So another month falls off the wall. The beard enters its 6th month and the hair is now a year old. Like Dumbledore, I consider the history in these locks. Come August with both beard and body, I'll look like I did in 2021 on my Me page, when I designed that Large t-shirt.

I could nearly copy-paste my words from today a year ago in Got Up and Came Back Strong...Victorious, the title of the post from the lyrics of a great song for training by Skillet. I read once that John Cooper writes his songs while on a treadmill; I totally get that vibe with all the anthems they do.

As to what I am listening to as I write now, it's Switchfoot's Meant to Live. How does that song brings back the memories! So powerful! Oh, 2004, how ARE ya?

Twenty years ago today, you could find me in Europe at the Alexandra Hotel in Fort William, Scotland. It was my first place to stay in Europe, for I had already spent a sleepless night wandering the streets of Cherbourg, France—no rest for the jetlagged.

Those were the days I faced a veiled future with arms wide open. I didn't know where I would go, didn't know what I would do. I explored just staying over there. Life was about...being ALIVE. In the moment. Too often we deaden ourselves.

And these days, I am optimizing the budget! OK, I get a kick out of these past two weeks, knocking out the grocery shopping in the Saturday 6 AM hour. It's all about substitutory and complementary goods in a context of maximizing utility at lower price points. My shopping printout is organized in ascending aisle order.

Inspired by the same focus on economic utility and unlike 2023's March swims, I have not opened the pool this year. I cannot find the justification to support its expense. I don't even track the pool motor's electric bill to filter everything for 8 hours—utilities have been noticeably cheaper! I do keep a monthly pool maintenance budget; it has now grown to $700, a tidy sum that would have otherwise evaporated up into the sky.

It reminds me of when we lived out in the country. Our fridge succumbed to age and the new hire was lousy on day one. So, we fired him and opted to go with a freezer. Our new, high-dollar Samsung dryer went out after a year, so I chose to hang up clothes outside and added it to my chores list that included dishwashing by hand with just a splash of bleach. The absence of those power leeches led to substantial savings in both utilities and replacement costs. And I discovered how much I like a freezer, a device that lends itself to a save & store approach.

A part of me longs to be in an off-the-grid location, where I harness the power of nature for limited applications. Is this pragmatic? I find that the tech since my October 1995 has ripped apart the fabric of our society.

Come on you raver,
You seer of visions
Come on you painter,
You piper,
You prisoner,
And shine!

-Pink Floyd (1975)

How many late nights have I had writing to Pink Floyd's Pulse? Many years ago, I made it my 500th CD, a live album released on May 29, 1995 that featured their studio album, The Division Bell along with the classics. Despite the markup, I purchased the red blinking light, double-CD at the music shop at Wolfchase Galleria, next to Hallmark and diagonal from my World of Science. That album would whirl around in my CD-ROM on my custom, blacklight-painted, 350 Mhz late into the night as I spun up thought. No, my words have not survived the years. But, by any indication of my rhymes that remain, they were more than the stuff of smiles and phone numbers that my high school journal covered.

I think back at that fella and his weekend delight at that mall's walk-in humidor then escape into the night with his convertible's top down. It contrasts with today's guy who wants to know what exactly are the "natural and artificial" flavors that make that coffee taste like eggnog.

But there were reasons for both.

So, have I changed?

I'd like to think I left the knucklehead behind. But, that was never me, just my response to the "synergy" of my college peer group, a 1-1=-3 situation. It was from a time I took on the clumsily-fitting mantle of an extrovert; I should have held fast to the superior life of the introvert. It seems like life's greatest lessons are always outside of the classroom.

One aspect of my writing that I appreciate is how I seem the same through the years. Yes, there are positions switched—even polar ones, like vegan to carnivore, but that's been more of my general take in emphasizing pliability to adopt better solutions.

If I took the DeLorean out for another spin and spent an afternoon with 1998 me, I don't think we would be dissimilar. And I suspect if we went 26 years in the other direction—well, firstly, I'd say, "Kudos, you made it past that 10-9-2044 expiration date," I don't think that guy would be much different either. I'm still me, no matter what era I exist.

The inputs are different—the situations. What was I like...

...running a printing press?

...supervising a grocery front end on Saturdays?

...sweating on job sites while testing concrete?

...spinning a yo-yo at a science store?

...working Monday through Friday at a church?

...supporting servers and desktops; and managing student workers?

...lost in Europe alone with no phone with my backpack as my traveling companion?

...working at a Starbucks out West inside of a Safeway?

...teaching university classrooms in the Czech Republic and the United States?

...changing diapers?

...homeschooling?

They're all different roles, different sides of me, but I remain me. It is just a different tabletop game. I remain Player One.

Yep, I am done with talking about food until at the very least weigh-in on July 7. Yesterday's post is like a tool. When you need it, you really need it. And when you don't? Well, I hate that kind of tool.

I am more of a Leatherman type. A hybrid tool. I used to carry one around on my belt in desktop support, a Batman-on-the-spot sort of thing.

A Leatherman was bestowed upon me on college graduation in 2001 that has since been lost to the deserts of time. The one I have now is among the few keepsakes from my Dad's passing in 2004. That tool has stuck around longer than a fat guy's wedding ring in a gifted-away Craftsman standing chest chockful of tools and a college class ring with its CRT monitor engraving, forever departing from the Flagstaff airport.

There is something commendable about extended functionality with day-to-day application.

These past six years have had one goal: 163, a place of its own resourcefulness. It is more than just a number. It is a state of mind, a convergence of past, present, and future; the 90s will be alive in my future. And come autumn when I have attained it, what do I do next? And while targeting that 1.6 ratio can be the next fitness target, physique does not capture the essence of whom I am.

It does not speak to my soul.

All the Lights Are Changing, Green to Red

And maybe we introverts live such private lives. Having an external target that can easily be quantified is easier to communicate. It lets folks quickly sketch up a two-dimensional figure and go home for the day.

But, what of our depths? What do we really want to express? My heart seeks the sunset horizon amidst the paperwork of a chores-based life. I feel like I am never whom I am. No, I gotta be rational...provide cost-benefit analysis...optimize the budget...check sightlines for threats...wield a weedwacker weekly. But, do I still dream of sunsets?

It is like Against the Wind:

Well, those drifters days are past me now
I've got so much more to think about
Deadlines and commitments
What to leave in, what to leave out

Saturday, I'm Running Wild

We rise beyond ethereal dreams. We visualize to envision our future, whether as a catalyst or roadmap; we do not dream as a local anesthetic.

Therefore, what are you dreaming? What are you witnessing in autumn '24?

Walked out this morning, I don't believe what I saw
Hundred billion bottles washed up on the shore
Seems I'm not alone at being alone
Hundred billion castaways, looking for a home

-The Police