What Hands

Staring at the silky waves and sweating through my button up, I realized that there was a fence in front of me.

What bands cut these posts? What force carved out these chunky, aged, moldy wooden slabs that have withstood decades of weathering to provide a sense of security for those of us who have sat on this peak?

What pain was in the thrusts of the axe? What subconscious memories of trauma and anguish provided the effort needed to swing that heavy blade? Whose hands, bloodied and bruised, calloused and steeled?

Or maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was just a person. Empty of mind. Clear of thought. Swinging away and building this fence. Maybe they’re sitting on their porch in Utah. Having long since forgotten about their once monumental swings.


Remember This.

Remember this.

When times have changed, as they always do. 

When it feels like one thing, one person, one issue is bigger than the world.

When it feels like hope has dwindled, and patience has lost its validity.

Remember the freedom, the free time, the full sky, the deep breaths.

The good times, the ones that are over. 

It’s alright that they’re over. Time stretches and bends to make space for more.

These are the thoughts I had when I was driving to Anacortes to get on the ferry to Orcas Island. I was thinking about what I would do if I was given an ultimatum by a partner, friend, or life. I have to think about this more, but for now I think this seed is enough.

To My Friends

My friends are beautiful people.

It’s surreal how people, given even a couple weeks, can create between them a sensation of true connection that will last through time and space. 

My friends are kind. My friends are true. My friends disagree with me in healthy ways. 

My friends give me memories of moments that muster up emotions far from what I can achieve on my own. And I can achieve a lot on my own.

Some of my friends are far. Some are even forgotten. That’s alright, all of us can be forgiven.

To all of my friends. Thank you. So much.


A rough draft on what we love

On doing what we love - Incomplete thoughts written in six rapid minutes in a rainy car

There has always been a small percent of people that are much better off than the rest of the population. I’m pretty sure this is unequivocally one of if not the most prosperous times in human history for that small percentage. The amount of people in that percentage has grown and the quality of life for that small percentage is extremely high. If you took any one person in that percentage and took them back even just two hundred years we would be living like or better than Kings. Running water, flushing toilets, cars, electricity. If you took the people’s quality of life at a perfect ratio, the true King’s would be the people making or worth like 400 million a year or 1 billion dollars.

I feel like we’re being sold an illusion, to chase our dreams and do what we love. Is there a difference between doing what we love and loving what we do? 

What do we even love to do? What does that even mean? I feel like for the most part we love the simple things, from rich to poor, just walking in the grass with the sun in your shoulders, most important is the peace of mind. I think we all just want some peace of mind with what we’re doing with our lives. With life in general. What life does to us.

For the generation that I’m in going to university, I feel like promises are being made that are rarely upheld. The exceptional few are held up as examples of what the majority will ultimately fail to be. 

How should one spend their time? I think they get us to spend it chasing our dreams because so many of us would rather have chased and failed than to have never tried at all.

But you can get money back. You can never get your time back.