Archives for posts with tag: walk on
« Older Entries

And an Iced Coffee

November 13, 2026 //
0

It is a Friday morning. It’s also payday. I get an iced coffee on my way to the trailhead. Blonde roast, black coffee, extra ice.

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

The coffee tastes almost sweet. I love that first drinkable sip and the refreshing feeling of the ice cold liquid chilling me just a little with each swallow. I reach the trailhead, park, and sort myself out for the walk. Cane. Headlamp. Rain poncho. Yep – the sprinkling that followed me here continues to fall quite steadily, and I definitely want my rain poncho. My iced coffee goes back to the cupholder, my feet to the pavement.

I start down the trail happily contemplating the day ahead, and the weekend. I’ve got a room on the coast for a couple days of storm watching and painting. I’m grateful that my Traveling Partner pointed out the excellent price for the room. I feel loved and understood. He’ll get a couple days without dealing with my challenges on top of his while he works on projects of his own. We both benefit from these little breaks, they tend to remind us of the love we share. I miss him ferociously when we are apart, even if I’m just grocery shopping.

So…a short shift at work and home to pack and head down the highway.

I walk on, thinking about “curses” and hexes. Why? Um…why not? Actually, it’s the remnants of lingering contemplation of a video we watched last night. No link, it wasn’t that good, but it left a residue of unfinished thoughts in my head. I walk on, thinking my thoughts.

The rain continues to fall. Properly raining now, and I half wish I had slept in and had hot coffee at home. I’m not complaining, really, I also like the rain. I like the scent that rises from the wet ground, and the hint of wood smoke on the gusts of wind that whip past me intermittently. I reach my halfway point; a broken down picnic table shoved back under what is left of the tree canopy overhead, evergreens mingled with deciduous trees. I write a bit. Meditate. Respond to my beloved when he pings me to ask about my plan. I feel uplifted and merry.

I chuckle to myself remembering the books I packed for my coastal getaway away. William S.. Burroughs “Naked Lunch” and Thich Nhat Hanh “The Heart of the Buddha’s Teachings”. No, I don’t have an answer for “why those, though?”, they drew my attention from the bookshelf so I dropped them into my “bag of fun distractions”, which also includes my poetry notebook. My mind runs through all the packing steps, for later.

… I’m trying something daring today; no packing list. My intention is to stay present and aware, to take my time and also complete my packing with no drama and nothing forgotten. It’s a hell of a feat to put in front of myself. I feel confident I can manage it…

I breathe, exhale, and relax. The rain falls. The day ahead has purpose, and I feel ready to begin. I get to my feet and stretch before I resume walking. Lovely morning for it. I am thinking of that iced coffee waiting for me in the car. I laugh and wipe the rain from my face and my glasses, turn on my headlamp, and start down the trail.

Tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Categories Allegories, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, joy, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, The Art of Being, The Big 5, War and News of War, women, Words

All Those Yesterdays

November 9, 2026 //
0

My sleep was interrupted and uneasy. Strange dreams were only part of it. I had intended to change the linens on the bed over the weekend, and didn’t (between Saturday’s arguing and Sunday’s pain I didn’t have it in me at all).

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

… My Traveling Partner woke me during the night, sleepless, vexed and wanting fresh linens. I got up and changed the linens, remade the bed, and went back to sleep. Further discussion of any sort would only have served to prolong the interruption of my own sleep…

Fucking hell I am tired this morning. It is what it is. I step out of the car in the predawn darkness, grab my cane and stuff a pack of travel tissues into my pocket. Good enough. I set off down the trail briskly. Well, as briskly as I can manage this morning. I’m halted several times by sneezing fits. I pause and deal with it, before walking on.

I think about the weekend as I walk. My mind wanders to life, work, love, art… I am grateful for the life I have lived, rich in experience. I contemplate my growth and change over the years. I think about Plato’s Cave, and the Ship of Theseus. I consider all the yesterdays that have brought me here, as surely as steps on this trail will take me around the vineyard and back to the car…

… Am I there yet? Am I the woman I most want to be? (Short answer, no, not yet.) And who exactly decides who she is? Well, that’d be 100% all me, although there are plenty of non-me entities that would like to have some influence over that vision. (Thanks, I’ve got this.) I consider myself fortunate; I may not have an easy relationship with the woman I have been, but I have a clear understanding of who I most want to be. Though that can present occasional challenges, when it turns out someone else wants (or expects me to want) some completely different set of characteristics or thinking, and I don’t seem ready to comply. Awkward. I will persist in walking my own path. I am my own cartographer. This life is mine.

I get to my halfway point and stop. I breathe, exhale, and relax. The morning is mild. No rain. Overcast sky. Daybreak comes gently and I almost miss the moment, lost in a contemplative reverie. The autumn air smells of distant wood fires and fallen leaves.

One of the most difficult lessons I have found in life is learning to accept that we are “each having our own experience”. Hell, we can’t even be certain if we see each of the colors we can name as precisely the same as what another person sees. We sort of trust that pink is pink when we see it, and that another person seeing it recognizes it. We don’t really know what it was they saw, only that they also call it “pink”.

I watch daybreak turning the sky from night’s deepest black to a dark blue gray. The trees are silhouetted, black shapes, indistinct aside from their outline against the paler sky. I love this moment, the tipping point between night and day. Every sunrise is a new beginning. A chance to walk on from what has not worked, on a path to change – it feels full of promise and potential, every time.

I sit with my thoughts awhile longer, reflecting on the power and the purpose of having a sense of who I most want to be. Thinking over life’s vast menu. I think about all the days and decisions that brought me here, to this particular Monday, feeling that I’m still only midway on this journey, and that there is further to go.

I sigh and stretch. I feel reluctant to let the weekend fall away into the past and walk on. There is more to learn and understand. I’m just tired of walking, maybe. (It’s a metaphor.) I breathe, exhale, and relax. I sit with my thoughts, eyeing the path ahead. Soon enough, I’ll have to begin again.

Tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, health, 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, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women, Words

Fog in the Morning

November 5, 2026 //
0

It’s very foggy this morning. It is chilly, but not actually cold. I get to the trailhead safely, feeling eager to walk in the fog (if only because I’ve been painting foggy scenes lately and I enjoy the view of things obscured by fog).

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

The lights of the parking lot are eerie through the trees.

I walk the trail thinking about luck, and how routinely very successful and very wealthy people fail to honestly account for various lucky breaks they benefited from on their journey to success or great wealth. The “pull yourself up by your bootstraps” myth and similar tales of self-made success are frankly dishonest, though people may eventually come to believe that shit in the retelling of their stories over time. We don’t get where we are alone, good or bad. Sure, we’re each having our own experience, and yes, we are individually responsible for our own actions… but luck matters, too. Like, a lot.

I sigh to myself as I walk with my thoughts in the fog. The entire experience feels like a metaphor.

I get to my halfway point thinking about my general good fortune. I sometimes yearn for an easier life than I’ve got, but this life is good, just as it is. I have it better than my parents did, and lacking their lucky breaks getting here was a lot of work over many years. I’m grateful. I’m here, living this modest life in a small pleasant suburb, at the edge of a beautiful rural region of vineyards and farms and beautiful views. It’s enough to live this life, and more than enough to get to enjoy it in the context of my Traveling Partner’s love and good company.

… I somehow still find myself complaining about petty dumb shit that vexes me momentarily, forgetting how good I do have it, after all these years…

I may never be wealthy (by percentages, very few people ever will be). I may never have a life of excess and luxury. I have it pretty good though – there is a roof over my head, a secure home and well-stocked pantry, indoor plumbing and safe drinking water, and clean clothes to wear. I’ve got a good job and skills I can rely on. I live with chronic pain, but I have the medical care to manage it. I’ve got a head full of chaos and damage – but I’ve also got good therapeutic support and the tools for appropriate self-care. This isn’t a bad life. It’s actually pretty good.

What do you yearn for? What is your dream of a perfect life? Are your own desires obscuring your view of the life you live now? Are you “walking in fog”, not really seeing the joy and beauty of the life you have?

I think and walk until I reach a suitable place to stop, rest, write, and just be. It’s not my usual stopping point. I walked past it in the fog. 😆 There’s definitely a useful metaphor or two in this morning’s walk. There’s a piece of construction barrier handy to sit on, so I stop for meditation and writing. I use my rain poncho to make a dry place to sit. I breathe, exhale, and relax, and repeat. I give myself up to breath and calm observational awareness, sitting in the fog.

I could do without this fucking headache, though; I breathe, exhale, and let that go.

I could do without the arthritis pain. Another breath, another exhalation, and I let that go too.

As each internal criticism arises, I take a break, exhale, and let it go.

Every distracting thought is followed by a breath, and exhalation, and a release of that distraction, letting it dissipate into the fog with my breath.

This is not a difficult practice, nor is it costly. It does not require an expensive course. It does not require a subscription. It only requires practice. It is necessary to do the verbs, there are no shortcuts.

The predawn darkness is giving way to the earliest hints of nautical dawn. This may be my favorite time of morning, these moments when the first clear silhouettes of trees become distinct in the gloom. Shapes appear and become recognizable. There is a feeling of anticipation; the sunrise is coming. Even this feeling is released with an exhalation, to dissipate into the fog. It’s not as if I have any control over the coming and going of the sun anyway.

Lovely quiet morning, I think as I get to my feet. I peer into the fog. Headlamp? No. No headlamp, just this beautiful foggy twilight of dawn, and this foggy trail. It’s enough. I begin again.

Tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Categories Allegories, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, joy, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, The Art of Being, women, Words

Choices, Chances, Changes

November 4, 2026 //
0

Wednesday after an election day Tuesday, so half(ish) of the nation is waking up to (predictable) disappointment, the other half to (premature) celebration. A smaller number may wake wondering whether or why it matters at all.

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

Me? I wake up groggy, exceedingly so. I manage to avoid making a lot of noise as I dress and leave the house, but I’ve got a nagging sensation that I forgot something, or forgot to do something… and as I walk the trail my thoughts are dominated neither by the election results nor by the starry sky overhead; I’m wondering if I left lights on.

… G’damn it, I sure hope I didn’t wreck my beloved Traveling Partner’s sleep!

The morning is quiet. I get to my halfway point and stop. The starry sky overhead delights me, although I only recognize a small number of constellations and visible planets. The night sky is quite beautiful. The autumn air smells of past rain and current dampness, leaves, and fireplace smoke. I inhale deeply and exhale slowly. I relax as I sit here.

I breathe, exhale, relax, and take time for meditation. I don’t practice meditation when I’m stressed out; I simply practice. Every morning and evening, and sometimes in the afternoon after work, are my “regularly scheduled” times for meditation. Yes, I sometimes also meditate when I’m stressed out, but isn’t that more akin to grabbing a screwdriver when you need one, than practicing a practice?

…It is the steady practice that makes meditation so effective for stress reduction…

It is a work day, but that time is not now. I sit under the stars on this mild autumn morning thinking about… Giftmas. It’s very much time to plan the holidays. It’ll be a quiet and modest year for it, this year. Minimal expense, maximum joy. (Or something like that.) Thanksgiving is less than a month away… I remind myself to order pie at the farm store down the road.

…Pleasant calming thoughts, apparently; I doze off while sitting here and wake with a physical jerk, probably a response to my head dropping as sleep began to overcome me. I’m still pretty groggy. I stand up – I’ve never been able to fall asleep standing up – and finish my writing on my feet.

A fog begins to gather, seeming to flow up out of the creek bed and pooling in low places as it spreads across the vineyard adjacent to the trail. Coffee will be a much appreciated luxury after this walk. I’m grateful for the mild weather. I’m grateful that although I am groggy and still struggling to shake off sleep, I’m not also struggling with vertigo or my headache. Physically, I feel pretty good this morning, and the touch of arthritis pain is manageable.

Mm… Definitely coffee next. I stretch and yawn, and turn my headlamp back on. It’s already time to begin again.

Tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Categories Allegories, Anxiety, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, The Art of Being, War and News of War, Words

Something About Monday

November 2, 2026 //
0

I’m awake. New day. New week, too. Halloween was jolly fun. It already seems like awhile ago, and I guess it was, for some measures of time.

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

I meant to spend more time in the studio yesterday. I chose mostly to hang out with my Traveling Partner while he built an antenna for our radios that could easily be deployed or taken down by one person. The weekend was generally a pleasant one, with some ups and downs.

I get to the halfway point on my morning walk still thinking about the weekend. G’damn I’d rather be sleeping right now. I sigh to myself, still grateful to see another day, even from this leading edge of morning. I rub my hands, as if to spread the heat of my arthritic thumbs to the rest of my hands. Chilly morning.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. November already. Did you vote? It’s time, eh? It really does matter.

The sky overhead is cloudy. No stars to see. The oaks are silhouetted sharply against the sky. Daybreak soon. I get comfortable on this rock adjacent to the trail. The discomfort that shifts me isn’t about the rock, and it would not matter where I choose to sit this morning; the discomfort is me. This mortal body has taken a fair bit of damage over the years. I carry the pain and discomfort with me, everywhere. I guess I should be grateful for the variety 😆. This morning, it is  something like sciatica, down my left leg, which is annoying, but nothing like the pain of my headaches.

…Oh, hey, no the headache yet today! Wow. That’s rare. I take a moment to really appreciate it…

“Tangerine Sunrise” 5″ x 7″, pastels on pastelbord, 2026.

I sit reflecting with some frustration on the dissatisfying creative work this weekend. It’s fine. Nothing like the extreme frustration my Traveling Partner endured working on the antenna project (which was such that it drove me from the house to do shopping that could have waited), but enough to be vexing. I contemplate the idea of reworking the piece I am most irked with. I rarely do “corrections”, but when I have it has resulted in some amazing art. I wonder why I fight that, then? The process of reworking a painting that has “failed” is useful (both in practical terms, and as a metaphor). Humans are weird.

… Sometimes we resist doing the thing we know works best…

A light comes bobbing down the trail. I turn on my headlamp to avoid startling the approaching walker. I rarely see anyone else on this trail so early. No dog, either. The stranger makes a point of shining their light right at me as they near. Oh, of course; a cop. There’s a sheriff’s station in the museum, so I’m not really surprised. I say “good morning” cheerfully. The officer lowers their light and replies “early to be out here, isn’t it?” I agree that it is early, adding that I enjoy watching the sun rise before work, and getting a walk in before the work day begins is a great fitness practice. He agrees, thanks me for my time, and urges me to stay safe as he turns to continue down the trail.

I get comfortable, again, as much as I can. I meditate. I breathe. I sit quietly listening to the sounds of an autumn Monday. I don’t know what’s next today. That’s okay, too. I get to my feet and stretch. I prepare to begin, again.

Tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Categories 2024 Election, Allegories, art and the artist, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, Healthy Living, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, The Art of Being
« Older Entries