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Lost in the Fog

September 30, 2025 //
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Foggy morning. I walk in it, wrapped in it, trail and trees obscured by the autumn fog. The closer I get to the creek, the more dense the fog is. There is no view at this early hour, anyway, but that’s even more the case this morning.

… I am lost in my thoughts, in the fog…

The fog adds a feeling of mystery.

My head is stuffy this morning, and I’ve used most of the pack of tissues I have with me, already. A sneeze catches me by surprise, and I step off the trail without noticing immediately. The sneeze sounds loud, but also muffled in the fog. I stop on the trail for a moment to dig around in my pockets for the other pack of tissues I think I recall being there. Yep. There they are. My fingers touch the plastic of the pack, and I relax. I also stop sneezing, and only need a single tissue, as it turns out, never even opening the other packet.

It is the time of year for autumn allergies and headcolds, and for back to school activities to expose more people to more contagion. I remind myself to take care of my health, to be considerate of others, and to practice strict hand washing and appropriate social distancing (these practices are an effective means of limiting the spread of common respiratory infections, so why wouldn’t I?). My thoughts wander back to the rude man-child in the university library yesterday with the horrific sounding hacking cough – I was grateful to be seated well away from him, with multiple barriers between any viruses or bacteria exiting from his face with every cough, but also, as a human being, I was concerned that he would even be putting himself through the additional stress on his mortal body to be trying to do work in the state of ill health he was clearly in. Why don’t people just fucking stay home and focus on getting well?

… I know, I know, “reasons”…

My mind continues to wander here and there. It’s a payday. It didn’t exactly catch me by surprise, but I’m still getting used to the changes that have come with the new job. This one is “military style” pay, twice monthly, on the first and the 15th, on whatever day of the week those happen to be. The previous one was every two weeks, on alternate Fridays. It might seem like very little difference, but twice monthly is 24 paychecks, and every two weeks is 26. It does change the cash flow and the way bills map to pay cycles. I think about that sort of thing for a little while as I walk, still wrapped in fog. I walk and think about all the many kinds of payroll systems I’ve participated in… weekly… monthly (that was hard to adjust to)… part-time… full-time… salaried… hourly… employee… contractor… commission… “The house always wins,” I think to myself before putting thoughts of payroll and paydays aside.

I keep walking.

The work day ahead feels busy in advance. It hasn’t even started, and I haven’t looked at my calendar. I feel prematurely a bit frazzled, and this annoys (and amuses) me. It’s such a human thing to get wound up over shit that isn’t even happening yet, if it ever even will. Typical bullshit, unnecessary and unproductive. I let it go and walk on.

The trail ahead of me is a bit shiny where my light hits it. It rained during the night. The fog reflects the light of my headlamp back at me. It’s a little bit irritating, and I turn it off, pausing on the trail to let my eyes adjust. Daybreak yet? Can I see the trail without my light? Not quite, not out here under these trees. I don’t really want the artificial light in my eyes anymore, though, and leave it off. I look around for someplace to sit – it’s not my usual stopping point. Where am I, actually? I look around in the gloom. Nothing looks familiar in the fog. There’s a bench nearby. Convenient. I sit down and write these words.

I sit with my thoughts awhile, watching each exhaled breath become part of the fog, until it is time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, autumn, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Practices, solo hiking, The Art of Being, War and News of War, Words

Perspective(s)

September 28, 2025 //
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The clear night sky sprinkled with stars has given way to pink streaks of clouds across a pale blue sky. I sit at my halfway point on this trail watching the sun rise.

Each sunrise is the promise of a new day.

My anxiety commandeered my dreams at some point during the night. My Traveling Partner somehow breeched the fragile boundary between reality and dreams, calling me back from The Nightmare City with a question. I don’t remember the question, and I’m not sure whether he actually woke me (or, if he did, why). I got up briefly to pee and went back to sleep. I woke gently, without anxiety, and the morning has been pleasant and otherwise routine.

The morning felt quite mild, initially, but as I sit on a favorite fence rail, I begin to feel the autumn chill. I’m grateful for this sweater, and the fleece I threw on over it at the last minute, as I got out of the car in the darkness. I sit enjoying the sunrise, and the sky turns from pink stripes to streaks of thin white clouds and blue skies. It’s a lovely morning. I’m taking my time with it.

My Traveling Partner pings me a good morning greeting and asks about my plans. He’s enjoying his morning, too. I mention an errand I plan to take care of before I return home – having completely forgotten it no longer needs to be done. He gently reminds me. I laugh heartily, out loud – it’s the sort of thing that could frustrate me to tears under some circumstances. This morning it’s harmless, inconsequential, and amusing, and I consider the difference in perspective that allows it to be funny, this time.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. It’s been a lovely weekend, filled with loving moments and good fortune, and these stand out from the moments of stress that also occurred. It’s nice to feel so positive, and to have developed an outlook on life that allows me to bounce back from stress so much more easily than any younger version of me knew how to do. If I could, I’d go back in time and share what I have learned with that younger me. Instead, I share that here, with you.

…We become what we practice…

A small sparkling highlight this weekend was stopping for groceries yesterday morning; the Checker returned my keys to me! I’d misplaced them days ago, and hadn’t found them. I had resigned myself to the likelihood that they were lost. She had carefully held on to them, waiting to see me again on an upcoming weekend. Having them returned to me gives me a feeling of hope that probably exceeds the moment, and I’m okay with that. Feeling hopeful is far better than feeling that everything is pointless or futile.

Such a small thing.

There’s an entire new day ahead. It’s a Sunday, and most of the day will be housework and chores and getting ready for a new week – and I’ll be doing things from a hopeful perspective, and spending time in the company of my Traveling Partner. Sounds like a good way to spend time.

I look down the trail. Several small groups of people approach, some distance away on the other side of the meadow. I get to my feet – it’s time to begin again.

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

Sometimes It Rains

September 21, 2025 //
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I slept well, and deeply. I woke later than usual, and in less pain than yesterday. I quickly dressed and left the house, hoping I was sufficiently quiet to avoid waking my Traveling Partner.

I stepped out of the house, pulling the door closed behind me. It took me several steps down the walkway to recognize that it was raining. I wasn’t yet completely awake. Instead of the much closer local trail, I head up the highway to the nature park, hoping to catch a break in the rain – at least enough to walk the trail there.

I am here, now, and it is still raining, and not yet light enough to walk the trail safely in these conditions. I could give up and just go home, but chances are good that the household is still quiet and dark, the occupants still sleeping. I decide to wait for daybreak and see how things look then.

… The equinox is Monday. The rain feels appropriate for the change of season…

It’s still another 15 minutes or so until daybreak, and another half hour, about, until sunrise. The hourly weather forecast suggests the rain will stop with the sunrise, conveniently enough. I settle in for the wait, and spend some time meditating.

My timer chimes softly as daybreak arrives on this gray and rainy morning. The rain has stopped. I put on my boots and stuff a travel pack of tissues into the pocket of my fleece. My rain poncho seems a wise choice, and I rummage in my gear bin for it in the gloom, unwilling to light a light, enjoying the gentle dimness before dawn becomes day. I can make out the pavement of the parking lot quite clearly now, and see the sheen of recent rain reflecting streetlights and passing headlights. A sprinkling of rain falls, then quickly stops. I put on my rain poncho, and grab my cane. A rainy breeze stirs the trees and lifts my hair, still dry for the moment, but that won’t last. I chuckle and pull a hair tie off the gear shift knob and tie my hair back, out of my face and less likely to vex me if I get rained on for any distance.

Pain or rain, doesn’t really matter; it is easy to let circumstances stop me doing what needs to be done, or the things I enjoy. It can be a real effort to drag myself past whatever obstacles lie in life’s path, but it’s worth to push on, to get past the momentary heartaches, obstacles, and assorted inconvenient pains in the ass, and get on with living, any time I can. It’s going to rain sometimes – but that doesn’t have to stop me. (It has required so much practice to get to this place!) I’m grateful for each new beginning that has lead me to this moment.

I’ve got enough light to see, now, though sunrise is still some time in the future. It’s sprinkling gently, but not raining hard enough to stop me, and I’ve got the luxury of having the trail entirely to myself this morning. I smile at the rain drops falling on my face, and taste the drops on my lips. It’s a fine time to begin again. Let it rain, I’m fine with that.

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Categories Allegories, autumn, 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

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

Weather or Not

September 5, 2025 //
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I am waiting for the sun, at a local trailhead. I’m not in any hurry, and it is a calm, quiet morning. The forecast says maybe it’ll rain, later. For now, I amuse myself wondering if that’s lightning I just saw. What I definitely saw was a brief very bright diffuse flash of light somewhere beyond the clouds obscuring the predawn sky, and then, later, another. I didn’t hear thunder, so I guess that if it was lightning (what else would it be?) it must be quite far away.

In the darkness, before dawn, it’s easy to wonder.

Another work day. Nothing much to say about that.

My tinnitus is crazy loud in my ears. My spine is a column of pure pain; I tell myself it’s “only” arthritis. It’s an unhelpful bit of exaggeration, but I count on it to persuade me that the pain can safely be ignored. I take my morning medications, which include prescription pain relief. It helps some, but only serves to “take the edge off”. It’s been a long time since it was any more effective than that.

I sigh to myself and grab my cane. I’ve got enough daylight now to walk this trail safely. I get started…

… I walk, lost in my own thoughts, and find that I’ve gone down and around and back to my starting point, already. It’s still early, barely daybreak. I decide to walk the loop again (it’s only about a mile and a half)…

I stop at a favorite resting point, when I reach it. My mind wants to dart ahead, to focus on work, but it is not yet time for that, and I pull myself back to this moment, here. The sky is gray, and cloudy, with the look of a sky that might rain, maybe. The air smells of rain, too. Another flash of distant lightning, another hint at rain.

Weather…or not.

The hills far to the west are hazy, looking more like a watercolor impression of hills on the horizon, and a bit unreal. This moment even feels a little unreal. Too quiet. Too still. The darkness of the trees between me and the river beyond seem vaguely spooky, although they have no secrets. It’s just a row of trees along the river bank. I walk here often.

I watch the sky continue to lighten, as daybreak becomes dawn, and an unseen sun rises somewhere beyond the clouds. The sky shifts from night black, to the deep blue of dawn, to the gray and cloudy sky I see now, and hints of pale blue behind the clouds peeking through where the clouds shred slowly as they move… north? North. I breathe, exhale, and relax. Somewhere nearby, the noise of a trash truck interrupts the stillness.

I sigh to myself as I get to my feet to finish my walk and head to work. Whether or not it actually rains, there’s still weather of some sort. Whether or not my path takes me where I expect to go, it still leads me somewhere. Having the experience is what matters most – the being and doing are the point. The journey is the destination. Isn’t that enough? I think about that as I stretch. The clock is ticking, and it’s time to begin.

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