Life is short

Lately, my thoughts have been bursts, Twitter fodder, two sentences or less that have little place here. There's an app for that. Always, nowadays.

Lightning, active skies.

Sometimes, an instant is lasting.

Word of mouth

Those who yell are generally seen. That's what they want. They drown out those who speak calmly, more slowly. Perhaps more thoughtfully. Yelling will grab attention, no doubt. But it's never pleasant. It's really off-putting, actually; opposite, then, of its intent.

Yelling requires more energy than calm speech.

Therefore, those who yell will only tire of exhaustion, while the calm voice remains.

And will always be heard. 

3 to 31

Ah, hello again. It's been a while . . . but not really. Time. It's the egg, the binder, holding this experience together. And, like all of my favorite foods, it simply goes too fast.

I thought it would be good to remind of the post I wrote in honor (or horror) of my 30th birthday.

No, let's think positively—because, truly, that's how I feel. Aging, as perplexing and fast as it is, is also wondrous. Why? Well, with age comes wisdom—or, at least, a keener ability to pause, reflect, and act. Sometimes action leads to setbacks. But perhaps they aren't setbacks. Aging allows for this kind of perspective.

Aging. It has a negative connotation. I can't rid aging of that. What I can do is recognize that though I am aging, I'm also getting sharper and more sensitive—more open. I am more interested in me. Interested in myself, first, because I understand that to live authentically and rapturously (why not?), I must live from the inside out.

This doesn't mean I haven't tripped, and won't trip. Practice is generally much harder than theory. This doesn't mean I won't seek out new experiences. My aim is to approach every experience with this inside-out perspective. If I sense something is not quite right for my nearly-31-year-old self, I will seek to change it, or, at the very least, understand why it isn't. Living, which is loving, begins with self.

So, that's a fair amount of philosophy for this Web estate, which has become a nearly neglected home. But I visit when I'm moved to.

And that list, 30 for 30? Well, I can say I'm able to scratch off a few. Boxing was a fine experiment, until I acquired boxer's knuckle. No pain, no gain. And there was some pain, some gain, and now, thankfully, no pain. But I'm gaining in other ways—hopefully pushing myself mindfully in work, art, and play. In openness. Authenticity. And, joyfully, in aging.

January Jonesing

January. I love cold January. For some, it engenders Caribbean dreams. For others, stoves of warm soup. For me, it lends itself to journaling, which leads to plenty of thoughts that may or may not surface on the blog.

The previous post was not meant as a science lesson; in fact, temperatures at the North Pole are warmer than at the South, because the North Pole is at sea level (who knew Santa has a houseboat?), whereas the South is at an elevated portion of a landmass.

My thought is that what is seemingly extreme may be similar, if not the same.

I aim to be able to explain this more keenly.

Earth(links)

At the polar extremes, the temperature is the same.