Archives for posts with tag: walk on
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Dawn and a Hot Cup of Coffee

December 4, 2025 //
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I’m at the trailhead with a hot cup of coffee, waiting for the rain to stop. I’m a little cross and don’t feel well-rested. Sometimes that’s the way it goes for me. I’m not cross because I woke up early in spite of hoping to sleep in a bit. I’m cross because the noise that woke me was triggering, and I didn’t manage that sufficiently well to avoid also exchanging harsh words with my Traveling Partner before I left the house for my walk. I’m disappointed, and this makes me cross. It’s my beloved’s birthday and I want only good experiences for him.

… I can do better…

I’m not in any hurry, at least. I took off work today, and after my walk I will pick up the birthday cake and head home to enjoy the day. I’ve got time to sort myself out before the day really begins.

The soft sprinkle of rain that is falling isn’t really enough to stop me from walking. I’m enjoying the freedom to choose my timing and my experience, and waiting for a little daylight. I’m hoping to give my beloved time to get back to sleep for awhile, too. I meditate. I breathe, and let my thoughts pass by like clouds. “Nothing to see here”, it’s a quiet moment on a quiet autumn morning. It’s enough.

Yesterday was a strange one, and I reflect on it awhile. It was the sort of day when it seemed each attempt to focus on a single task was interrupted multiple times, with the end result that the one task I kept returning to never actually got started. I’d have to begin all over again each time I dealt with some distraction, and each time my focus was broken with a ping, a request for my attention on something, or some other thing someone else wanted done… I ended the day mentally exhausted, and feeling like my time and consciousness are not my own. It was super annoying. On the other hand, my Traveling Partner and I cooked dinner together, and that was fun, in spite of me being so tired I couldn’t easily tackle dinner without his help, and had to rely on the Anxious Adventurer to do cleanup after dinner. I went to bed early, too, and still woke feeling like I didn’t get any real rest.

A steady stream of headlights sweeps past, on the highway adjacent to the trailhead parking. G’damn, I’m so glad it isn’t me, this morning. I chuckle to myself thinking about my last visit with my Granny on the Eastern Shore. That would have been… 1995? Something like that. I was in my early thirties. She was some age between 65-75, and seemed ageless to me. I remember being surprised any time her response to a suggested outing or adventure of some sort was being “too tired for all that”. I definitely get it now. Fucking hell, life is exhausting sometimes. I “run out of spoons” much sooner these days, and things seem to require more of me than they once did. I often fail to account for self-care needs, beyond this quiet time in the morning, and my well-being and quality of life are slowly being more and more degraded by that. It’s poor planning, poor boundary and expectation setting, and also fairly fucking stupid – because I am aware of the negative consequences and also actually know better through direct experience. I could do better, and I’m going to end up paying a high price if I don’t treat myself better.

… I still, often, find it difficult to put my own needs high on my list, in spite of so much growth and progress. I should work on that…

I sip my coffee, struggling to rephrase my thoughts to avoid “should…” in favor of more emotionally healthy language. I don’t benefit from joining the queue of demanding voices pinging on my consciousness. I can do better.

The first hint of daybreak lightens the sky. I think of my beloved Traveling Partner hopefully sleeping at home. I sip my coffee contentedly, listening to the patter of raindrops and watching daybreak become the dawn of a new day, full of opportunity.

One mortal woman, limited capacity to do the verbs, limited opportunity to create change, limited ability to do more, better… I’ve only got so many spoons, and this brief mortal life to live. I sigh, still pressing myself to “do more, better”, aware that more often than not I am already doing my best. It has to be enough when we give all we have, but an unfortunate truth seems to be that sometimes it doesn’t feel like enough, and there’s no more to offer. Still… I guess “everything” is more than nothing, and as unsatisfying as that sometimes feels, it’ll have to do.

The rain keeps falling.

I sigh to myself and stretch as I get out of the car and pull my rain poncho, scarf, and gloves out of my gear bin. I can make out the trail now, in the predawn gloom. I’m so tired… and it’s already time to begin again. That’s okay; I’ll do my best.

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Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, Healthy Living, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Sleepless Nights, solo hiking, The Art of Being, women, Words

Use It, or Lose It

December 3, 2025 //
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As I struggle with fatigue and distraction this morning, I think about how very many human skills and abilities are “use it or lose it”. Walking, reasoning, speaking another language, legible handwriting, cooking a recipe from memory, recalling the route to a place that isn’t visited often: all of these, and many more besides, are the kind of thing that diminish over time without continued practice. We become what we practice, and so conversely, we can expect to be far less of whatever we don’t practice. It makes logical sense, thinking about it, and more importantly experience has proved it to me directly over and over again.

How about a really simple example? I learned French from my mother as a child, Czech in military language school, and German living in Germany for more than six years. I can’t honestly claim that I actually speak any of those languages now with any fluency, at all. I don’t use them enough, and the skill has largely faded away to little more than comfortable familiarity. (Whether immersion would or would not “bring it all back” is a separate question.)

Not enough? How about this one? I write. I write something like 1500-5000 words each day, between personal and professional writing. I used to do that in pen and ink. My handwriting was very specifically my own, easily recognizable, with characteristic flourishes and embellishments developed through frequent loving practice. It was legible and at times visually “beautiful” (to me). I rarely write with a pen on paper anymore. It’s nearly all on a device or keyboard. When I do have occasion to pick up a pen to write, if only to jot down a note, my handwriting is degraded, messy, chaotic, and often completely illegible to anyone else. I don’t write by hand enough to preserve my skill.

Another deeply worrisome example is that of my late Dear Friend, whose weight and health slowly robbed her of her ability to walk, as she aged. When we met, in the mid 90’s, we would go places together as we got to know each other. We walked a lot. We camped. We attended fairs together. An injury some years later put her off her feet for awhile, and after that walking began to become more difficult. The less time she spent on her feet and walking, the more difficult it became, until it was an effort to get from her kitchen to her bedroom. Eventually, any walking at all required assistance of some kind.

Now I’ll tell you that what this is really about is all the many cognitive skills we all so carelessly put at risk every day, now, through excessive reliance on tech devices of various kinds, and… “AI”. We are very much at risk of losing our abilities to think clearly, to remember our experiences, and to socialize harmoniously in accordance with healthy behavior and within agreed upon social norms. I’d like to say maybe I’m exaggerating a bit to make a point, but that wouldn’t be true to my day-to-day experience or observation over time. I see it happening, and I’m clearly not alone; it is a common topic in the essays and thought pieces of others (many with greater relevant expertise). I think it’s something worth taking seriously.

I sigh quietly, as I stop at my halfway point on this trail. It’s still dark, and the autumn fog is thick and getting thicker. It seems a suitable metaphor for humanity allowing itself to become dumber…by choice. What a bummer of an idea. Don’t do it! Preserve your precious abilities! Practice critical thinking skills! Read an actual fucking book. Read several! Learn a new skill. (No, not how to draft a better ChatGPT prompt, that’s not as useful as you may be imagining.) Make something! Have real conversations with live human beings in real life. Walk. Daydream. Use your mind to think deeper thoughts. We become what we practice. For fucks’ sake don’t give up your mind.

…A lot of the world’s petty cruelty and actual evil only thrive because we allow it, or have become distracted. We could do better and choose differently. Don’t let your precious finite lifetime trickle away, the sand in your hourglass slowly running out while you doom scroll through AI slop you don’t even care about (or remember five minutes later). Don’t let an LLM stand in for your own capacity to think, to reason, and to understand. (Trust me, you’re better at all those things than any “AI”!)

I take time to meditate and reflect, as the first hints of daybreak begin to color the sky. I breathe, exhale, and relax. The morning is a chilly one. I’m grateful for the warm sweater I chose, and the warmth of my pockets, into which I jam my hands between paragraphs, to warm them again. We have choices. I think about mine and watch dawn becoming a new day. Later I’ll take the truck over to the dealership for a bit of work, and begin my work day there, in the waiting lobby of the service department. After that? I’ll begin again, again, and I’ll keep choosing, and practicing.

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Categories Allegories, art and the artist, autumn, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, Logic & Reason, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, The Art of Being, Words

When It Gets Real

November 26, 2025 //
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I started my walk quite early. Before sunrise. Before dawn. Before daybreak even hinted at a new day beginning. I walked down the dark trail, the circle of light cast around me by my headlamp bobbing and shifting with my steps. Nothing much to see besides wet leaves and an occasional slug. It is warmer than recent mornings. I walk with my cardigan open, in spite of occasional raindrops.

For me, trail walking is a useful metaphor for following a path in life. It has everything I am likely to need to more deeply contemplate this very human journey as I walk. I’ve even got occasional obstacles along the way, as in life itself. I walk with my thoughts. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving, and I’ve got a lot to be thankful for. Over time, gratitude has become such a natural practice that I often find an attitude of presumed entitlement to be… boorish and crude, astonishing and distasteful.

I smile to myself as I walk. I’ve come a long way on this journey.

I’ve changed a lot over the years. I don’t have much in common with the woman who left the Army at 30, bitter, damaged, and full of a poisonous diffuse rage waiting to find a target. Nor do I have much in common with the chaotic and bewildered young woman who joined up at 17, fairly certain she had no other reasonable prospects. I don’t have much in common with the woman who quit her job to paint full-time at 52, either. (She quickly discovered that although she loved to paint, she was pretty dreadful at the business of art, and returned to the workforce when her savings ran out.) I probably have a little more in common with some much younger past version of myself…13? 14? Idealistic, optimistic, hopeful, generally cheerful, eyes wide with wonder, and a head full of notions – now that’s a girl worth hanging out with for some giggles and good conversations!

Funny thing about that much younger version of me… she didn’t have many useful tools in her toolbox at that age, and her choices to “just walk away” when things got “too real” taught me a lot, although they were poorly considered, and fairly stupid decisions. Did abandoning everything and just walking away from my life ever fix anything? No, not generally, but once or twice it helped me turn a corner or make a clean break that legitimately served me well. It’s taking a sledgehammer to an annoying fly, though; imprecise, with far greater destructive potential than required. I still think about it, now and then, when life is at its most stressful… there’s freedom in walking on.

… Every morning, I lace up my boots and walk on. It’s a useful metaphor for change and for progress, and for following a path…

Do you ever think about just walking away from everything and everyone you know, and striking out on a completely new path? Do you consider how few and how small the practical changes actually need to be to thoroughly change your whole life as the effects ripple through the whole of your experience day-to-day? One small change, well-practiced over time, could be enough to change your experience of life, generally. That’s kind of a big deal… Useful.

…One step at a time down the path, I keep walking with my thoughts…

A brief rain shower passes by, enough to dampen my hair. I keep walking. I slip on slick leaves at the edge of a puddle, and slide a short distance before catching my balance. I keep walking. A steeper bit of trail slows me down a little, just where the pavement ends and the trail becomes muddy earth. I keep walking. I walk past vineyards and trees, and along the edge of a grassy bit of meadow, and along the bank of a creek. The trail is familiar, but there are new things to see most days – each moment and day are their own unique experience. Each walk, too, is its own experience, wherever it takes me. Wherever I take myself, this remains true, down any path I choose to follow; I am having my own experience, and I have the power to change it.

I’m grateful for the ability to walk these solitary miles with my thoughts. Grateful for the well maintained trails available to me. Grateful for the safe community and parks to walk through. Grateful, too, that I have the will to do the walking. It’s no small effort to go down the path, step after step, in darkness or daylight, morning after morning. I “treat myself” to a few moments sitting quietly at some stopping point to rest, reflect, and write. I’m grateful that I can, and that I do. Sometimes I still find myself thinking about “walking away from it all” when times are stressful and difficult, but I rarely act on flights of fancy, and a nice walk alone with my thoughts is generally enough to sort myself out and find acceptance and a suitable path forward.

Anxiety vexing me? Maybe a nice walk will help? Feeling angry and struggling to deal with it? How about a walk, and some time to reflect and gain perspective? Feeling blue or bitter? A lovely walk in the countryside could be just the thing to put me right. I prefer to walk away from a shitty situation… but the choice of trail or path I take doesn’t need to be some permanent departure from life, the world, or my circumstances. Sometimes I just need a bit of a break, a chance to reflect, and a walk outside in the fresh air.

G’damn, y’all, how fucking basic and mundane am I? I chuckle to myself, remembering a young woman of 14, and her daydreams of an adventurous adulthood filled with amazing experiences, lessons learned over time, and fantastic tales to tell. Sure, sure, I’ve seen some things, done some living and faced my share of struggles. I do manage to find some amusement in discovering that what I enjoy most is a stable, comfortable sort of ordinary lifestyle, without much excitement or drama. A pleasant walk and a good cup of coffee have turned out to be more meaningful and more worthwhile than an elegant fine dining experience, or some long-sought professional achievement. That realization drove a lot of my shift toward a focus on sufficiency and gratitude. Over time it has been profoundly helpful for soothing my stormy emotions, and improving my perspective on life, generally.

None of this is to say that my way is the way, or that this path must also be your path. We’re each having our own experience. Making our own choices. Walking our own paths.

The rain begins to fall more steadily. I pull my rain poncho from my pocket and pull it over my head. Daybreak comes with the rain. I get to my feet in the gloomy half-light of dawn. It’s time to begin again, and this path won’t walk itself.

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Categories 2024 Election, Allegories, anger, Anxiety, art and the artist, Brain Injury, breathe, Despair, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, grief, Healthy Living, inspiration, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, The Art of Being, War and News of War, Words

A Moment Between Moments

November 25, 2025 //
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I’m staring at the bright blank square of light in my hand. I’m sitting in the dark at my halfway point on this morning’s walk, and rather oddly, my mind is blank. The morning is quiet and a few degrees warmer than it has been. The morning is clear and calm, a handful of stars peeking through scattered clouds. I have the sense that I had a worthwhile idea… yesterday. Not very helpful right now, though.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. We’re a day closer to Thanksgiving. I feel ready for that and grateful for my good fortune. I’m also grateful to see signs that the current terrible, corrupt, anti-science, anti-education, anti-fact, anti-American administration is beginning to falter. Hopefully the damage done can be repaired. G’damn, what were people thinking to set this shit in motion?! Our stupid “us vs. them” bullshit, partisan politics, and hateful “othering” has torn the country apart and has literally gotten people killed. Ugly. We can do better – we only have to choose to do differently.

I served my country. I watched the cold war end. I am so disappointed in what I see now. Do better.

Ah, but truly I am grateful. It could be worse. I pull my focus back to this moment, here, on a quiet autumn morning before dawn. There’s very little traffic. There is no one else on the trail. The homes and apartments on the other side of the small creek that runs alongside the trail are visible through the strip of forest that lines the creek banks. They are dark and quiet, too. The moment is mine. I soak in the peace of it, and fill myself with contentment and joy. Nothing to see here, really, a woman on a walk, pauses to rest and to write, insignificant to anyone but herself. It’s enough, isn’t it?

I shrug off my arthritis pain, and my tinnitus. I ignore the sensation of tendonitis developing in my left foot. I pay no mind to the headache that seems to accompany me everywhere, most days, now. I have no time for frailty! I laugh at myself; this refusal to yield to mortal frailties is only effective in the mornings, I find. By day’s end I will be too tired to fight it anymore, and I will be forced to give in to my limitations, reduced to limping from task to task, mobility clearly impaired. Very human.

In spite of physical pain and discomfort, I still manage gratitude. I hear the woosh of HVAC nearby, and recognize that my tinnitus doesn’t deafen me. That’s definitely worth a moment of gratitude. My arthritis and occasional tendonitis don’t stop me from walking local trails and being outside. I’m grateful to be on my feet and still walking. This headache vexes me, often, but so far it hasn’t been found to have any life-threatening cause (or potential outcome). I’m grateful to have unmeasured time ahead of me, in some amount, in this mortal lifetime, and even more grateful to enjoy it in the company of good friends, smart colleagues, and my beloved Traveling Partner. There’s so much to learn and do and enjoy yet in life!

Daybreak comes. I’m grateful for another sunrise.

Two more work shifts, then the holiday. I’m grateful to have a job that gives me holidays off. I smile, remembering that this weekend the Giftmas tree will go up. I’m grateful for the well made artificial holiday tree and the many beautiful ornaments I’ve gathered over a lifetime. I’m deeply grateful that my sister shared family ornaments after our mother died. Each colorful glass ball, icicle, star, and blown glass Santa sparks some recollection of Giftmas past. I’m grateful for those holiday memories, sparkling and twinkling in my imagination.

The path forward becomes clearer with the dawn. I sigh contentedly in the stillness, and get ready to begin again. New day, new opportunities, and I’m grateful. Right now, that’s enough.

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

Don’t You Know It’s Dark Outside?

November 22, 2025 //
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I slept in a little, this morning, a rare and delightful experience for me. I woke rested and eager to begin the day.

My Traveling Partner is awake and greets me happily. There’s so much love in his eyes and his words. He playfully quotes song lyrics to me in lieu of conversation. He knows I won’t assume any ill intention (the lyrics are fron a song with a vaguely threatening tone). Neither of us is a jealous sort of person. We both find jealousy toxic and destructive. We enjoy word play, and have a lot of fun in using song lyrics in conversation; it’s amusing when we spot it, and often just as funny when we don’t. I feel wrapped in his love as I leave the house, and the chilly morning doesn’t dampen my good cheer – I know I’ll come home to the warmth of my Partner’s love.

One dark and foggy autumn morning.

It’s enough later in the morning that it’s almost daybreak when I get to the trailhead. I decide to write a bit and wait for the sun. It is Saturday, and it is my weekend.

I find myself noticing that I’m feeling somewhat nauseous. This early in the morning, nausea on an empty stomach (for me) is pretty rare. I take a deep breath and exhale slowly and thoroughly and begin doing a “body scan”, making a point to be present in my physical experience and aware of all the many feelings and sensations. I quickly determine my nausea is most likely a byproduct of pain, nothing more (or less) serious than that. I’ve already taken my morning medications, but they haven’t yet had time to reach peak effectiveness. I sigh to myself, and stretch, change my posture, continue breathing, and hoping the pain eases shortly. I’ve got an appointment later that may be helpful.

I sigh quietly, feeling mostly pretty contented and merry while I wait for the sun. Could be worse. This is just physical pain, and although it is pretty bad this morning, my anxiety of the past several days is greatly diminished, somehow making the pain both more obvious and less significant. Meaning to say, I guess, context matters and perspective is useful.

What does “enough” look like?

Dawn comes, gray and foggy. It’s a spooky sort of misty autumn morning, chilly but not freezing. I can see the trail quite easily, and I’ll have it to myself; I am alone here. Quite alone. I embrace the solitude and joyfully seek it out. I know it’s not the sort of thing that suits everyone. I even recognize that my enduring fondness for time alone is a reflection of past trauma; I feel safe and at peace alone, less anxious, unconcerned about the expectations, needs, and experiences of other people. It’s just me and this trail right here, now. Sure, I often (sometimes quite quickly) find myself missing the charm and companionship of my Traveling Partner, but he is understanding and encouraging of self-care, and knows how much this solitary time nurtures me. Self-reflection is a healthy practice, and I enjoy walking with my thoughts.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. After a few minutes of meditation, I grab my hat and my cane, and wrap my scarf around my neck. Already time to begin again… the trail leads into the marsh, disappearing into the fog. I get to my feet, ready to follow it where it leads.

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