present some variety of difficulties, but figured we’d work them out together, as families do. Like an orchestra with musicians looking at different sheet music than the players alongside them, there was little harmony and a lot of wrong notes. I’m fucking over it. I’m annoyed with myself for being as angry as I am. It’s not reasonable to blame a feral animal for not being well brought up. I just also don’t want to deal with the associated bullshit.

We each make choices. The Anxious Adventurer made his. He chose poorly, in my opinion, and in spite of steady support, encouragement, coaching and guidance. I sigh in frustration and disappointment. I don’t wish him ill, but I do wish I weren’t dealing with these circumstances at all. I remind myself how close April really is. I lived in a tent for almost a year with 15 guys, most of whom i barely knew, a couple of whom I actively disliked, and it was…fine. I can endure 60 days more of this crap, too. It will pass.

Once he’s gone, I have no doubt there will be things I miss. He’s my Traveling Partner’s son, and I hope he visits in the future – I just don’t want to live with him, at least not right now, and I don’t think I can persuade myself to trust him again. If nothing else, he needs to take some time and work on the man he wishes to become, and I really can’t help him with that (and he does not know how to accept help yet). Sitting here this morning, listening to the rain falling, and waiting for the sun, I don’t even want to try to help him further than I have. It’s not a useful way to spend my time.

A new day dawns, full of promise and opportunities, but we’ve each got to make our own choices, and do our own work.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I feel settled with myself and my decision making. I feel comfortable in my skin, and accepting of the person I have grown to be over time. The journey is the destination. There is further to go on this path. We each walk our own mile, each having our own experience. I do hope the Anxious Adventurer finds his way.

I turn my attention to this moment here, now. The rain falls steadily. I watch the predawn twilight become the dawn of a new day, and in spite of the dreary gray of this rainy morning, I’m filled with eagerness. I am having brunch with the Chaotic Comic this morning. She shares some of the communication challenges of the Anxious Adventurer (as do many others in their general age group). There is a key difference that limits my irritation with those challenges in our friendship; I’m not having to live with them. My friend is also more receptive to discussion, and more open to considering suggestions for potentially useful changes and able to speak up to explicitly reject suggestions she does not favor. It feels like a conversation – because it is. Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised; she’s a comedian and “yes, and…” is an important part of improvisation, a learned skill.

We become what we practice.

… Still… I do wish I could have made things work, for my Traveling Partner and his son. I’d have liked to provide a firm foundation for them to deepen and build on their relationship, and I’m disappointed to have failed. I sit listening to the rain and considering what I could have done differently, myself, but it mostly isn’t about that. I can’t do that work for someone else, only for me. I’m walking my own path.

I sigh to myself and make room for gratitude. I have much to be grateful for, even within the context of this disappointing and aggravating shared living experience. I’ve learned some things about myself. Having some help was… helpful. I truly needed it, so many times. I breathe, exhale, and let my anger go. It has served its purpose and only gets in the way, now. Brunch soon, and a chance to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, breathe, 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, The Art of Being, The Big 5, winter, Words

What To Do About Nothing

February 6, 2026 //
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I woke abruptly from a deep sleep. Someone had cried out, loud. My Traveling Partner! I got up before I was fully awake, and headed quickly to the sound I had heard. Pain has a specific sound, and I am still “tuned” to be alert for his voice in the night, since his injury a couple years ago (has it been so long already?). This morning? Broken toe. Ouch. Painful, but maybe not an emergency. After some conversation, he assures me he’d rather I went to the library to work, than have me stay home. He’s been trying to get some time to himself for a few days. I’m sure not going to mess that up for him.

…I am alert for him to reach out to me, anyway, my phone turned up louder than usual, and next to me on the table where I can see it if it lights up with a notification…

For almost an hour, I’ve been sitting with my coffee. Just sitting. Not writing. Not drinking coffee. Just sitting. I’m not complaining, just taking note. Weird morning. I feel a purposeful frown on my face. I am “triggered”, not so much my anxiety though, this is a different “feature” of the PTSD – this feeling of purpose on the edge of action; readiness. A left over of domestic violence bug-outs and military deployments, mostly, I guess. I tend to feel more comfortable day-to-day if this particular need to be “ready to go on a moment’s notice” is gently supported (the gear bin my SUV, water, emergency rations, and my backpack, too, are elements of supporting this need, as much as they are simply useful for camping or emergencies). Other than that, I don’t give it much thought. Fighting it definitely does not help. This morning, I have no action to take right now, but I am “on alert” nonetheless. It may last awhile. I could do without the acid reflux though. lol

I take a deliberate willful sip of my coffee. It’s just the right drinking temperature. I take a longer drink of it. I definitely appreciate it this morning. Rough way to wake up from a rare deep sound sleep. I’m not exactly groggy. I’m not quite entirely awake. I feel fired up by a sense of urgency that has no outlet, and not grounded in this moment, here, now. I feel connected to each of the many past versions of this woman that I am, who has waited on the edge of urgency, so many times, for the action yet to come. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I offer myself a silent assurance that this too will pass, and sit with the experience, waiting for that. I’m grateful for the good cup of coffee this morning. I’m grateful that I will see the sunrise a little later, as I make my way from this cafe to the university library to finish the work week, instead of from the ER waiting room.

A broken toe is not “nothing” – hell, even a stubbed toe is crazy painful (and the pain lingers). The titular “nothing” in the subject line this morning is to do with the “nothing” in my head, sitting here triggered, waiting for action that is not necessary, and is not now. I consider the sensation – it is an uncomfortable one mingled with unease this morning, which puzzles me. It’s a bit like picking up a mug I know to be white, and perceiving it as some other color entirely in spite of that knowledge. I solve it when I remember I am driving my Traveling Partner’s pickup; my car is at the body shop. My gear and preparedness are not conveniently at hand – and a sick feeling of panic surges and I feel a chill of tension sweep over me. Well, shit. Okay, so that’s not necessary. I chuckle to myself, feeling entirely too human, but appreciative to have picked up on the subtle signals from within that something didn’t feel right. Much harder to deal with a feeling that is not clearly identified, I find. I breathe, exhale, and relax; my Traveling Partner is as well prepared as I am (maybe better, considering the differences in our vehicles). I don’t have my backpack – but his is in the truck, and equally well-equipped with basics. I don’t have my gear bin, but his is there, and there’s quite an assortment of useful stuff tucked here and there. I’m less than 2 miles from home. Less than two miles from the storage unit into which I put my gear while the car is in the body shop. The panic subsides.

I sigh to myself. I feel worn down and tired. I feel more than a little “anti social”. I’d like to hop in my car and drive to the horizon just to see what might await me there. I’d very much like to… something. I don’t know. I feel a certain yearning, but it’s not clear why, and I find myself wondering if it is simply nothing more than the shifting sands of my emotions as the biochemistry of emotional experience has its way with me? I breathe, exhale, and breathe again, letting the breaths come and go, without much else going on. This is the moment I am having, now. That’s fine. “Nothing to see here.”

My mind wanders to summer camping, spring flowers, and new trails. Maybe tomorrow I’ll drive out to Chehalem Ridge, or Miller Woods? I sit with my coffee and my thoughts. Brunch with the Chaotic Comic on Sunday – unless one of us flakes on that. We often do. We don’t take it personally; we’re having our own experiences, and sometimes we need to change our plans. The friendship is worth accommodating our quirks in an understanding way. I’ve got the truck, and mild weather – maybe a drive to the coast and a visit to Fogarty Creek and the private cove beach there? The thought of a taking a different direction, tomorrow, appeals to me. I sit with my thoughts awhile longer.

…It’s already time to begin again…

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Love, meditation, Mindfulness, Moments, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, The Art of Being, The Big 5, winter, women, Words

Treading Water

August 27, 2025 //
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It is a strange gray morning, and a little cooler out at the trailhead than it has been. I’ve got my headlamp handy but I’m much earlier than I’d planned and I decide to wait for a bit of light before I hit the trail. Daybreak is imminent.

I sigh quietly and drink water. It’ll be another hot day, in spite of the deceptively cool morning, and staying hydrated is the healthy self-care choice. After my walk, I’ve got a doctor’s appointment, planned months ago. I’m grateful it occurs before my employer-provided insurance runs out. No work today. It is the first day following being laid off. I breathe, exhale, relax, and wait for the sun.

It feels a little strange, at least for now, to have this time to myself, without a work day constraining my time. I sit with my thoughts watching the sky begin to lighten, alert for the trail to become sufficiently visible to walk safely in the dim light between daybreak and the busy-ness of a new day. There are things to do, and I feel calm and purposeful, but also… strangely displaced. We put way too much emphasis on our professional experiences as adults, I think, and are easily mislead into seeing those as somehow more important than who we are, how we feel, and all the many experiences that make up a human lifetime. Work is just work. We do it to exchange enough of our precious limited mortal time for the cash to be able to afford all the truly important things. Home. Family. Friends. Enjoying a walk on a quiet summer morning.

… But I do feel the absence of work, this morning, and I have a sense of the ticking clock in the background…

I lace up my boots, grab my cane, and step out onto the trail. This feels like a pause in the routine I’ve come to know. I observe the inclination to cling to the routine, and make a point to let that go. I walk on. There will be a new routine. It will develop naturally out of my actions each day and become comfortable over time. Until then, of course, there’s some uncertainty and discomfort – which means there is also an opportunity to grow, and become more the woman that I want most to be than I am now.

Dawn on the trail.

A soft rain begins to fall as I reach my halfway point. The overhang of oak branches at the edge of the trail is enough to shelter me, but it’s really only a sprinkle anyway, and I don’t mind a few raindrops on my face as I walk. I take a few minutes for meditation and to write. I think about my now-former colleagues and wonder if they miss my cheery “good morning” in the team Slack channel today?

…Am I remembered? Such a human concern, to wonder if we are missed once we’re gone. I wonder what my legacy will be, and how quickly I will become just a name on some policy document or customer record? I already miss professional friendships formed over shared work. The people matter most, and I am not surprised that the only details I linger over now are the memories of jokes and deep conversations, shared photos, and tales of vacation and travel swapped among friends. That seems appropriate.

I smile to myself and look down the trail, listening to the rain on the leaves over head. I’m okay. Sure, I feel a little displaced and strange, but it will pass. Dwelling on vague feelings of disappointment, or letting myself become mired in fear or doubt isn’t helpful (not at all). It’s enough to feel the feelings, acknowledge their fundamental humanity, and let them go. We make choices, even about our emotions. Making the wisest choices we can is a good practice.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I am fine, for most values of “fine”, and there’s nothing especially “wrong” right now at all. For now it is a waiting game. I’ve got something promising identified that looks likely to become the next job. It’s tempting to coast and just enjoy the waiting for some time, but that’s a poor strategy in an uncertain world. I focus on planned tasks, activities, and necessary milestones and set aside optimistic wishful thinking. It is a good time for practical thinking and careful consideration.

Stray raindrops spatter my bare arms as I sit perched on a fallen trunk under this big oak. Hints of something like a sunrise peek through gray clouds, revealing distant hues of pink and pale blue far above the rain clouds. I’m grateful for the rain. The air smells fresh and clean, the scent of petrichor rising from the ground fills my senses, and my heart feels lifted and light.

… I think about my former teammates beginning the day, and facing their own uncertainties, and silently wish them well. We’re each walking our own path, having our own experience. It’s sometimes difficult to see down the path ahead while we walk it. The way isn’t always clear. The choices are not always obvious. We do our best, based on what we know, and most of the people around us do too. I remind myself to be kind – we rarely know what other people are going through.

I sigh again and peer into the sky. Still raining, but it’s already time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, meditation, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being

The Stall Point

August 21, 2025 //
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I’m sipping my coffee and feeling sort of cross and “stalled”. Just sort of sitting here, not motivated to act, or reflect, or choose, or consider – I’m a bit stuck, honestly. It’s a very human thing. Maybe I didn’t get quite enough restful sleep? Maybe I haven’t actually consumed enough coffee to get my brain going properly? Maybe I’m feeling (understandably) a little lost, or frustrated, or down? One thing I am definitely feeling is that I am dragging myself reluctantly through my experience, at least for the moment. Maybe I need to take a moment and just… cry?

I’ve been a proper adult over this untimely demise of my current job. I’ve been measured. I’ve been resourceful. I’ve been easily able to pivot to tackling the job search related tasks that need to be done now, and plan ahead to those yet to come. I’ve reached out to contacts likely to know someone who knows someone who knows of an opportunity that may be a good one for me. I’ve handled it. You know what I haven’t yet done, though? I haven’t allowed myself to grieve. I’ll miss this job. I’ll miss these colleagues. I’ll miss so many details of this particular routine at this time in my life. I haven’t given in to the hurt, yet. I’ve simply handled business with a clear head and a sense of urgency and commitment. It still hurts, emotionally, to lose this job – and I haven’t yet dealt with that. I’m going to have to, though, otherwise it will burrow into me, fester, and rob me of my will to act. Not helpful.

I’ve got the office alone, and I close the door, put my head down, and let the tears come – they’re right there, waiting. I let the fear and uncertainty wash over me. I let myself feel the hurt. I let the anger and feelings of disappointment and unfairness surface enough to acknowledge them alongside the tears. I go ahead and feel the feelings, and I cry. From experience I know that if I stifle these emotions and don’t provide myself the nurturing and self-care that I need – physically and emotionally – I’ll pretty quickly reach my “stall point”, and just stop functioning properly. I won’t be able to remember errands, tasks, and commitments, I won’t feel like doing anything, and I won’t be able to interact with people comfortably to talk about what I’m looking for out of a new job (because I’ll be mired in the unaddressed pain of losing the old one and too prone to talking the experience of hurting and loss). It’s like any other grief; the way out is through.

The tears pass pretty quickly, for now. There may be other moments, and other tears, with potential to pull me down and stall me if left unaddressed. Funny how embarrassing it feels to yield to a moment of emotion under these circumstances – there’s no reason for that. It’s not anything besides a very human moment of emotion. Emotion is part of who and what we are. I stretch and yawn, and sip my coffee. I’ve got an interview with a talent agency a little later. Later still, I’ll catch up with a friend who may have contract work that will support the short-term need nicely, for some indefinite time – not ideal, but far better than unemployment. I smile – the same friend got me into the contract that eventually developed into this job, that I’m now leaving with such sorrow. I’m grateful. I chuckle to myself over the value in relationships feeling like some “secret life hack” – it really is the people that matter most, and how we interact with them, and the experiences we share.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I do a quick “body scan” and take inventory of myself in this moment. Pain hasn’t been an issue the past day or two, but this morning it’s ferocious, and I have to deal with that, on top of “everything else”. A very human experience. It is often the case that when I am feeling most overwhelmed, or when I am feeling “stalled”, it may be some one small thing that needs my attention so urgently it shuts down everything else until I do give myself the attention I need. Those are generally experiences very much about emotions. When I feel overwhelmed or stalled, I go looking for the feeling that isn’t “being heard”, and give myself a moment to sit with that feeling, deal with it head on, and provide myself with the genuine nurturing from within that I am needing. Self-care. It’s a big deal.

I sigh and drink my coffee in the stillness. The clock ticks on, without any regard for what I may want out of the moment before moving on to the next. It’s already time to begin again – and there’s a lot to do.

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Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, breathe, Despair, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, grief, Healthy Living, Logic & Reason, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Summer, The Art of Being

Inconvenient Circumstances

July 16, 2025 //
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I’m sipping my coffee contemplating the busy work day ahead. I’m okay with it. I’m fortunate to have a job I enjoy. I’m grateful for that; I know too well what it feels like to be trapped in some day-to-day grind because the paycheck is necessary and the options are few. I’m sneezing, though – allergies – and not really looking forward to interacting with people all day. Another hot summer day ahead, too, and the AC in the office already sounds like it is “working too hard”, which does not bode well for comfort. Add to that, my pharmacy has still not been able to refill my Ozempic, and now I’m 3 days overdue for a shot that should be done weekly at about the same time each week. On top of simply being annoyed by that, I’m starting to “feel effects” of going without medication that does so much more than provide a little help with weightloss. This medication, for me, successfully manages my blood sugar, my blood pressure, and helps with certain consequences of my brain injury, too (which was unexpected but very much valued and at this point, relied upon). I sigh and drink my coffee – at least I’ve still got coffee in the morning, though I wonder how long that will last?

I breathe, exhale, and relax. The lack of my medication is not likely to become life-threatening (I hope), but I’m angry that the medical needs of real people matter so little, in comparison to profits, or supply chain efficiency, or systems and processes within large corporate hierarchies. (Looking your way, global pharmacy systems, and fuck you for not caring about the people you serve.) Another breath. Another slow steady exhalation. Another attempt at relaxing and letting small shit stay small. It requires practice.

I’m not in a great mood this morning, and I remind myself again (and thank my Traveling Partner for his patient reminders yesterday evening) that this abrupt change in my medication is going to affect things like mood (and mood management) and impulse control, and all sorts of seemingly unrelated “little things” that taken together don’t always feel small at all. Knowing I’ll be “dealing with people” all day, I calm myself with meditation, and a few minutes of quiet reflection on the moment and the day. Things are fine for most values of “fine”, and I’m okay in most practical senses of that word. This will pass.

I did try to arrange to have my prescription filled at a different local pharmacy within the pharmacy chain I generally use, and that looked do-able from the perspective of yesterday. This morning the pharmacy app indictes that my refill remains “delayed” with no expectation that it will be filled before tomorrow at 3 pm – an availability commitment that continues to be pushed back every day. The pharmacist said, yesterday, that they just haven’t been receiving this medication in their orders, in spite of ordering it repeatedly. “It’s not available.” (I wonder if it is the heat? It is a temperature sensitive medication, and degrades quickly once not refridgerated. We’re in the middle of summer heat that comes with a hazard warning, although it isn’t being discussed as a “heat wave”… I could see that potentially stopping shipments of some kind, but g’damn, we’re talking about fucking medication here!)

Another sigh. Another cycle of breath. Another attempt to get my mind (and mood) to move on from this irritation… my results vary. My coffee is tasty, though, and I focus on that pleasant detail, here, now. A breeze tosses the branches of the trees beyond the window, and the lush green leaves flutter and twist. Pretty. There’s a clear blue sky overhead. The morning is already warm. My head aches. My tinnitus is loud. This room is quiet, aside from the woosh of the AC in the background. Breathe, exhale, relax… repeat. I still feel bitchy and cross, and I’d really like very much to complain about… something, but I’m aware that it really could be worse, and that as things go generally it’s fine. I think of my Traveling Partner at home, probably still sleeping, and I smile to myself; just knowing he exists in the world is a thought that fills me with love and delight. I’m fortunate. Perspective.

Choose your experience; we’re live and unscripted.

We can’t necessarily change the circumstances we find ourselves in, but we can change how we react and respond to those circumstances. We can make choices that improve our experience. There’s a lot of power in that. I sit with that thought awhile. How would I respond to these circumstances if I were indeed the woman I most want to be? Can I make that happen, in these circumstances, now? What would that look like? What practices can I count on to get me there? We become what we practice.

…No AI anywhere can help you with that; you’ve got to practice the practices yourself, and do the verbs…

Practice the practices that take you closer to being the human being you most want to be.

It’s a new day. Another chance to be the woman I most want to be. Another opportunity to live well and treat others with kindness and compassion. Another day to do my best. I make a note on the notepad beside me, a reminder for later. It’s time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, meditation, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Summer, The Art of Being, The Big 5, weight loss secrets
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