Archives for posts with tag: walking in the dark

Cloudy, Rainy

October 10, 2025 //
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It rained during the night. The trail is wet, puddles frequent. The sky is dark and the clouds obscure the coming dawn. No moon to light my way this morning. I am dependent on my headlamp. Neither the darkness nor the occasional sprinkles of rain stop me, though. I have this path to walk.

I slept decently well, and woke feeling sufficiently rested to enjoy the day, in spite of my restless night. Some noise or other prevented me sleeping for some little while, and I woke during the night sometime later, though I never figured out why. Given the opportunity, I could maybe go right back to bed and sleep away the morning… although it’s probably wishful thinking, and anyway, it’s a work day.

This morning, my back aches fiercely. I remind myself it’s “only” arthritis pain – I’m rarely without it anymore, but it could be so much worse. I sit on this picnic table, rain poncho spread beneath me to make a dry place to sit. The night sky is beginning to lighten. My mind wanders to other autumn mornings, other points in my life. Other moments. I yawn, watching a mist begin to gather, here, close to the creek. I breathe, exhale, and relax, and take time for meditation as the mist becomes thicker, obscuring the “view” in the darkness.

I think about the new earrings my Traveling Partner made for me. I smile, feeling wrapped in love. He made enough for me to share with friends, of several kinds, and one cute pair of hearts, just for me. I feel visible and understood. I feel grateful, and appreciated. I definitely feel loved.

Love takes many forms.

I hear footsteps approaching slowly. A doe is walking down the trail towards me. She sees me, pauses, and veers off the trail in a different direction, heading into the trees and disappearing from view. The silhouettes of trees are now distinctly separate from the dark gray of the sky. Daybreak approaches, and I see the very first headlights of a farm worker arriving for work on the far side of the vineyard. The clock is ticking. It is a new day.

I yawn and sigh, sitting here in the quiet pleasant stillness before dawn on a Friday morning. It is enough simply to be…at least for now. lol This is a very human experience, filled with moments of all sorts. I get to my feet with an audible groan. Fuck this “aging” bullshit! 😆 I stretch and contemplate the day ahead. I could really use a cup of coffee… and it’s time to begin again.

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

A Point of View on Perspective

December 29, 2024 //
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I drove to the trailhead this morning thinking about how far away this once seemed, although it now feels quite close to home. It’s become a familiar drive, and is also the approximate halfway point on my morning commute when I work in the office. Those details don’t change the distance in miles, nor do they alter the time it takes to make the drive, but what a difference in perceived distance and inconvenience!

I got to the trailhead still thinking about time and distance and the differences in perception perspective on a journey can make. A very long walk often only feels long when it is new and unfamiliar, seeming to grow shorter over time as walking it becomes commonplace. Funny how that works…

I walked down the trail in the pre-dawn darkness, thinking my thoughts. I came upon a good stopping point after what seemed a long while; I’ve been walking a different trail here, but with all the recent rain, only the “all season” trail is actually walkable now. The change in trail is a change in perspective, and perceived distance. I was still sore from yesterday’s walk, this morning, too; it has more hills and felt like a somewhat more challenging workout. This morning feels like a serious effort, and a bit “too far” though a look at my step counter and the trail map tells me there’s very little difference. Perspective.

I sit quietly, writing, enjoying the quiet. It feels colder this morning, though the temperature is the same as it was yesterday, maybe even a degree warmer if I trust my recollection. My legs and back ache, and my discomfort sets me up to “feel the cold” more, perhaps.

Repetition and familiarity create an experience of “ease”, and what seems easy also seems to require less time, or amount to less distance. Practice changes our perception of difficulty. Just something I am thinking about as the new year approaches. Want to get good at something? Practice. Want something to feel easy? Practice. Want some particular skill or response to become “second nature”? Practice. Do the verbs. Do them again. Do them better. Do them over. Keep practicing.

… Fuck I wish I didn’t ache like this though…

I laugh to myself and shake off my irritation with the pain I’m often in; it would be much worse if I gave up on the walking. I know this from experience. Experience also brings perspective. The journey is the destination. The longer I walk my path, the easier it may feel, and the more I may understand. (I say “may” because there are damned few guarantees or certainties in a human lifetime, and a lot of verbs required, and my results do vary.)

I begin to notice the chill a bit more in the darkness. I see a hint of daybreak in the blue gray of the eastern horizon. I can make out the path without my the headlamp now. I guess it’s a good time to begin again – with new perspective.

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Categories Allegories, breathe, Free Will, health, Healthy Living, inspiration, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Practices, solo hiking, The Art of Being, weight loss secrets, winter

This Isn’t About That

November 2, 2024 //
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I’m sitting in the cold. It’s a foggy autumn morning early in November. I’m perched on a fence rail, not especially comfortable, but not uncomfortable enough to be worth complaining about or changing. It’s still dark. When I sat down I turned off my headlamp. I don’t really prefer walking with a headlamp; the spooky shadows in the periphery of my narrow view are sometimes unsettling.  I can hear the traffic on the nearby highway, although there isn’t much of it, and the predawn darkness is so quiet, my tinnitus ends up being the loudest thing I hear. I sneeze unexpectedly, and somewhere nearby I am answered by the “gronk!” of a goose on the marsh, as if telling me to “keep it down”. It’s early. It’s quiet. The moment is mine.

The clouds overhead leave room for stars to peek through. I sit with my thoughts awhile. A raccoon and her youngsters walk past me, on the other side of the trail. She sees me, but doesn’t seem concerned or even particularly interested. She clearly has places to go. I sit quietly, watching, breathing, listening. I see the first hints of daybreak on the eastern horizon, a jagged sliver of sky between strips of cloud.

…How am I in this much pain??…

I sigh to myself. I meditate in the cold and watch the sky slowly lighten as dawn approaches. I think my mortal thoughts. Life is too brief, I find myself thinking. By the time we mostly figure out the stuff that matters most to us individually, we’re nearing the end of our precious (and limited) mortal lifetime. Seems a bit unfair somehow. I think about my Granny, my Mother, Grandmother Doris, Meemom, my Dear Friend, my girlfriend T, Laura-the-actress, other women in my life, gone now. What did they leave unfinished? What has been lost to time and mortality, gone forever because what isn’t shared may never be known? I think about art, and paintings yet to be painted, inspiration yet to be acted upon, and how irksome this finite mortal lifetime can seem. There’s so much to do, and to feel, and to experience! Where will I find the time?

The trail has slowly become a slightly paler smudge of darkness between meadow and marsh. I don’t feel like turning my headlamp on, and I’m not in a hurry. I have the moment to myself. I decide to sit awhile longer before I head back up the trail to begin again.

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

Introspection, Self-reflection, Rumination

October 24, 2024 //
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I’m sitting with my thoughts, quietly (aside from the ringing in my ears). It is a foggy autumn morning, and a heavy mist clings moodily to the low places and along the creeks and rivers. The morning is a cold one, the coldest so far this season. I am mildly annoyed with myself; I am not dressed for the weather. I laid out my clothes last night based on assumptions of milder temperatures without checking the weather forecast, which was foolish.

… Reality does not care what we believe…

I’m sort of “all up in my head” this morning. By itself, absent any context, this isn’t necessarily a bad thing, and I am fortunate to enjoy my own company. In this quiet early morning time, I often find myself in this mental place, blending introspection and self reflection.

Words, defined.

I sit considering those definitions for some minutes. I’m not sure I agree 100% with attempting to sort them out as “internal” vs “external”. They’re both processes of the mind, which seems to me makes them both very much internal processes. Meaning matters. I wonder for a little while whether it’s worth making the attempt to define them more clearly, before realizing it’s a distraction from my actual thoughts.

Rumination is very different from either introspection or self-reflection, and it’s a difference that matters quite a lot. Rumination is getting mired in negative thinking and negative self-talk. It’s a problem to be avoided as much as possible. Rumination is a poor practice.

Having sorted all that out rather pointlessly, I let my thoughts move on. I’m mostly sitting here on this rock at my halfway point thinking about what a long and sometimes tedious journey it’s been to get to this place, over time. The ongoing fight to build, achieve, and sustain good mental health has been (often still is)…hard. I’m not sure I’d call my results wholly successful, some days.

My Traveling Partner pings me. He’s concerned about a birthday gift I purchased for him potentially having been a poor choice of vendor. He shares the reviews. I see his point and agree to cancel the order in favor of a more reputable vendor. My thoughts are completely scattered now, like autumn leaves. I’m frustrated by that. I’m frustrated by the recurring feeling that I don’t get “first dibs” on my own consciousness – or so it often seems. I sigh and save my writing for another time, and finish my walk in the predawn autumn darkness.

… I can begin again, later…

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Categories Allegories, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, meditation, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, The Art of Being