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Why Bother?

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

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

Holiday lights at 04:30.

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

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

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

…For a moment I forget about the pain…

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

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

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

A Thoughtful Moment

July 3, 2025 //
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There’s a storm brewing. I can see the dark gray clouds on the horizon, through the lush summer greenery of the tree just beyond the window. I think about the weather and the climate. I think about change. I think about trauma, memory, and strangely I also think about genocide.

A view. A perspective on a moment.

Have you stopped to wonder, even for a moment, what the results of the collective trauma of the Palestinian people will be, those few that remain after years of genocidal attacks on that population? What about the people of Ukraine, fighting valiantly to preserve their national identity in the face of Russia’s attacks on their land, their culture, and their people? It may be worth a moment of your time to think about it. Some of these people may one day be your own neighbors. Just saying, we’re all in this together, aren’t we? All human?

I sip my coffee and watch the changing light and shadows through the tree beyond the window. I think my thoughts. 4th of July tomorrow – what are you celebrating? National identity? National pride? (Is there so much to be proud of, right now?) Freedom…? (Freedom from what, exactly?) Did you serve in the armed forces? If you did, are you still proud of your service, considering all that is going on in the world? (Were you ever?) Did you achieve something? No, I mean… really. What changed? What good have you done in the real world that is worth celebrating? (Maybe it would be sufficiently celebration-worthy to pass through this mortal life without doing any harm?) I sigh to myself. Rhetorical questions. I’ve got my own answers, and they are less than ideally satisfying. I still consider myself “a patriot” – and I am ashamed of the willful cruelty and corruption of our government, and the harms we seem so willing to deliver to our own people, and so many innocent non-combatants around the globe. How do people rationalize being so terrible to other people? So destructive? So hateful? So… stupid?

I personally find 4th of July as a national holiday fairly pointless, and the way it is celebrated, with displays of colorful ordnance and barbecue, rather wasteful. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I like a good barbecue. I just don’t personally see the value in blowing shit up (however colorful) to celebrate a military victory more than 200 years in the past, by people who have never gone to war themselves, can’t understand what they are celebrating, and apparently have no idea of the real cost in human lives and suffering of military actions. What the actual fuck? What purpose do the fireworks serve? Is the risk of igniting a wildfire actually worth it? Still, here we all are, eh? It’ll be nice to enjoy a long weekend…

…G’damn, Woman, just let people have their fun…

The doe who eats my roses.

Yesterday evening while I was in the garden, I saw the doe who has been strolling through regularly and eating my roses and my vegetables. She calmly watched me, unbothered. I strode right up to her, lecturing her most sternly about eating my damned roses. She seemed mildly surprised, but not inclined to leave. I continued to berate her most firmly, providing clear explicit boundary-setting about my damned garden and my roses. She listened quite attentively, but did not acknowledge my points (I did not expect that she would). I threw my hands up in frustration, and raised my voice a bit “now just go, and stay out of my damned flower beds!” She darted away, paused, then strolled off into the trees, unimpressed by my ire. I’m quite certain I’ll have to have this talk with her again. lol

…Good coffee. I find myself wondering again how much longer coffee beans will be affordable to regular people…

I’m feeling a little cranky and blue, then I remember that as an individual person, I truly do have some things to celebrate on the 4th of July, and they are each “freedom” and independence related. It was 4th of July when I left my violent first marriage. It was 4th of July weekend when my Traveling Partner and I moved into our little house in Yamhill County. It was 4th of July weekend that the Anxious Adventurer arrived and moved in (one year ago), a truly helpful presence at a time when that was utterly necessary. There have probably been other milestones that fell on or near July 4th, that don’t immediately come to mind. Hell, I haven’t even always been so cranky about fireworks as I am now. lol We change as people over time, with all that we learn and experience in life. Our perspective changes. Our understanding of the world changes. Change is. I shake off my blue mood and have another sip of my coffee, noticing that a bluer bit of sky has begun to reveal itself. Promising; moments pass.

I breathe, exhale, and relax – and get ready to begin again. This path isn’t going to walk itself. 😉

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Categories 2024 Election, Allegories, anger, Anxiety, breathe, Free Will, Frustration, gardening, gratitude, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Roses, Summer, The Art of Being, War and News of War, Words

Neutrality Isn’t Neutral

June 23, 2025 //
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We must always take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim.

Eli Weisel, on the occasion of the award of the Nobel Peace Prize in Oslo, December 10, 1986

There’s not a lot else to say about that, is there? There are definitely some topics, events, and circumstances that don’t leave room for “being neutral” or “staying out of it”, aren’t there? Genocide comes to mind as a good example. How can a rational, emotionally mature human being be for genocide, ever? Trying to rationalize heinous acts by redefining them doesn’t change the reality on the ground, does it? I’m sipping my coffee thinking about war, and genocide, and violence generally, yes and even the bullshit pettiness and poorly managed individual anger that can lead so many individual human beings to commit some of the most terrible acts imaginable against other human beings. We put so much effort into teaching children to read, to write, to do basic math – and so little into teaching critical thinking or emotional intelligence. There’s no requirement for human beings to be so cruel, greedy, cowardly, or dishonest – we work pretty fucking hard to develop those characteristics in our children, and to reinforce them in each other. I find that whole idea pretty grotesque, honestly. We could do better.

Are we standing on the precipice of WW3? Who decides whether global conflict has risen to that level? Who decides whether any particular conflict in the world in which one nation seems to be taking bold steps to completely wipe out the population of the other is clearly definable as a “genocide”? Why the hell would we ever try to rationalize, justify, or excuse such horrible acts? “They’re our ally, so what they’re doing is not genocide” is not a sound logical argument. I sigh to myself and sip my coffee. I keep expecting humanity to grow the fuck up and stop using conflict as a tool, if only because it is wasteful, costly, and lacks any really good return on investment. It’s unfortunate (even tragic) that human primates are such greedy fuckwits.

…I’m cranky over this shit, but there’s nothing much I can do about it beyond not being that, myself…

I’m back to the routine of work. It’s a Monday, and the day begins well in this corner of the world. Ordinary. But… I’m not oblivious to the goings on elsewhere. The pointless violent bullshit mayhem and nonsense going on elsewhere taints my pleasant morning and seeps into my awareness. I sigh again. My headache is manageable. My back pain isn’t noteworthy. The day is neither too hot nor too chilly. It’s not raining. There are no bombs dropping, here. Still, I’m cross about this shit, and I feel my chaos and damage loitering in the background. I was once a soldier on a battlefield. Another sigh. I don’t feel free to cry over it; I’ve got a week of work ahead of me, and only three days to do it. Busy life. Errands. Housekeeping. Making meals to feed my family. Tending my garden in spite of the fucking deer eating my damned roses (again). Putting away laundry. Catching up on work email. Staying on top of my task list and doing my damnedest not to forgot some important thing or another. It’s much. Right now it feels like “too much” and I am on the edge of fury – not because there’s anything wrong here, I just feel the weight of the world and my concerns about global conflict keep trying to spin up, causing my anxiety to flare up as latent anger.

I breathe, exhale, and relax – let all that go by an act of pure will, and try to begin again. I repeat this several times. It’s seems clear I’ll be having to work at managing this for awhile, since the asshats in Washington DC can’t seem to behave as rational adults. Fucking hell. War? Still? Really? I keep thinking we have what it takes to be better than this, then I remember the assorted bullies, grifters, and morons we’ve elected (time and again, honestly) – we have a long way to go. Stupid is just every-fucking-where. I’m so over it.

…But… I’m angry about it, not sad, not demoralized, not in a state of despair. I feel bitter. Cynical. Disappointed in humanity. Annoyed by greedy billionaires and politicians. Frustrated by our Dunning-Krueger government. And? It’s not something I can “fix” through some specific individual act. Hell, I can’t even prevent other seemingly intelligent people from supporting this craptacular boatload of bullshit. It’s all very irritating – and I am irritable as a result.

Breathe.

Exhale.

Relax.

Begin again. Don’t take anything personally. Do your own best. Practice non-attachment. Results may vary. We become what we practice. There are verbs involved.

I sip my coffee and let it go. Again. The clock is ticking. We could do better. I can at least do better myself through my own actions and choices. That’s going to have to be enough to get by on, maybe for awhile. I’m not telling you what to do or how to think, or even making suggestions. I’m just sitting with my thoughts on a Monday morning, annoyed with what a shit show the world happens to be presently, and practicing some self-soothing, as much as I reasonably can, and hoping that maybe it helps me get over my irritable mood. There’s really nothing going on right here, now, that would lead me to be so fucking cranky. I can do better.

So, I do. Again. Breathe, exhale, relax. Let it go. Repeat as needed.

The sun rose red on this new day. I don’t know that it means anything, but it was quite a spectacular sight as I drove in to the office. It’s a new day. A new opportunity to be the person I most want to be. I’ll have to keep practicing.

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Categories 2024 Election, Allegories, anger, Anxiety, breathe, Frustration, Logic & Reason, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Summer, The Art of Being, War and News of War

Where Are You Standing?

April 11, 2025 //
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The woman in my reflection stares pensively outward at some thought that isn’t a visible detail. My coffee sits nearby, untouched, sweating condensation into a pool on the desk. I should do something about that, I think, when I notice. The news annoys me. How can people – especially people of means and good fortune – be so incredibly petty, cruel, inconsiderate, and hateful? I don’t “get it”. I don’t think I actually understood that crap when it filled my own head. Untested assumptions, bullshit I was taught, terrible habits and so much ignorance… I definitely don’t understand it now.

…Feels like we’re all standing on quicksand somehow, these days, only very few people seem to be aware of it… or willing to find something firm to stand on…

I sigh to myself, and stand fast on my personal commitment to be the best version of myself that I can be, knowing what I know, seeing the world as I do, and having the skills I have. I’m certain to fail myself – and others – now and then. I’m very human, but I’m going to do my best to be a better human being today than I was yesterday, because it actually fucking matters. It matters every day, and in every interaction.

What about you? What are you doing to “make the world a better place”, you know, for everyone? You don’t need to tell me, just do the verbs. We become what we practice.

G’damn, I’m so tired this morning. Nightmares all night of strange terrifying things – hallways that never end. Doors that won’t unlock. Empty shelves and people dying of starvation, disease, and fire. Crawling terrified and silently beneath a shower of bullets in the darkness. I woke up choking – it’s just seasonal allergies that last bit, but it was an unpleasant way to wake up from a dream of chemical warfare and endless night. The commute to work was weird, too. The traffic going the opposite direction was quite dense and seemed to be moving faster than usual. There was no traffic at all going my way. I had the road to myself. It was so strange and surreal, for just a second I wondered if there had been some disaster or evacuation that I was unaware of, ahead of me. It was a chilling thought.

“The Nightmare City” 8″ x 10″ acrylic on canvas w/glow

I’m mired in the gloom lingering from a night spent in The Nightmare City. I sip my coffee and work on letting that go.

Daybreak comes, and the sky beyond the window is ordinary enough, some blue, some clouds. There’s pleasant Spring weather in the forecast, however ugly the news is, however tragic and ridiculous our government has become. It’s a strange juxtaposition of circumstances and for the moment I miss my Traveling Partner and the safety of home, more than I can stand. I’d rather be in my garden, planting and weeding, and paying no mind to the world that often disappoints me so very much. Too much death, too much greed, too much warfare, and g’damn – too many terrible petty hateful people. I’ll choose my own path, thanks, and go a different direction. Not because I have to, but because I can – and it seems a choice worth making.

What will you choose? Where does your path lead? It’s time to begin again…

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Categories 2024 Election, Allegories, Anxiety, breathe, Free Will, gardening, gratitude, grief, meditation, Metaphors, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Sleepless Nights, War and News of War, Words

12 Years Ago, I Found Out

December 17, 2024 //
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I’m sipping my coffee in the quiet of the office, quite early. It was raining too hard to walk in the darkness. Honestly, it was raining too hard to walk. I would not have enjoyed it, and enjoying it is at least part of my intention, each morning, each walk. So I made the drive in to the office, early. I took time to meditate. I made coffee. I had some oatmeal. I walked the halls of the building, a bit, just to stretch my legs and be in motion. I feel stiff. It’s the arthritis, most likely. My head aches. Probably my neck. My tinnitus is loud. It is what it is, eh? A very human, very mortal, experience, and I guess I’m okay with it. There are not presently “other alternatives” from which I’d care to choose something else. I’ve got this, it’s okay, and it’s enough.

I sip my coffee thinking about a note on my calendar I spotted this morning. It reminds me that 12 years ago tomorrow was the day I found out the details of my (most serious) TBI. A head injury in the 1970s that wiped most of my memory, and set back my cognitive and intellectual (and emotional) progress considerably, but which my parents sort of… “kept from me”. I don’t remember the injury itself (hell, I don’t remember most of my life from before that injury, either, mostly just a strange assortment of third person stories told to me by other family members is what I’ve got in the place where my own memory should be, and damned few of those). I do remember having to go to speech therapy. I remember suddenly needing glasses, and being profoundly light sensitive and having a lot of headaches. I remember getting terrible grades in school, when I’d always had good grades “before”.

I found out about my adolescent TBI 12 years ago, because I was in such despair that as I approached 50 taking my own life seemed a rational “solution”, but I’d made myself a promise to give therapy one more try (it was the last item on my to-do list), and I was trying to get into a PTSD clinical trial for a new treatment. In considering my application for that trial, they turned up the microfiche records of an emergency room visit and hospital admission for my (serious) head injury. It was… news to me. The new information simultaneously explained a lot, and also brought a ton of new questions with it. Pieces fell into place – which was useful – but I suddenly also felt like I “didn’t know myself”, and that the entire context of my adolescence and early adult life was completely different than I’d understood it to be. My whole sense of “who I am” felt changed.

…The information did nothing to reduce my feeling of despair, and may have actually deepened it. It also very nearly cost me my relationship with my Traveling Partner; we were neither of us certain that I was even truly competent to be in the relationship we shared at all, with this information available to us. I was so close to giving up…

A short time later, I started this blog. A short time after that, I found a new therapist, and started a new healing journey with a completely different understanding of where I stood as I began it.

The note on my calendar asks me to consider it, and some questions – a note from past me to me here, now.

  1. Is the knowledge still important to me?
  2. What does it mean to me now?
  3. What does the knowledge add to, or take from, my every day experience?
  4. How do I make use of this knowledge in a productive way, today?
  5. Does knowing this about myself improve how I treat myself, or other people?

Deep. Worthy of reflection. I sip my coffee and consider the questions, as I consider that past moment when I found out. The tone of compassionate regret in the voice of the woman on the phone advising me I could not be accepted into their clinical trial for a PTSD treatment because of my history of head trauma. My feeling of surprise, of curiosity, of sorrow, of deepening despair. The call to my mother later to ask about it, and that painful moment when she hung up on me rather than discuss it. The hurt. None of that feels particularly difficult or visceral now, but it was so hard to live those moments 12 years ago. Now it’s just… information. Part of the background. Historical data. A step on a path.

This particular head injury wasn’t the only head trauma I sustained (it’s tempting to say something flippant about domestic violence being a kick in the head, but it’s not actually funny, at all), but it was new information 12 years ago, and it did lead me to consider things differently, and to learn more about what the potential consequences of such things really could be. It pushed me to consider different kinds of therapy, for problems other than PTSD. It let me put other injuries and traumatic events into a bigger picture that was more complete. It let me get therapy and rehabilitative support that I’d never been offered (or able to accept) before – and never known to ask for, or seek out. I wasn’t sure it would help to try to rehabilitate a head injury that was decades old…

(tl;dr – it totally did, a lot)

…It’s a strange path that we each walk, is it not? A journey with no map, no clear destination, sometimes a poor understanding of the starting point as we begin is… a very strange thing, indeed. The journey is the destination. I feel grateful for the many chances I’ve had (and taken) to begin again. I’m grateful for every sunrise I see, and every sunset I’m fortunate to enjoy at the end of a day. There’s no knowing how much time we get in this mortal life. I’m glad I didn’t end mine prematurely; it’s been a worthy journey so far. I hope to go much further. There’s so much left to do, to see, and to feel. So many more beginnings to undertake, and practices to practice, and also… I’ve got this list of shit to do, and the holidays ahead. lol It’s time. Again. Time to begin again. Time to walk my path. Time to practice the practices that have helped me along the way for the past 12 years.

It’s been so very worth it.

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Categories Allegories, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Despair, forgiveness, Free Will, gratitude, grief, health, Healthy Living, Love, meditation, Mindfulness, Moments, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, The Art of Being, Turning 50, turning 60, women
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