Rhyme. No Reason
Writing is a discipline for me, like running. Like those who feel a runner's high, I can find a peaceful flow focusing the words in my head to form a sentence in black Times New Roman with metaphors marching in formation or laying around at ease. Mistakes begetting experience, experience begetting skill, skill giving way to unconsciousness...
In my early seventies am I really going to be gunning to get that second home, crank out an Iron Man, buy a boat, publish a book? I still have those last 30 years, the third book in the trilogy, what I call the 3rd 3rd of life. How to use that last thirty years given that
What if you stepped into a new identity, a money-saving, organized super skin that doesn’t fear taking action or taking a relationship chance? Would embracing that identity change not just your thoughts, but your habits and your character?
I got in a spat with my sister. As we assembled chicken salad sandwiches, we found ourselves chatting on the topic of journaling. My journaling process is a riff on the Tim Ferris model. She's more Ryan Holiday. Overall, our individual journaling processes and techniques are simpatico. No irreconcilable differences, then this:
As the next presenter took the stage, I walked down the stairs of the dais and down the aisle, past all the bankers, hardly believing it was over. I just wanted to stand at the back of the room and decompress. As I got to the back of the room the guy with the mustache, the lead of the food service team, was waiting for me.
I learned so much that day. I learned firsthand the amazing power of How. How turned disdain to connection in one syllable.
How many times have you told yourself you were going to change? Did you? I use this tool to help me keep the promises I make to myself.
You don’t think so now. But you will crash. It will be deadly. It will be on an unforgiving, lonely and spare mountain top. You will look around for resources and there will be cold, barren, frozen snow. There will be avalanches. You will be starving.
What will you do?
Eventually, I realized my brain talked to me in a weird non-verbal language, my Subconscious knocking on the window of my Consciousness. Maybe I should listen up. Maybe...
A few days before, it seems, I had done a neighbor a little favor. What it was I don’t even recall. It was nothing. And there she was, thanking me in person and offering me a cake.
Orange Door Hinge 