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Imperfect Every Day

November 12, 2026 //
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Yesterday began well, and seemed on track to be a great day in my Traveling Partner’s good company. Veterans Day. We’re both Vets.

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

The day went sideways abruptly. Oh, for sure it was all me. Chaos and damage, Veterans Day, and I lost my shit unexpectedly over some small thing that would ordinarily result in a deep breath, or maybe a brief moment of feeling vexed and frustrated. Instead, I lost my emotional footing, and became quite unhinged. Embarrassing, after the fact. My Traveling Partner flared up when I melted down, feeling his own hurt and frustration with my bullshit. Emotions were heated, but instead of days of anger and tears, we managed to sort things out pretty quickly (about an hour). Real progress, actually.

… I still feel embarrassed, remorseful, and more than a little ashamed of myself for being so easily taken down by my inner demons on Veterans Day; I know I am at greater risk, emotionally, on this holiday. I know to be quite careful and wary about my emotional balance. This year proved me unready. This year, for the first year ever since I left the service in the 90’s, not one of my former comrades at arms reached out to check-in, the way we always do. No one I reached out to myself (which was all of them that I have remained in touch with) replied either. There was only distance and silence. I reached out to some close non military friends, too, hoping to dispel the sudden loneliness, and there too, I got only silence back.

…I felt incredibly alone, and my heart filled with despair…

Human beings are mortal creatures. These lives are finite, and so precious and fleeting. Time is short, and we rarely see “the last time” coming. My heart was aching over it. My beloved had no real opportunity to support me; my demons bested me before he could, creating our mutual shitty experience.

… I’m grateful for my partner’s love and patience…

I sit in the foggy darkness alongside the trail I chose for my morning walk. The morning is very quiet. A beautiful buck with a delicately branching rack of antlers stepped past me silently in the fog. He glanced at me briefly, aware but unafraid. I think my thoughts, he no doubt thinks his own. The fog envelopes us both.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I think about my Traveling Partner’s encouragement and his discipline. There is balance between those qualities, held in a thoughtful self-aware tension. It isn’t that he doesn’t have his own challenges and struggles, it is more that he understands them differently, and manages them generally with great skill, and quite differently than I do mine. I consider those differences often. Some I seek to emulate and practice (my results vary; we are different people). Others I avoid, recognizing my results would be quite different, for one reason or another, or perhaps don’t feel consistent with my understanding of who I most want to be, myself. We are different, which is entirely okay.

He loves me and hates to see me mired in despair. The heartbeat of opportunity to share and heal and grow in a positive gentle fashion is sometimes too brief. A moment of pain and sorrow escalates to tears and emotional flooding. Rough. Very human.

We got past it together. Eventually his tenderness and kind suggestions reached me through the tears. His words became a new anchor in a new moment. I allowed myself to trust, and to timidly initiate repair and reconnection. He did not resist, nor did he hold the chaos and unexpected volatility against me. We moved on. The rest of the day was quite pleasant.

Another breath, another thought. I sit with my beloved’s kind reminders to be present where I am, and keep my focus on what is within my sphere of control. I breathe the crisp wet autumn air and think about that. “Be here, now” isn’t merely some gentle hippie platitude. Words have meaning and power.

… and I have brain damage 😆. My beloved making helpful suggestions for practices I am deeply familiar with is neither condescending nor is it “mansplaining”. He’s helping his brain damaged partner find that information again, out of love and concern.

Avoid getting lost in the fog.

I meditate wrapped in the foggy dawn. I feel safe in my solitude, but for a brief moment I also feel a poignant sting of recognition; the difference between solitude and loneliness is razor thin. I miss old friends, military buddies, and lost family connections. I sit with my mortality for a moment. Change is. Impermanence, too, and it can’t really be argued with. I breathe, exhale, and relax. “Practice non-attachment,” I remind myself. “Knowing” is not practicing. Accepting is not practicing. It’s necessary to do the verbs.

I’m grateful for this foggy, thought-provoking morning. I’m grateful for the time and solitude to reflect on what I have learned, who I am, and what I need to practice to become the woman I most want to be. I reflect on dear friends now lost in the fog of distance, time, and mortality. I cherish their memories and let go. Again. Another breath. It feels good to breathe deeply, and to exhale slowly.

Daybreak comes. New day, new beginning. I get to my feet and begin again.

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Despair, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, inspiration, Logic & Reason, loneliness, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, The Art of Being, War and News of War, women, Words

Can You Hear Me Now?

November 10, 2026 //
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Restless dreams, strange morning. Strange in all the best ways. My Traveling Partner was already awake, when I woke, and invited me to stay and join him for coffee, this morning.

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

By itself, enjoying coffee with one’s partner is not a strange thing. We don’t do it often (a combination of timing and temperament). It was quite nice to relax over a cup of excellent coffee together. He told me about a project he has started. I asked some questions. Good conversation.

At one point his temper flared up, but he bested it quickly, I didn’t fall apart over it, and the morning continued, rather delightfully. There is real value in giving people room to be, to err, and to grow.

I have been watching my beloved battle his loss of resilience and patience, since his injury (and more so since his surgery), and I am impressed and looking for lessons and practices I can also make use of. He understands his anger better than I do my own. He is my muse, surely, and oddly enough also a role model to me, always has been. We both (each?) have an eye on our tempers. (Maybe that’s just smart approach to human behavior and emotions? Human primates don’t domesticate easily.) I see him recover from a moment of anger and genuinely reset, quickly. He catches himself, takes a moment, and lets it go. Given the emotional space and safety to do so, he regains perspective quickly. I tend to “drink the poison” and seethe for days in an unhealthy way over some pretty small shit. He gives me hope that I can do better, with practice.

…I handle my anger so much more skillfully than I did when my Traveling Partner and I got together, and the memory of his firm, calm voice telling me frankly and simply that my uncontrolled rage was a relationship deal breaker got through to me more than the words of any therapist had. I am so grateful that he gave me the chance to work on it, instead of walking away.

The coffee was delicious. The conversation was interesting. The mood was relaxed. The memory of the morning is quite lovely and I smile as I walk down the trail, recalling various details, and thinking over an observation my beloved made. “You’ve been in your own head a lot.” He said it in a loving way, concerned about me. He’s right about that, too. I walk on, thinking that over.

… Feels like a Friday. It is the ripples of the lovely morning extending across my sense of the day…

Resilience needs practice. So does communication. I reach my halfway point thinking about practices, successes, failures, and beginning again. I breathe, exhale, and relax. This morning, meditation feels easy and my mind feels calm and settled. There is a work day ahead of me. My pain feels managed. I watch white clouds scoot across the black of the night sky. Daybreak soon. I could use more coffee.

The world is what it is, and most of it is not within my sphere of influence in any way. I can do my best, here, now, to live well, to love well, and to be my best self, and thereby do something to improve the world in some tiny way. It matters. Letting all the ills of humanity rest on my shoulders is neither useful nor healthy. It only serves to reduce how much I have to give, closer to home where my actions have real effects. The result isn’t only that I have less to give, I also end up missing out on so many potentially delightful moments because I’m not fully present and anchored in this moment. I reflect on that.

Daybreak comes. A sprinkle of rain starts falling. It’s a good time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, anger, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, Healthy Living, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women, Words

The Way Things Are Going

November 8, 2026 //
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I woke feeling angry following a night of terrible dreams and repeatedly waking to find that I had pulled off my CPAP mask in my sleep, again. (I say “again”, but it is quite uncommon generally. Last night was unusual.)

Note: I notice after I finish this, it’s mostly fairly pointless bitching about physical pain and this shitty mood I’m in. Maybe you’d prefer to skip it? Figured I’d give you that chance right up front.

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

I woke angry, yes, and I also woke aware that I “wasn’t feeling like myself” in some fashion. As I reflect on the experience, my suspicion is that the combination of yesterday afternoon with my Traveling Partner (fraught with contentious angry conversation) on top of not taking a opiod painkiller this morning, is the root cause of my irritable mood. Bad moods, like bad dreams, are temporary, fleeting, and I know they will pass. In the meantime, I’m sitting irritably by the side of this favorite trail, content with the solitude and darkness, and definitely okay with not being around anyone else right now.

My tinnitus is shrieking loudly in my head. The high pitched whine and cicada-like buzz are more than usually annoying. My osteoarthritis is raging up my spine from its origin near my fusion, and climbing vertebrae by vertebrae from about T13 to the base of my skull. It has taken it 40 years to make that journey, one inflamed crunchy joint at a time, over years. Yeah, if you think arthritis is exclusively a disease of aging, you would be mistaken. Each year, the pain is the worst where it is the newest development. I guess I’m grateful I still have a few joints that are not obviously arthritic. Was it last year or the year before that it got to my collar bone? (I know, right? I didn’t know that was a thing until it happened!)

… This year the slow progression of my osteoarthritis reached my thumbs, that first joint, where the thumb connects to the hand. The pain is remarkable. I have no words to describe it. Some days, it robs me of my ability to hold a pen, a pastel, or do anything much that requires a grip.

… What a downer, I know…

Daybreak comes. So far I have managed to beat the rain. It followed me up the highway, and stopped shortly after I arrived at the trailhead. I have the trail to myself. I’m glad. I honestly don’t want to deal with people at all, this morning. No errands to run, and I’ll stretch this morning time out as long as practical, to give my beloved some wakeup time before subjecting him to my pain and my shitty mood.. I will probably duck into my studio and paint, while my hands permit it.

How long will I still be able to paint, and what comes after that? I sigh to myself. Slow tears slide down my face. I don’t know what they are really about; this morning is hard. I pay them no attention, I allow them to fall.

“This just in; middle-aged woman sobs by the side of a lonely marsh trail on a rainy autumn morning. It isn’t very interesting. Back to you.” 😆

… I still have my sense of humor, such as it is (which is, generally, not actually funny to anyone else, but it will suffice)…

Look, some of this angsty bullshit is almost frighteningly mundane. Emotional baggage combined with chronic pain, fear of losing my ability to paint (and the sad  feeling that it may be inevitable), on top of a difficult night, and not taking an opiod this morning (after taking them for several days) seems like a lot to deal with – it would be an incredible stroke of good luck if I didn’t feel like hell this morning in one way or another. That it feels like “all the ways I could feel like crap” is unfortunate, but not my first time dealing with it. I breathe, exhale, and relax. Part of good self-care is taking a minute to observe, acknowledge, and let go. No, it isn’t easy, but it is a shorter path to feeling better again than… not.

… Still gotta do the verbs. PT stretches. Healthy exercise. Regular medications on time. Meditation. A shower, clean clothes, healthy calories. Drink water. Be present. Be kind to myself. Rest when I need rest. Ask for help when I need help. Accept that these mortal bodies are only good for so much. Do what I can, and do my best, and only that.

… And paint. While I am able. Less fucking bitching, more g’damned painting. 😂

I watch the ducks and geese floating on the marsh ponds. The ponds have begun to refill with autumn rains. The meadow is becoming marshy again. I sit enjoying the solitude awhile, grateful for the unseasonably warm weather, and the pause in the rain. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I’ll just enjoy this moment, here, now, until it is time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, art and the artist, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, Despair, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, Love, 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, women, Words

Choices, Chances, Changes

November 4, 2026 //
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Wednesday after an election day Tuesday, so half(ish) of the nation is waking up to (predictable) disappointment, the other half to (premature) celebration. A smaller number may wake wondering whether or why it matters at all.

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

Me? I wake up groggy, exceedingly so. I manage to avoid making a lot of noise as I dress and leave the house, but I’ve got a nagging sensation that I forgot something, or forgot to do something… and as I walk the trail my thoughts are dominated neither by the election results nor by the starry sky overhead; I’m wondering if I left lights on.

… G’damn it, I sure hope I didn’t wreck my beloved Traveling Partner’s sleep!

The morning is quiet. I get to my halfway point and stop. The starry sky overhead delights me, although I only recognize a small number of constellations and visible planets. The night sky is quite beautiful. The autumn air smells of past rain and current dampness, leaves, and fireplace smoke. I inhale deeply and exhale slowly. I relax as I sit here.

I breathe, exhale, relax, and take time for meditation. I don’t practice meditation when I’m stressed out; I simply practice. Every morning and evening, and sometimes in the afternoon after work, are my “regularly scheduled” times for meditation. Yes, I sometimes also meditate when I’m stressed out, but isn’t that more akin to grabbing a screwdriver when you need one, than practicing a practice?

…It is the steady practice that makes meditation so effective for stress reduction…

It is a work day, but that time is not now. I sit under the stars on this mild autumn morning thinking about… Giftmas. It’s very much time to plan the holidays. It’ll be a quiet and modest year for it, this year. Minimal expense, maximum joy. (Or something like that.) Thanksgiving is less than a month away… I remind myself to order pie at the farm store down the road.

…Pleasant calming thoughts, apparently; I doze off while sitting here and wake with a physical jerk, probably a response to my head dropping as sleep began to overcome me. I’m still pretty groggy. I stand up – I’ve never been able to fall asleep standing up – and finish my writing on my feet.

A fog begins to gather, seeming to flow up out of the creek bed and pooling in low places as it spreads across the vineyard adjacent to the trail. Coffee will be a much appreciated luxury after this walk. I’m grateful for the mild weather. I’m grateful that although I am groggy and still struggling to shake off sleep, I’m not also struggling with vertigo or my headache. Physically, I feel pretty good this morning, and the touch of arthritis pain is manageable.

Mm… Definitely coffee next. I stretch and yawn, and turn my headlamp back on. It’s already time to begin again.

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

Something About Monday

November 2, 2026 //
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I’m awake. New day. New week, too. Halloween was jolly fun. It already seems like awhile ago, and I guess it was, for some measures of time.

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

I meant to spend more time in the studio yesterday. I chose mostly to hang out with my Traveling Partner while he built an antenna for our radios that could easily be deployed or taken down by one person. The weekend was generally a pleasant one, with some ups and downs.

I get to the halfway point on my morning walk still thinking about the weekend. G’damn I’d rather be sleeping right now. I sigh to myself, still grateful to see another day, even from this leading edge of morning. I rub my hands, as if to spread the heat of my arthritic thumbs to the rest of my hands. Chilly morning.

I breathe, exhale, and relax. November already. Did you vote? It’s time, eh? It really does matter.

The sky overhead is cloudy. No stars to see. The oaks are silhouetted sharply against the sky. Daybreak soon. I get comfortable on this rock adjacent to the trail. The discomfort that shifts me isn’t about the rock, and it would not matter where I choose to sit this morning; the discomfort is me. This mortal body has taken a fair bit of damage over the years. I carry the pain and discomfort with me, everywhere. I guess I should be grateful for the variety 😆. This morning, it is  something like sciatica, down my left leg, which is annoying, but nothing like the pain of my headaches.

…Oh, hey, no the headache yet today! Wow. That’s rare. I take a moment to really appreciate it…

“Tangerine Sunrise” 5″ x 7″, pastels on pastelbord, 2026.

I sit reflecting with some frustration on the dissatisfying creative work this weekend. It’s fine. Nothing like the extreme frustration my Traveling Partner endured working on the antenna project (which was such that it drove me from the house to do shopping that could have waited), but enough to be vexing. I contemplate the idea of reworking the piece I am most irked with. I rarely do “corrections”, but when I have it has resulted in some amazing art. I wonder why I fight that, then? The process of reworking a painting that has “failed” is useful (both in practical terms, and as a metaphor). Humans are weird.

… Sometimes we resist doing the thing we know works best…

A light comes bobbing down the trail. I turn on my headlamp to avoid startling the approaching walker. I rarely see anyone else on this trail so early. No dog, either. The stranger makes a point of shining their light right at me as they near. Oh, of course; a cop. There’s a sheriff’s station in the museum, so I’m not really surprised. I say “good morning” cheerfully. The officer lowers their light and replies “early to be out here, isn’t it?” I agree that it is early, adding that I enjoy watching the sun rise before work, and getting a walk in before the work day begins is a great fitness practice. He agrees, thanks me for my time, and urges me to stay safe as he turns to continue down the trail.

I get comfortable, again, as much as I can. I meditate. I breathe. I sit quietly listening to the sounds of an autumn Monday. I don’t know what’s next today. That’s okay, too. I get to my feet and stretch. I prepare to begin, again.

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Categories 2024 Election, Allegories, art and the artist, autumn, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, Healthy Living, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, The Art of Being
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