There's this idea in the minimalist art movement that the seeming simplicity of the art causes the observer to enter a type of meditative, contemplative state that they otherwise would not have have accessed without the help of the particular piece of art being observed. A long time
“Between every two pines is a doorway to a new world.” - John Muir I am fairly pragmatic in my everyday life. I like things to make sense, I appreciate functionality, and boy oh boy do I love being right! About anything and everything. But nothing - outside my wife
Reading is fundamental. Plain and simple. And yet, just "19% of American adults did 82% of the country's reading" last year; a grim statistic. Reading fiction lets you walk the proverbial mile in someone else's shoes. In a previous post, I quoted Trevor Noah:
Going into the latter-half of the year, I am so grateful that my family and I have been able to do so much that take us out of our home into the communities and the natural beauty around us. Trevor Noah said, "If there's one thing you
I started the year off in some pretty deep grief following the passing of my beloved mother-in-law. Grief is like swimming out into the ocean to where you can no longer comfortably touch the bottom. The waves don't stop coming just because you don't feel safe,
Man, how to compete with The Narrows, right? But since there's no real ability to, you just gotta do the exact opposite. Which is walk all damn day in the blazing hot sun. We woke up and took things a little slowly. We had a few too many
We set our alarms for early. Like... early early. The kind of early that momentarily puts you in a rotten mood when you set your phone's alarm to the kind of time that someone who said they stayed up all night partying would say they stayed up until.
The taken picture. The written word. In conjunction.
To know me, is to know that I'm down. For pretty much anything, anytime, anywhere. And when my sister-in-law asked us, "We got a random camping day in Zion, wanna come?", you know what my answer was. I love a road trip. Like... I LOVE A
It's been a little bit, friends, and I just want to give a brief check-in. If you've received this in your inbox, then that means I have done everything correct in my transition from Substack to Ghost (although I'm not looking to turn my
"Words aren't enough, which is where art comes in..." - Chuck Tingle
“Sweep everything under the rug long enough, and you have to move right out of the house.” - Rachel Ingalls
"What did it mean, I wondered—I still do—to not remember something so fundamental about yourself? Was it the same as if it never happened?" - Adam Ross
"... it is the flawed product of a deranged mind." - Grand Councilwoman, Lilo & Stitch
"You long to go into nature because nature doesn't care about you." - Diana Helmuth
"What other sport not only kept a stat as cruel as the error but posted it on the scoreboard for everyone to see?" - Chad Harbach
"Those things that seemed as if they'd last forever never did." - David Joy
“Was Daedalus really stricken with grief when Icarus fell into the sea? Or just disappointed by the design failure?” - Alison Bechdel
"... she was already starting to forget the feeling. It was like trying to fall back asleep to dream the rest of a promising dream." - Steph Cha
“How odd I can have all this inside me and to you it’s just words.” - David Foster Wallace