I have always been one to enjoy change. Change often means good things can happen. Change often means a new opportunity to grow, which often comes with pain. We don’t get to choose our change, but we do get to seek out learning from it.

It’s sometimes argued that there’s no real progress; that a civilization that kills multitudes in mass warfare, that pollutes the land and oceans with ever larger quantities of debris, that destroys the dignity of individuals by subjecting them to a forced mechanized existence can hardly be called an advance over the simpler hunting and gathering and agricultural existence of prehistoric times. But this argument, though romantically appealing, doesn’t hold up. The primitive tribes permitted far less individual freedom than does modern society. Ancient wars were committed with far less moral justification than modern ones. A technology that produces debris can find, and is find-ing, ways of disposing of it without ecological upset. And the schoolbook pictures of primitive man sometimes omit some of the detrac-tions of his primitive life—the pain, the disease, famine, the hard labor needed just to stay alive. From that agony of bare existence to modern life can be soberly described only as upward progress, and the sole agent for this progress is quite clearly reason itself.

This is a book I had read mainly in two parts. The first part was at the start of 2022. I had heard many great things about this novel and thought I should give it a go, but I gave in to the weight of Russian literature. It had really bothered me that I did not finish reading it and so I went for it last month. It is such a bleak book and as Clifford Lee Sargent mentions in his review, it is two pages of crime and over five hundred pages of punishment. I could not agree with this more. It was probably unique and relevant in the context with which it was written, but this was not the book for me. I will likely give the Brothers Karamazov a try in the future, but it literally sits at the bottom of my to read pile.

In my youth I had dabbled with Mountaineering. This was a book I considered luxurious to consume. It is a well written book and well regarded. I walked away feeling horrible as the author must have felt and conveyed to the reader. So much tragedy and so much helplessness in witnessing the events unfold. This book took about a week to recover from. It was quite intense. I also cannot say this lit an adventure fire under me, but perhaps the timing was wrong.

I have spent a fair amount of time over the last month questioning my motivation around wanting to write and share on this site. I had considered moving this content over to a site under my name. The real problem is in exploring the need to publish my thoughts. I don’t see this as a creative act. I see this more as a structure for my own benefit. Write it and move on. I don’t care about audience and purposefully disconnect myself from stats on readership because this is something more durable and open to others beyond my own journal. I do wonder if this tugs at the ego or if this is a point of cathartic release. I do enjoy the ritual of it. I do legitimately want to share things. I often wonder if this is something my kids would someday read. Whatever it is, I guess it is chalked up to human nature and someday when it is long gone and deleted, that is okay.

I had spent a full week last month taking a break from my phone. I do have a watch which delivers notifications to my wrist as I want to be there for the people who are important to me, but there is enough friction in the watch that I find little distraction in it. I keep my phone in the drawer and I will use it for a few things like looking at the weather radar, logging calories, or answering a more complicated text message. The week had been good, but feels more like a start. I used my extra time to read. I have also found myself with several moments of sitting with myself, unsure what to do without the easy distraction. In those moments, I feel a great sense of opportunity. I have been using it to both evaluate what is important to me, but also engaging in some of that forward motion, my other escape.

I do nothing, granted. But I see the hours pass – which is better than trying to fill them.

I have taken a month off (from here) because I have been struggling in all aspects of life. It has been a confluence of travel throwing my whole routine off, work has been stressful with uncertainty, holidays with all of the commotion that brings, a foot injury that has kept me from where I want to be physically, and generally struggling with my relationships to others and myself. The way I have been trying to get through this is to remember this is not how I will feel forever. I also need to remember that any progress lost right now ,I am capable of making up for through daily consistent effort. Though, none of this really helps. It just keeps it from spiraling into bad things.