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Perspective

March 5, 2025 //
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I’m sipping my coffee and enjoying this relaxed moment between the beginning of a new day, and whatever the next moment may hold. The sun is rising, and I see the edge of the sunrise beyond the window, the blue sky, the trees, the clouds, and – the reflections of the work day as images of office lights and the space behind me on the window glass. It’s a metaphor for perspective – and a reminder that I create a substantial portion of my experience based on what put my attention on.

Perspective on the day ahead and this moment.

Which is most real? The world beyond the window? The work in front of me? The chatter and hum of the office(s) behind me? Am I focused on this moment, or some other moment? I can choose to put my attention here, or there, or elsewhere. I can choose my point of view, and I can broaden my perspective to include experiences other than my own through my awareness, my ability to observe, my understanding, and my compassion. It is possible to understand more than my own limited experience, but there are verbs involved.

I sit awhile reflecting on perspective, as I observe the reflections in the window while the sun rises. I see that woman I am so familiar with gazing back at me. There was a time when I was chronically unhappy with her (and about her), and dissatisfied with her very existence. I’m in a different place with her these days – she is my best friend, my shadow, my constant companion, my past, present, and future. I see her smile back at me, aware that “it isn’t all about her“. Useful perspective. It’s a big world and there’s more than me doing my thing going on, on this strange mudball hurtling through space. We’re each having our own experience, and there are a lot of us. Each human. Each worthy of consideration and basic human decency. (Yes, “them” too; being considerate and decent even to some objectionable other is more about me being decent than it is about them, at all, isn’t it?)

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I feel content and comfortable with myself, this morning. Feels like a good start to the day. I gave myself a headstart on this good morning by not watching the president’s address to congress last night. I didn’t have the heart to be that disappointed in humanity just then. I put self-care first. Worth it. I’m not all spun up and angsty over the imminent demise of American democracy, or the horrific failure of our nation to be “great” (ever). Some things are within my control, some things are not; I can take care of me (with consideration and self-respect), and I can do my very best to be the best possible version of the woman I most want to be with the skills I have right now. It’s the best I can do to change the world; be my best self, and avoid being a jerk to other human beings. It’ll have to be enough. This morning, it is.

Pain is pain. This fragile mortal vessel has its limitations. Saw my doctor yesterday, got referred for imaging, and it’ll be a referral to a specialist from there, based on the imaging. Such is the way of things. If I could give my younger self any advice at all, it would be “take care of your body, you’ve only got this one”. That’s a pretty broad recommendation, covers a lot of stuff, and it’s not like she’d have listened – she was once in a very “live fast/die young” place as a human primate. That’s unfortunate – I wish she’d have given the future just a bit more consideration. lol I stretch, and breathe, and move around some, feeling the pain here and there as sore muscles expand and contract, and various arthritic bones grind one against another. The headache isn’t as bad this morning; I’m grateful for that. I chuckle to myself to have reached this place where some specific measure of pain (versus worse pain) is something to be grateful for. It’s not a merry or joyful or humorous thing, it’s just perspective.

I sip my coffee and contemplate “perspective” – and how mine has changed over the years, with age, with experience, with new information, with joy and wonder and bitter disappointments. I’m not the woman I was at 19, or at 27, or at 32. We’ve very little in common. Even the very cells of this physical body, one by one, have changed. I sit with that a while longer. This? Always a new beginning, each moment, a chance to do better, a chance to become the woman I most want to be. A chance to make better choices in my life. A chance to embrace wiser perspective and make room for an understanding of experiences that are not my own.

It’s time to begin again. What will I do with it? Where does this path lead?

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Categories 2024 Election, Allegories, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, inspiration, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, pain, Perspective, Practices, Spring, The Art of Being, winter

Start Where You Are

February 25, 2025 //
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A friend asked me a question, and asked for “some steps, you know, some basic practices” because they were “freaking out with all this chaos and scary shit going on” (I know, me too, right?). I said I’d do my best. I hope it helps. ❤

Where does this path lead?

Sometimes it’s a difficult journey, this “life” thing, eh? It doesn’t have to be has difficult as it sometimes seems. It is an unfortunate truth that we often complicate our situation needlessly, sometimes through poor decision-making, sometimes through lack of clarity in our thinking, sometimes just because we have feelings and don’t reliably deal with those skillfully. But, the good news is that we do actually have choices, and tools at our disposal (like critical thinking, perspective, and non-attachment). We can take things a step at a time…

  1. Start where you are. Any journey is more difficult if you are trying to begin from somewhere other than where you actually stand. Honest self-reflection, acceptance, and making a point to test your assumptions and reality check your expectations is really useful.
  2. Breathe, exhale, relax. Maybe you don’t have “a meditation practice”. Maybe you don’t need one? It’s reliably helpful to “take a minute” to calm yourself when you are stressed out. Change your perspective or your environment, however briefly, and break out of your rumination or your stress spiral. Let small shit stay small. Let things go that you’re getting hung up on, if only for a little while. Take a break. Walk away from it.
  3. Take care of your “fragile vessel”. Such a simple thing – self-care really matters, particularly when life feels hardest. Are you getting enough rest? Are you eating healthy meals? Drinking enough water? How about a shower and some clean clothes? Have you taken prescription medications that may affect your feeling of wellness (or failed to take them)? Are you in pain – and are you doing something to ease that, if you can?
  4. No media, no doomscrolling. This one is a small thing, but a big deal; if you’re already stressed to the breaking point, feeling overwhelmed, or struggling to manage the details in your life, I promise you that reading the news, or doomscrolling endlessly through various feeds on your device(s) is not helpful. Put it down. Silence your notifications. Put the device on Do Not Disturb. Walk away from the tether that ties you to constant demands for your attention. Go outside. Take a walk. Read a book. Sit down over a cup of tea or coffee with an actual human being out in the world and have a conversation. (See point 2.)
  5. Put things into perspective. This one is both difficult and easy. Easy to say, sometimes more difficult to put into practice, just being real with you. Your perspective on a difficult moment may be filtered through the lens of the stress you feel, or prior experiences that weren’t really quite the same. You may be struggling with your chaos and damage, and past traumas may be coloring your understanding. Take a step back. (Don’t take dumb shit personally.) Consider the moment from more than one angle. This one moment, right here, is unique and unrepeatable – and it will pass (good or bad). Let it.
  6. Practice non-attachment. This is a practice that sometimes has some poignance (at least for me); let it go. Just that. Whatever it is, don’t cling to it. Let it go. If you lost the thing you cling to so tightly (whether it is an object, relationship, or sense of identity), things might change, sure, but – wouldn’t you (most likely) be okay if you allow yourself to be? We sometimes cling so tightly to something that isn’t even quite real. Some of what hurts us most we’ve completely made up – it’s safe to let that shit go.
  7. Practice gratitude. I’m not even kidding. I’m also not suggesting that being grateful for the struggle itself, or the pain you’re in, or this complicated moment is the goal. Not at all. I’m suggesting that being grateful for other things, the small wins, the pleasant moments, the little joys, the handful of things that are reliably part of your individual good fortune has real value. It’s difficult for anger, anxiety, or sorrow to compete for one’s attention with heartfelt gratitude. Authenticity matters, and gratitude can’t be “forced”, but there are likely to be quite a few little things for which you are truly grateful. Make room for those. Reflect on, and cherish those. It may give you a firm foundation to stand on before you…
  8. Take the next step. Life is a journey. Most of our path we walk alone. Sometimes we’re fortunate enough to share the journey, but it is still our journey. We’re each having our own experience. Walk on. Sure, have an eye on where you think you’d like to get to, but understand an important detail; the journey is the destination. Do your best to be the person you’d most like to be, moment to moment. Make those choices – the ones that allow you to walk your path, authentically.
  9. Be here, now. Spend less time on regret (the past is behind you) and worry (the future has not yet happened and may not be whatever you fear it might). Be present, in this moment. Now. This takes us back to point 1, you may have noticed… “start where you are”.
As with so many journeys, it isn’t always clear where the path leads.

Breathe. Exhale. Relax. You can begin again. Each time you stumble, pick yourself up, and begin again. Each time you fail, learn from that experience. You’ve got this. It’s your path, your journey, no one can handle this one better than you can.

Staying on the path is a choice, and there are verbs involved.
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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, Despair, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, grief, Healthy Living, loneliness, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, The Art of Being, War and News of War, Words

Gently Now

February 23, 2025 //
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I’m waiting at the trailhead for daybreak. It is a quiet Sunday morning, uncomplicated and ordinary. I’m okay with that. Everything does not need to be exciting all the time. Truly, it’s probably best that generally things are fairly mundane and without excitement or drama. Isn’t there enough of all that without going looking for it or creating it?

There is a big difference between “interesting” and “exciting”, and between “worthwhile” and “full of drama”. I am content with interesting moments and spending my time on things that are worthwhile.

Daybreak comes to the marsh.

There’s a hint of mist clinging in the low spots out on the marsh. The morning is drizzly and mild, and seems rather warm for winter. I don’t rush to head down the trail. I’m in no hurry, and I take time to properly enjoy the hint of a view in the pre-dawn dimness. There’s very little traffic on the highway beyond the trailhead parking. I feel almost alone in the world. It’s a pleasant feeling from the safety and comfort of not being truly alone in the world. (That would be a very complicated experience fraught with unanticipated dangers, as temptingly pleasant as it often sounds to me. Reality would not care at all about my expectations or assumptions.)

I smile and get going, boots crunching quietly on the path. Nice morning for it.

The drizzle persisted as I walked. I returned to the car quite damp, though I never felt the rain. Daybreak became dawn in the usual way, as I walked. Dawn became a gray somewhat dismal unseen sunrise, beyond the dense gray clouds. I enjoyed the walk nonetheless; it was never about the weather, only the moment.

Today I ache ferociously all over. Yesterday’s longer walk, and the time spent later moving heavy(ish) objects, and later still doing the planned housework stuff, was time and effort spent productively and well. I’m definitely feeling it, though. Today’s dampness isn’t helping. There’s a feeling of satisfaction to the pain, though, and a sense that fitness efforts are paying off, however sore I am this morning. Yesterday was a good day. I sit with the recollection for a few minutes, feeling grateful and fortunate.

Today? More housekeeping, very routine, and I am not in any hurry to get to it. It will wait, and my Traveling Partner enjoys having a little time to sleep in and wake up slowly. I sit listening to the sounds of birdsong as the morning minutes tick by gently. I have time for my thoughts, and time to run a couple errands. I probably have time to enjoy a cup of coffee, before my beloved pings me to say he’s up and ask if I would come home and make breakfast. I smile, heart full of love. It’s no great imposition to make breakfast on a Sunday (and he appreciates simple things that I make quite well), and he’s not yet sufficiently recovered to cook easily. He’s a good cook, though, and I look forward to him being back in the kitchen, inviting me to come home and enjoy the breakfast he prepares.

I sigh quietly, contentedly. I breathe, exhale, and relax. This is a pleasant moment of solitude and I linger here, savoring it. I’m grateful.

All manner of little birds call to each other, as I sit listening. I look but don’t see them. Some are in the meadow grass. Some are in the trees. Minutes pass. Soon it will be time to begin again. I’m okay with that, too.

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Categories Allegories, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, joy, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, The Art of Being, winter

Restless Presence

February 22, 2025 //
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I am waiting for the sun, a bit impatiently. I don’t have to wait; it’s a mild morning after a rainy night, and my headlamp is right here. I’m choosing to wait, and I’m not in any hurry. The sense of restless energy and impatience aren’t so much a choice as they are a temporary state of being. Feelings. Sensations. Emotions. I observe them, but don’t make decisions based on them. I choose the quiet waiting. I am eager for the day, and in pain, but neither of these things are decision-making details. They merely are what they are, part of the experience of this moment in all its unrepeatable richness. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I wait.

A smattering of raindrops falls briefly, tapping the roof and windshield of the car excitedly. The shower passes quickly. It’ll be another fifteen minutes or so until daybreak. I’ll start down the trail then.

I sip my coffee content with the waiting, thinking my thoughts, experiencing this moment. It is enough. Each sip of my coffee carries along with it the scent the barista wore today. Where her perfumed fingers had pressed the lid down onto the cup securely, the fragrance lingers. Flowers mostly, and a hint of something classic I can’t name, and each sip makes me wonder again what the name of the perfume is. It is familiar and I can almost remember it.

…At intervals, brief rain showers pass by as I wait…

I don’t bother looking at my news feed. This isn’t the day for that and it has no power over me. No anxiety. No chaos or damage. No anger, frustration, or drama. Just a quiet watchful moment, waiting. It’s a pleasant beginning to a new day and it is enough. Later I’ll run some errands, work on finishing the move from one storage unit to another, and get some routine housekeeping tasks out of the way, but none of that needs my attention now.

Eventually, a new day.

Day breaks, gray and rainy. An enormous flock of geese, uncountably large, passes overhead, unconcerned with the rain. Me, though, I continue to wait – grateful I’m not out on the trail already, caught betwixt rain showers out in open. Now I wait for a break in the rain, watching daybreak become dawn. I smile, content with things as they are. This too is enough.

I look over my writing. “First person, singular,” I think to myself, unbothered by that. I check for spelling mistakes, with care. I breathe, exhale, and relax. It is a new day, a new moment, and a new opportunity to make my choices and live my life. I am here, now, and it is enough. I smile and sip my coffee. This too will pass; moments are fleeting.

Soon it will be time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, joy, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Practices, The Art of Being, Uncategorized, Words

The Unforgiving Path

February 15, 2025 //
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We’ve all got to walk our own mile. Sometimes it is a difficult journey. Sometimes we’re fortunate enough to share some portion of the journey with other travelers. The company we keep matters. A lot. Walking a difficult path alone may be a better choice than sharing the journey with those who wish you ill ( or even those who simply don’t care whether you stumble).

The way ahead may not be obvious. Conditions may be bleak.

I’ve never understood why someone would choose an unforgiving path in the company of the hostile, mean-spirited, cruel, or other ill-intentioned souls on life’s journey. Sometimes we happen upon such folk, our paths may cross, but why choose to endure miles shared alongside them? What value does it add beyond painful lessons learned? Won’t circumstances deliver enough of that without seeking it out?

Isn’t being alone and walking a solitary mile better than sharing the journey with someone who would mistreat you?

Walk on. Choose the company you keep with care.

It can be a cold and unforgiving journey without also sharing your hard miles with those who wish you ill, or who would misuse your gracious presence for their own ends.

We’ve all got to walk our own mile, whatever the weather. (It’s a metaphor.)

My steps on the trail make a crunching sound as I walk over what’s left of the snow. I feel the snow compress and yield beneath my weight with each step further.  The air is clean and crisp, and feels strangely warm for 36°F. I feel comfortable in my warm sweater and my fleece. My steps feel purposeful as I walk through the fog along the marsh trail. Daybreak has come and the gray of the foggy morning changes hue. No colorful sunrise this morning. I have the trail to myself and I walk with my solitary thoughts, content to be alone.

I am grateful for a partnership that gives me such easy freedom to embrace solitary joy. My Traveling Partner has a standing invitation to join me on my morning walks, any time. (He’s more of an afternoon walk in the sunshine guy.) He doesn’t grudge me this solitary joy, and isn’t inclined to be out here on the foggy winter trail. I’m grateful to share the journey with such an understanding traveler.

My thoughts accompany me through the oak trees along the trail…

My thoughts wander. I smile recalling a time when I wore a favorite T-shirt that said “I don’t f* mean people” – and it was true then, and is still true now. I mean, why would I? Why would anyone? Isn’t it better to be alone? It’s a question I ask myself often, because I see so many people who seem uncomfortable with solitude. I don’t understand that, at all. Even my inner demons are better company than mean-spirited, cruel, or petty people. (I enjoy my own company quite a lot.)

Winter oaks, a foggy trail, and solitude.

I get back to the warmth of the car. Write a few words and reflect awhile on the quiet joy of a solitary mile in my own good company. The company we keep on this journey matters a lot. If you find you’d rather endure ill-intentioned companions than spend your time alone, that may be something worth reflecting on. You could be your own best friend. You could even walk a joyful solitary mile instead of enduring an unforgiving path in poorly chosen company. Isn’t it worth thinking about?

I breathe, exhale, and relax, sitting with my solitary thoughts, contentedly. It’s enough. I find quiet joy in this moment of solitude.

It has been worth it to step off the unforgiving path to walk a very different mile in well-chosen company – or solitude. Worth it to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, Despair, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, grief, Healthy Living, joy, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, The Art of Being, Uncategorized, winter
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