Archives for posts with tag: walk it off
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A Full Moon Lighting The Way

September 8, 2025 //
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It’s early. A little later than usual, but it makes sense; I’m trying to shift my usual waking time to something a bit later. Even a small change can add to my anxiety, and this morning it does. I’m hopeful that I managed to slip out quietly, without waking anyone. No one needs my anxiety to be the thing they wake up to!

A full moon peeks out from behind the trees.

I breathe, exhale, and relax, and lace up my boots to walk the local trail I favor, but I arrived to a lot of noise and bright light at the trailhead. There was an event here over the weekend, and a crew has come to clean up. Well, shit… That’s less than ideally peaceful, eh? I move the car to the other side of the parking and walk to my starting point from there, well out of the way of the work crew.

… Every day we make so many small seeming choices intended to get us to a goal, or to achieve some particular result…

The morning is chilly, not yet “cold”, but hinting at colder mornings still ahead. Daybreak arrives in the usual way. Blue sky shows through dark clouds as the sky lightens, and I head down the trail.

The camera makes things at this hour bluer than they seem to my eyes.

My head is stuffy when I reach my halfway point and stop for a moment. Something in the air doesn’t agree with me, perhaps? I’m glad I stuffed some tissues in my pocket as I left the house this morning.

My anxiety has come along for this morning’s walk. It’s “only” background anxiety to do with the new job, I think. Experience tells me it will pass, and to care for myself. Self-care defuses a lot of anxiety. (I silently acknowledge that sometimes self-care causes me more anxiety, setting up a brief back-and-forth with myself over whether that is the case now, and if not why mention it at all?) Anxiety is a liar, and aside from that, anxiety is also a bit of a self sabotaging drama queen. I laugh uncomfortably to myself, and fill my lungs deeply, then exhale slowly, not quite a sigh, definitely an expression of… something. I’m a little annoyed with myself, I guess. It was a good weekend. The job feels like a promising opportunity and a good fit to my skills. What’s to be anxious over?

Change is. One of the results, sometimes, is anxiety. Feeling routines and my “sense of things” being disrupted is uncomfortable, sometimes even upsetting. I feel unsure and uneasy and reluctant to trust. I feel vigilant and as if I’m waiting for that metaphorical other shoe to drop. It’s a little ridiculous, but the awareness brings no relief. I find some relief in meditation. I find some relief in routines. I finding some relief in the distraction of a sunrise on a gray morning as summer begins to turn to fall. Little things matter. I’m grateful when my anxiety begins to ease.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I sit quietly, grateful to see another sunrise. Grateful for another job opportunity. Grateful for good friends, loving family, and skilled friendly colleagues. The gratitude pushes aside the anxiety, and sets me up to enjoy the day ahead. The anxiety, this morning, is dysfunctional, a broken indicator light on life’s dashboard. I chuckle to myself thinking about the Parable of the Mechanic for a moment. This morning my mortal physical body feels more “hoopty” than sports car, for sure. I’m fighting arthritis pain along with the anxiety, and it’s possible that my arthritis is actually causing quite a bit of the anxiety in the first place. Definitely adding to it.

I sigh to myself and take something for my pain.

It’s a new day. Anxious or not, I’ve got shit to do that won’t wait around for my best mood or greatest comfort. Sometimes the path we walk is paved, level, and well lit, sometimes it is rocky, uneven, and dangerously pocked with potholes or littered with obstacles. Sometimes a distracting “side quest” is truly what matters most. The way forward isn’t always clear. We’ve just got to go ahead and get on with things, walk our path, and fulfill our “destiny”, if such a thing exists at all. If it doesn’t? Well, the journey is the destination, after all, and not walking our own path isn’t really an option. Our every choice, every moment, is another step along the way.

I think about a cookbook, a map, a menu. I think about a miscalibrated scale. Metaphors worth considering. Topics for another day. For now, I hear the clock ticking, and it feels like time to begin again. The path ahead won’t walk itself – and it’s the only way forward from here, now, to… wherever it leads. I smile to myself and watch the sun rise on this new day.

Where does this path lead? Choose and find out. Walk on.
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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, autumn, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, pain, Parables, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being

House of Pain

August 31, 2025 //
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Yesterday was a pretty relaxed day of getting things done, although not that many things, and rather slowly. I spent the day in pain, and that put pain management as a high priority, competing for my attention through the day. My Traveling Partner was also dealing with pain, and struggling to focus on the work he was doing, too. We managed to enjoy the day together in spite of pain. Later, when the Anxious Adventurer returned home from work, he brought his own pain along with him. Nonetheless, we all mostly managed to mostly enjoy the time, without complicating the experience with pain. That’s something, and I sit for a moment this morning, grateful for the good day yesterday in spite of pain. Everybody hurts sometimes… Living with chronic pain is its own special hell, but it can be managed to some extent.

It could have been worse; I found enough “spoons” to bake cookies.

I woke this morning from a deep restful sleep, and was awake for a few minutes before I realized I wasn’t asleep anymore. I got dressed and headed to the local trailhead I favor. I don’t have any reason to drive further, really, and this is a pleasant trail and it is a quiet morning. It’s Labor Day weekend, and there’s no one here but me, so far. It’s the sort of weekend a lot of families use to go to the coast or to the mountains, this little suburban trail is neither of those.

A hazy summer sky reminds me that the world is burning, elsewhere.

I walk the trail, down through the oaks, between the parking lot and the vineyards, winding around the bend past mature grape vines, and down into the trees that grow more densely along the creek, until I get to this spot, convenient to sit a moment with my thoughts. I’ve grown very comfortable with practicing meditation outside, somewhere along the trail I’ve chosen, in the early morning. I’m rarely interrupted. It’s pleasant and quite calming. Lovely morning for it, in spite of the haze of distant wildfires.

… I’m still in pain (again) today. Like a lot of people, I live with chronic pain…

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I reflect on age, and aging, the vagaries of the absolutely crap-tacular US healthcare system, and what it means to balance endurance with joy, and what it takes to thrive in spite of chronic pain. Then I let all that go and enjoy this lovely morning moment of quiet contentment out here on this trail. I’m less anxious, knowing I’ll go back to work on Tuesday, which is helpful. Like a lot of other things, anxiety tends to worsen pain, or at least seems to make it more difficult to manage or ignore.

I watch some chipmunks playing at the edge of the trees. They delight me. I would definitely pet one if it came close enough, and laugh at myself over it. It’s probably not a good idea to try to pet wild creatures, generally speaking. I spend a moment wondering if I’m such a chucklehead that I’d actually do something so foolish, or would I only want to? I find myself unable to be entirely certain. I hope I’d choose wisely. My ability to apply self-restraint and impulse control are much better on the GLP-1 I’ve now been taking for more than a year. It has improved my life quite a lot, because I’m not so likely to do dumb shit “because it seemed like the thing to do at the time”.

The rising sun illuminates the strip of meadow beyond the trail that separates the forest from the vineyard. I see an elder couple walking their dog slowly approaching from the farthest point along the trail still visible to me. Nice morning for it, and I knew I wouldn’t have the trail to myself indefinitely. They wave and offer a cheery greeting as they pass. I wave back and reply.

More housework today, I guess, that’s the routine. Pain slows me down, but I try to avoid letting it stop me. There’s just too much to do, and we’re all in pain (in this household) – someone still has to get things done. When we all commit to doing what we can and coordinate our efforts, we still manage a pretty good quality of life, and sometimes even manage to forget the pain for a little while. It doesn’t do to let things go too long, it’s harder to catch up than it is to stay on top of things.

…New job Tuesday…

I sigh to myself and enjoy the cool summer morning and the scents on the breeze. Meadow flowers. Mown grasses. Forest and creek. The lavender scent I’m wearing, that reaches my nose when I move. My hair feels soft on my shoulders and I wonder again if I should get it cut? I feel comfortable in my skin in spite of my pain, and grateful to have worn a sweater over my lighter summer top. The first hints of autumn approaching are all around, and the cooler morning is just one sign.

I’ve lingered here awhile and my legs are beginning to feel stiff. It’s time to walk on. This day is a good one to get things done… but there are definitely some verbs involved. lol It’s time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, joy, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Practices, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, weight loss secrets

Laugh

August 10, 2025 //
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I walked in the early morning sunshine, after sleeping in a bit (rare and very nice). I feel rested and grateful for the cooler morning temperatures; it’s expected to be quite hot today and there’s a heat warning. I probably won’t linger long at this approximate halfway point. I’ll want to get back to the car before the heat of the day begins to develop.

Walking, breathing, listening to the sound of my own thoughts.

I’ve got an old song by The Monkees in my head. Seems relevant to the state of the world. I’m certain the late night comedians are on to something about the power of humor; authoritarians, dictators and fascists hate being laughed at.

… Have you seen the new South Park episodes? 😂

We’ve broken our planet, undermined our potential to build harmonious global culture (through the greed of billionaires and the violence of governments), the world is on fire, and it seems that the madmen are in charge of the asylum. Scary shit, no doubt. Still, take time for self-care, and for good times. Don’t let the monsters seeking control of the world rob you of your perspective, your good heart, or your good times. Seriously. Make a point to have some laughs and keep good company.

I look down the trail. I find walking very nice for perspective and meditation. I guess maybe I “always” have? Even in high school, before I understood my walking the way I do now, I often walked quiet miles through the countryside, alone with my thoughts (sometimes with my boombox). I’m grateful that I still can, and that I live somewhere that it is safe to do so.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. Gratitude and sunshine are a delightful combination. I think about a joke I heard, and laugh.

… It’s time to begin again.

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

What It Is, What It Isn’t

June 16, 2025 //
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The ringing in my ears is loud this morning. I pay it no particular attention; it’s reliably always there and the only thing to do about it is to focus on other things. My hot coffee. The chill of the morning at the edge of a meadow surrounded by forest. The distant sound of traffic on the highway, faint but still audible. Voices. I sigh and lace up my boots. A walk after coffee sounds delightful.

… I slept poorly but it hasn’t caught up with me yet…

Light in the darkness.

I woke several times during the night to pee. I guess I’m adequately hydrated. 😆 Each time I stepped out into the darkness, I paused to gaze at the stars a little while. I could see the Milky Way. I would return, following the short path between my campsite and the restroom, guided by the merry string of colored lights that I hung around my tent, specifically to make it easier to find in the dark. The night didn’t begin to feel cold until shortly before daybreak and I was pretty comfortable, just not sleeping restfully.

… The night felt long…

My walk warmed me up more than my morning coffee did. It’s been mostly uphill, and I wound my way through the trees, stepping carefully where the trail was not well-maintained. I reached my goal; the day use area. It took me longer to get here than I expected, but I wasn’t going for speed, only solitude. Walking to leave the sound of voices behind me, and in this instance quite successfully. There’s no one else here right now. It’s lovely and quiet (except for the tinnitus, which no one else hears).

A new day.

My head aches and I am thinking about more coffee, though I certainly had my usual amount (more than). I look over the park map. This trail? That one? What about this other one? It looks new, since my last visit here (which was 2022, I think). It’s probably early enough to find parking at one of the trailheads for the BVT… I yawn and stretch. It isn’t nap time, yet.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. What is my purpose, here? Meditation. Self-reflection. Setting intentions for this next year of living. This, right now, it isn’t really any if those things in a useful way. The miles of trails do seem to connect me with my sense of purpose. I look out at the horizon and wonder how many miles to those hills? The map suggests that those are in the Tillamook State Forest, and about 16 miles away (as the crow flies). It would be more than an hour to drive there, and about 12 to walk it, according to Maps. I think about how often the thing we seek seems so near, but really isn’t near at all. That’s a useful bit of perspective.

The sun comes out from behind morning clouds and warms me. I remind myself to put my phone on the charger when I get back to camp, as I eye the trail heading back down the hill. I think about heading back, and take another look at the map. Time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, inspiration, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Sleepless Nights, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, War and News of War, Words

Green On Gray

May 15, 2025 //
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Cloudy morning. The deep dark green of the oaks dressed in Spring foliage dominate the view as I set off down the trail this morning. My head is full of vaguely grim musings, like “how many more sunrises?” And whether or not human life is sustainable on this planet at all, or how many idiots it takes to destroy democracy as astonished others watch it fall? My head aches. I woke with the headache and my tinnitus loud in my ears. I walk anyway.

Oaks along a well-maintained local trail, on s gray Spring morning.

It’s a workday. For some reason I feel cross and moody every time I think about my upcoming birthday. I don’t know what to do about my moody bullshit, but I guess I know more or less where it comes from. Change. I feel childish and stupidly emotional over it. Change is, and there are much more serious things going on in the world to be moody about than the details vexing me now. I’m just still dealing with it, I guess.

In spite of making tremendous progress recovering from his injury and the surgery that followed, my Traveling Partner, my beloved, is still healing, adapting, and working to recover skills and mobility that were lost or impaired. (We made dinner together last night and it was wonderful to see him back in the kitchen, cooking!) I’m incredibly impressed and proud of him for the sheer will and commitment he’s shown. I know how hard it is; I’ve been there (though I was in my 20’s when I broke my back, and that’s a very different age to deal with such a thing). So I want to be clear about my angsty nonsense; it’s not about him, or in fact about the current circumstances. Not really.

Love matters most.

I catch myself thinking about my 60th birthday. We’d just gotten the Ridgeline, and we were happily purposeful and excited, and eagerly exploring the local wilds together. The physical intimacy in our relationship was connected, deep, and joyful, and we “had the house to ourselves”. Him getting hurt wasn’t even on our radar. A year later, my birthday was mostly caregiving and preparing for his surgery with him, and doing the needful to help the Anxious Adventurer relocate to move in and give us a hand with all that, whatever he could while also building a life here for himself and working. Then another 6 months or so of crazy intense caregiving that exhausted me and pushed me to limits I didn’t know I have, before my beloved really started to “be himself” again. I’m not complaining. I’m just saying that these are the circumstances and changes that brought me to this weird and moody place, facing a birthday I mostly wouldn’t care much about under other circumstances. 62? Not even a milestone (and I don’t “feel old”, generally speaking, in spite of chronic pain). I just have feelings. Very human. I don’t know what to do with or about this particular birthday. I simultaneously ache with poignant feelings of loss and strange regrets, and also don’t give a fuck and want to put it behind me.

I have planned taking the week after my birthday off work, but I have no actual plans. It’s just all really weird and the emotions have piled on, and I’m having trouble sorting myself out. It’s annoying.

“Emotion and Reason” 18″ x 24″ acrylic w/ceramic and glow details, 2012

I breathe, exhale, and relax. There’s so much to appreciate and to be grateful for. I focus on that as I sit at my halfway point, writing and reflecting. Things could be much worse. Change is, and this too will pass. I can count on that. lol I will find small joys to help me past blue moments. The clock will tick on, regardless. A week off spent sleeping in, painting, and puttering in my garden, reading books, and walking local trails, is time well-spent and needs no elaborate planning at all. It’s even enough, truly. Ah, but I do have these feelings, and the way out is reliably through – so I give myself room to experience and process my emotions, without taking them personally. Just feeling the feelings and reflecting on those. They’ll pass. They’re only emotions after all, not truths, not requirements, just their own sort of experience. I give myself a break and let them come and go like gray clouds on a Spring morning; yes, they appear to cover the entire sky, but they will move on, and there is blue sky beyond.

… Clouds make a nice metaphor for emotions…

I smile to myself. I’m okay for most values of “okay”, and this is a good life. I am indeed fortunate. Emotions are so very human. I sigh and chuckle to myself as I get to my feet and stretch. This path won’t walk itself. There are practices to practice and the clock ticks on. It’s time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, grief, health, Healthy Living, loneliness, 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
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