As time flies

It’s hard to believe that we’re already approaching the final months of 2021. Everything over the past two years has seemed a bit of a fever dream, and still, time marches on.

We don’t really know where we’ll be when tomorrow comes. We expect. We plan for. We’re hopeful. But it all comes with uncertainty. It’s a bit of the unknown that creeps into our consciousness.

I suppose it’s just surprising that so much can happen in two years, and yet it still feels like the blink of an eye. When it comes down to it, all we really have is today, and what we make of it.

in a perfect world


There was a show I recall seeing, many years ago now. In one episode, I’m pretty sure the protagonist had somehow brought about perfection in the world. However, everything went to pot by the end, even though it was this supposedly perfect world.

His son tells him, this main character, that maybe a perfect world is actually an imperfect one, because then everyone willing will try to improve it bit by bit. 

And so I wonder, what does a perfect world actually look like? Is it one where we have everything we need? Or everything we want? Or one that we strive to improve upon what already exists? 

In Japanese, wabi sabi means perfection in imperfection – to understand the beauty in something because it is flawed, not in spite of it. 

There’s no answer to this one, just a curiosity as to what is perfection in this world.

in the lonesome october

Somehow it’s fall already. The leaves are changing, the temperatures dropping, and what is likely my favorite time of year is here. Also, traditionally very busy for me.

This year, all year, has been busy, filled with tv and film production and some travel for work. 

People have been waiting for a return to normalcy, or an adaptation to the ‘new normal’. But, you get to set your own standards. What is normal for you is not necessarily normal for anyone else. And vice versa. 

There’s never any certainty in tomorrow, but what we have is today. And what we do with it is up to us.

My First Hundred days

I was reading in the New Yorker that every year for about the past four decades, travel guru Rick Steves has done 100 days in Europe. Until last year.

I’ve been to Europe twice, but never longer than a month. In fact, I haven’t been anywhere for that long, other than the places I’ve called home. Until last year. Just before COVID became an international pandemic, I was bound for Alaska. In the time since, I’ve crisscrossed the US, finding myself in the Dakotas, up and down the east coast, and now in California.

My time here in LA will be roughly 100 days. Presumably, 102 days, to be exact. 

Thus far I’ve done little else but work, go to the gym, and spend time in the condo where I’m staying. I’ve found a couple of doughnut shops, a grocer, a liquor store, and a Trader Joe’s. And that’s been about it for the course of four weeks. 

Traveling of any sort under the shadow of the pandemic still proves something of a psychological block to me. Of course, venturing out can be done safely – wear a mask, distance, etc. But even still, it’s not always easy stepping back into the routine. 

But for there to be shadows, something must be glowing. As Steves said in his interview, “COVID can derail our travel plans, but it cannot stop our travel dreams.” And as long as the dream remains, it’s only a matter of time before it leads to exploration.

Finding your voice

A lot of my writing struggles to come to fruition because I inherently know that I’m looking for my own voice. I speak a certain way, and often times it’s the long way around. I write in a similar fashion.

I used to hate reading Faulkner his long-windedness, and yet I’m pretty guilty of it myself.

So, I self-edit. And time and time again, I have to remind myself to quiet the resistance. It’s not aiding you. It’s hindering.

In anything you do, find your voice. Be yourself. And just do the work.

A matter of words

Words are the single greatest tool we have to convey thoughts. If used properly, they allow us to pass on complete ideas, fictions only imagined inside our singular consciousness, and disperse them to one or two, twenty, a hundred, or however many may be receptive. We are limited only by the weight of our thoughts, the size of our vocabularies, and the way in which we communicate our messages.

All about the process

It amazes me that I’ve been keeping this blog (albeit with somewhat inconsistent postings) for as long as I have been. Admittedly, some days it’s hard to come up with things to write. Occasionally, it’s a matter of budgeting my time. 

But, really, in the end, you spend time on what you want to spend time on. What you build your processes around. We all have these interests that stir us. If we build them into our daily routines, we’ll spend the time on them that we want. 

And once that time block installed, guard it fervently.