No Thing Like Normal

Growing up I struggled to pin down a haven for myself, a place that would be unchanging, a situation that would be predictable. I wanted to have a sense of normalcy in the midst of a world that seemed to be ever changing the rules and scenario.

It has continued to be difficult to pin down any time of my life that I could describe as “normal”. Only in retrospect can I point to periods of time in which I felt like I had a sense of what was going on, a sense of stability. When those times were happening, however, I would not have described them as normal. It is also not these periods that I cherish the most.

Talking about change as a constant has become a pretty throw away piece of conversation. I am in a position at work to coach employees and peers through change, but despite the lip service that we give to the idea that “nothing stays the same”, it continues to be an uphill struggle for all of us to embrace this concept that we cannot hold on to what we think of as normal.

Here’s a slightly different take, however, that has helped me to re-frame it for myself. It is one of the core beliefs of Taoist thought that ties me to the philosophy and continues to challenge my thinking.

In Taoist physics it is understood that everything that exists, every particle of matter, every wave of energy, is connected at the root, is fundamentally the same energy, not separate except in the way that we describe it.

The Way gave birth to unity, Unity gave birth to duality, Duality gave birth to trinity, Trinity gave birth to the myriad creatures.

Tao Te Ching, Chapter 42

This quote from the Tao Te Ching suffers in under the limitations of language. It makes the creation of the universe seem linear in time, when in reality the description of giving birth is more like a continuous process. In the way that the sun gives birth to light.

The myriad creatures (all objects and creatures that we experience in the world) exist but are not separate from Unity. If we are able to look close enough, and quantum physics has proposed the same idea, we would be able to tell that everything is simply energy vibrating at different frequencies, resonating with itself in different ways in order to manifest matter in all kinds of forms.

In metaphorical terms, The relationship of all under heaven to the Way is like that of valley streams to the river and sea.

Tao Te Ching, Chapter 32

This is a beautiful way to think about it. Water cycles, either falling as rain, flowing through streams or collecting in the ocean, perhaps locked in for millennia as ice, or under the earth, but never not water, never not connected to the unity of the water cycle, eventually always flowing back to the source and starting again.

Here, change in the water cycle isn’t a change of adding or subtracting. The water that is here now has been recycled since long before humans, before dinosaurs. Change may alter the course of the water, the specific forms that it takes, but change does not destroy it.

Change in this system is a heart beat, a renewal of the energy so that it does not become stagnant, a bringer of life.

It is the law of conservation of energy, that the grand total of energy and matter in the universe cannot be changed. One may be converted into the other, but the whole unity of existence cannot be diminished, it is always complete.

Tied in with the ever changing forms of matter and energy are our perceptions about these things that make them seem more different than they are. It is our labeling of things are larger and small that make them seem so different, when in reality they share the same energy, are the same source, merely appearing different in the way that we experience them.

There is nothing under the canopy of heaven greater than the tip of a bird’s down in autumn, while the T’ai Mountain is small. Neither is there any longer life than that of a child cut off in infancy, while P’eng Tsu himself died young. The universe and I came into being together; I and everything therein are One.

Chuang Tzu, Chapter 2, Yutang Lin Translation

Embracing contradictions in our understanding of reality is a core concept and skill within Taoism. Our language makes it very difficult to speak about the true nature of things without getting ourselves into horrible tangles. That is a key reason why Taoists spend so much time trying to observe the world around them, to gain understanding beyond words.

If we can embrace even a piece of this understanding it will be possible to see that two truths exist side by side: nothing that exists can remain the same, nothing that exists will ever be different.

Seeking a sense of normal may be a doomed endeavor if we are looking beyond ourselves. Our surroundings, our friends and family, our work and financial situation and any other outward aspects of our lives cannot be depended upon to remain the same. If we need a set schedule and unchanging social interactions then we are destined for trouble adapting in this world.

On the other hand, it can be possible to see things from a different point of view. No matter how much the outward aspects change, the fundamental reality never does. We are all, and always will be, connected at the deepest possible level.

Dimensions are limitless; time is endless. Conditions are not constant; terms are not final. Thus, the wise man looks into space, and does not regard the small as too little, nor the great as too much; for he knows that there is no limit to dimensions. He looks back into the past, and does not grieve over what is far off, nor rejoice over what is near; for he knows that time is without end. He investigates fullness and decay, and therefore does not rejoice if he succeeds, nor lament if he fails; for he knows that conditions are not constant.

Chuang Tzu, Chapter 17, Yutang Lin Translation

It is not easy to adapt to new situations, but it is much more difficult when we are struggling to back-pedal, to return to a sense of what is normal. Only by exploring and embracing the situation we find ourselves in right now can we embrace what is good, and begin to adjust what we do not like.

Things will not always be pretty or comfortable, but that is just where we are in the cycle. It will not be long before things look different once more, whether due to our perceptions of them or the way that they change around us. Either way, even though there is no such thing as normal, there is also no such thing as abnormal either.

Trail Running At Night: Moving Without Seeing

Trail running is possibly when I am at my happiest. It combines a natural physical exercise with being strongly connected to nature, and it engages my mind strategically in a way that road running does not. Navigating the technical difficulties of the trail clicks into something deep inside that feels instinctual, gives my brain a low-level workout and creates a meditative space to decompress. There are many great metaphors tying trail running to life, especially when thinking about how one always has to look ahead, assess the near term obstacles and formulate a plan on how to manage them. That may seem great on paper, but even that much ability to plan ahead is generous in comparison to what life is really like.

Life is much more like trail running at night.

Most of the forward motion I have had in my life seems to have been unplanned. I ended up taking classes in areas other than my chosen major, I followed my wife to another city for her graduate education and found my employment out of necessity. It became an actual career path through the encouragement of others pushing me along and supporting me. When my wife graduated I followed her again for her career and was incredibly lucky to find a place for myself in our new city with my old employer.

Looking forward to predict what might happen next has always been a bit dubious in my case given this history, but 2020 is shaping up to offer even more challenges. I have just learned that many more changes are coming for both my wife and myself. Her job was upended a few months ago and mine just informed me that I would be transferring roles and duties, losing my beloved colleagues and probably travelling more.

All of that is of course layered in and around the changes happening due to the COVID-19 pandemic. My wife is a university professor and chair of her department, which has decided to close campus and finish off the semester online only, creating a whole slew of questions without answers. My current travel for work has been suspended and the pressure on our day to day operations has caused many of our usual systems to be placed at the wayside while we figure out what the new normal looks like.

Of course, way beyond myself, it feels like this is a time of unprecedented upheaval around the world, and most of the people I talk with are feeling quite a bit of uncertainty about more than one area of their lives.

For me it feels very much like I am standing in a dense fog, trying to look down the path, and finding myself completely unable to see more than a few feet ahead. I was lucky enough to have a day like this recently and the time to get out with a camera to capture it for a few fleeting moments before the sun burned it off.

Trail running at night (or in dense fog) is an exercise in moving through obstacles without the luxury of foresight, and as such, has some great lessons that I am trying to internalize for other parts of my life right now in a moment where I just can’t see what the way forward looks like.

There is a river of creation, and time is a violent stream. As soon as one thing comes into sight, it is swept past and another is carried down: it too will be taken on its way.

Marcus Auralius, Meditation Book 4, 43

Core strength and flexibility are the things one can and must rely on.

In the daylight it is possible to run at the extremities, to plan your steps carefully and to use the obstacles to your advantage. One might intentionally step on roots or rocks in the path to gain more traction or to maintain momentum. Strong ankles and knee control can help take the force of these moves but only if the steps go according to plan.

When running at night it is better to run at the core. Since it is not possible to assess an obstacle ahead of time it is necessary to control the stride starting at the hip. Leave the knee and ankle as flexible as possible, so that when the foot comes down it can roll with the terrain. Keep the feet below the body and the center of gravity low. Focus on planting one foot, gaining balance and then pulling the next up. Get the knee ahead of you and bring down the ankle loose and flexible.

In this way one finds oneself focused inward, maintaining balance and regularity of stride, thinking much more about what the hip is doing than what the ankle is up to. Trying to hold a foot too rigid when you don’t know how it is going to land is a great way to sprain an ankle or worse.

Human beings are soft and supple when alive, stiff and straight when dead. The myriad creatures, the grasses and trees are soft and fragile when alive, dry and withered when dead. Therefore, it is said: the rigid person is a disciple of death; the soft, supple, and delicate are lovers of life. An army that is inflexible will not conquer; a tree that is inflexible will snap. The unyielding and mighty shall be brought low; the soft, supple, and delicate will be set above.

Tao Te Ching, Verse 76, Victor Mair translation

The core strength we rely on in our broader lives can serve the same function as we move into uncertainty. Having strong values and social networks will allow us to handle obstacles, not by lining ourselves up ahead of time, but by giving us a framework of support that will catch us, and a blueprint to know where we should made adjustments rather than stand fast against an obstacle.

A core strength of our family is the way we prioritize one on one time, time spent in nature and time for each parent to spend recharging individually. If any of those aspects start to slip or happen less frequently we know that an adjustment needs to be made. Trying to maintain the external specifics for plans we have made, appointments on the calendar, isn’t going to matter as much as being able to spend quality time together and maintain the balance.

Core values don’t just give us guardrails to know when things are out of balance, they also point us in the right direction to correct those imbalances. Knowing what matters means that you have a beacon to help keep orientation. Sensing when one partner in the couple is spending too much time taking point and might be getting burned out, the solution is easy: get them some time on their own, even if that means adjusting plans that have already been made.

When running at night, pace must also be adjusted. It would simply be foolish, even if one has run the course before, to try and run in the dark at the same speed one might run during the day. There is no harm in slowing down a bit when things are less clear, and only speeding up again when there is some open ground.

When circumstances force you into some sort of distress, quickly return to yourself. Do not stay out of rhythm for longer than you must: you will master the harmony the more by constantly going back to it.

Marcus Auralius, Meditations Book 6, 11

As a family travel is also very important to us. We have a rough draft schedule of travel and family milestones planned out for the next five years, but now seems like a good time to slow down and not worry much about what is going to be happening next year, much less next month. There will be time when we can revisit those plans and probably keep most of them in some form, but now is simply not it, and that is okay.

Running in the dark means focusing on yourself and having faith in the work you have put in building up your strength. In reality, running in the day shouldn’t be any different. Just because we think we can see down the path doesn’t mean we really know what is going to happen. The part of the path that looks dry may turn out to be slippery, and the branch we want to step on may not hold our weight at the critical moment. Even if we plan the moves correctly it doesn’t mean that we will be able to pull it off. Sometimes one just takes a bad step even with all the right training and strategy.

Both Taoism and Stoicism have been very helpful in preparing me for uncertainty in my life. These philosophies encourage self reflection, which is the only way we can come to know where our core values lay. Only once we begin to observe and prioritize the things that truly matter to us can we properly exercise those values, clarify their contours, and use them to guide our decisions.

Running at night isn’t a practice of sadistic self-punishment. It isn’t something that one should do just because it seems like a crazy idea. our of bravery. Running at night, because it cultivates this necessity of trusting one’s own body, is an exercise in faith. Letting go, trusting in one’s training and capabilities, not worrying about the path ahead, only the stars above and the surreal experience of gliding through the dark, is magical. My experience of this was an experience of faith, and I don’t mean to strip that word of any spiritual meaning. Knowing that I did have faith in myself, that I know some unshakable truths from my core, gave me a sense of contentment and freedom from worry that I haven’t had since.

I write this to remind myself of the feeling, and to try and give myself the perspective that I can be like this all the time. The things we think are stable in life may not be, and even on a clear day we will not be able to predict our future paths. Is it not best to run on faith in our core values, suspending judgement of the path ahead and reacting in the moment as much as possible? I hope that everyone is able to use these difficult times as an opportunity to reflect and redefine, and find some solid footing on the path ahead.

Unlike my trail running experience alone in the dark, we are not running this race of life alone. Now is a time to rely on ourselves, but also a time to rely on one another. Even as we make adjustments to our own lives it is helpful to know that we are all in this together. I hope that all of you and yours are safe, healthy and adapting in this challenging time.

Philosophy and Travel: Connect or Disconnect

Travel forged who I was early on, and cracked me open to new discoveries at a crucial point in my development. My wife and I have shared a passion for travel since before we met, and have made it a priority above many other things in our life together. Given how much the experiences I have had abroad have inspired me I was shocked to read many passages in both Stoicism and Taoism that seem to paint travel as a thing to be avoided.

We are reminded from both schools of thought that the nature of the world is unique in all of its individual expressions. If all matter, all animals, all plants are manifestations of nature expressing itself creatively, then no matter where we look we will see something that has no equal anywhere else. We are told that it is silly to go somewhere else in order to learn the ways of nature, or of ourselves.

Without going out-of-doors, one may know all under heaven; Without peering through windows, one may know the Way of heaven. The farther one goes, the less one knows. For this reason, the sage knows without journeying, understands without looking, accomplishes without acting.”

Tao Te Ching, Chapter 47, Victor H Mair translation

These words express that perhaps it is not only unhelpful to travel, but misguided and foolish. Is the world outside of ourselves merely a distraction from the search for true knowledge?

Taoism reminds us that we all share a common source, and are all the same if we can look close enough. In fact, there is much to be said about the fractal nature of our universe. That one can “zoom out” to see the complexity of our position within the universe, or “zoom in” to appreciate the complexity of cells at work within any living organism, echoes the idea that we need not go anywhere in order to explore the universe of details that exist in every piece of existence.

 Though neighboring states were within sight of each other, and could hear the cries of each other’s dogs and chickens, the people grew old and died without ever traveling beyond their own borders. At a time such as this, there was nothing but the most perfect order.

Chuang Tzu section 10, Burton Watson translation

Beyond the futility of trying to find “more” somewhere else, there is also a consideration that to travel is to misguide ourselves about what we are looking for. If we are hoping for a reset, or a chance to break out of our routine by stepping away from the normal, perhaps travel is only a temporary solution, or even worse, a way to cover up the real issues that are causing us to feel restless.

Men seek retreats for themselves – in the country, by the sea, in the hills – and you yourself are particularly prone to this yearning. But all this is quite un-philosophic, when it is open to you, at any time you want, to retreat into yourself. No retreat offers someone more quiet and relaxation than that into his own mind, especially if he can dip into thoughts there which put him at immediate and complete ease: and by ease I simply mean a well-ordered life. So constantly give yourself this retreat, and renew yourself. The doctrines you will visit there should be few and fundamental, sufficient at one meeting to wash away all your pain and send you back free of resentment at what you must rejoin.

Marcus Auralius, Meditations, Book 4, 3

This seems to preclude, however, that all travel is in pursuit of escape.

Any trip must be formulated around where one begins and where one hopes to end up, but in this case we must first take into account the mental origin and destination before we can talk about any kind of physical journey.

I believe that there are many people who travel in order to escape. Destinations are chosen because they cater to the traveler’s needs, provide decadent lodgings, beautiful surroundings and pristine beaches. Travel guides focus heavily on amenities, activities and ways in which the traveler can streamline the experience.

This, I believe, is what Marcus Auralius is addressing in his quote more directly. In his day as in ours one might travel from the city to a country estate, somewhere far enough outside the hustle and bustle while also set up with all the trappings of home. This is merely a change in location in order to temporarily remove oneself from the stresses of daily life. As he notes, however, this relief is at best temporary. Travelling for these reasons doesn’t provide answers to the daily challenges and questions, just distance. When forced to return to daily life if often feels as if one had never taken the vacation in the first place, especially since there is often work which has piled up that wouldn’t have been there to do if we had never left home in the first place.

Travel for me has always been a necessary way to inform myself about other avenues of being. As a child I had a hard time imagining how things could be otherwise, especially growing up in a small midwestern community. Despite, or perhaps because of, my love of fantasy and science fiction, I felt that there was a huge disconnect between the life I was living and the larger world, but I had no way to penetrating the surrounding walls.

Thankfully my father also had a deep seated travel itch, and took us regularly across the American west in the back of our station-wagon. In these first trips I was able to see how things could be different elsewhere. It seems I am an experiential learner, and need to have a bit of hands on before these concepts sink in. Reading is good to point out that there is a “there” there, but it isn’t good enough to leave me with the tools I need.

Going abroad in college, not only for the first time, but on a very long journey through several countries, cracked me wide open, and the importance of travel has taken root for good. I experienced a variety of cultures and locations that I would never have been able to conceptualize otherwise. Trying to cross a busy street in the heart of Cairo or wandering ally-way shops in Hong Kong have left me with perspectives that still shape who I am.

We all need ways to see beyond ourselves, and to ultimately look back towards ourselves. The way in which travel expands my sense of what else if out there, helps me to reframe myself.

Any tool can be put to useful or destructive ends depending on who is wielding it, and what their intentions are. While travel may be an escape for many, pointing out the fact that there is something they feel the need to escape from, that is not what it is for me. For me, travel is the way, a meaningful journey that has much less to do with physical destination than it does with putting myself into a mindset of openness and growth.

As a special note about the photography here: all of these images were taken from our most recent vacation through a few places in Europe. I wasn’t pursuing photography very seriously at this point, just trying to capture what I found interesting at the time, and it is interesting to see how my photos then and my photography now relates to itself. I don’t generally take images of civilization now, but perhaps that is something I will explore more intentionally soon.

The Joy of Practice

When I was in middle school I wanted to be a writer of science fiction or fantasy novels. Our school had a well published children’s book author come in to talk to us for a while and I was very excited because she had just written a book for children who wanted to become writers, and that was going to be a focus of her talk. Everything she talked about that day was drowned out by one quote that has either haunted me or helped give me perspective since. I can’t claim to quote directly, but the idea is something like this:

“Ask yourself: do I want to write a book, or do I want to have written a book?”

This points to the dream of the end reward as opposed to the reality of the hard work that one needs to put in before that goal can even begin to materialize. Strangely enough I wrote quite a bit, and continued to do so for a few years, until a growing sense of unease about the quality of my work started to have a negative feedback loop. The more critical of my own writing I became, the less I felt like trying to write in the first place.

Putting work into any craft is the only way to realize results. I would be surprised to meet anyone who hasn’t heard a version of the phrase: “practice makes perfect”. The disconnect, however, between the hard work required at the beginning and the eventual payoff is often extremely difficult to overcome. For me, framing it in the sound logical perspective of rationality wasn’t enough to get me going on a path I thought I wanted.

Visual art was the next interest that began drawing me in. I think one of the appeals, and ultimate distractions, of “art” class in American education is the variety of media. Boiling down the education of creative visual problem solving into a handful of survey classes is a huge disservice and also gross misrepresentation of what students could be learning from these classes. I fell into the same trap that most other do, namely mistaking a variety of projects, mostly different kinds of media, for building skills.

What was most difficult and damaging about creating visual art in this way, was that no one taught the student how to learn from failure. In fact, there is such an emphasis in the curriculum currently on relativism, that it is difficult to even talk about a work as being “unsuccessful”, because who are we to judge the creative work of another person? After learning the vital skill of critique later on it came clear to me that quality could be assessed. Achieving better results, however, wasn’t quite so clear. Assignments were given and students were pushed to create more, forcing them to practice, but never was it framed in those terms. Each project was an end in itself, and we were supposed to come away with a successful project. The emphasis was still that each piece created could be good.

Again I took a break, and again I came crawling back to art on my own accord, feeling a connection that I couldn’t shake. Following the advice of practicing artists I decided I needed to just start creating things, as much as and often as I could. It was still a retrospective process, however, related what I had learned about writing a book. I was interested in the final product. Working quickly I could get there in one sitting and have something to show for it, but much more often than not I would be disappointed by the results.

I wanted to paint an image, but wasn’t exactly interested in the process of painting itself.

As I started to transition into more illustrative works, my technique shifted towards more detailed, and therefore more time-consuming work. I began reading about capital “P” practice that professional illustrators embrace: building up shoulder muscle strength through the repetition of drawing freehand straight lines. Building muscle memory and perceptual awareness by learning how to freehand three-dimensional boxes rotating in space as seen from any angle, and copying proportions of anatomy over and over again.

Drawing and painting, like any skill, can be taught step by step. The carpenter learns essentials about how to form, treat and fit wood together in an organized fashion so that they can go on to flex their creativity.

Breakthrough came upon picking up the camera seriously. For the first time I experienced joy in the practice. Rather than getting myself to sit and do what needed to be done to build my skills, I find myself eager to go out and shoot. I enjoy the results, but I enjoy the process just as much. This, I think, is a kind of balance that we are all seeking.

For this reason, the sage acts but does not possess, completes his work but does not dwell on it.

Tao Te Ching chapter 77, Victor H Mair translation

Water doesn’t need practice in order to flow downhill, it is the nature of water to do that. I think that finding the pieces of ourselves that come naturally and bring with them joy and inspiration are the ways in which we connect most closely to our own nature.

Epicycles

All things and beings will eventually return to the original source.
This is called “peace.”
“Peace” means returning to one’s original nature.

Excerpt from Chapter 16, Tao Te Ching

One of the aspects of Taoism that I most resonate with is the idea that energy circulates and follows cycles. Since the larger concept is that we are all of the same energy, and connected at our core existence, we also circulate and experience cycles. We are all emanations from the same source, and to that source we will return, but even as we live out our unique lives there will constantly be cycles and seasons, periods at which we find ourselves returning.

This has certainly been true for me, and was one of the initial pieces of self reflection that helped bring me around to learning more about Taoism in the first place. I grew up a seeker, feeling always as if I were missing something, some key piece of the puzzle that other people seemed to have.

Most of my friends and family were following a path that seemed more clear than mine. Many of them had strong ideas of what they wanted to be doing when they were finishing high school and entering college. I made my way through, gravitating towards art classes only at the end of my time in high school, having finally found something that resonated with me.

Going to college was a moment of reset, however, when I decided to put my time into more “practical” pursuits such as Biology and English. Only after being drawn in by Philosophy did I find something I could connect to at a deeper level. At least here were other people who were asking interesting questions, even if they still seemed as if they knew where they wanted to go.

A couple of years into college I rediscovered art classes once more, and returned to that initial connection. I didn’t have time to pursue a degree in art, and was only able to take a handful of foundation courses in the time I had. Enough to get my feet wet but not enough to show me a direction. Incidentally, I recall deciding not to take a photography course at this point because I felt that it might be too technical, and was also so popular that I couldn’t see myself having a strong enough vision that would allow me to stand out in the crowd.

The most influential portions of my college education came out without planning, almost out of the blue. First was my then-girlfriend convincing me to sign up for a semester abroad program. I had never traveled out of the country, and this semester allowed me to challenge myself and broaden my horizons in ways that still ripple through my life. The second, and far more influential, was meeting the woman would become my wife.

We were married right after we had both completed college and we moved to the east coast for her graduate school. I was lucky enough to fall into what would become my long running career, though at the time I certainly didn’t believe that to be the case. Several years were spent encountering new ideas and new people, learning how to be a couple and share a life, and adapting to supporting ourselves. Never did I feel as if I were on a path or moving in any specific direction, though the ride was certainly interesting.

Several conversations with my wife sparked me into another return to art, and a continuing education degree at RISD for print design. Again I fell into the creativity that the projects allowed, and dug deeper into a specific discipline than I had before. There was a chance that this might become a path for me, a way to combine my career and my interest at a deeper level, which might finally give me a connection point and sense of moving forward towards an actual goal.

After she completed graduate school she was lucky enough to be offered a tenure track position in the Midwest. We moved, and I was lucky enough to stay on with my company in a new location. Beyond simple transition, I was able to capitalize on a unique opportunity and advance my career. Taking this step was wonderful financially, and offered me the chance to travel, but meant putting ideas of changing careers on the back-burner. That, and starting a family, have largely kept me busy since then.

A couple of years ago I found myself becoming restless once more. I took up art on my own, doing purely experimental paintings out of my own mind to try and flex the muscle. It was in this time frame that I was also looking back to Philosophy to help me figure out where I could get a foothold. Despite the career and family success, I couldn’t help still feeling as if it was all some kind of mistake. I had been very good at jumping on opportunities as they came up, and not dismissing ideas out of hand without giving them serious thought, but I wasn’t planning, and I wasn’t aiming at anything. It all felt a bit like a ship lost at sea, even if the sea was beautiful on most days.

My art experiments gave me the chance to flex some aching muscles and express myself. It was wonderful, but within that process were endless miniature cycles that played out. I experimented with medium after medium, going from watercolor to charcoal, to pencil to pen and ink, sometimes back and forth. I put effort into a diverse range of projects and outlets. Towards the end of a two year period of intense art practice I found myself taking a lot of picture to use as references, or as inspiration. I came to realize that I have been enjoying that aspect of preparing for the art as much (or more) than I have been enjoying the art itself.

This coincides with my deepening understanding of Taoism and Stoicism, and my appreciation for seeing my position in life as one of discovering my direction as destination, rather than one of charting for a specific goal. I am trying to consciously open myself up to be present and available so that I can enjoy what comes and not miss any of it for my efforts of peering down the forks in the road.

I like to think that if one were to look at my life from the top down as it were, it would be a series of epicycles, aspects of my life spent branching out only to circle back in on themselves a little further down the road. Key themes are beginning to make themselves apparent, but it may be this act of exploration and returning that defines my time here more than anything else. Perhaps, like the astrologers of centuries past, someone may look back and try to chart a straighter line for my life once everything is said and done, but missing out on the rhythm of returning would be to skip so much of what has brought me here today.