Resolution or evolution

Evolution.

I know, it’s a worn-out concept. But I never tire of it because for me it began with breaking glass. There was no peacefully flowing stream, no meditation. I wanted to destroy and rebuild but when I realized I couldn’t smash the existing system I decided to make my own. For me.

I wasn’t interested in what might work for anyone else. Selfishness was the fount of my creativity. Of course, I read and watched those others at first. Role models influence, and our initial instinct is to mimic what and who we perceive to be successful. In the modern age we simply touch a screen to “like” them and imply distant, virtual similarity. Back then, the process required more blood and meat. To imitate in a meaningful way one had to learn a language and a skill, and to accept the discomfort of uncertainty. Because of that investment, I realized quickly that, no matter how successful or popular, there were people and pastimes I did not want to emulate.

I didn’t need to be like anyone else, only to learn from them. And I certainly wasn’t going to live my life hoping that others would like me. I fought on several fronts: against the difficulty of genuine change, the powerful need to be accepted, and against the programming that made my revolution necessary. Confronting myself was the hardest step. Before I could become who I wanted I had to understand who I was.

If I wish to continue growing this will never change.

Right now - today - I don’t want to be the old me, to imitate my former self. Fucking well move on. Wherever it leads. I can’t force it. I can’t force it well anyway. I simply aim towards the goal that interests me in the moment, walk towards it, avoid distraction so I don’t forget that goal and … then I become what comes.

There is beauty in repetition, in perfecting the repetitions, and in the efficiency that evolves from such narrow, focused practice. On a micro level these details are important and necessary. But repetition on a macro scale eventually kills the spirit. I simply cannot do the same thing or be the same me until the day I die. Repeating myself only hastens that day. I am, of course, stuck with my experience and the skills I have developed. We all are.

Total revolution is an impossibility after a certain number of miles but I encourage exactly that revolution in anyone who can still change themselves and their course. Go for it. Break the chains. Unless your future happens to correspond exactly with your nature. If that’s the case well, be and do who you were born, raised and influenced to be. If not, break glass, rise against.

I don’t urge you to raise a flag against boredom. That’s not a values and ideals problem. That is a self-management issue. No, the flag I want to see fly heads a column of people fighting against recipes, against “supposed to” and expectations. I want to see angry people flip cars and toss molotov cocktails at the conventions that prevent freedom of thought, of expression, and above all, of action. Reject what ever holds you back. Destroy it if you must. I’m not talking property. I am speaking about norms. And the life we accept because we bought into it.    

Everything we think and say and do trains us, consciously or not. Training is conditioning. A dear friend commented brilliantly that, “Our mental and emotional (spiritual) conditioning governs how we see the world …” He insists - and I agree - that we are conditioned by what we do, how we consciously train ourselves. Can you understand how what you do daily - the decisions you make and the actions you take - affects what you might or will do in the future? Never an action without reaction. Never a choice without consequence. Examine this.

I fought the conditioning of my youth and warred against the norms nurtured into me. I fought that war for years. I made it a lifestyle. My constant battle allowed independence. It allowed me to think freely, and behave the same. But the loner is always drawn to the pack one way or another. Understanding this is useful.

Now, in a quest for greater freedom I find myself willing to accept bonds I would have slashed and burned as a younger man. Is it a bad thing? An irreversible thing? Or inconsistent with my ideals? Maybe the lesson of age is that I don’t need to confront and reject what appears to block my path. Maybe, I can use The Man to do exactly what I want, harness his power and momentum to achieve my own goals. Leverage.

These days fitness and sport performance are tied to language and politics. Most people step to the loudest drumbeat, and appear to be comfortable doing so. Or chase the latest, greatest, finally-proven or at least demonstrated tactic or device. A minority chooses a different beat. Marginal compared to the norm but still a man-made beat. Unfortunately, many of them shout about it. They make it a fight instead of a simple choice. They judge. They condemn. All to justify their own actions. To elevate themselves even though they are doing more or less the same thing as everyone else: picking shit up, putting it down and eating food so they can keep doing so.

At the time of this writing I don’t think it wise or necessary to waste energy on (continued) confrontation. Revolution requires an establishment to fight against but once you revolt there is no need to maintain a relationship. Don’t stay so long that you become what you fought against. Reject what didn’t work for you and move on. You don’t need an adversary. You just need to change. Or, in the words of a dear friend, you shouldn’t “give a shit about people who don’t give a shit.”

And that may be the best definition of evolution I have ever heard.

Heart is primary

In 2011 a mentor insisted I read and underline, learn and practice the lessons in Bruce Lee's book, "Tao of Jeet Kune Do", which had been published quite some years prior. Many concepts proved appropriate for me as a young soldier but one that stood out then, and became instrumental when I brought the philosophy of fighting from the battlefield and into the gym was, "... the mind is primary."

In the early writing I did I often quoted Herb Elliot, who won gold in the 1500m at the 1960 Olympics, "If you concentrate on the mental aspect it is inevitable that the physical side will follow." This led to my first "rule" of training, The Mind is Primary.

To introduce this concept I wrote, the mind is primary; the mind drags the body – struggling behind it – rarely the opposite. When spirit 'increases' improved physical performance is a consequence. And as performance improves spirit soars, confidence evolves, and character develops. Without active mental participation sport may not be used as a tool of self-discovery. The muscle we are interested in training is inside the skull.  I hoped to convey that creativity and imagination, set upon the foundation of a mind quieted through meditation — regardless of the type — would open eyes and hearts to the nearly-unlimited potential of human beings to express themselves in their environment in whatever way they choose. And without a quiet mind every physical action is hampered by the mind itself, thus the importance of psychological training became my guiding principle in the gym and with jiu jitsu as well.

While this may not have been a new or different idea within what I had known about the fitness world it felt liberating and exploratory, but reliance upon it and constant repetition anchored me in a way that would take years to understand. This dependence kept me from recognizing that the common factor influencing the successful outcomes of my clients and students was not the exercise or movement specifics and the science but the development of psychological assets. Even this realization kept me firmly bound to the mind and its ability — when "perfected" — to demand greater and greater effort and action from the body. It would be another few years before feeling would render thinking an act that begins in the heart.

I have always thought the purpose of training and practice was to make eventual action (or response of any kind) unconscious. Strange, then, that it took so damned long to realize the point of thinking is to do away with thinking, or that one characteristic of mastery is feeling instead of thinking. Of course, I value thinking, much of life would be impossible without the ability to do so critically, but I no longer worship conscious thought as a motive force or guide. I’ve often said that coaching and teaching is more art than science and, although understanding the tools is essential, one does not (generally) think their way into making art. In the context of fitness, one may “think” their way through the mechanics of fueling and hygiene during a 100-mile run but the effort itself is guided and sustained by emotion.

I walked out of the gym and away from jiu jitsu at the time because of this, because the intensity and duration of the activities happening in there reinforced ego and the preeminence of Self. I wanted to return to those days in the fight when what I did compelled and allowed me to examine Self, to experience it, ultimately to witness its loss, or leaving. I recalled days when effort overwhelmed prejudice, when deep fatigue swept conscious thought away, when I became an antenna and set my dial to Receive, when all I could do was feel. I need those days to keep me from overthinking, or to observe myself doing so. And when I can't have them I use other means to short-circuit mind-dominant habits because what I seek only comes by feeling, from heart.

These days I want to respond to stimulus automatically. Not by way of rehearsal or through repetition, instead according to feeling, intuition, and again, heart. Heart needs no “Why?”, heart responds without hesitation, without the start-stop-start that comes with conscious thought. Flow isn’t possible when mind takes the wheel. Creative force is feeling, and far away from thinking.

I paged through Lee's "Tao" the other day to find the context of the catch-phrase that had served me so well "... the mind is primary." And chuckled at the inconvenient parts I left out. He wrote that knowledge and skill — the tools and rules — are meant to be forgotten, so we might experience emptiness without discomfort. He warned against becoming enslaved by learning, and suggested that any technique (to which I add "any material thing"), regardless of its desirability or utility, "becomes a disease when the mind is obsessed with it".

Mind is a trap that insists upon its supremacy, all the while restricting our access to the irrational, to imagination and exploration — to possibility. Mind has limits while the heart's capacity constantly expands, and refills. Mind apprehends what is. Heart feels what may be. I know which path I will follow.

Of course, I take risk by placing heart in primacy over mind. While mind asserts the illusion of control, heart proves we cannot steer emotion. Sometimes sadness is the stronger feeling, especially late at night, with morning crashing towards me, and alone. But without it I could never feel the great joy and love that shines in the daylight, and sometimes when the light wanes, in those moments when hope and illumination oppose the coming darkness. But when it matters, I refer to the guidance offered by a real, dear friend, "Truly caring makes the trying feel effortless." So I carry love hand in hand with loss, in balance, within my heart, and I rarely look back at mind.

Rebirth in ruins

Loss doesn’t just take things from you—it tears you apart, unspooling the threads you thought defined you. It levels the ground beneath your feet, leaving you to stand on the bones of what once was. At first, you resist. You try to patch yourself together with fragments of the life you’ve lost, hoping that if you can just stitch hard enough, you’ll find your way back to who you were before. But loss is not a thief who can be outrun; it is an architect who demands you start anew.

I’ve stood in the rubble of my own life, whispering to the ghosts of dreams I once cradled. The weight of the darkness crushed me, and I thought, I cannot bear this world a moment longer. I believed the ruins around me marked an end, not a beginning. But in that desolation, a whisper rose—not from the world outside, but from the silent part of me I had long ignored:

Then, child, make another.

Rebuilding is an act of rebellion against despair. It begins not with grand gestures but with a single brick. You take what you’ve learned—what the pain taught you, what the breaking revealed—and you begin again. And here’s the secret no one tells you: the world you rebuild is not just a replacement. It is closer to the world you were always meant to inhabit.

Loss doesn’t strip you of yourself; it strips away everything you thought you had to be. It’s the painful shedding of illusions, the forced surrender of borrowed identities. What remains is raw, vulnerable, and real—something you can finally call your own.

When the grains of sand shifted beneath me, I saw not the end of the shore but the start of a new sea. The wings of possibility stirred the air, and the darkness around me shimmered—not as something to fear, but as the infinite unknown from which I could draw something entirely new.

And so, I rebuilt. Slowly. Messily. Brick by aching brick. And in doing so, I found not the person I thought I had lost, but the one I was always meant to become.

If you are in the ruins, remember this: the bones beneath your feet are not only the remnants of what was lost but the foundation for what you will create. The darkness is not the end. It is the space from which light will rise. Make another world.

And this time, make it your own.

Life is a happy little accident

Trauma is not a wound that time stitches back together until it vanishes. It’s more like an indelible mark on the canvas of your mind. At first, PTSD narrows your palette to only three colors: black, white, and grey. The world feels desaturated, as if life has been drained of its hues, leaving behind shadows and stark contrasts without any soft gradients in between. Everything you touch, feel, or experience seems to come from this limited spectrum.

Many people imagine healing as a process of erasure, where you scrub away the damage to uncover the original self beneath. But this is not the way of things. Trauma becomes part of your story, just as every brushstroke on a canvas remains, influencing what comes next. The key is not to aim for recovery in the sense of “undoing” the past, but to learn how to expand your palette and paint with new colors again.

Gradually, you discover that while black, white, and grey still sit on your palette, other shades begin to appear. At first, it might just be muted blues or soft browns—tones that hint at depth without overwhelming you. Then, brighter colors—reds, yellows, greens—start peeking through. The shift isn’t sudden, nor is it always linear. Some days your hand still reaches instinctively for the grey, and that’s okay. The point is not to deny the dark colors but to learn how to mix them with the bright ones, creating something far richer and more intricate.

Living with trauma is like learning the art of painting all over again, not with the hope of making the canvas perfect, but with the intention of making it meaningful. As you learn to manage it, the colors don’t replace the black and white—they harmonize with them. You begin to realize that beauty lies not just in vivid splashes of color, but also in the contrast between light and shadow. And in time, you might even see how the darkness was necessary to help the other colors shine brighter.

So, managing PTSD is not about striving for some final state of being “healed.” It’s about embracing the full palette of existence—where sorrow and joy, fear and peace, can all coexist. Life, like art, isn’t a process of correction; it’s an act of creation. And in this act, you find not only survival, but perhaps something even greater—a profound sense of wholeness.

I’ve been there. I know what it’s like to hit bottom, to paint with those three colors for what feels like forever. There were times when I wondered if I would ever see color again, or if I’d be stuck mixing the same shades of grey over and over. But over time, the colors started to return. Slowly, and not always predictably. And as my palette has grown, so has my desire to help others discover theirs.

If you’re reading this and feel trapped in the black and white, please know that you’re not alone. I’ve been through it too, and I know how isolating it can feel. But the colors are still out there, waiting for you, even if they’re hard to see right now. And if you ever need someone to talk to, or just someone to listen—whether you’re trying to find your first new color or simply need space to rest—I’m here. Sometimes all it takes is having someone by your side to help you pick up the brush again.

You don’t have to paint alone.

Destroy/seek

Sometimes we open ourselves enough to allow the things we do to change us. If we are willing to expose ourselves, if we may crack open our hearts and lower the barriers that prevent us from learning, from feeling, it is possible to change and grow. Unless we are afraid to.

What we do, when we do it hard and long enough, marks us; the thousand yard stare written permanently across our skin, and also deeper, into ligaments, into our bones. The marks of some experiences are shallow, exposing the lack of depth expressed by that journey. Skin deep, they say, and this term perfectly describes all of the things we pursue that do not matter.

Then, there are other journeys, undertaken separately, alone and apart, the journeys that change us permanently, some taken voluntarily, others thrust upon us. The heavy trips. The things we did and felt, but were never ready to hold because they were too much, too overwhelming. We could barely bear them at the time. Maybe, eventually we lived into them, assimilated those outcomes, and we carry their consequences through all of our ensuing days. Often, we don’t understand in the moment or hours or days of the doing that these actions will forever affect us. We can't see what matters because our eyes are constantly attacked by things that don't; by stimulus so perfectly designed to distract. And disorient.

I recognize and accept that what I have done has marked me, changed me, shaped and broken me, and built me. It is visible on my skin, my posture, and how I move if someone has the eyes to see it. I’ve learned to see the same in and on others, and to recognize the lack of it. Some experiences aren’t powerful enough to leave a scar yet give the experiencer the illusion that it did so. At some point in our lives we have all carried a superficial weight and presented it as something more. This is youth — the ferocious desire to appear as if we have lived and learned more than we have, in the hope that we will be offered a seat at the table where our elders hold space. Some of whom have offered counsel since before we were born.

I was that guy. The “look at me and what I’ve done” guy, the under-accomplished but overly-confident-in-his-ability-and-knowledge guy. And my elders slapped me down as was appropriate. They told me to go back to the fight, back to those mountains, to crack open my chest, immerse myself in genuine experience, and—if I survived—to return to petition again. I recognized then that it would take something that almost killed me to provide such awareness as might grant me access to the wisdom and wise ones I sought to consort with. And that if all I was seeking was to appear beside and among them, well, I wouldn’t be long for this earth in one way or another; either dead or simply cast out socially, ignored.

How do we confront the thing we fear most, the thing we barely understand? How does one choose action, take action that might utterly destroy the identity s/he holds so dearly? It's no easy thing to volunteer for exquisite, lasting and uncontrollable change. But if we don’t come back in tears, if we don’t come back with the scars of injuries that changed us, did we actually have the transformative experience we believed we were seeking?

I have admonished inexperienced fellows for arriving without the requisite knowledge that would grant them access, angered by their overly-enthusiastic desire and lack of experience. They are just young, age-wise and maturity wise, and on their own journey, using what skills and knowledge they were born with, taught or given. I recognize (now) that anger is a period, akinetic, and may teach little while encouragement can help us all move forward and grow. Each has its place, of course, but defaulting thoughtlessly to one or the other is a dead end.

Still, sometimes, when a fellow journeys far physically—believing that all of the wisdom he seeks or seeks to exploit automatically comes with the physical accomplishment—I do get angry. We need the deep scars to teach us; we cannot grow without wounds. A single hard physical journey cannot inform us in the same way as a lifetime of difficult experiences. Until the weight of every single thing we have felt and learned shapes us, until life shows us what truly matters, until we endure the unendurable and carry the unbearable weight, we cannot grow or change. And until we experience those deep and difficult confrontations with Self, we should probably shut our mouths and keep seeking.

In memoriam

Today I recognized that we are all running out of time and when offered the chance to spend some of it with people we enjoy, maybe helping them undertake something outside of their routine, something uncomfortable, that makes them nervous, well, we should say, "Yes." Besides, it would be rare if we didn't learn or experience something equally powerful along the way. Maybe it’s maturity but the man I've become is starting to understand that the human connection makes life and living it worthwhile.

My father and I had our rough patches. We all do. More so with men of passion. Even in the deepest dark Dad always said he would love me unconditionally, and for years I couldn’t say the same. Blood passed between us and I wasn’t mature enough until it was too late to handle it. But I’ve grown into it. I look back to what we had, what we shared, the things we did for each other … it went beyond an attentive hand. We loved. Others. Each other. Deeply.

And now I realize that all of the shit we went through is just life and living it, playing hands we were dealt, chasing what we wanted, had tasted, and what we savored long enough to addict us, to change us, to steer us … into hardship, into trust, into love … and sometimes, maybe now, into positions where we cannot influence an outcome, where we must wait patiently, observe quietly, and abide … attending to all that we are and our relationships with the universe have caused to happen. We are not without responsibility. We are complicit. We lived and loved more and harder than our bodies and our souls were designed to withstand.

So what now? What next? 

I’ll be here. I hope we will be able to answer those questions together.

The Eulogy

Grief is a sneaky bitch…

It almost seems inhumane. I wonder; what is it about death that makes the living feel guilty often for just being alive? Maybe it’s because death is a magnifying lens and grief is the haze that clings to it. It is not something you can try to clear, it is only something that can dissipate through time and particular attention to it. What often gets brought to light first and magnified the most are those little flaws and mistakes. The ones that seem to linger the longest and are always the last to dissipate. When it comes to flaws to magnify I have many. I’m far from perfect and by extension so was our relationship. I’ve also made my share of lingering mistakes and as I look back and examine them now I can’t help but wonder what hurts worse the words that were said or the words that were left unsaid.

Of the many things I inherited from my father, a receding hairline, a fondness for movies, unwavering stubbornness, and a competitive drive like no other. What made us most alike was a love of the written word. Everything that dad read I read, even when my maturity level didn’t quite match that of the source material. But he never discouraged it and often enough he made me believe that I could at some point be a decent enough writer in my own right. Maybe he was on to something because I do have a particular way with words. Unfortunately I most often use my ability as a wordsmith to push people away most usually those closest to me.

How ironic that our last conversation would be via the written word and instead of mending that bridge I used those words to drive an even larger wedge in between us. It could just be a fault in my wiring that causes me to focus in on and magnify these bad interactions causing the haze of grief to dissipate that much more slowly; preventing me from being able to most clearly see all the good interactions we shared. And we did share so so many.

Me and dad always had our own particular way of expressing ourselves toward each other. We could probably fill the Grand Canyon with all the words that were left unsaid between us but most of the time we didn’t need to say them, they were communicated in the comfort we experienced in each others presence often spent in silence.

Grief—our reaction to this tragic loss—is one of those experiences. It can only be communicated through the eyes and the long stare when you confide in another, or the shake of a body when it trembles as it’s held. What words will ever do justice to that? What can you write that encapsulates some of the most profound love you’ve ever felt.

Maybe that just what I’ve realized these past few days. Grief is really just love. It's all the love you wanted to give but cannot. All that unspent love gathers up in the corners of your eyes, the lump in your throat, and in that hollow part of your chest. Grief is just love with no place to go. I just hope you know that in spite of all the words I never said the three I should have said more were I love you.

Uncertainty

The desire for change is a curious thing. We often yearn for something new, something different, believing that it will bring us closer to who we’re meant to be. But in truth, change is not a destination; it’s a journey that winds through the very heart of who we are. The funny thing is, most of us resist this journey, fighting against the currents of our own nature, only to discover that the battle is both futile and necessary.

You see, I wanted something different. I could feel a restlessness within, a voice whispering that life could be more than the patterns I had settled into. So, I announced my desire, not only to the world but to the part of me that was most afraid of change. I threw myself into the struggle, seeking transformation with all the fervor I could muster. But the true contest was not against external circumstances. It was against myself—my habits, my fears, my deeply ingrained resistance to stepping into the unknown.

This battle wasn’t quick or simple. It stretched out in a seemingly endless series of rounds—twelve, then twenty-four, and then a back-and-forth that felt as if it would never conclude. Yet, in the lulls between each struggle, a profound realization began to take shape. Change, real change, doesn’t happen in a flash. It unfolds in the stillness between our efforts, where growth quietly takes root. And though the process was messy and imperfect, I noticed that I was indeed changing—mostly for the better.

But here lies the paradox. In overcoming myself, I began to wonder, “Who loses when we defeat ourselves?” This is a question that has no simple answer. For what does it mean to win or lose within the realm of self? If life is a dance rather than a fight, perhaps there is no victor, only the movement of growth, the rhythm of becoming.

One thing, however, remains clear amidst the uncertainty. I may not yet fully grasp what I want, but I do know this: I want to see where the best part of me will take me next.

Rebirth

Have you ever wondered what it’s like to go to sleep and never wake up? This question strikes at the core of our existential curiosity, urging us to confront the nature of death, that great and final mystery. To contemplate this is to face the cessation of our individual consciousness, the end of the self as we know it. It’s an experience that, by its very nature, eludes our understanding, for how can we grasp the concept of nothingness with a mind that has only known being?

Now, let’s flip the question: What is it like to wake up after having never gone to sleep? This is, in essence, the experience of birth. Before we are born, there is no ‘us’ to speak of, no memory, no awareness. And then, suddenly, we awaken into existence, thrust from the void into the vivid tapestry of life. This awakening is as mysterious as the idea of never waking up, for it is the moment where something emerges from nothing.

These two questions—what it’s like to go to sleep and never wake up, and what it’s like to wake up after never having gone to sleep—frame the boundaries of our existence. They are the bookends of life, encapsulating the transition from non-being to being and back again.

When we truly ponder these questions, we begin to see that life and death are not opposites, but part of a continuous process, a cycle of transformation. To die is to return to the state we were in before birth, a state of non-existence that, paradoxically, we know intimately because we have already experienced it. And to be born is to emerge anew from this void, to become a unique expression of the cosmos.

Consider for a moment that you are not separate from the universe, but an integral part of it. Just as waves are expressions of the ocean, you are an expression of the totality of existence. Birth and death are merely acts within the larger movie of life, scenes punctuated with the symphony of being. When you sleep and do not wake, you do not vanish; you transform, returning to the infinite potential from which you came.

In this light, the fear of death diminishes, for it is not an end but a return. And life, in all its complexity and beauty, is a magnificent play, a spontaneous act of creation. To live fully is to embrace this play, to participate joyfully in the ever-changing dance of existence.

So, the next time you drift off to sleep, ponder not the fear of never waking up, but the wonder of awakening each day, of being a conscious part of this wondrous universe. And remember that just as you emerged from the void once, you are part of a continuous cycle of creation and transformation, an eternal flow that transcends the boundaries of birth and death.

In this realization, we find not just solace, but a profound sense of connection and belonging. Life and death are but two sides of the same coin, each giving meaning to the other, each a reminder of the incredible journey we are privileged to experience. Embrace this journey with open arms, for it is the very essence of being.

Parenthood

Parenthood is fucking hard. It's an uncharted wilderness where every step feels uncertain, where fear lurks in the shadows of our best intentions. We wake in the middle of the night, not just from the cries of our children, but from the whispers of our own doubts. Are we doing enough? Are we passing on the trauma we’ve spent a lifetime trying to outrun?

The weight of our own past haunts us, casting long shadows over the tiny, hopeful faces of our kids. We worry endlessly if our mistakes will echo in their future, if our own struggles will become their burdens. How can we ever know if we're getting it right? The fear is a constant companion, a reminder that this love we hold is both fierce and fragile.

But then, amidst the chaos and the exhaustion, there are those moments. The little hands that reach for ours, the eyes that light up just because we walked into the room. Every hug, every "I love you," every time our presence alone is enough to soothe their fears, we feel something profound and unnameable.

It's in those moments that the weight lifts, if only for a heartbeat. The sleepless nights, the struggles, the self-doubt—all of it fades away in the light of their love. Parenthood is a series of these fleeting, precious moments that join themselves together in a mosaic of joy and heartbreak.

Our children teach us as much as we teach them. They show us the beauty in the mundane, the magic in the everyday. They remind us that despite the fear and the uncertainty, we are enough. Our love, imperfect and messy as it may be, is the greatest gift we can give.

And so, we keep going. We stumble and we get back up, driven by a love that defies words. Parenthood is fucking hard and downright scary, but it's also the most incredible journey we could ever undertake. For every tear, there is a smile. For every sleepless night, there is a morning filled with possibility. It's these moments, both small and grand, that make it all worth it.

For what it’s worth

Navigating relationships has always been somewhat of a delicate dance, one that requires nuance, a balance of empathy, communication, and self-awareness. For me, it seems that despite my best intentions, I have always ended up causing pain. And for what it’s worth I never intend to hurt anyone but it seems that’s what I’m best at. Like I said years ago, I’m the skillest with my sharp objects. The killest with my blunt instruments. I’ve often felt that little quote perfectly encapsulates the inner turmoil of someone who feels their actions often lead to unintended harm.

Reflecting on this quote, it’s clear that relationships require more than just good intentions. The challenge lies in understanding the impact of our words and actions on others. When we say we’re "the skillest with sharp objects," it suggests a proficiency in using words or behaviors that can cut deep, often without realizing the damage being done. This metaphor of sharp objects could represent the harsh truths or criticisms that, while honest, might be delivered in a way that wounds others.

Similarly, being "the killest with blunt instruments" signifies the harm caused by more direct and forceful actions or words. These are the unrefined, unfiltered reactions that can crush spirits and break connections. The blunt instrument represents a lack of subtlety and care, often leading to significant emotional fallout.

Understanding why this pattern occurs can be the first step in breaking it. Often, it stems from past experiences, learned behaviors, or unresolved internal conflicts. It’s important to recognize that the intention behind actions does not always align with their impact. One might intend to be honest and forthright, but without the right approach, this honesty can be perceived as cruelty.

To navigate relationships more effectively, self-reflection is crucial. It involves examining our motives, being mindful of our words, and considering the perspective of others. Developing empathy is key—truly listening and seeking to understand how our actions affect those around us.

Moreover, communication plays a vital role. It’s not just about what we say, but how we say it. Constructive feedback, delivered with kindness and patience, can foster growth and understanding rather than resentment. Apologizing when we hurt someone, even unintentionally, is also a crucial step. It acknowledges the pain caused and shows a willingness to make amends.

The journey to navigate relationships without causing harm is ongoing and requires continuous effort. It involves learning from past mistakes, seeking to understand the needs and feelings of others, and striving to communicate with both honesty and compassion. While it may seem challenging, the rewards of healthier, more fulfilling relationships are well worth the effort. In the end, it’s about transforming those sharp objects and blunt instruments into tools that build and nurture rather than destroy.

Purpose…

As of late I have struggled with the idea of who I am and what my purpose actually is once I made the distinct decision to separate my identity from what I do for a living. I have and still struggle but I’ve also come to terms with a few things and what I have ultimately realized is quite simple.

The ultimate purpose of our existence is not a destination or a goal to be achieved but an experience to be lived. Life, in its essence, is a dance, a spontaneous expression of the universe exploring itself. We often fall into the trap of seeking a concrete purpose or meaning, driven by the desire to categorize and understand everything in linear terms. However, this quest can distract us from the simple truth that life is about being present in the moment and fully experiencing the here and now.

In many Eastern philosophies, particularly Taoism and Zen Buddhism, the focus is on living in harmony with the Tao, the way of the universe. This harmony is not about striving for a particular outcome but about flowing with the natural rhythms of existence, embracing both the joys and sorrows, the highs and lows. It's about recognizing that the distinction between the self and the universe is an illusion; we are not separate entities but integral parts of a vast, interconnected whole.

The ultimate purpose, if we can call it that, is to realize and embody this interconnectedness. To see through the illusion of separation, to understand that we are the universe experiencing itself through countless forms and perspectives. When we align ourselves with this understanding, life becomes a continuous act of play, a joyful participation in the grand cosmic dance.

In this sense, our purpose is to awaken to our true nature, to see the divine play in all things, and to live with a sense of wonder, compassion, and creativity. Life is not a problem to be solved but a mystery to be enjoyed. We find purpose not in the pursuit of some external goal but in the realization that we are already part of something profoundly beautiful and eternal.

Happy* Memorial Day…

As the last Monday in May dawns, we come together as a nation to honor the men and women who have given their lives in service to the United States. Memorial Day is more than just a long weekend marking the unofficial start of summer; it is a solemn day of remembrance and gratitude.

The origins of Memorial Day can be traced back to the aftermath of the Civil War, a conflict that claimed more American lives than any other. Originally known as Decoration Day, it was a time for the nation to decorate the graves of those who had perished in the war. Over the years, this tradition expanded to honor all Americans who have died in military service.

Today, we remember not only the soldiers of the Civil War but all the brave souls who have fought in subsequent conflicts—World War I, World War II, Korea, Vietnam, the Gulf War, Afghanistan, Iraq, and countless other battles, both known and unheralded. Each name etched on memorials across the country represents a life cut short, a family forever changed, and a sacrifice made in the name of freedom.

Memorial Day is a powerful reminder of the cost of liberty. As we enjoy barbecues, parades, and the company of friends and family, let us also take a moment to reflect on the sacrifices that allow us to live in peace and security. The freedoms we often take for granted were hard-won by those who stood in harm's way, who faced unimaginable challenges, and who paid the ultimate price.

In honoring our fallen heroes, we also recognize the families and loved ones left behind. Their pain and loss are enduring, and their courage in the face of such personal tragedy is a testament to the strength of the American spirit. We owe them not only our condolences but our enduring support and gratitude.

On this Memorial Day, let us visit cemeteries and memorials, participate in moments of silence, and share stories of the brave individuals who have shaped our history through their service and sacrifice. Let us teach future generations the importance of remembering and honoring these heroes.

May their sacrifices never be forgotten, and may their legacy of bravery and dedication continue to inspire us. Today, we remember, and in remembering, we reaffirm our commitment to the values they fought to protect. Freedom is not free, and it is our duty to honor those who have paid its price with their lives.

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Let us take this Memorial Day to reflect deeply, honor sincerely, and appreciate profoundly the heroes who have made our way of life possible.

Is ignorance bliss?

There is always time to think in these empty hours, it’s in these moments where thoughts swirl and emotions collide, I often find myself grappling with the weight of my own consciousness. It's a realm where every feeling, every sensation is magnified, where joy dances with sorrow and love intertwines with pain. The depth of my consciousness causes me to suffer, plunging me into the depths of despair at times, leaving me questioning whether it's a blessing or a curse to feel everything so deeply.

At first glance, it may seem like a curse, burdening me with the intensity of emotions that others may never experience. The highs are dizzying, but the lows are crushing, dragging me into darkness and uncertainty. In moments of vulnerability, I wonder if it would be easier to simply numb myself to the world, to shield my heart from the relentless onslaught of feelings.

Yet, in the midst of the storm, I find moments of clarity. I realize that the depth of my consciousness is also a gift, a pathway to profound connection and understanding. It allows me to empathize deeply with others, to see the world through their eyes and share in their joys and sorrows. It opens doors to creativity and insight, guiding me to explore the depths of human experience in all its complexity.

So, is it a blessing or a curse? Perhaps it's both—a delicate balance between agony and ecstasy, between the darkness and the light. It's the price I pay for living fully, for embracing the richness of life in all its shades. And though the journey may be arduous, I know that the only way out is through.

In the face of adversity, I draw strength from the words: "The only way out is through." They remind me that I cannot evade or ignore the depths of my consciousness, but I can navigate them with courage and resilience. Each trial, each tribulation becomes a stepping stone on the path to self-discovery and growth.

So, I embrace the tumultuous seas of my consciousness, knowing that within their depths lie both the challenges and the treasures of existence. And as I journey onward, I carry with me the wisdom that the only way out is through, guiding me through the darkness and into the light.

Unreliable narrator

In the silent chambers of introspection, I grapple with a profound realization – perhaps I am the unexpected antagonist in the narrative of my own life. As the fog of memory begins to lift, I confront the unsettling truth that I may have inadvertently invited my own suffering, becoming both victim and perpetrator in the tangled web of my existence.

For years, I have cast myself as the beleaguered protagonist, the innocent victim of circumstances beyond my control. Blinded by the shadows of trauma and resentment, I have clung to the comfort of my own narrative, weaving a web of half-truths and distorted recollections to shield myself from the harsh glare of reality. But as the echoes of the past reverberate through the corridors of my mind, I am forced to confront the uncomfortable notion that I might have played a role in attracting the very darkness that surrounds me. Could it be that my own actions, consciously or not, have invited the storms that rage within?

Or are my version of events as flawed as the fractured reflection staring back at me in the mirror.

In the dark shadowy recesses of my psyche, I realize that my past traumas have become both my armor and my weapon. Shielded by the scars of my history, I've wielded cruelty as a defense mechanism, using the pain I've endured as justification for inflicting harm upon others. But in doing so, I've only perpetuated a cycle of suffering, leaving a trail of brokenness in my wake.

In my quest for absolution, I have unwittingly become the unreliable narrator of my own story, reshaping the contours of truth to fit the confines of my own perception. In the harsh light of self-awareness, I am compelled to reexamine the tangled skein of memories that bind me to the past. With each thread unraveled, I am confronted with the uncomfortable reality that the demons I have long sought to exorcise may, in fact, dwell within the recesses of my own soul.

The uncomfortable truth is that my wounds do not excuse my transgressions. I am not absolved of responsibility simply because I've been wounded. Instead, I must acknowledge the ways in which I've allowed my pain to shape me into someone capable of causing harm.

Yet, amidst the wreckage of shattered illusions, I find a glimmer of hope – a beacon of redemption shining bright against the backdrop of my own self-doubt. For in acknowledging my own complicity and fallibility, I am granted the opportunity for growth and transformation. With courage as my compass and humility as my guide, I embark on a journey of self-discovery, seeking to dismantle the walls I've erected and to reconcile the fractured fragments of my identity and reclaim the narrative of my life.

Though the road ahead may be fraught with uncertainty and doubt, I take solace in the knowledge that every step forward brings me closer to the truth – a truth not defined by the roles we play or the masks we wear, but by the authenticity of our own humanity.

And so, with eyes wide open and heart unburdened by the weight of self-deception, I embrace the possibility of redemption, knowing that true liberation lies not in the denial of our flaws, but in the courage to confront them with unwavering honesty. For in the crux of self-awareness, I discover that the greatest triumph lies not in vanquishing external foes, but in confronting the shadows that dwell within – and emerging stronger, wiser, and more compassionate than ever before."

Beautiful kaleidoscopic tragedy

Life, that enigmatic journey we embark upon from the moment we take our first breath to the final exhale, is a swirling mosaic of experiences – a technicolor kaleidoscopic tragedy laced with the comedic absurdity of existence. Life is a stage production, we each play our roles, sometimes stumbling through scenes with grace, other times tripping over our own feet, but always contributing to the grand narrative of humanity.

As we navigate the labyrinth of existence, we encounter moments of sheer joy and boundless laughter, where the world seems painted in hues of ecstasy. Yet, intertwined with these moments of euphoria are the shadows of tragedy, casting a somber pall over our journey. It is this juxtaposition of light and dark, comedy and tragedy, that gives life its depth and richness.

Like characters in a Shakespearean comedy, we are often buffeted by the whims of fate, our lives unfolding in ways we never could have imagined. We stumble and fall, only to rise again, dusting ourselves off with a wry smile and a twinkle in our eye. It is in these moments of adversity that the true comedy of existence reveals itself – in our resilience, our ability to find humor in the face of despair.

But life's comedy is not confined to moments of adversity; it permeates every aspect of our existence, from the mundane to the extraordinary. It is in the everyday absurdities – the misplaced keys, the missed connections, the awkward encounters – that we find the true essence of life's comedy. It is in these moments that we realize that life is not meant to be taken too seriously, that laughter is the best antidote to the trials and tribulations of existence.

Yet, for all its comedic moments, life is also a tragedy – a poignant reminder of the fragility of the human condition. We are born into this world with a sense of wonder and possibility, only to be confronted with the harsh realities of mortality and impermanence. We form bonds with others, only to watch them fray and unravel before our eyes. We chase after dreams and aspirations, only to see them dashed upon the rocks of reality.

And yet, amidst the tragedy, there is beauty to be found – a beauty that is all the more poignant for its impermanence. It is in the fleeting moments of connection and love, in the quiet serenity of a sunrise, in the laughter of a child, that we find solace amidst the chaos of existence. It is these moments that remind us of the inherent goodness of humanity, of the resilience of the human spirit, of the capacity for hope in even the darkest of times.

Existence is a spiderweb, and our lives are but threads, woven together in a complex and intricate pattern that is as beautiful as it is bewildering. We are each a part of something greater than ourselves, connected to one another in ways we may never fully understand. And it is in this interconnectedness that we find meaning and purpose, in the knowledge that our lives – however small and insignificant they may seem – are part of a larger, more expansive whole.

So let us embrace the comedy and tragedy of existence with open arms, for it is in the embrace of life's contradictions that we find true wisdom and enlightenment. Let us laugh in the face of adversity, let us cry tears of joy and sorrow, let us dance amidst the chaos and uncertainty of existence. For in the end, it is the journey itself that matters most – the laughter, the tears, the moments of pure, unadulterated joy – that make life worth living.

Magic

Capability is magic. That’s not to say magic is a trick nor is it mystical. It is knowable, it can be revealed but it is hidden from plain sight. The mystical is unknowable. It’s a world that we cannot understand—can’t stand-under—because it is not of substance, of matter—it doesn’t matter in this realm, at this time. Magic is not this. Magic is everything that is important to us here and now. It is to be and do. Beauty is magic, creation is magic, death is magic. How we are here, why, and what we should do with our time are all magical questions. They have a knowable answer. We have beings around us in the world who weave their life in a way that captivates us because they live the answer to these questions, they are magicians. A magician knows that an audience is focused on the outcome and frozen by the question of how. You are often stuck because your question has to do with getting the predictable answer, while those who weave magic are focused on what happens before the solution, they pay attention to your inattention.

The answer is known to a magician. He will tell you ahead of time, he just won’t reveal his path. So you become awe-struck like every human does in the face of prediction. It holds you like a prisoner because our natural inclination is to predict the future; we don’t want to move until we know the outcome. All scientific research is the desire to fortune-tell—a theory to predict the answer. All religion is a belief that the future is destined—faith that the answer will be revealed. The destination is a distraction. The passage is the target. Walking is magic, not the answer you get from it.

I’m going to tell you ahead of time; the answer is awareness, but how you get there is the rabbit.

Anything you’re curious about can be better understood with how sensitive you are to the subject. Visceral reactions to questions of comprehension—on any given topic—illuminate insensitivity, not the opposite. Absolute confidence and understanding—of how something works—makes others’ misunderstanding of it humorous to the sensitive practitioner. An offense is a by-product of misunderstanding; it is in defense of ignorance. Laughter is the reaction to recognition and observable truths. Humor is understanding.

I’m not afraid of being misunderstood, that’s the recipients problem—something for critics to ruminate on and something that creators don’t concern themselves with. I’m afraid of not understanding, of missing the opportunity to integrate into the world by being a part of it and knowing it. I want to play with magic. Yet, we have a society that demands others atone for THEIR offense, to feel guilty for someone’s inability to understand. We misdirect the fault by pointing to the wrong problem. We call those who get offended “sensitive,” this couldn’t be further from the truth. Sensitivity is being able to deeply feel and understand a subject. If you were sensitive, you wouldn’t misunderstand. In our world, sensitivity is mastery of magic; in the mystical it is divinity.

Do you think you could offend a god or gods? This is what makes blasphemy so funny, and in our culture we have made deities out of ideas that are not true, so the offense is everywhere because truth is nowhere. Our cultural blasphemy weaponizes shame and offense to stop the magic of creators. Whatever concept of god or not-god you have, you’d have to admit she’s laughing, and it isn’t because she’s offended.

This will only ever bother those that don’t create, the few that play with magic. If you are not making it, you are watching it and criticizing how it makes you feel. You cannot offend a true magician. If what you say is wrong, the wrongness is funny. If what you say is correct, the truth is apparent. And then: Abracadabra! You can share a laugh with another who is aware.

“Low frequency”

If granted a superpower, it would be the peculiar ability of spite. In moments of resistance, I discover an innate surge of motivation, a heightened drive that propels me forward. Oddly enough, this is not a source of pride for me. I recognize that relying on spite as a catalyst for personal development may not be the most virtuous approach. It's an idiosyncrasy in my nature, a facet of my character that, despite its occasional cringe-worthy quality, has played a role in my achievements thus far.

The realization that my primary source of impetus stems from opposition, activating the contrarian within me, has led me to acknowledge the "low frequency" nature of this inclination, as the younger generation might phrase it. There's a discomfort in realizing that my inclination to act only in the face of resistance is a pattern that has shaped my journey. This habitual reliance on opposition becomes most apparent when the well of spite runs dry, especially when venturing into uncharted territories of my own capability.

I've become attuned to this learned behavior—waiting until the weight is substantial, and resistance is paramount before pushing myself to the limit, often to the point of inflicting harm, either on the challenge at hand or on myself in the process. There's a recognition that this method, while effective in some respects, might not be sustainable or conducive to holistic growth. It begs the question: Is there a better way to navigate the complexities of personal development and skill enhancement?

The need to confront this reliance on spite becomes apparent, a paradox in itself—using the very attribute that drives me to opposition as a tool to free myself from its grip. It's a recognition that breaking free from this cycle requires a nuanced understanding of motivation, a recalibration of the internal compass that directs my actions. While spite has proven to be a formidable force, there's an acknowledgment that it might be a double-edged sword, cutting both ways in its impact.

Exploring alternative avenues for motivation becomes imperative, seeking inspiration beyond the confines of opposition. Perhaps, there lies a reservoir of strength within that can be tapped into without the need for external resistance. It's an exploration of intrinsic motivation, a journey toward understanding the depth of personal passion and the joy that can be derived from the pursuit of growth for its own sake.

The concept of self-improvement without the crutch of spite introduces the challenge of cultivating discipline and consistency without the looming presence of adversity. It's a shift in mindset, recognizing that progress can be incremental, achieved through daily dedication and a commitment to the journey rather than relying on sporadic bursts fueled by spite. This alternative approach might lack the intense urgency that spite provides, but it offers the promise of sustainability and a more balanced, long-term trajectory.

In the quest for a better way, the paradoxes within myself become evident. The irony of using spite to liberate myself from its grip is not lost on me. It's a process of unlearning, of reprogramming the patterns that have shaped my approach to challenges. This journey requires a delicate balance between embracing the qualities that have served me well and transcending the limitations they might impose.

Ultimately, the exploration of a better way is an invitation to delve into the intricacies of self-discovery and personal growth. It's an acknowledgment that the path to becoming the best version of oneself is not a linear trajectory but a nuanced, evolving process. As I navigate this terrain, I strive to uncover the layers beneath the surface, understanding the motivations that drive me and seeking a more harmonious, sustainable approach to the pursuit of excellence.

Artistic facade

Embarking on the profound journey of self-discovery through the creation of art unveils the intricate layers that constitute our identity. At times, we believe we grasp a clear understanding of who we are, only to realize that the personas we construct serve as mere masks. These masks are woven with the threads of our desires, hoping that the imprints they leave behind will be recognized by others. Paradoxically, the identity we create is as liberating as the facade we use to conceal it.

In the pursuit of self-awareness, we occasionally strive to shed the very essence of the "I." Yet, this endeavor is not without its complexities. There is an innate tendency to reclaim our shortcomings, embracing our negative traits, for within them lies a poignant yearning. Our flaws become an anchor, tethering us to the profound depths of our humanity.

Life unfolds like a malleable canvas, subject to the brushstrokes of our choices, until it reaches a point where the vibrancy of the colors begins to wane. Eventually, existence solidifies, akin to the words etched into a headstone that marks its culmination. What narrative will those words convey? Will they speak to the essence of who we were, the actions we took, or the impact we had on others?

These questions bear the weight of transformative potential, unsettling in their capacity to reshape our understanding of change. The unsettling nature of these inquiries arises from the realization that, despite our influence over our own narrative, we wield minimal control over the perceptions others hold of us. We may radiate impact, but whether it resonates positively or negatively is a realm beyond our dominion.

In the ever expanding scope of our lives, we have the power to articulate meaningful expressions, yet their significance is often contingent upon the perspective of those who preceded us in etching their narratives. The mirage that shimmers in the heat of the horizon, teasing our perception, often eludes our grasp. Yet, the process of unraveling this illusion is intrinsic to the revelation that the mirage, in its elusive beauty, may not even exist.

Amidst the uncertainty, there lies a subtle hope—the hope that in the exploration of self and the creation of art, we unearth a deeper understanding that transcends the limitations of masks and illusions. The journey to self-discovery becomes a beacon guiding us towards a more authentic, resilient identity—one that resonates with the universal human experience and embraces the ebb and flow of life's ever-changing currents. In the intricate dance between the self and the world, there emerges the potential for a narrative that not only defines who we are but also inspires others to embark on their own odyssey of self-exploration. The permanence of our impact may remain elusive, but the journey itself becomes a testament to the transformative power of embracing the unknown with courage and hope.

Subdued Heroism

In the aftermath of profound losses and enduring deep pain, the desire to lead a life marked by a minimum of suffering is not an act of cowardice; rather, it reflects a courageous resolve to reclaim one's well-being. Unseen and unsung, a unique form of heroism emerges—one seldom depicted in the grand narratives of film or literature. It is the heroism of living without bitterness when bitterness is undeniably justified. It is the strength to persevere even when the odds seem insurmountable, and the quiet resolution to unearth profound meaning in a life that, at times, appears overwhelmingly devoid of purpose.

The journey of enduring great losses and grappling with profound pain is a solitary odyssey that often unfolds in the recesses of one's heart and soul. It is a narrative marked by grief's heavy footsteps and the haunting echoes of what once was. In these moments, the allure of bitterness, resentment, and despair may seem overpowering—a seductive path that beckons in the face of unimaginable sorrow. Yet, true heroism lies not in succumbing to these shadows but, rather, in resisting their pull and choosing a path of resilience and healing.

Courage, in this context, takes on a quiet demeanor. It is the courage to acknowledge the pain without allowing it to define the entirety of one's existence. It is the courage to forge ahead, step by painful step, with the knowledge that the journey towards healing is a marathon rather than a sprint. The heroism lies in confronting the darkness within and choosing not to let it extinguish the flicker of hope that perseveres against all odds.

Living without bitterness in the face of justified pain requires a steadfast commitment to emotional and spiritual well-being. It demands a conscious decision to release the grip of resentment and seek solace in forgiveness, not for others' sake but for one's own peace of mind. It is a courageous act of self-love, recognizing that holding onto bitterness only prolongs the suffering and inhibits the possibility of genuine healing.

Moreover, true heroism manifests in the strength to persevere when the road ahead appears bleak and desolate. It is the audacity to continue the journey even when the destination is uncertain, obscured by the fog of grief and loss. Perseverance, in this context, is not a blind optimism that denies the pain; rather, it is a deliberate choice to navigate the storm, trusting that, eventually, the clouds will part, and the sun will pierce through once more.

In these moments of perseverance, one discovers a reservoir of inner strength that defies the logic of despair. It is the innate human ability to endure, adapt, and emerge stronger from the crucible of suffering. This strength is not born out of an absence of pain but, rather, from the transformative alchemy that occurs when pain is met with resilience and a refusal to surrender to hopelessness.

The resolution to find profound meaning in a seemingly meaningless existence is the pinnacle of this unheralded heroism. When life appears as a nothing more than threads of suffering, loss, and futility, the act of finding meaning becomes a revolutionary rebellion against nihilism. It is an assertion that, even in the darkest corners of existence, purpose can be excavated, and meaning can be cultivated.

This resolution is not a passive acceptance of circumstances but, rather, an active engagement with the existential questions that arise in the wake of adversity. It involves delving into the depths of one's soul, questioning assumptions, and seeking a higher understanding that transcends the immediate challenges. In this pursuit, one discovers that meaning is not always grandiose or easily discernible; sometimes, it resides in the small, quiet moments of connection, in the beauty of resilience, and in the shared humanity that binds us all.

The unsung heroism of living without bitterness, persevering in the face of overwhelming odds, and finding profound meaning in seemingly meaningless circumstances speaks to the indomitable spirit of the human experience. This quiet courage, born from the crucible of suffering, stands as a testament to the resilience of the human soul. In its subtlety and steadfastness, it is a narrative that deserves recognition, for within its folds lies the essence of what it means to be truly heroic in the face of life's most challenging trials.

Intentional attention

The significance of attention is starkly evident in the moments when our focus wavers, whether it's a near miss on wet cobblestones or in the memory of a car collision. In these instances, attention becomes a precious commodity, steering the course of our lives. My own scar, a tangible reminder of past lapses in attention, underscores the impact of distraction.

Attention, often overlooked, is the most valuable currency in our world. Media, corporations, and governments vie for it, shaping narratives and influencing our perceptions. Yet, giving our attention to outrage or complacency yields the same outcome. The phrase "tune your attention" gained new meaning for me, challenging the conventional belief that attention is fixed. Despite societal encouragement to look outward during challenging times, mastering attention requires an inward focus, akin to honing any skill.

Our society addresses attention deficits with acronyms and prescriptions, emphasizing external fixes. However, the battle for attention is not merely an individual struggle; it extends to the manipulation of collective focus by those in power. While we are urged to pay attention, the system often discourages questioning its underlying inequalities and inconsistencies.

In the pursuit of attention, we are bombarded by distractions, from screens to substances. The power of a conscious deep breath emerges as a tool to reclaim attention. Practices like counting breaths or focusing on internal awareness counteract the pervasive distractions, revealing the potential of mindfulness. However, this heightened awareness can be unsettling, unveiling an overwhelming web of thoughts.

In a world where attention dictates value, what we focus on gains significance. Fear, hatred, and hierarchy act as attention-consuming slot machines, enriching external entities. Redirecting attention inward, towards self-awareness, allows us to reclaim our value and shield ourselves from manipulation. The experience of attention becomes a valuable resource, making us the ultimate beneficiaries.

Competing for attention is intrinsic to our culture, with criticism serving as proof that even detractors contribute to our visibility. The addictive nature of attention, fueling seeking behavior, underlies the architecture of fame and social media. Amid the cacophony of competing voices, the essence of being aware is often lost—the essence of having a genuine experience.

In the complex landscape of attention, the answer to what deserves focus is singular: our own experience. Taking a breath and starting anew is the antidote to the infinite distractions that surround us. In this deliberate act, attention becomes a renewable resource, and by prioritizing our experiences, we shape our own future. As we navigate this intricate dance of attention, breathing in and starting at one becomes both a practice and a reminder of the power within our grasp.