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Walking in Fog

November 21, 2025 //
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A new day, a new perspective, and for the moment, less anxiety, which is a pleasant change from recent days.

I woke up pretty close to when the lights would have begun gradually brightening to wake me. My Traveling Partner was already awake. We exchange pleasantries and I kiss him on my way out. A lovely beginning to a Friday.

Artificial lighting shining through the fog before dawn.

It is a cold morning, just 35°F (1.6°C). I’m grateful to have my cozy cardigan on, over a warm fluffy sweater, and that my gear bin in the back of my SUV has a warm scarf, knitted cap, and gloves conveniently ready for me. ‘Tis the season, I guess. I could give up my outdoor walk in favor of the elliptical machine at home… I have that option. I prefer the real walking on an actual trail or path through some park or wild space. I’m fortunate to have the elliptical available, and grateful too; it really is handy any time I’m injured, or if the weather is too bad for safe walking, like icy mornings, or drenching downpours. Part of what I get from my morning walk, though, is the solitude. I am alone with my thoughts, uninterrupted by others. It is quite possibly my favorite luxury. (One of the benefits of walking at this admittedly ludicrous hour of the day is that I generally don’t see, hear, or even pass by anyone else, at all.)

… I start down the trail in the fog and darkness…

I get to my halfway point and sit awhile, on a favorite bench. I think about change. Last year a small conference center was built on the acreage here, where this trail happens to be. The construction didn’t change the trail at all. Now a small resort-style hotel is also being added, but on the other side of the parking lot. The construction looks like it may impair the trail at some point, making it an out-and-back walk instead of a loop, for at least awhile. I sit contemplating the many such changes I’ve seen over a lifetime. Empty lots that fueled daydreams of gardens became apartment buildings or condos. Friendly country lanes that I walked down became busy commuter byways. Empty houses I fantasized about owning were torn down for office buildings. Countryside became suburban communities adjacent to cities that have continued to sprawl. Change is.

Twenty years ago, I was a different woman, in a different relationship, with a different job, living a very different life than I do now. Funny how much things can change over time. I sit reflecting on change and gratitude; I am living a healthier life now, and I am no longer deeply unhappy. Progress. It wasn’t done with the flip of a switch, and there was no single eye-opening “a-ha! moment”. The changes I chose to make were choices made over time. Back then it seemed very likely impossible to ever be where I find myself now… but here I sit.

This is an incomplete journey. Ongoing. I sit quietly in the fog. I wonder where this path leads? In another twenty years, when I look back on this time in my life, what will I think of this woman I have become? Will I appreciate her efforts and celebrate her successes? Will I grieve something lost along the way, or feel a moment of relief to have let go of some bit of baggage? It’s a big menu and there are a lot of choices. I think about that for awhile. We don’t know what is on the path ahead, and we’re each having our own experience.

My mind wanders to friendships lost over time. Some were deliberately ended. Some seemed to fade away on their own. Some I mourn with some moment of sorrow now and then. Others only bring a feeling of relief that they are behind me now. Human primates are complicated, sometimes we travel together on this strange journey, for a little while at least, other times we just pass each other along the way, exchanging information or enjoying a brief shared experience. No wrong answers, the human experience has a lot of options. (Okay, a few wrong answers, probably, so choose your actions and your friendships with care, eh? Try to avoid creating regrets.)

Daybreak, fog, and unmade choices; a good opportunity to begin again.

The first hint of daybreak touches the sky. The foggy morning seems to change color, now a little bluer. The darkness begins to lift. I sigh as I get to my feet to begin again. I look down the path and wonder what might be around the next bend, and prepare to begin again.

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

Some Quiet Moments

November 19, 2025 //
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I’m sitting at the halfway point on my morning walk, grateful for the warm sweater and cardigan. It’s a cold morning. It’s that time of year, here. The predawn sky is dark and clear, with a few clouds brightened by the lights below. I sit here contentedly, nothing much on my mind, and trying not to think about work. Now is not that time.

For the moment, my anxiety is well-managed, which is nice, and my pain is pretty typical of the season, which is less nice, but endurable. I smirk at myself cynically; I am a survivor. I’ve survived trauma, and heartbreak, and ruin, and mental illness, and profound injury, and domestic violence, and war. It’s been a lot. I sigh to myself. There are so very many people who have survived worse, and more. I’m grateful to be where I am, sitting quietly on this bench on a cold autumn morning before sunrise.

I’m admittedly disappointed with “the state of humanity”, presently. We could do so much better as beings than we have chosen to do. The current US president calls people names like an angry rude child. Legislators seriously contemplate imprisoning women over what should be private medical decision making between women and their physicians. Billionaires hoard vast unimaginable sums of money and assets piled high, while the working people who exchanged their efforts for a pittance worry about their next meal, and people living below the poverty line make daily decisions about whether to buy lifesaving medicine, or groceries. Housing is both limited in availability and also increasingly unaffordable. Are we really immune to all the suffering and violence in the world around us? Are we really okay with people deliberately seeking to profit off that misery?

…We could do better…

I sigh and let that go. I pull my attention back to this moment, here, now.

I take a moment for meditation, and for gratitude. My thoughts, this morning, are more personal than I’m inclined to share. I think about some painful moments in the past, and turn them over in my memory, considering instead what I may have learned or gained as a result of these experiences. It’s a practice I indulge rarely and approach cautiously; it is easy to become immersed in the recollection of pain or failure, and lose my way. There is real value in changing my perspective on such things, when I can. I don’t force it. Authenticity and honest self-reflection have positive value. Tearing myself down ruminating over past trauma or poor decision making tends to cloud my thinking and make me miserable. It is important to practice one and avoid the other.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. The cold has begun to seep into my bones, and my arthritis pain worsens. I sigh to myself and get to my feet. May as well finish this walk and get the day started, I guess. I find myself feeling a little blue. The world weighs too heavily on my thoughts, perhaps, or maybe it’s just pain. Weary. I feel weary of the world and all it’s heartache and chaos, and I’d like very much to simply be alone somewhere for… awhile. Days maybe, but I don’t have the money to spare on frivolous getaways right now, and too much to do that genuinely needs doing, and holidays ahead. Fuck. “Hang in there,” I remind myself, “this too will pass. It’s all very temporary.”

I stand staring down the trail for a moment, feeling unexpected tears rolling down my face. (What the absolute fuck?!) I sigh, a little frustrated with this whole “being human” thing. It’s clearly time to begin again. I see signs of daybreak on the eastern horizon, and start walking.

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Categories 2024 Election, Allegories, Anxiety, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Despair, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, The Art of Being, War and News of War, women, Words

Ready? Begin, Again.

October 31, 2025 //
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I’m feeling better. I wake up ahead of my alarm, but a glance at the time and I realize I’ve also slept in, having left my alarm reset for a later time from yesterday. Win? I enjoy waking up without an alarm. I also enjoy sleeping in. It’s a small thing, but a nice start to the day.

I don’t bother looking at the news. I can easily manage the day without alarmist bullshit (that hasn’t factually changed in days) generated by the media outrage machinery (now with AI slop). Not now. Not this morning. Not today. I think I’ll begin the weekend without that.

I set off down the trail in the predawn darkness, feeling merry.

Every journey begins somewhere. Sometimes we take our first step on a new path in the dark.

My steps crunch along the paved section of the trail as I trod the fallen leaves. The path is dry this morning. The darkness is chilly. A cold autumn morning, this morning; I’m grateful for my heavy sweater and my fleece over that. It’s about time to consider pulling my gloves, scarf, and knitted hat from my gear bin in the back of the car. I grin to myself feeling the satisfaction of being prepared. Life doesn’t always make being prepared particularly convenient or easy, but at least I can be ready for the weather.

I take a seat at my halfway point. The bench is cold beneath me. I begin to feel the chill straight away. Winter is coming.

I think about recent conversations with my Traveling Partner about what is within our control as individuals, and perspective for managing stress. He makes it clear how deeply he cares for me; it truly matters to my beloved that I have every possible tool to manage my anxiety and PTSD readily at hand. I feel grateful for this partnership and very fortunate to be so loved.

My first husband wanted to possess me, like a trinket or a Barbie doll. My next significant long-term relationship was different; he wanted to control me, as though I were a puppet or a sex doll. A third (and my shortest) long-term partner only wanted to use me and take what I had. My Traveling Partner loves me, and wants to enjoy me as a person, as a woman, a friend, and a partner. It feels very different. I sit with my love and gratitude for some little while. Feeling my breath, in… out…, in… out…, The moment feels splendidly indefinite. I prolong my joy simply by savoring the feeling itself. Nothing complicated. I hold my focus on this quiet joy and feeling of being loved, and sit with it awhile. It is a pleasant start to this Friday morning.

I think about friends, both near and far away. I’m fortunate to have a handful of really good friends of the sort I could count on if things were dire. I’ve got quite a few more that I wouldn’t want to impose upon, but can count on for a great time together most any occasion. I think about dear friends awhile longer. I don’t see them enough. I think about what it takes to change that.

My Traveling Partner pings me a good morning greeting, and my plan for the day shifts to account for things he also needs out of the day. I look at the time and get to my feet. It’s already time to begin again.

…

…

…

… This just in from The Department of The Map Is Not The World, and endorsed by The Society for Unnecessary Complications, I find myself waiting for the university library to open, working from my laptop, in the parking lot, instead of working from home. Not sure it’s tale-worthy at all, just saying, may as well go ahead and embrace impermanence and get started practicing non-attachment. Our plans don’t always work out. Our results may vary. Now it’s definitely time to begin again, again, and work on salvaging the day. It’s fine, I’ve just got to be adaptable and resilient. I practice all the time, and we do become what we practice.

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

A Long Strange Night

October 16, 2025 //
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I woke several times during the night. I never figured out why. Each time I woke, i returned to sleep relatively easily. My sleep was restless and disturbed by peculiarly realistic dreams. By the end of the night, it seemed I was dreaming that I was awake, and my alarm got to full brightness, overhead light shining like an artificial sun as I woke from that last dream, walking along a trash-strewn crater pocked “beach” watching a savage discolored sun rise slowly.

I dreamt of masked armed thugs on the streets of American cities. I dreamt of chemical attacks, drone strikes, and bombs dropping on already flattened neighborhoods, and neat carefully planned rows of… rubble. I dreamt of fleeing, of hiding, and of fear. I dreamt of nightmare cities blasted by violence. I dreamt of blood and sorrow. I dreamt of waiting breathless and anxious for the next shock. It was a bad night and when I finally woke, my face was strangely gritty with the salt of dried tears.

… I don’t recall the details of my dreams, now, only vague themes and sensations, which are already fading, and for that I am grateful…

PTSD is sometimes a literal fucking nightmare. Thanks largely to the violence, and vile horrors and bad behavior of the current administration, PTSD symptoms I haven’t had to deal with for awhile are flaring up and demanding my attention, and my most committed and loving self-care. More fucking verbs – as if I have time for this shit right now. I sigh, rubbing my neck, and my shoulders, as well as I can without having extra hands. I gently massage my temples, and breathe. My anxiety surges, then eases, again and again. I feel hyper vigilant and pointlessly uneasy. It is an ordinary morning in all regards, aside from my subjective sense of persistent dread.

… And I’m tired…

I head down the trail in the usual way, although I am in more pain than usual, and feeling wary and watchful in the predawn darkness. It is quite chilly – the coldest morning we’ve had since back in the spring. 38°F (about 3.3°C). I’m grateful for the warm hiking socks, and comfy sweater beneath a warm cardigan. I breathe deeply as I walk, enjoying the scents of autumn. There is a hint of wood smoke in the taste of the air; people have begun using their fireplaces as the temperature cools.

I think about work and fret about money, and the future, and mortality, and preparedness, until I realize I’m getting spun up over imagined disasters and things that have not happened, or are not real concerns in my actual life, now. I inhale deeply, and exhale slowly until my lungs empty, as if the exhaled breath could carry with it all of my stress and anxiety. Sometimes it does. I pull my thoughts back to here, now. This is where I am, and everything begins right here. Every change, every moment of progress, every journey to come, it all starts in this moment – and conveniently enough, it is always “now”. That’s a lot of potential to work with!

I get to a pleasing stopping point, hands warm enough for writing, having been jammed deeply into my pockets while I walked. I sit on a convenient bench and examine the horizon for the first hint of daybreak. I take a moment to recognize that it is not my experience in this moment that is driving my emotions; it is my emotions creating my concerns, and my subjective experience of the moment. I can change this! I focus on the details here, now, and my breath. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I meditate for unmeasured time, until an imagined soft chime coincides with a sense of “completeness”, and contentment. I’m okay. Anxiety is a liar. Emotions are not the totality of my experience, or of reality itself.

… It’s not personal, it’s just biochemistry and a human being human…

Trauma in life changes our brain even down to the hormones and chemistry of our bodies and emotions. I’m no expert, but I’ve tried to keep up on the science. There are ways to regain our joy, corral our volatility, and manage our emotions without stifling our creativity with drugs, undermining our humanity by becoming numb to ourselves, or allowing our good character to be compromised. It may require asking for help. It’ll definitely require a lot of practice – and probably some new practices and considerable change. I sigh to myself. So much change. So much practice.

I reflect for a moment on how far I’ve come over the past 15 years… it’s been quite a journey. I would not have dealt with a night like last night so well (and with such ease, relatively speaking) back in 2010. I’d have been tantrum prone, volatile, irrational, irritable, unapproachable, suspicious, guarded, and teetering on the thin edge between anger and tears, ready to blast some unwary associate or loved one unpredictably – and unable to talk about it, or sort out my own emotions from the real circumstances.

G’damn I am so grateful to be in a different place as a human being. All the work, practice, meditation, self-care, and therapy has been very much worth the time, effort, and expense. I walk a very different path now. I’m grateful that I do. I am grateful for the choices I made to change. I’m grateful to have a partner who loves and supports me.

Daybreak. Dawn soon. It looks to be a cold cloudy morning. No colorful sunrise today, just a dirty, pale, vaguely orange smudge along the edge of the eastern horizon.  As night becomes day, I get to my feet. It’s already time to begin again.

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Categories 2024 Election, Allegories, anger, Anxiety, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Despair, forgiveness, Free Will, gratitude, grief, Healthy Living, inspiration, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Sleepless Nights, solo hiking, The Art of Being, War and News of War, women, Words

While I Wait

October 11, 2025 //
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I’m waiting for the sun. I was up too early, and at the trailhead too soon.

My Traveling Partner woke minutes after I woke up to pee. Did I wake him? I don’t know. Doesn’t matter. He woke panicked, and struggling to breathe. That’s a dreadful way to wake up, and he was cross about it. I didn’t hold that against him, I get it, but not having a magic wand handy, my best option to be helpful to him in the moment was to get going and give him a chance to get back to sleep.

…So I did…

I could have tried to go back to sleep, myself, I guess, but his panic and frustrated snarling triggered my anxiety and getting back to sleep wasn’t going to be ideally easy. I was feeling pretty well-rested, already, anyway; no harm done.

Before daybreak, night settings on the camera reveal a cloudy sky.

I get a coffee on the way to the trailhead, arrive before dawn, and sit with my thoughts awhile. The coffee is good, and the cup warms my hands. I sit contentedly in the predawn quiet, thinking my thoughts, unconcerned about the chaos of the world in this moment, here, now.

Some little while after I meditate, my thoughts wander to my Traveling Partner’s enduring (and obvious) affection for me. I smile, thinking of the many little ways he shows his love. Most recently, this comes in the form of newly made 3D printed earrings, with Halloween themes. I am delighted by their variety and the fun of them. He knows me so well. He made “extras” so I can share them with friends who take similar joy in such things. I’ve planned my day around attaching findings and hooks to them; I’m eager to wear them. Eager to share them, and enjoy them in conversation.

… and so many more… I am fortunate to be so loved.

Eventually, daybreak comes. I wonder briefly at my (potentially erroneous) sense that a new day “always” comes… how true is that really? We are mortal creatures. Eventually our finite mortal minutes will run out. I sit wondering if the universe itself truly has its own similar limitations, such that one morning, the sun will not rise, again? It doesn’t feel like a grim weight on my spirit, it’s more just a question, of sorts. I can’t answer it. I don’t have enough knowledge to hold an informed opinion. It is a stray thought, like a cloud, drifting past, rather far away and abstract, and nothing to be bothered by.

There is enough daylight now to make out the trail. My coffee cup is empty. Seems like a good time to begin again. I lace up my boots and get ready to walk another mile. Yes, of course it’s a metaphor… but it’s also a favorite trail, a beautiful morning, and a nice way to begin a new day.

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