Archives for posts with tag: walking my own path
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Opportunity and Effort

June 7, 2026 //
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Yesterday was beautiful at the outset, but slid sideways into hurt feelings and aggravation later. Pretty sure it was mostly me: poor communication and unsuccessful pain management – but even if it weren’t me at all, I’m only going to be able to work on the me portions effectively, ever. So… that’s on my mind this morning.

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

…I almost returned to Basket Slough this morning, it was that lovely, yesterday.

A beautiful place for self-reflection.

Instead, this morning I head to Spring Valley, another lovely spot with a pleasant trail.

Every path begins somewhere.

I could skip writing at all today and share this cute (and deeply meaningful, wholesome, and encouraging) video that my Traveling Partner shared with me yesterday. 😁 It emphasizes some of the points I often make myself. (I hope you enjoy it.)

I breathe, exhale, and relax. Yesterday’s sunny (and also rainy) afternoon has become a memory. This peaceful morning begins with a new moment on a less frequented trail. As I get my gear together, a truck pulls into the parking lot and a burly outdoors type climbs out and gathers his gear. Backpack, waders, net, fishing rod, cooler… Definitely looking like he’s here with a purpose. The river is very nearby. It flows past still and silent. He doesn’t bother with this spot right here by the parking; he heads purposefully down the trail. I give him time to get well ahead of me; I have no interest in conversation with strangers this morning.

The Willamette River on a Spring morning.

I head down the trail with my thoughts. I consider yesterday’s walks. I recall seeing a medium-large gopher snake on the Basket Slough trail leading up into the oak savannah to the viewpoint. He was too quick for my camera, sliding away into the grasses alongside the trail and quickly disappearing. As I walk this morning, I happily spot a family of rabbits playing at the edge of the meadow, and they see me approaching and dart away into the brush before I can get pictures. Life is like that (love is too); opportunity is not enough. We’ve also got to make the effort required, and even so we may be met with failure instead of what we think of as success.

… That’s frustrating (and disappointing)…

Doesn’t much matter that there are no “do overs” (there aren’t, not really, what’s done is done) – we can, and must, begin again. We can learn and grow and do better next time (or do something altogether different). It’s a journey.

A wild rose along yesterday’s path.

I think about the rose I did photograph… And the lady bug I didn’t photograph. There are choices we make in every moment. It’s not always clear whether or how our choices will be significant. They often are, though, and it may be for the best to make all our choices with care. Moments are finite and fleeting and we don’t know when the journey will end or when travelers may part company. Ideally we each do our legitimate best every moment, every choice, every relationship, every day… It’s a lot to keep up with. Failures happen. Stupid catches up with all of us eventually (at least a few times). Sooner or later, we all take a turn at hurting someone’s feelings, or of being hurt ourselves. It’s a very human experience.

…Do your best. Make your effort count…

I don’t write any of this from a perspective of finding the journey easy or the path ahead clear. I’m writing from the perspective of being very human and, regrettably, sometimes a complete asshole. I’m sitting here contemplating how thoroughly (and frequently) I manage to fuck up some of the simplest seeming things, like basic communication. I sigh to myself. I’m not making any excuses. I could do better. I’m also not giving myself much grace or consideration at the moment, I’m pretty vexed with myself even after a night of rest. Part of me says I did my best, and wants me to learn and grow from that. Part of me says I fuck this shit up way too often and I can (and need to) do better. I guess both positions are true.

Does matter where the path leads if we don’t make the choice to walk and take the steps to make the journey?

I take a breath of the cool Spring air at the edge of this meadow. I listen to the sounds of the birds all around me. In one direction, the trail curves away around the meadow. In the other direction, it also curves away around the meadow. 😆 From this vantage point there’s no obvious difference – but the distance in miles may differ, and the outcome may differ. What I find along the way may be different, too. What matters most is to choose – without knowing the outcome – and to begin. The journey is the destination. That has to be enough. There is nothing else.

I sigh and walk on. This rock isn’t very comfortable anyway, and I “think better on my feet”. This morning I am a little preoccupied with self-interrogation of how I can more skillfully listen deeply, and avoid talking over people (particularly my partner), and how to make things right with my beloved after hurting his feelings and being an insufferable ass. Another sigh, this one a bit impatient and frustrated with myself, but realistically this is “the vehicle” I have for this trip. I’ll have to make it work.

It’s a new day, and there are new opportunities to be the woman I most want to be, and to be a better lover and partner than I was yesterday. There are choices involved, and effort, and verbs – and still more opportunities to begin again… but the clock is ticking. Time is finite and we are mortal creatures. It’s time to begin again.

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

Hope and Hard Questions

June 4, 2026 //
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I don’t have all the answers. Some days, I’m fairly certain I don’t have any “answers”. At least, not to the questions I’m asking. This morning there’s this, though, which seeks to answer a whole lot of the “hard questions”, and offers a different path humanity could follow.

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

This morning i feel hopeful, but also more than a little cynical; human beings (particularly wealthy ones) don’t like plans that require those with much to give anything up for those with little. We’re sick like that. Still, I read an article about the report (a report prepared by knowledgeable experts in the relevant fields and based on a metric fuck-ton of data over decades) and it certainly sounds promising. I track down the link to the report for later. I definitely want to read the whole thing.

Human beings, being human. Most of the people who will be arguing about this report and its recommendations won’t actually read the report. They’ll read an article in the Guardian or the NYT or the Washington Post, and blurt out redigested opinions they don’t actually hold based on any depth of knowledge or real commitment, and behave as if they had a thought. That’ll be supremely irritating but it may be an unavoidable byproduct of our desire to “sound smart” – style over substance. I sigh to myself; I’m not immune. I’m human, too. I’m definitely going to read the actual report though; I enjoy feeling hopeful.

I walk down the trail on this chilly morning. Peculiarly, it feels more like autumn than Spring. I’m glad I wore a fleece over my sweater. The sky overhead is a cozy comforter of puffy gray clouds. There’s a strip of open sky on the western horizon and the blue gray hills in the distance are enhanced by layers of far off clouds that mimic still more hills, as if even taller mountains are beyond those hills I always see. It’s a visually appealing illusion. I find myself tempted to return to the car and drive to those faraway hills.

…It is a work day, an ordinary Thursday, and not the day for adventure…

I yawn as I walk. Still waking up. The morning is a festival of green hues. The dark greens of the oaks and pines, the bright strips of green that are the young vines in the vineyard create a lovely scene. The yellower and bluer greens of this or that flower or shrub keep things interesting. It’s a beautiful morning. The feeling is deepened and enhanced by this fragile feeling of hope. It’s a nice beginning to a new day.

As I walk, a realization hits me; I never saw my Traveling Partner stumble even once last night! I’m given yet another moment to feel hopeful and encouraged in life and I feast on it. I’m not starved from joy these days, I definitely get an ample portion, but little gives me more joy in the moment than my beloved’s continued recovery from injury. It’s the very best “birthday present” I can imagine.

As I walk, I notice that I feel physically less “weighed down by life”, less burdened, and I marvel at how much my emotional experience determines my physical experience. I’ve noticed it before, too; when I feel sad, pain seems worsened along with my mood. When I feel merry, my pain often lessens, too – or seems less bothersome, however bad it is. I’d say “that’s funny”, meaning strange, but I don’t want the observation confused for amusement. It’s useful. We not only become what we practice, we inhabit an experience colored by our emotions. That seems like an important detail.

I get to my halfway point almost unexpectedly. I have been lost in my thoughts. I sit awhile listening to the creek beyond the trees chortling as if amused by my human foolishness. I watch the illusion of mountains on the horizon begin to curl and shift and take on a pink color from the sunrise. They definitely look more like clouds than mountains, now.

… Change is…

I breathe, exhale, and relax, grateful for my warm sweater and cozy fleece. I meditate awhile, feeling fortunate to have these quiet minutes to enjoy before a busy work day, aware that this is a choice. This? Here, now? It’s a familiar path, even metaphorically, but that doesn’t diminish the value in the path, the metaphor, or the lessons I can take from walking it. It’s a nice change to feel so hopeful.

I watch the clouds shifting and the changing light and shadows as the sun rises. I savor this hopeful feeling, grateful for the moment. I get ready to begin, again.

Hope is a feeling. Change is a verb.
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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, inspiration, joy, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being, women, Words

Snapshots

June 3, 2026 //
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One moment of many, and fairly insignificant. I’m at the midpoint on my morning walk, mind mostly empty, the flow of my thoughts kind of random. Definitely not any version of “productive”. Good grief, sometimes it’s hard to care about that, anyway. Too many details and too many demands on my time and attention… sometimes I just want to “pull back” from all of that and find a quiet corner somewhere alone. This walk will have to do, I guess. I’ve got the trail to myself. That’s something.

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

The morning is cool and mild, and the forecast suggests the temperature will be below 20C (68F). I happily decide to wear one of the sweaters my Traveling Partner has given me as a birthday gift. I feel wrapped in comfort and love.

“Baltimore Belle” blooming in the darkness.

I watered the lawn on my way out, which is my routine during the months when watering is needed now that the Anxious Adventurer has gone. With my walks and my work location both being very local and near home, this isn’t any sort of inconvenience. I enjoy the smell of petrichor as the water begins to soak into the soil. Noisy robins, also early risers, sing their noisy song at me, and I imagine that they are calling “you missed a spot” or “a little more over here, please!” or similar helpful instructions.

Overcast sky at dawn.

I get to the trail just after daybreak. There’s no one else here when I arrive. Pretty typical, it’s really early. I walk until I reach this spot, this moment. I don’t actually have much to say about it. I’m here. The moment is now. It’s pretty routine and ordinary and generally okay. Sprinkles of rain drops tap at some leaves, and a few land on my face. It doesn’t amount to rain. Like the scattered contents of my mind this morning, which reach me, but don’t amount to “thoughts”, really. They’re just snapshots and fragments. Scraps.

… Nice morning for meditation…

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I’m not complaining – there’s nothing to complain about, just now. I’m not really doing anything, just sitting here by the trail with my thoughts, just as they are. I feel as if I’m between moments, although this is moment enough on its own. I sigh to myself, “nothing to see here”, I think. I let my attention wander, as if seeking something from nothing.

I stretch and yawn, and begin again.

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Categories Allegories, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, Healthy Living, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Practices, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being, War and News of War, women, Words

Thoughts On a Day

May 25, 2026 //
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I’m often kind of blue on Memorial Day, and given that I’m a war veteran who has felt the loss of many who served with me, over the years, I guess that’s not a surprise. What does surprise me is that this year, I’m not feeling that at all. I slept in and after a sound and restful sleep, woke gently to a new day filled with promise and opportunity. And here I am.

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

I’m grateful for the holiday and the long weekend.

Memorial Day, 2026

Yesterday was odd. It began well enough, but after my walk the morning unraveled into frustrations built one upon another like a Jenga tower of aggravation waiting to tip over into rage or some ridiculously disproportionate tantrum. That didn’t happen, though, in part due to loving support from my Traveling Partner who recognized the role he inadvertently played in it, himself. His sweet concern and tender regret helped to resolve my agita before things really went sideways. He comforted me. Encouraged me to take care of myself, and was just generally the sweet caring partner I so adore. He makes minor emotional miracles (that are a major improvement) – and he makes cool fidget toys for me, too. (The newest of which I played with for hours quite happily.) 😁

After a hot shower, and a nap, I was fine. The day proceeded beautifully. My beloved picked up a project he could do in the living room and we hung out together watching a movie. My recollection of the day from the vantage point of this morning is all about the love and joy. It’s a nice change from a time when a morning like yesterday would have lead to days of struggling with my demons and trying – then failing – to manage my emotions, for many painful days (or finally choosing out of despair to drug myself into a stupor to stop the cycle of unmanageable heartbreak and fury). Years of tears are behind me. That’s okay. That too is a very human experience.

… It’s been a journey measured in years and practices…

The path behind me is what it is; in the past. The path ahead is mostly an unknown, and it will develop from the path I walk now. My choices and practices matter. (So do yours. However bad it has been, you can begin again right now and choose differently.)

I sigh quietly to myself on the edge of this literal path I’m sitting next to. Nice morning for a walk. My bones say it will rain…”soon”. The weather forecast agrees. Will it, though? Maybe. That’s the future. It changes constantly until it becomes the present, a real part of our lived experience. Until then it isn’t a given whether or not it may rain, or whether I’ll lose another friend to mortal frailty, or whether the local pharmacy will have my medication in stock, or whether a table will be available at a particular restaurant. It’s not worth getting spun up over some possible disappointment. Be present. Accept change and uncertainty, and practice non-attachment. These are extraordinarily secure stepping stones on a path through life that is fraught with obstacles and detours. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I’m not telling you what to do, I’m just sharing what has worked for me.

I sit with my thoughts awhile. My fingernails sparkle in the morning sun. I consider the day ahead. Vacuuming. Laundry. I think about dinner, later, and wonder whether tacos or chicken with corn on the cob sound better? My mind wanders contentedly through the ordinary. I’m okay with that. It’s Memorial Day – and I’m not crying. Instead, I feel a quiet respect and gratitude, and honor the fallen in my recollections. This year that’s enough – and I’m grateful for that, too.

I get to my feet and brush bits of grass from my jeans before I set off on the path back to the car. It’s a beautiful morning to begin again.

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Categories 2024 Election, Allegories, anger, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, Despair, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, grief, Healthy Living, inspiration, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being, The Big 5, War and News of War, women, Words

When Rain Falls

May 13, 2026 //
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This morning I woke aching, feeling a bit twisted, and wondering what woke me early. It’s raining. Simply that, nothing more. I don’t mind some rain, and the garden will love it. I ran my fingers through my hair, as I stood at the bathroom sink, a little bleary eyed, a little tired.

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

I got to the trailhead a little before daybreak. The sky was already light enough to reveal stormy sky overhead, no colorful sunrise this morning. I sigh to myself and get out of the car. Just a sprinkle now, the rain won’t slow me down.

Sometimes it rains.

I walked with my thoughts. Uncomplicated solitary time on a Spring morning. I walk. It’s enough.

I think about the upcoming weekend. My beloved Traveling Partner has suggested, multiple times now, that I take a couple days – the upcoming weekend – and get away for a couple days and really rest. He sees the strain and lingering fatigue I’m dealing with. I think about it. It does sound good… Too early for camping yet (for me), I don’t sleep well enough in the cold and damp to enjoy the experience of tent camping in early Spring. A room on the coast? A cabin in the mountains? A yurt at the edge of the high desert? I sigh to myself; I don’t want to spend money on myself right now. I’m being ridiculous. I would benefit from a couple days alone. My beloved wouldn’t suggest it several times, if it weren’t clear I need a break from the world.

I get to my halfway point still thinking about where to go, maybe, this weekend.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. The rain has stopped. I meditate awhile. I do find meditation a helpful practice for building resilience, finding balance, and maintaining a calm and centered experience. Lately it isn’t enough “all the time” to bring balance and peace when the world is so chaotic and stress-inducing. It’s s little little walking uphill on an icy surface. The residual damage of early life and young adult trauma, and latent mental health issues, weigh on me heavily these days, and really test the progress I’ve made. I look at my hands, and recognize that using them to gauge “how I’m doing right now” is pretty useful. They are neat, manicured, and healthy, no torn cuticles; clearly I’m okay, for most values of okay.

The break in the rain becomes a mist, then a sprinkle. I gaze into the stormy sky above. More rain? Oh, yeah. The sprinkle starts to evolve into a proper bit of rain. I get to my feet and pull my fleece close around me for warmth, as I take cover under the oaks, and finish my writing. Rain will fall. That’s just real. What we do about it matters more.

I sigh to myself, regretting that I didn’t grab my rain poncho this morning. I wipe the drops off the screen of my phone, complete this sentence, and begin again.

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Categories 2024 Election, Allegories, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, health, Healthy Living, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being, War and News of War, women, Words
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