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The Sunrise Makes The Day

July 20, 2025 //
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In much the same way as “the clothes make the man”, the sunrise makes the day. To be most brief; it doesn’t. At all.

I say this after driving to the trailhead this morning watching a sunrise so colorful and splendid that it obscured all possible awareness of what tends to make such beautiful displays as dawn becomes day (which is typically some sort of terrible pollution in the air, or wildfires, rarely anything good).

I tried to snap a picture of this morning’s unbelievably beautiful sunrise. The sort of bold magentas and subtle lavenders that I feel inspired to paint. They seem unreal even in a photograph. The magenta and lavender hues gave way to bolder oranges, and tangerine and gold, and a vaguely bilious yellow green strip along the horizon as the sun began to rise above the hilltops. In between the streaked clouds, a delicate cerulean blue peaked through. No photograph could capture this tremendous display of beauty and color. I did try. lol

You had to be there.

By the time I reached the trailhead, the sunrise was over. The morning is quite cloudy and hints at rain. The ferocious heat has abated somewhat, and it is cooler than it has been, pleasantly so. The morning is quiet, but here in this place, I do hear the traffic on the adjacent highway as I lace up my boots. I listen to little birds chirping and carrying on, and I wonder what they are so excited about first thing?

Yesterday was interesting. Most of it was quite lovely, and spent in the good company of my beloved Traveling Partner. There were some moments that I will reflect on fondly for some time to come and I feel very loved. There were also a couple of moments that I could have done without, and I feel my expression change when I recall them. Humans being human. The moments don’t define the day.

I set off down the trail. I hear distant voices. I see hot air balloons in the sky, visible but quite far away. I walk the marsh trail, more meadow than marsh this time of year. I walk along the river. Somewhere nearby a duck quacks. A chipmunk darts across the path, as it turns and winds through the oak groves.

The map is not the world.

The journey is the destination, and the map is not the world. Our plan is not our experience. What we choose to wear, the words we say, the things we have or yearn for, these are not the essence of who we are. It’s closer to the truth to say that we are the path we walk, the choices we make, and the accumulated outcomes of those choices. We are the lived expression of our values – our real values, not the ones we say are dear to us, nor some trendy popular sound bite. A flag sticker on a vehicle doesn’t make the driver a patriot, nor does a catchy slogan make a responsible citizen (or a good leader). We tell the world (and those dearest to us) who we are through our actions, everything else is more like something we’re wearing, I think. Still chosen. We are, more than anything, the sum of our choices.

… Choose wisely…

I smile thinking about precious lived moments of love with my Traveling Partner. We’re unquestionably human, both of us, but g’damn do I ever love this particular human being with all my heart. I easily forgive and overlook little hurtful moments because they are few and only moments. No one moment defines the profound enduring love we share. He “gets me”. We know each well and deeply. Our lives have become so entwined over time I can’t imagine what life would be like without him. My smile deepens, recalling the unexpected gift he gave me yesterday, a small figure of a favorite anime character. Doesn’t matter why this character is among my favorites, but it certainly says something about me to see them there on my desk together: Wonder Woman, Major Kusanagi, Professor Chaos, and now Kento Nanami joins them. Aspirational role models? Avatars? Totems? I don’t know… little godlings perhaps, standing as light posts on a quiet street on a dark night. They represent qualities I seek and embrace within myself, or acknowledge and work to overcome. Definitely a bit of both; our heroes are as flawed as we are ourselves.

Who are your heroes? Why them?

I sit at my halfway point thinking and writing. Realizing that I don’t actually know who my partner’s heroes are. Not explicitly. I don’t think I’ve ever asked, though we share more of our inner lives with each other than most people likely do. Interesting. What an odd thing. I could guess, but guessing is a pretty poor way to gather information. I think I’ll ask sometime.

I sit awhile thinking about this man I love and who loves me so dearly in return. We’ve traveled some miles together. I hope we share many more. He has become part of me. This love we share is one of the best parts of who I have become over time.

If the sunrise doesn’t make the day, what does? No one moment is the entirety of a day unless we allow it to become so. A day is not the entire lifetime, any more than a step is the whole journey. We have so many opportunities to begin again if things go sideways or we step off the path.

What does “make the man”? For me? His values. His lived values. It’s not necessary for someone to tell you what they value with their words, their actions tell you all you need to know. What are you telling the world about who you are and what you value, with your actions? Are you satisfied with the picture your actions paint? If not, you have choices, and you can begin again.

I sigh and glance at the time. There’s this trail, and the day, ahead of me and the clock is ticking. I smile and stretch and get to my feet.

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Categories Allegories, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, joy, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Practices, Relationships, Summer, The Art of Being, The Big 5

Weapon of Choice

July 17, 2025 //
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I got my walk in this morning, around the neighborhood where the office is located. It’s a pretty middleclass neighborhood, with few sidewalks and lots of lovely landscaping. The summer air was still and smelled of flowers, exotic and vaguely tropical. Very summery. The sun was up and the morning beginning to hint at the heat of the day to come by the time I got back to the office.

…The entire time I was walking, I had a favorite “big beat” track in my head, Fatboy Slim’s “Weapon of Choice“…

It was less about the music, this morning, than the words. I kept turning the phrase over in my head, “weapon of choice”… I’d always heard that as meaning “preferred choice of weapon”. This morning it hit me that it also means… choice, as a weapon (or tool). Huh. Words are fun.

We have a ton of choices in life. The menu of the Strange Diner is – in a practical sense – almost unlimited. (Limits we observe are often self-imposed.) Choice is an important tool in our toolbox, whoever we are, regardless of our circumstances. Volumes are written about choice and choosing and how to make choices. What are you choosing? Are your choices taking you where you want to go? Do they make you more the person you most want to be? Are you trapping yourself with foolish choices? Do the choices you choose to make tend to make the world a better place, generally, or… not? I don’t need the answers to these questions (from you) – but maybe you do? (I know what my own answers are, and I ask myself these questions often.)

…Are you even making your own choices, yourself, or are you following some talking head on the internet, or an app, or an “AI”? Are you aware that it matters?…

I sip my coffee thoughtfully. I think my thoughts, grateful for another day to make choices and to practice practices. Grateful that I was finally able to get my Ozempic refilled, and my “sense of things” feels quite ordinary once again; I’ve clearly grown used to the changes it makes in my headspace (the increased impulse control demonstrably extends even to my ability to manage my temper, as it turns out). I breathe, exhale, and relax, feeling filled with contentment and a certain feeling of internal comfort that only seems to come from feeling very “at home in my own skin”. No anxiety, and for the moment no physical pain (which is a pleasant change). No headache. No allergies. Just a pleasant summer morning and a good cup of iced coffee, and this lovely quiet moment that is all mine.

…I am momentarily distracted by the awareness that a lot of my life is captured in words: emails, fragments of unfinished manuscripts, a rare bit of surviving journaling here or there, letters written in the days of snail mail as the only option, and this blog. I find myself wondering if I should be giving thought to preserving any portion of that (the internet may not actually be “forever”, considering current world events, generally)…

I sigh to myself, and my thoughts move on. Who am I? Who was I “then“? What relationship does she have to me, now? Memory is a thin thread that connects our past selves with our present self, and a bit unreliable at times. Does it even matter? Strange thoughts on an ordinary summer workday morning. There’s value in self-reflection, though, and asking the worthy questions is worthwhile whether I answer them or not. They demonstrate thoughtful curiosity and a regard for the unknown. They light the path ahead in some way I can’t easily describe or explain. They hint at what I don’t know, even about myself. Hell, sometimes they stave off the existential dread and doubt that sometimes accompanies awareness of how precious and limited this mortal lifetime is. I hear that metaphorical clock ticking.

The weekend is coming. What will I do with it? I’ve got a camping trip planned for a couple weeks from now. What will I do with that? I’ve got choices. So do you. What will you choose?

Every choice is a new beginning – even if you choose to stand still and do nothing.

One day I will not wake to begin again… It’s how mortality works. There is much to savor in each waking moment, and less to struggle with than I sometimes choose.
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Categories 2024 Election, Allegories, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Practices, Summer, The Art of Being, War and News of War, Words

Legacy

June 19, 2025 //
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Have you ever thought about how few people leave any sort of lasting mark on the world, or the lives of others in an individual mortal lifetime? Humanity’s impact on the planet, other life forms, and each other, generally, is pretty obvious (and pretty reliably negative, which is unfortunate), but as individual human beings, by far the vast majority of us will pass through these mortal lives almost unnoticed, and leave no lasting legacy of the life we lived. Maybe, if we’ve worked hard and been quite fortunate, we’ll leave something of value behind, in cash or assets, that our heirs may or may not appreciate in the way that we hoped. Most of us will live, die, and be forgotten.

… That’s a huge downer, isn’t it? My own experiences of “existential dread” most commonly center on this awareness that it’s quite likely I’ll be forgotten once I’m gone…

The closest thing we human beings have that approximates immortality is to have some sort of lasting legacy that endures beyond our limited, all too brief, human lifetime. The written works of writers, philosophers, historians, and storytellers of all sorts may survive thousands of years. The paintings, drawings, and sculptures of visual artists working in durable media may survive many lifetimes beyond the death of the artist who made them. More modern art forms have yet to prove themselves, but recorded music, and film, endures – as long as the means to view them survives. Architects design buildings and crews of builders, engineers, and tradespeople work to bring them into being – where these survive, a name may survive with them, but only one (or few) of many.

I fret about what my own legacy may be, when this brief mortal life ends. Will my art survive? Will it be known, even to some few, or lost over time due to lack of appeal or discarded as lacking value? Will my small but thoughtfully selected porcelain collection become treasured by someone else, or be sold piecemeal as part of clearing out the clutter I left behind? What about my books? My written work? The contents of my email? Will the things that were important to me have lasting importance for anyone else? Will I be remembered? If I am, what will I be remembered for? That seems like an important question, although considering the likelihood that I’ll simply be among the vast forgotten multitudes as soon as I’m gone, the seeming importance of the question may be an illusion.

A sunny summer day, an oak grove, a meadow.

I walked down the trail this morning thinking about legacy and mortality, and meaning and purpose, and wondering again “what we’re here for”. How long after I’m gone will my beloved say my name with longing and love, before his memory begins to fade? Once he’s gone, what then? Who will continue to “say my name” and cling to their memories of me?

I’m not thinking about these things in a sorrowful way, just contemplating what it takes to leave behind an enduring legacy of love and high regard? I am asking myself what I hope to be remembered for? I have come to understand that it isn’t enough simply to be remembered. Some pretty terrible human beings are remembered through history, and I have no interest in being one of those. It’s more complicated than simply being remembered, isn’t it? Hitler is remembered. Andrew Jackson is remembered. Jack the Ripper is remembered. Saddam Hussein is remembered. No doubt Trump will be remembered. These people are not remembered for anything good they did. Their legacy is of trauma and crime, and how terrible human beings can treat other human beings. Their names evoke cautionary admonishments and document terrible deeds. There are worthier things to be known for.

What do you want to be known for? Are you even doing the things that have that potential?

One hot air balloon drifting across a blue summer sky.

I walked and thought. Later I’ll have coffee with a friend, run a couple errands, get the oil changed in my car, and return home to my Traveling Partner’s love. None of that holds any particular potential to leave a lasting “legacy”. These are moments in one human life. Perhaps it is enough to simply live authentically, and to love well, and treat people with kindness and consideration?

I watch the leaves of trees quaking gently in the morning breeze, and enjoy the feeling of sunshine on my back. It’s a lovely morning, and perhaps the best possible choice is to embrace this moment, savor it, and live my life as it is? Maybe it isn’t for us to decide what our legacy could, or may, be at all? I suppose it is eventually in the hands (minds) of others, regardless what we may do to influence or guide that outcome. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I keep walking. I can wonder, but I can’t know – funny to recognize and acknowledge that with such ease. The question of “legacy” now seems potentially an obstacle. A bit of misdirection. Perhaps it is far more important simply to become the person I most want to be, living well, loving deeply, and present, here, now?

I sigh and smile. I hear the clock ticking. I keep on walking. Regardless whether I am remembered or forgotten, I am enjoying this life, and savoring the many little joys in it. Each moment is uniquely its own experience, whether anyone else remembers or not; I’m here, now, living these moments. It’s enough, isn’t it? I think about it awhile longer. Soon, I’ll begin again, grateful for the chance, and the moments.

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, art and the artist, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, gratitude, Healthy Living, inspiration, joy, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Summer, The Art of Being, War and News of War

Where Will You Be When You Get There?

April 9, 2025 //
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I woke up abruptly this morning, lights on at full brightness. I’ve felt like I’m “running behind” ever since, though it is an entirely ordinary day in most regards. Well, not really, it’s a birthday (Happy Birthday shout out to the Anxious Adventurer!). I’ve some things to do related to that event, later, and a plan to cram the full measure of my work day into the next 4 hours, and cut the work day short. I sip my (terrible) (iced) coffee and consider the day, and this moment right here. Things seem pretty okay, although I’ve got my headache riding shotgun this morning, and my arthritis has reduced my mobility considerably (I’m very stiff this morning), and I’ve got a weird pain in my left side, like a cramp or something, higher up than my kidneys, lower down than my heart, somewhere just below-not-quite-inside my ribcage. It’s vexing me. It doesn’t come and go with my heart beat, but it’s also not steady. A dull ache that waxes and wanes in a sort of arbitrary way.

…I probably talk about pain too much…

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I sip my coffee and think my thoughts.

A colorful distraction

A moment of whimsy distracts me from my bullshit. There are bags of colorful gumballs on the desk adjacent to mine (which is otherwise bare). I laughed with delight when I first walked in and saw them, and they catch my eye again, now. The colors delight me. I enjoy color. I once dressed all in black, and had a lot of “stuff” that was also black, but it’s generally been as a backdrop to things that are quite colorful as contrast. (I learned late in life how much more powerfully a neutral gray background can highlight bold colors – maybe there’s a metaphor in there somewhere?) I don’t wear much black these days. Some, not a lot. I’m not all that gloomy or negative about life, generally, nor am I as serious as I sometimes may seem. I paint in colors. I decorate in colors. I enjoy colorful light. I don’t know what I’m trying to communicate here – certainly I have no beef with people who choose to wrap themselves in black. The colors we choose say things about who we are, but it’s not for me to say what things they say. You do you. Please. Definitely be who you are – the best of who you are. No one else can do that as well as you can.

A happy colorful space.

I think about my office, which was previously also my studio. I’ve decorated it for my comfort. It’s a place I can retreat to to meditate, to read, to work, or just to chill in a moment of solitude. It is a colorful space, comfy and cozy, and too small for everything in it, which seems to suit me just fine. I don’t like clutter, though, actually, and I find that yielding to clutter creates chaos in my thinking and my experience of life, generally, so I like to avoid that if I can. My Traveling Partner knows this about me, and when recently cleaning my computer for me, he noticed that my desk had become a bit messy. Understanding how much this vexes me, and how little time for tidying up I’ve had lately (and how little energy), he suggested adding a couple little drawers under my desk.

What love looks like.

He 3D printed the little drawers for me in colors that delight me and fit the color scheme in my office (yes, I think pastel rainbow colors and lavender, green, and pink are entirely acceptable office colors LOL). I sat down to a new opportunity to create order from chaos, and once again my desk is quite tidy and free of messiness or disorder. It’s lovely. I worked efficiently all day, smiling and grateful to be so loved.

Today I am in the office, and honestly it is a disappointingly bland space. Earth tones, white, black trim, very “corporate”, very neutral, wholly uninteresting – some days I find it hard to work here. The bags of gumballs made me smile. I don’t know why they are here, placed where they are. This space, and this day, needed some measure of whimsy. I feel merry in spite of my pain. It’s a good start to the day.

I sip my (dreadful) coffee and think about the path I’m on. This path that I’ve been on now for some 15 years, I suppose. This path I’ve chosen to walk, that leads me… where? When I “get there”, will I know it? When I get there, where will I be? “The journey is the destination.” I say it a lot, as a reminder that my choices, words, and actions right now matter every bit as much as whatever awaits me out there in the future, further along the path. I’m not perfect – but perfect isn’t the goal. I only want to be the most me, the best version of the woman I most want to be, that I possibly can be – knowing what I know now, and using the full measure of my abilities as they are, and working each day to become just a little more of who I could be. Some days it doesn’t feel like much of a goal – other days I’ve no idea why I set the bar so high. lol Depends on where I am in the moment, I suppose.

Who are you at your best? Who do you most want to be? How often do you ask yourself these questions and take action on your answers? Are you walking your path with your eyes open? When your birthday comes around, do you take an honest look in the mirror and reflect on who you have become, and whether this is who you most want to be?

Dawn comes. The sky is dull and gray this morning, and I’m grateful that I can fill my world with color, anyway. Color that I choose. Color that fills me with joy. Color that reflects agency and whimsy and lessons learned over time. There are so many choices in life’s Strange Diner. So many lessons learned over time. I choose my path, and I walk it.

The clock is ticking. What will you choose, next? It’s time to begin again.

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

Bruh. How’d You F* That Up??

March 16, 2025 //
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Some thoughts about things to do with being, becoming, and connecting with people (that I’ve mostly learned the hard way):

  • Chronic negativity isn’t “humor”, nor is it a useful way to connect.
  • An uncomfortable forced laugh is less engaging than authenticity, even when that means admitting “I don’t get it”.
  • Constantly complaining about common experiences doesn’t make a person sound cool, edgy, worldly or sophisticated.
  • I haven’t been everywhere. I haven’t done everything. I don’t know all there is to know about every topic of conversation.
  • It’s a safe bet that I have something to learn, and that listening may reveal things I don’t know.
  • A lot of things aren’t about me at all. Some experiences aren’t for me. I won’t be welcome in every space. This isn’t something that needs to be “fixed”.
  • Being annoying results in being alone. A lot. (And not missed even a little bit.) It’s just not fun to be around – definitely behavior to be avoided.
  • Consideration is often overlooked and very underrated, and when practiced consistently and sincerely can seem like a super power.
  • Manners still matter.
  • Intimidation is a “cheat code” in life, and although people around someone who practices intimidation may be willing to exploit that behavior, they don’t like the person who behaves that way, except maybe in spite of it.
  • Good character has lasting value and creates a stable foundation in relationships.
  • Some people are mired in their anger (it has become a practice more than an emotion), taking that personally is neither healthy nor helpful. Being that person is a poor choice with lasting consequences.
  • Hard decisions can slow me down. It’s worth considering other opinions and new options. Ultimately the choices I make are mine, and so are the consequences. It helps to ask questions and reflect on the answers.
  • Learning is a practice. Self-care is a practice. Listening is a practice. Consideration is a practice. Respect is a practice. Authenticity is a practice. It’s all practice. There are verbs involved. Work. Effort. Self-reflection. Commitment. Getting anywhere worth going happens in increments, over time.
  • We can choose change. We can choose to become the human being we most want to be. Ultimately we are responsible for who we are, and who we choose to become.

There are some seriously unpleasant, annoying people in the world. People who lack manners and consideration. People who are unkind, mean, petty, and (or) intimidating (sometimes for personal gain, sometimes purely as a matter of poor character). It’s worth doing my best not to be one of those people, and to do my best every day to be the person I most want to be. I’m not critizing you or telling you how to live, just sharing some of my own thoughts about my own life, things I’ve learned, things I’ve observed over time, things I still struggle with. Doing better today than I did yesterday isn’t easy; it takes work. Honest self-reflection. A willingness to change.

… Trust me, I’m not smug about any of this shit. I’m working my ass off to be the person I most want to be, to learn from my mistakes, and to do better today than I did yesterday – every day.

…

It was afternoon when I wrote those words. I was in pain. I slacked off some housekeeping in favor of self-care. Choices. Did it help? I don’t know. I got through another day, and held on to enough energy to cook a good meal. It was enough.

The darkness before dawn.

It’s a new day, now. I’m still in pain – I nearly always am. I’m not saying that to complain, and I’m not alone with that experience. Chronic pain is pretty common, actually. Learning to enjoy life in spite of it can be a pretty difficult journey (a lot of the really worthwhile things in life are difficult). My results vary.

I woke this morning already uncomfortable and in an unpleasant mood. No idea why, really. Maybe just dealing with pain has that result, sometimes. I feel cross with myself, with the world, with the seemingly endless list of shit that needs doing. I’m tired of all of it before I even get started…

I breathe, exhale, and relax, as I sit at the trailhead waiting for enough daylight to walk the trail easily. I don’t feel like walking in the dark this morning. I remind myself to let small shit go, and not to take things personally. I take my morning medication and sip my coffee and watch the moon set through the clouds.

When my mind wanders back to things that irritate me, I bring myself back to here, now, this moment. I make a point of practicing gratitude; it’s exceedingly hard for discontent and irritability to compete with gratitude, and I do have much to be grateful for. The internal resistance to letting my mood improve and allowing myself to enjoy a better experience is frustratingly persistent, but I keep at it. We become what we practice. It won’t always be easy to follow this path, but it is a choice available to me, and it’s the choice I make. My results vary, and there are verbs involved, but over time the outcome is predictably good.

Every day is a new beginning. My path is paved with my choices. The journey is the destination – and the clock is ticking. It’s time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, Healthy Living, joy, Logic & Reason, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, The Art of Being, Words
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