https://blue.feedland.org/?river=http://data.feedland.org/blue/feeds/Sawyer.xml It's just a feed for now Tue, 03 Dec 2024 04:33:34 GMT feedland v0.6.43 https://cyber.harvard.edu/rss/rss.html Tue, 03 Dec 2024 04:33:34 GMT http://rpc.rsscloud.io:5337/pleaseNotify Mon, December 2, 2024 11:33 PM EST <p>If a year has a beginning and end, I imagine it has a life cycle of sorts as well.</p> <p>Therefore, November has always been the end of the year in my mind. I’m sure it has to do with where I’m from, with Missouri gaining favor from all four seasons and their presentation turned up to an 11. This is the case with Winter as well—people huddled in houses, under blankets, isolated and separated from one another.</p> <p>December is the death of a year, with it’s passing surrounded with loved ones coming together to witness it’s farewell just to be surrounded by loved ones at the eruption of a new year.</p> <p>A rebirth.</p> <p>We measure ourselves by what’s contained in a year, reflecting—much like we do in life—at the end. Let’s chat about that a little…</p> <p>When people ask me what I am most afraid of, I say “Looking back when I’m 80 and realized I lived a wasted life”. I felt confident enough in this answer for quite a while until a little before the death of last year.</p> <p>What even was a wasted life? What does wasting life look like? I’m only 23 but have I done enough to be satisfied if I died tomorrow?</p> <p>A lot of these questions wandered through, tracking in mud and caking my mind with doubts.</p> <p>It might not be typical for a recent college graduate to face an existential crisis, but I’ve been captivated by the concept of death since I was a boy (which probably warrants some reflection itself). This fascination seasoned when I watched The Twilight Zone episode Nothing in the Dark. In it, an elderly woman hides from the personification of death, only to discover [spoiler alert for a 62-year-old episode] that death is the kind policeman she has been caring for after he was shot on her doorstep. Ultimately, Harold persuades Wanda to leave the land of the living and follow him:</p> <p>Harold Beldon: [still gently, smiling] The running&#39;s over! It&#39;s time to rest. Give me your hand.</p> <p>Wanda Dunn: But I don&#39;t want to die!</p> <p>Harold Beldon: [holding out his hand] Trust me.</p> <p>Wanda Dunn: [backing away] No. No.</p> <p>Harold Beldon: Mother. Give me your hand.</p> <p>[crying, Wanda slowly puts her hand in his]</p> <p>Harold Beldon: [laughing softly] You see? No shock. No... engulfment. No tearing asunder. What you feared would come like an explosion, is like a whisper. What you thought was the end, the beginning.</p> <p>Wanda Dunn: [with hushed excitement] When will it happen? When will we go?</p> <p>Harold Beldon: Go? Look.</p> <p>[He glances to the side; following his gaze, Wanda sees her body on the bed, peaceful in its final repose]</p> <p>Harold Beldon: We have already begun.</p> <p>[Both smiling now, he takes her arm in his and escorts her into the light]</p> <p>While yes, Harold did have to trick Wanda into letting him into her house, I found incredible solace in his pleading to Wanda—that death was a whisper and the beginning of something new. I was young when I read this, and it’s always been near when I think about the culmination of my years on earth.</p> <p>I’ve always had a fear of not being in control of things, death in particular. Especially in regards to natural disasters and freak accidents. The thought that I could live my life crossing my T’s and dotting my I’s and be crushed by a random passerby infuriated and feared me. In partial response to this, it’s been a motto of my life to live in things fully.</p> <p>To enjoy every last drop of life before I relinquish it at 80.</p> <p>This fear of losing control shaped much of how I approach life, especially in how I try to combat the chaos with structure. My tool of choice? Notion and Notion Calendar. I schedule everything—from deadlines to personal goals and even reminders to pause and reflect (I don’t juggle two blogs, full time job, graduate school, and a social life with a sweet smile).</p> <p>It might sound excessive, but the act of planning gives me a semblance of authority and control over my time. It’s a framework for living intentionally rather than letting life sweep me along without purpose. Structure gave me the ability to even try to create more than I ingest, to act with purpose, and to look back at the end of this year with a sense of accomplishment rather than regret. It’s not about perfection but progress.</p> <p>Even with the best intentions, fear still rears its head. That’s why I’ve committed to doing things scared. If I waited until I felt ready or fearless, I’d never start anything meaningful. Whether it’s a new project, meeting someone for the first time, or confronting a personal weakness, I’ve learned to embrace the discomfort. Fear doesn’t mean stop—it means go, with a little extra courage in your pocket (extra courage is also the engraving on the back of my flask).</p> <p>Try to genuinely enjoy the things you enjoy. Don’t feel compelled to put on a show of enjoying them (unless showmanship itself brings you joy—then by all means, revel in it!). Seek out moments of quiet pleasure, indulging in good food or something just for you when circumstances allow. Cherish those little secrets you keep to yourself, turning them into a playful, private game that makes life feel uniquely yours. These hidden joys are yours.</p> <p>I’ve found that listening—really listening is a way of grounding myself and realizing what’s important. It’s not enough to hear someone; I want to understand them, to connect. I want to lean over to a person I have never spoken to before, crack a joke, and make a friend.</p> <p>It’s a simple practice, but it pulls me out of my own head and into the lives of others. Listening, in a way, feels like an antidote to that fear of a wasted life; it ensures that my time isn’t just about me but about the connections I create.</p> <p>Overall, plan it out, do it scared, create more and enjoy it while you can, and listen deeply.</p> <p>I went to a wedding last weekend to celebrate the union of two friends (If you’re reading this, the open bar was a great idea). My partner joined and this was the first time that we attended a wedding where she was my plus one at an event full of friends and associates from my high school. People who I had mentioned often, but for who (whomst?) she had never met.</p> <p>Friends and parents of friends came up to us to catch up, shake hands and exchange pleasantries and reflect on the last couple of years and make new introductions. After the bride and groom left in their car, dressed in streaks of ribbon and holy matrimony, a dozen of so left behind decided to continue the party at Sasha&#39;s on Shaw, a wine bar.</p> <p>We had the pleasure of joining them, and as we sat there, drunk on wine and nostalgia, surrounded by friends, I felt an overwhelming sense of happiness and gratitude for my life. Whether it becomes a memory I cherish at 80, only time will tell, but in that moment, I was fully alive, deep in a feverish joy of simply being alive.</p> Tue, 03 Dec 2024 04:33:34 GMT https://blue.feedland.org/?item=787715 https://blue.feedland.org/?item=787715 If a year has a beginning and end, I imagine it has a life cycle of sorts as well. Therefore, November has always been the end of the year in my mind. I’m sure it has to do with where I’m from, with Missouri gaining favor from all four seasons and their presentation turned up to an 11. This is the case with Winter as well—people huddled in houses, under blankets, isolated and separated from one another. December is the death of a year, with it’s passing surrounded with loved ones coming together to witness it’s farewell just to be surrounded by loved ones at the eruption of a new year. A rebirth. We measure ourselves by what’s contained in a year, reflecting—much like we do in life—at the end. Let’s chat about that a little… When people ask me what I am most afraid of, I say “Looking back when I’m 80 and realized I lived a wasted life”. I felt confident enough in this answer for quite a while until a little before the death of last year. What even was a wasted life? What does wasting life look like? I’m only 23 but have I done enough to be satisfied if I died tomorrow? A lot of these questions wandered through, tracking in mud and caking my mind with doubts. It might not be typical for a recent college graduate to face an existential crisis, but I’ve been captivated by the concept of death since I was a boy (which probably warrants some reflection itself). This fascination seasoned when I watched The Twilight Zone episode Nothing in the Dark. In it, an elderly woman hides from the personification of death, only to discover \[spoiler alert for a 62-year-old episode\] that death is the kind policeman she has been caring for after he was shot on her doorstep. Ultimately, Harold persuades Wanda to leave the land of the living and follow him: Harold Beldon: \[still gently, smiling\] The running's over! It's time to rest. Give me your hand. Wanda Dunn: But I don't want to die! Harold Beldon: \[holding out his hand\] Trust me. Wanda Dunn: \[backing away\] No. No. Harold Beldon: Mother. Give me your hand. \[crying, Wanda slowly puts her hand in his\] Harold Beldon: \[laughing softly\] You see? No shock. No... engulfment. No tearing asunder. What you feared would come like an explosion, is like a whisper. What you thought was the end, the beginning. Wanda Dunn: \[with hushed excitement\] When will it happen? When will we go? Harold Beldon: Go? Look. \[He glances to the side; following his gaze, Wanda sees her body on the bed, peaceful in its final repose\] Harold Beldon: We have already begun. \[Both smiling now, he takes her arm in his and escorts her into the light\] While yes, Harold did have to trick Wanda into letting him into her house, I found incredible solace in his pleading to Wanda—that death was a whisper and the beginning of something new. I was young when I read this, and it’s always been near when I think about the culmination of my years on earth. I’ve always had a fear of not being in control of things, death in particular. Especially in regards to natural disasters and freak accidents. The thought that I could live my life crossing my T’s and dotting my I’s and be crushed by a random passerby infuriated and feared me. In partial response to this, it’s been a motto of my life to live in things fully. To enjoy every last drop of life before I relinquish it at 80. This fear of losing control shaped much of how I approach life, especially in how I try to combat the chaos with structure. My tool of choice? Notion and Notion Calendar. I schedule everything—from deadlines to personal goals and even reminders to pause and reflect (I don’t juggle two blogs, full time job, graduate school, and a social life with a sweet smile). It might sound excessive, but the act of planning gives me a semblance of authority and control over my time. It’s a framework for living intentionally rather than letting life sweep me along without purpose. Structure gave me the ability to even try to create more than I ingest, to act with purpose, and to look back at the end of this year with a sense of accomplishment rather than regret. It’s not about perfection but progress. Even with the best intentions, fear still rears its head. That’s why I’ve committed to doing things scared. If I waited until I felt ready or fearless, I’d never start anything meaningful. Whether it’s a new project, meeting someone for the first time, or confronting a personal weakness, I’ve learned to embrace the discomfort. Fear doesn’t mean stop—it means go, with a little extra courage in your pocket (extra courage is also the engraving on the back of my flask). Try to genuinely enjoy the things you enjoy. Don’t feel compelled to put on a show of enjoying them (unless showmanship itself brings you joy—then by all means, revel in it!). Seek out moments of quiet pleasure, indulging in good food or something just for you when circumstances allow. Cherish those little secrets you keep to yourself, turning them into a playful, private game that makes life feel uniquely yours. These hidden joys are yours. I’ve found that listening—really listening is a way of grounding myself and realizing what’s important. It’s not enough to hear someone; I want to understand them, to connect. I want to lean over to a person I have never spoken to before, crack a joke, and make a friend. It’s a simple practice, but it pulls me out of my own head and into the lives of others. Listening, in a way, feels like an antidote to that fear of a wasted life; it ensures that my time isn’t just about me but about the connections I create. Overall, plan it out, do it scared, create more and enjoy it while you can, and listen deeply. I went to a wedding last weekend to celebrate the union of two friends (If you’re reading this, the open bar was a great idea). My partner joined and this was the first time that we attended a wedding where she was my plus one at an event full of friends and associates from my high school. People who I had mentioned often, but for who (whomst?) she had never met. Friends and parents of friends came up to us to catch up, shake hands and exchange pleasantries and reflect on the last couple of years and make new introductions. After the bride and groom left in their car, dressed in streaks of ribbon and holy matrimony, a dozen of so left behind decided to continue the party at Sasha's on Shaw, a wine bar. We had the pleasure of joining them, and as we sat there, drunk on wine and nostalgia, surrounded by friends, I felt an overwhelming sense of happiness and gratitude for my life. Whether it becomes a memory I cherish at 80, only time will tell, but in that moment, I was fully alive, deep in a feverish joy of simply being alive. <p>If a year has a beginning and end, I imagine it has a life cycle of sorts as well.</p> <p>Therefore, November has always been the end of the year in my mind. I’m sure it has to do with where I’m from, with Missouri gaining favor from all four seasons and their presentation turned up to an 11. This is the case with Winter as well—people huddled in houses, under blankets, isolated and separated from one another.</p> <p>December is the death of a year, with it’s passing surrounded with loved ones coming together to witness it’s farewell just to be surrounded by loved ones at the eruption of a new year.</p> <p>A rebirth.</p> <p>We measure ourselves by what’s contained in a year, reflecting—much like we do in life—at the end. Let’s chat about that a little…</p> <p>When people ask me what I am most afraid of, I say “Looking back when I’m 80 and realized I lived a wasted life”. I felt confident enough in this answer for quite a while until a little before the death of last year.</p> <p>What even was a wasted life? What does wasting life look like? I’m only 23 but have I done enough to be satisfied if I died tomorrow?</p> <p>A lot of these questions wandered through, tracking in mud and caking my mind with doubts.</p> <p>It might not be typical for a recent college graduate to face an existential crisis, but I’ve been captivated by the concept of death since I was a boy (which probably warrants some reflection itself). This fascination seasoned when I watched The Twilight Zone episode Nothing in the Dark. In it, an elderly woman hides from the personification of death, only to discover [spoiler alert for a 62-year-old episode] that death is the kind policeman she has been caring for after he was shot on her doorstep. Ultimately, Harold persuades Wanda to leave the land of the living and follow him:</p> <p>Harold Beldon: [still gently, smiling] The running&#39;s over! It&#39;s time to rest. Give me your hand.</p> <p>Wanda Dunn: But I don&#39;t want to die!</p> <p>Harold Beldon: [holding out his hand] Trust me.</p> <p>Wanda Dunn: [backing away] No. No.</p> <p>Harold Beldon: Mother. Give me your hand.</p> <p>[crying, Wanda slowly puts her hand in his]</p> <p>Harold Beldon: [laughing softly] You see? No shock. No... engulfment. No tearing asunder. What you feared would come like an explosion, is like a whisper. What you thought was the end, the beginning.</p> <p>Wanda Dunn: [with hushed excitement] When will it happen? When will we go?</p> <p>Harold Beldon: Go? Look.</p> <p>[He glances to the side; following his gaze, Wanda sees her body on the bed, peaceful in its final repose]</p> <p>Harold Beldon: We have already begun.</p> <p>[Both smiling now, he takes her arm in his and escorts her into the light]</p> <p>While yes, Harold did have to trick Wanda into letting him into her house, I found incredible solace in his pleading to Wanda—that death was a whisper and the beginning of something new. I was young when I read this, and it’s always been near when I think about the culmination of my years on earth.</p> <p>I’ve always had a fear of not being in control of things, death in particular. Especially in regards to natural disasters and freak accidents. The thought that I could live my life crossing my T’s and dotting my I’s and be crushed by a random passerby infuriated and feared me. In partial response to this, it’s been a motto of my life to live in things fully.</p> <p>To enjoy every last drop of life before I relinquish it at 80.</p> <p>This fear of losing control shaped much of how I approach life, especially in how I try to combat the chaos with structure. My tool of choice? Notion and Notion Calendar. I schedule everything—from deadlines to personal goals and even reminders to pause and reflect (I don’t juggle two blogs, full time job, graduate school, and a social life with a sweet smile).</p> <p>It might sound excessive, but the act of planning gives me a semblance of authority and control over my time. It’s a framework for living intentionally rather than letting life sweep me along without purpose. Structure gave me the ability to even try to create more than I ingest, to act with purpose, and to look back at the end of this year with a sense of accomplishment rather than regret. It’s not about perfection but progress.</p> <p>Even with the best intentions, fear still rears its head. That’s why I’ve committed to doing things scared. If I waited until I felt ready or fearless, I’d never start anything meaningful. Whether it’s a new project, meeting someone for the first time, or confronting a personal weakness, I’ve learned to embrace the discomfort. Fear doesn’t mean stop—it means go, with a little extra courage in your pocket (extra courage is also the engraving on the back of my flask).</p> <p>Try to genuinely enjoy the things you enjoy. Don’t feel compelled to put on a show of enjoying them (unless showmanship itself brings you joy—then by all means, revel in it!). Seek out moments of quiet pleasure, indulging in good food or something just for you when circumstances allow. Cherish those little secrets you keep to yourself, turning them into a playful, private game that makes life feel uniquely yours. These hidden joys are yours.</p> <p>I’ve found that listening—really listening is a way of grounding myself and realizing what’s important. It’s not enough to hear someone; I want to understand them, to connect. I want to lean over to a person I have never spoken to before, crack a joke, and make a friend.</p> <p>It’s a simple practice, but it pulls me out of my own head and into the lives of others. Listening, in a way, feels like an antidote to that fear of a wasted life; it ensures that my time isn’t just about me but about the connections I create.</p> <p>Overall, plan it out, do it scared, create more and enjoy it while you can, and listen deeply.</p> <p>I went to a wedding last weekend to celebrate the union of two friends (If you’re reading this, the open bar was a great idea). My partner joined and this was the first time that we attended a wedding where she was my plus one at an event full of friends and associates from my high school. People who I had mentioned often, but for who (whomst?) she had never met.</p> <p>Friends and parents of friends came up to us to catch up, shake hands and exchange pleasantries and reflect on the last couple of years and make new introductions. After the bride and groom left in their car, dressed in streaks of ribbon and holy matrimony, a dozen of so left behind decided to continue the party at Sasha&#39;s on Shaw, a wine bar.</p> <p>We had the pleasure of joining them, and as we sat there, drunk on wine and nostalgia, surrounded by friends, I felt an overwhelming sense of happiness and gratitude for my life. Whether it becomes a memory I cherish at 80, only time will tell, but in that moment, I was fully alive, deep in a feverish joy of simply being alive.</p> Tue, 03 Dec 2024 04:29:40 GMT https://blue.feedland.org/?item=787714 https://blue.feedland.org/?item=787714 If a year has a beginning and end, I imagine it has a life cycle of sorts as well. Therefore, November has always been the end of the year in my mind. I’m sure it has to do with where I’m from, with Missouri gaining favor from all four seasons and their presentation turned up to an 11. This is the case with Winter as well—people huddled in houses, under blankets, isolated and separated from one another. December is the death of a year, with it’s passing surrounded with loved ones coming together to witness it’s farewell just to be surrounded by loved ones at the eruption of a new year. A rebirth. We measure ourselves by what’s contained in a year, reflecting—much like we do in life—at the end. Let’s chat about that a little… When people ask me what I am most afraid of, I say “Looking back when I’m 80 and realized I lived a wasted life”. I felt confident enough in this answer for quite a while until a little before the death of last year. What even was a wasted life? What does wasting life look like? I’m only 23 but have I done enough to be satisfied if I died tomorrow? A lot of these questions wandered through, tracking in mud and caking my mind with doubts. It might not be typical for a recent college graduate to face an existential crisis, but I’ve been captivated by the concept of death since I was a boy (which probably warrants some reflection itself). This fascination seasoned when I watched The Twilight Zone episode Nothing in the Dark. In it, an elderly woman hides from the personification of death, only to discover \[spoiler alert for a 62-year-old episode\] that death is the kind policeman she has been caring for after he was shot on her doorstep. Ultimately, Harold persuades Wanda to leave the land of the living and follow him: Harold Beldon: \[still gently, smiling\] The running's over! It's time to rest. Give me your hand. Wanda Dunn: But I don't want to die! Harold Beldon: \[holding out his hand\] Trust me. Wanda Dunn: \[backing away\] No. No. Harold Beldon: Mother. Give me your hand. \[crying, Wanda slowly puts her hand in his\] Harold Beldon: \[laughing softly\] You see? No shock. No... engulfment. No tearing asunder. What you feared would come like an explosion, is like a whisper. What you thought was the end, the beginning. Wanda Dunn: \[with hushed excitement\] When will it happen? When will we go? Harold Beldon: Go? Look. \[He glances to the side; following his gaze, Wanda sees her body on the bed, peaceful in its final repose\] Harold Beldon: We have already begun. \[Both smiling now, he takes her arm in his and escorts her into the light\] While yes, Harold did have to trick Wanda into letting him into her house, I found incredible solace in his pleading to Wanda—that death was a whisper and the beginning of something new. I was young when I read this, and it’s always been near when I think about the culmination of my years on earth. I’ve always had a fear of not being in control of things, death in particular. Especially in regards to natural disasters and freak accidents. The thought that I could live my life crossing my T’s and dotting my I’s and be crushed by a random passerby infuriated and feared me. In partial response to this, it’s been a motto of my life to live in things fully. To enjoy every last drop of life before I relinquish it at 80. This fear of losing control shaped much of how I approach life, especially in how I try to combat the chaos with structure. My tool of choice? Notion and Notion Calendar. I schedule everything—from deadlines to personal goals and even reminders to pause and reflect (I don’t juggle two blogs, full time job, graduate school, and a social life with a sweet smile). It might sound excessive, but the act of planning gives me a semblance of authority and control over my time. It’s a framework for living intentionally rather than letting life sweep me along without purpose. Structure gave me the ability to even try to create more than I ingest, to act with purpose, and to look back at the end of this year with a sense of accomplishment rather than regret. It’s not about perfection but progress. Even with the best intentions, fear still rears its head. That’s why I’ve committed to doing things scared. If I waited until I felt ready or fearless, I’d never start anything meaningful. Whether it’s a new project, meeting someone for the first time, or confronting a personal weakness, I’ve learned to embrace the discomfort. Fear doesn’t mean stop—it means go, with a little extra courage in your pocket (extra courage is also the engraving on the back of my flask). Try to genuinely enjoy the things you enjoy. Don’t feel compelled to put on a show of enjoying them (unless showmanship itself brings you joy—then by all means, revel in it!). Seek out moments of quiet pleasure, indulging in good food or something just for you when circumstances allow. Cherish those little secrets you keep to yourself, turning them into a playful, private game that makes life feel uniquely yours. These hidden joys are yours. I’ve found that listening—really listening is a way of grounding myself and realizing what’s important. It’s not enough to hear someone; I want to understand them, to connect. I want to lean over to a person I have never spoken to before, crack a joke, and make a friend. It’s a simple practice, but it pulls me out of my own head and into the lives of others. Listening, in a way, feels like an antidote to that fear of a wasted life; it ensures that my time isn’t just about me but about the connections I create. Overall, plan it out, do it scared, create more and enjoy it while you can, and listen deeply. I went to a wedding last weekend to celebrate the union of two friends (If you’re reading this, the open bar was a great idea). My partner joined and this was the first time that we attended a wedding where she was my plus one at an event full of friends and associates from my high school. People who I had mentioned often, but for who (whomst?) she had never met. Friends and parents of friends came up to us to catch up, shake hands and exchange pleasantries and reflect on the last couple of years and make new introductions. After the bride and groom left in their car, dressed in streaks of ribbon and holy matrimony, a dozen of so left behind decided to continue the party at Sasha's on Shaw, a wine bar. We had the pleasure of joining them, and as we sat there, drunk on wine and nostalgia, surrounded by friends, I felt an overwhelming sense of happiness and gratitude for my life. Whether it becomes a memory I cherish at 80, only time will tell, but in that moment, I was fully alive, deep in a feverish joy of simply being alive. <p>If a year has a beginning and end, I imagine it has a life cycle of sorts as well.</p> <p>Therefore, November has always been the end of the year in my mind. I’m sure it has to do with where I’m from, with Missouri gaining favor from all four seasons and their presentation turned up to an 11. This is the case with Winter as well—people huddled in houses, under blankets, isolated and separated from one another.</p> Tue, 03 Dec 2024 04:23:42 GMT https://blue.feedland.org/?item=787713 https://blue.feedland.org/?item=787713 If a year has a beginning and end, I imagine it has a life cycle of sorts as well. Therefore, November has always been the end of the year in my mind. I’m sure it has to do with where I’m from, with Missouri gaining favor from all four seasons and their presentation turned up to an 11. This is the case with Winter as well—people huddled in houses, under blankets, isolated and separated from one another. <p>If a year has a beginning and end, I imagine it has a life cycle of sorts as well.</p> <p>Therefore, November has always been the end of the year in my mind. I’m sure it has to do with where I’m from, with Missouri gaining favor from all four seasons and their presentation turned up to an 11. This is the case with Winter as well—people huddled in houses, under blankets, isolated and separated from one another.</p> Tue, 03 Dec 2024 04:23:31 GMT https://blue.feedland.org/?item=787712 https://blue.feedland.org/?item=787712 If a year has a beginning and end, I imagine it has a life cycle of sorts as well. Therefore, November has always been the end of the year in my mind. I’m sure it has to do with where I’m from, with Missouri gaining favor from all four seasons and their presentation turned up to an 11. This is the case with Winter as well—people huddled in houses, under blankets, isolated and separated from one another. <p>If a year has a beginning and end, I imagine it has a life cycle of sorts as well.</p> <p>Therefore, November has always been the end of the year in my mind. I’m sure it has to do with where I’m from, with Missouri gaining favor from all four seasons and their presentation turned up to an 11. This is the case with Winter as well—people huddled in houses, under blankets, isolated and separated from one another.</p> <p>December is the death of a year, with it’s passing surrounded with loved ones coming together to witness it’s farewell just to be surrounded by loved ones at the eruption of a new year.</p> <p>A rebirth.</p> <p>We measure ourselves by what’s contained in a year, reflecting—much like we do in life—at the end. Let’s chat about that a little…</p> <p>When people ask me what I am most afraid of, I say “Looking back when I’m 80 and realized I lived a wasted life”. I felt confident enough in this answer for quite a while until a little before the death of last year.</p> <p>What even was a wasted life? What does wasting life look like? I’m only 23 but have I done enough to be satisfied if I died tomorrow?</p> <p>A lot of these questions wandered through, tracking in mud and caking my mind with doubts.</p> <p>It might not be typical for a recent college graduate to face an existential crisis, but I’ve been captivated by the concept of death since I was a boy (which probably warrants some reflection itself). This fascination seasoned when I watched The Twilight Zone episode Nothing in the Dark. In it, an elderly woman hides from the personification of death, only to discover [spoiler alert for a 62-year-old episode] that death is the kind policeman she has been caring for after he was shot on her doorstep. Ultimately, Harold persuades Wanda to leave the land of the living and follow him:</p> <p>Harold Beldon: [still gently, smiling] The running&#39;s over! It&#39;s time to rest. Give me your hand.</p> <p>Wanda Dunn: But I don&#39;t want to die!</p> <p>Harold Beldon: [holding out his hand] Trust me.</p> <p>Wanda Dunn: [backing away] No. No.</p> <p>Harold Beldon: Mother. Give me your hand.</p> <p>[crying, Wanda slowly puts her hand in his]</p> <p>Harold Beldon: [laughing softly] You see? No shock. No... engulfment. No tearing asunder. What you feared would come like an explosion, is like a whisper. What you thought was the end, the beginning.</p> <p>Wanda Dunn: [with hushed excitement] When will it happen? When will we go?</p> <p>Harold Beldon: Go? Look.</p> <p>[He glances to the side; following his gaze, Wanda sees her body on the bed, peaceful in its final repose]</p> <p>Harold Beldon: We have already begun.</p> <p>[Both smiling now, he takes her arm in his and escorts her into the light]</p> <p>While yes, Harold did have to trick Wanda into letting him into her house, I found incredible solace in his pleading to Wanda—that death was a whisper and the beginning of something new. I was young when I read this, and it’s always been near when I think about the culmination of my years on earth.</p> <p>I’ve always had a fear of not being in control of things, death in particular. Especially in regards to natural disasters and freak accidents. The thought that I could live my life crossing my T’s and dotting my I’s and be crushed by a random passerby infuriated and feared me. In partial response to this, it’s been a motto of my life to live in things fully.</p> <p>To enjoy every last drop of life before I relinquish it at 80.</p> <p>This fear of losing control shaped much of how I approach life, especially in how I try to combat the chaos with structure. My tool of choice? Notion and Notion Calendar. I schedule everything—from deadlines to personal goals and even reminders to pause and reflect (I don’t juggle two blogs, full time job, graduate school, and a social life with a sweet smile).</p> <p>It might sound excessive, but the act of planning gives me a semblance of authority and control over my time. It’s a framework for living intentionally rather than letting life sweep me along without purpose. Structure gave me the ability to even try to create more than I ingest, to act with purpose, and to look back at the end of this year with a sense of accomplishment rather than regret. It’s not about perfection but progress.</p> <p>Even with the best intentions, fear still rears its head. That’s why I’ve committed to doing things scared. If I waited until I felt ready or fearless, I’d never start anything meaningful. Whether it’s a new project, meeting someone for the first time, or confronting a personal weakness, I’ve learned to embrace the discomfort. Fear doesn’t mean stop—it means go, with a little extra courage in your pocket (extra courage is also the engraving on the back of my flask).</p> <p>Try to genuinely enjoy the things you enjoy. Don’t feel compelled to put on a show of enjoying them (unless showmanship itself brings you joy—then by all means, revel in it!). Seek out moments of quiet pleasure, indulging in good food or something just for you when circumstances allow. Cherish those little secrets you keep to yourself, turning them into a playful, private game that makes life feel uniquely yours. These hidden joys are yours.</p> <p>I’ve found that listening—really listening is a way of grounding myself and realizing what’s important. It’s not enough to hear someone; I want to understand them, to connect. I want to lean over to a person I have never spoken to before, crack a joke, and make a friend.</p> <p>It’s a simple practice, but it pulls me out of my own head and into the lives of others. Listening, in a way, feels like an antidote to that fear of a wasted life; it ensures that my time isn’t just about me but about the connections I create.</p> <p>Overall, plan it out, do it scared, create more and enjoy it while you can, and listen deeply.</p> <p>…</p> <p>I went to a wedding last weekend to celebrate the union of two friends (If you’re reading this, the open bar was a great idea). My partner joined and this was the first time that we attended a wedding where she was my plus one at an event full of friends and associates from my high school. People who I had mentioned often, but for who (whomst?) she had never met.</p> <p>Friends and parents of friends came up to us to catch up, shake hands and exchange pleasantries and reflect on the last couple of years and make new introductions. After the bride and groom left in their car, dressed in streaks of ribbon and holy matrimony, a dozen of so left behind decided to continue the party at Sasha&#39;s on Shaw, a wine bar.</p> <p>We had the pleasure of joining them, and as we sat there, drunk on wine and nostalgia, surrounded by friends, I felt an overwhelming sense of happiness and gratitude for my life. Whether it becomes a memory I cherish at 80, only time will tell, but in that moment, I was fully alive, deep in a feverish joy of simply being alive.</p> Tue, 03 Dec 2024 04:23:12 GMT https://blue.feedland.org/?item=787711 https://blue.feedland.org/?item=787711 If a year has a beginning and end, I imagine it has a life cycle of sorts as well. Therefore, November has always been the end of the year in my mind. I’m sure it has to do with where I’m from, with Missouri gaining favor from all four seasons and their presentation turned up to an 11. This is the case with Winter as well—people huddled in houses, under blankets, isolated and separated from one another. December is the death of a year, with it’s passing surrounded with loved ones coming together to witness it’s farewell just to be surrounded by loved ones at the eruption of a new year. A rebirth. We measure ourselves by what’s contained in a year, reflecting—much like we do in life—at the end. Let’s chat about that a little… When people ask me what I am most afraid of, I say “Looking back when I’m 80 and realized I lived a wasted life”. I felt confident enough in this answer for quite a while until a little before the death of last year. What even was a wasted life? What does wasting life look like? I’m only 23 but have I done enough to be satisfied if I died tomorrow? A lot of these questions wandered through, tracking in mud and caking my mind with doubts. It might not be typical for a recent college graduate to face an existential crisis, but I’ve been captivated by the concept of death since I was a boy (which probably warrants some reflection itself). This fascination seasoned when I watched The Twilight Zone episode Nothing in the Dark. In it, an elderly woman hides from the personification of death, only to discover \[spoiler alert for a 62-year-old episode\] that death is the kind policeman she has been caring for after he was shot on her doorstep. Ultimately, Harold persuades Wanda to leave the land of the living and follow him: Harold Beldon: \[still gently, smiling\] The running's over! It's time to rest. Give me your hand. Wanda Dunn: But I don't want to die! Harold Beldon: \[holding out his hand\] Trust me. Wanda Dunn: \[backing away\] No. No. Harold Beldon: Mother. Give me your hand. \[crying, Wanda slowly puts her hand in his\] Harold Beldon: \[laughing softly\] You see? No shock. No... engulfment. No tearing asunder. What you feared would come like an explosion, is like a whisper. What you thought was the end, the beginning. Wanda Dunn: \[with hushed excitement\] When will it happen? When will we go? Harold Beldon: Go? Look. \[He glances to the side; following his gaze, Wanda sees her body on the bed, peaceful in its final repose\] Harold Beldon: We have already begun. \[Both smiling now, he takes her arm in his and escorts her into the light\] While yes, Harold did have to trick Wanda into letting him into her house, I found incredible solace in his pleading to Wanda—that death was a whisper and the beginning of something new. I was young when I read this, and it’s always been near when I think about the culmination of my years on earth. I’ve always had a fear of not being in control of things, death in particular. Especially in regards to natural disasters and freak accidents. The thought that I could live my life crossing my T’s and dotting my I’s and be crushed by a random passerby infuriated and feared me. In partial response to this, it’s been a motto of my life to live in things fully. To enjoy every last drop of life before I relinquish it at 80. This fear of losing control shaped much of how I approach life, especially in how I try to combat the chaos with structure. My tool of choice? Notion and Notion Calendar. I schedule everything—from deadlines to personal goals and even reminders to pause and reflect (I don’t juggle two blogs, full time job, graduate school, and a social life with a sweet smile). It might sound excessive, but the act of planning gives me a semblance of authority and control over my time. It’s a framework for living intentionally rather than letting life sweep me along without purpose. Structure gave me the ability to even try to create more than I ingest, to act with purpose, and to look back at the end of this year with a sense of accomplishment rather than regret. It’s not about perfection but progress. Even with the best intentions, fear still rears its head. That’s why I’ve committed to doing things scared. If I waited until I felt ready or fearless, I’d never start anything meaningful. Whether it’s a new project, meeting someone for the first time, or confronting a personal weakness, I’ve learned to embrace the discomfort. Fear doesn’t mean stop—it means go, with a little extra courage in your pocket (extra courage is also the engraving on the back of my flask). Try to genuinely enjoy the things you enjoy. Don’t feel compelled to put on a show of enjoying them (unless showmanship itself brings you joy—then by all means, revel in it!). Seek out moments of quiet pleasure, indulging in good food or something just for you when circumstances allow. Cherish those little secrets you keep to yourself, turning them into a playful, private game that makes life feel uniquely yours. These hidden joys are yours. I’ve found that listening—really listening is a way of grounding myself and realizing what’s important. It’s not enough to hear someone; I want to understand them, to connect. I want to lean over to a person I have never spoken to before, crack a joke, and make a friend. It’s a simple practice, but it pulls me out of my own head and into the lives of others. Listening, in a way, feels like an antidote to that fear of a wasted life; it ensures that my time isn’t just about me but about the connections I create. Overall, plan it out, do it scared, create more and enjoy it while you can, and listen deeply. … I went to a wedding last weekend to celebrate the union of two friends (If you’re reading this, the open bar was a great idea). My partner joined and this was the first time that we attended a wedding where she was my plus one at an event full of friends and associates from my high school. People who I had mentioned often, but for who (whomst?) she had never met. Friends and parents of friends came up to us to catch up, shake hands and exchange pleasantries and reflect on the last couple of years and make new introductions. After the bride and groom left in their car, dressed in streaks of ribbon and holy matrimony, a dozen of so left behind decided to continue the party at Sasha's on Shaw, a wine bar. We had the pleasure of joining them, and as we sat there, drunk on wine and nostalgia, surrounded by friends, I felt an overwhelming sense of happiness and gratitude for my life. Whether it becomes a memory I cherish at 80, only time will tell, but in that moment, I was fully alive, deep in a feverish joy of simply being alive. <p>If a year has a beginning and end, I imagine it has a life cycle of sorts as well.</p> <p>Therefore, November has always been the end of the year in my mind. I’m sure it has to do with where I’m from, with Missouri gaining favor from all four seasons and their presentation turned up to an 11. This is the case with Winter as well—people huddled in houses, under blankets, isolated and separated from one another.</p> <p>December is the death of a year, with it’s passing surrounded with loved ones coming together to witness it’s farewell just to be surrounded by loved ones at the eruption of a new year.</p> <p>A rebirth.</p> <p>We measure ourselves by what’s contained in a year, reflecting—much like we do in life—at the end. Let’s chat about that a little…</p> <p>When people ask me what I am most afraid of, I say “Looking back when I’m 80 and realized I lived a wasted life”. I felt confident enough in this answer for quite a while until a little before the death of last year.</p> <p>What even was a wasted life? What does wasting life look like? I’m only 23 but have I done enough to be satisfied if I died tomorrow?</p> <p>A lot of these questions wandered through, tracking in mud and caking my mind with doubts.</p> <p>It might not be typical for a recent college graduate to face an existential crisis, but I’ve been captivated by the concept of death since I was a boy (which probably warrants some reflection itself). This fascination seasoned when I watched The Twilight Zone episode Nothing in the Dark. In it, an elderly woman hides from the personification of death, only to discover [spoiler alert for a 62-year-old episode] that death is the kind policeman she has been caring for after he was shot on her doorstep. Ultimately, Harold persuades Wanda to leave the land of the living and follow him:</p> <p>Harold Beldon: [still gently, smiling] The running&#39;s over! It&#39;s time to rest. Give me your hand.</p> <p>Wanda Dunn: But I don&#39;t want to die!</p> <p>Harold Beldon: [holding out his hand] Trust me.</p> <p>Wanda Dunn: [backing away] No. No.</p> <p>Harold Beldon: Mother. Give me your hand.</p> <p>[crying, Wanda slowly puts her hand in his]</p> <p>Harold Beldon: [laughing softly] You see? No shock. No... engulfment. No tearing asunder. What you feared would come like an explosion, is like a whisper. What you thought was the end, the beginning.</p> <p>Wanda Dunn: [with hushed excitement] When will it happen? When will we go?</p> <p>Harold Beldon: Go? Look.</p> <p>[He glances to the side; following his gaze, Wanda sees her body on the bed, peaceful in its final repose]</p> <p>Harold Beldon: We have already begun.</p> <p>[Both smiling now, he takes her arm in his and escorts her into the light]</p> <p>While yes, Harold did have to trick Wanda into letting him into her house, I found incredible solace in his pleading to Wanda—that death was a whisper and the beginning of something new. I was young when I read this, and it’s always been near when I think about the culmination of my years on earth.</p> <p>I’ve always had a fear of not being in control of things, death in particular. Especially in regards to natural disasters and freak accidents. The thought that I could live my life crossing my T’s and dotting my I’s and be crushed by a random passerby infuriated and feared me. In partial response to this, it’s been a motto of my life to live in things fully.</p> <p>To enjoy every last drop of life before I relinquish it at 80.</p> <p>This fear of losing control shaped much of how I approach life, especially in how I try to combat the chaos with structure. My tool of choice? Notion and Notion Calendar. I schedule everything—from deadlines to personal goals and even reminders to pause and reflect (I don’t juggle two blogs, full time job, graduate school, and a social life with a sweet smile).</p> <p>It might sound excessive, but the act of planning gives me a semblance of authority and control over my time. It’s a framework for living intentionally rather than letting life sweep me along without purpose. Structure gave me the ability to even try to create more than I ingest, to act with purpose, and to look back at the end of this year with a sense of accomplishment rather than regret. It’s not about perfection but progress.</p> <p>Even with the best intentions, fear still rears its head. That’s why I’ve committed to doing things scared. If I waited until I felt ready or fearless, I’d never start anything meaningful. Whether it’s a new project, meeting someone for the first time, or confronting a personal weakness, I’ve learned to embrace the discomfort. Fear doesn’t mean stop—it means go, with a little extra courage in your pocket (extra courage is also the engraving on the back of my flask).</p> <p>Try to genuinely enjoy the things you enjoy. Don’t feel compelled to put on a show of enjoying them (unless showmanship itself brings you joy—then by all means, revel in it!). Seek out moments of quiet pleasure, indulging in good food or something just for you when circumstances allow. Cherish those little secrets you keep to yourself, turning them into a playful, private game that makes life feel uniquely yours. These hidden joys are yours.</p> <p>I’ve found that listening—really listening is a way of grounding myself and realizing what’s important. It’s not enough to hear someone; I want to understand them, to connect. I want to lean over to a person I have never spoken to before, crack a joke, and make a friend.</p> <p>It’s a simple practice, but it pulls me out of my own head and into the lives of others. Listening, in a way, feels like an antidote to that fear of a wasted life; it ensures that my time isn’t just about me but about the connections I create.</p> <p>Overall, plan it out, do it scared, create more and enjoy it while you can, and listen deeply.</p> <p>…</p> <p>I went to a wedding last weekend to celebrate the union of two friends (If you’re reading this, the open bar was a great idea). My partner joined and this was the first time that we attended a wedding where she was my plus one at an event full of friends and associates from my high school. People who I had mentioned often, but for who (whomst?) she had never met.</p> <p>Friends and parents of friends came up to us to catch up, shake hands and exchange pleasantries and reflect on the last couple of years and make new introductions. After the bride and groom left in their car, dressed in streaks of ribbon and holy matrimony, a dozen of so left behind decided to continue the party at Sasha&#39;s on Shaw, a wine bar.</p> <p>We had the pleasure of joining them, and as we sat there, drunk on wine and nostalgia, surrounded by friends, I felt an overwhelming sense of happiness and gratitude for my life. Whether it becomes a memory I cherish at 80, only time will tell, but in that moment, I was fully alive, deep in a feverish joy of simply being alive.</p> Tue, 03 Dec 2024 04:20:25 GMT https://blue.feedland.org/?item=787710 https://blue.feedland.org/?item=787710 If a year has a beginning and end, I imagine it has a life cycle of sorts as well. Therefore, November has always been the end of the year in my mind. I’m sure it has to do with where I’m from, with Missouri gaining favor from all four seasons and their presentation turned up to an 11. This is the case with Winter as well—people huddled in houses, under blankets, isolated and separated from one another. December is the death of a year, with it’s passing surrounded with loved ones coming together to witness it’s farewell just to be surrounded by loved ones at the eruption of a new year. A rebirth. We measure ourselves by what’s contained in a year, reflecting—much like we do in life—at the end. Let’s chat about that a little… When people ask me what I am most afraid of, I say “Looking back when I’m 80 and realized I lived a wasted life”. I felt confident enough in this answer for quite a while until a little before the death of last year. What even was a wasted life? What does wasting life look like? I’m only 23 but have I done enough to be satisfied if I died tomorrow? A lot of these questions wandered through, tracking in mud and caking my mind with doubts. It might not be typical for a recent college graduate to face an existential crisis, but I’ve been captivated by the concept of death since I was a boy (which probably warrants some reflection itself). This fascination seasoned when I watched The Twilight Zone episode Nothing in the Dark. In it, an elderly woman hides from the personification of death, only to discover \[spoiler alert for a 62-year-old episode\] that death is the kind policeman she has been caring for after he was shot on her doorstep. Ultimately, Harold persuades Wanda to leave the land of the living and follow him: Harold Beldon: \[still gently, smiling\] The running's over! It's time to rest. Give me your hand. Wanda Dunn: But I don't want to die! Harold Beldon: \[holding out his hand\] Trust me. Wanda Dunn: \[backing away\] No. No. Harold Beldon: Mother. Give me your hand. \[crying, Wanda slowly puts her hand in his\] Harold Beldon: \[laughing softly\] You see? No shock. No... engulfment. No tearing asunder. What you feared would come like an explosion, is like a whisper. What you thought was the end, the beginning. Wanda Dunn: \[with hushed excitement\] When will it happen? When will we go? Harold Beldon: Go? Look. \[He glances to the side; following his gaze, Wanda sees her body on the bed, peaceful in its final repose\] Harold Beldon: We have already begun. \[Both smiling now, he takes her arm in his and escorts her into the light\] While yes, Harold did have to trick Wanda into letting him into her house, I found incredible solace in his pleading to Wanda—that death was a whisper and the beginning of something new. I was young when I read this, and it’s always been near when I think about the culmination of my years on earth. I’ve always had a fear of not being in control of things, death in particular. Especially in regards to natural disasters and freak accidents. The thought that I could live my life crossing my T’s and dotting my I’s and be crushed by a random passerby infuriated and feared me. In partial response to this, it’s been a motto of my life to live in things fully. To enjoy every last drop of life before I relinquish it at 80. This fear of losing control shaped much of how I approach life, especially in how I try to combat the chaos with structure. My tool of choice? Notion and Notion Calendar. I schedule everything—from deadlines to personal goals and even reminders to pause and reflect (I don’t juggle two blogs, full time job, graduate school, and a social life with a sweet smile). It might sound excessive, but the act of planning gives me a semblance of authority and control over my time. It’s a framework for living intentionally rather than letting life sweep me along without purpose. Structure gave me the ability to even try to create more than I ingest, to act with purpose, and to look back at the end of this year with a sense of accomplishment rather than regret. It’s not about perfection but progress. Even with the best intentions, fear still rears its head. That’s why I’ve committed to doing things scared. If I waited until I felt ready or fearless, I’d never start anything meaningful. Whether it’s a new project, meeting someone for the first time, or confronting a personal weakness, I’ve learned to embrace the discomfort. Fear doesn’t mean stop—it means go, with a little extra courage in your pocket (extra courage is also the engraving on the back of my flask). Try to genuinely enjoy the things you enjoy. Don’t feel compelled to put on a show of enjoying them (unless showmanship itself brings you joy—then by all means, revel in it!). Seek out moments of quiet pleasure, indulging in good food or something just for you when circumstances allow. Cherish those little secrets you keep to yourself, turning them into a playful, private game that makes life feel uniquely yours. These hidden joys are yours. I’ve found that listening—really listening is a way of grounding myself and realizing what’s important. It’s not enough to hear someone; I want to understand them, to connect. I want to lean over to a person I have never spoken to before, crack a joke, and make a friend. It’s a simple practice, but it pulls me out of my own head and into the lives of others. Listening, in a way, feels like an antidote to that fear of a wasted life; it ensures that my time isn’t just about me but about the connections I create. Overall, plan it out, do it scared, create more and enjoy it while you can, and listen deeply. … I went to a wedding last weekend to celebrate the union of two friends (If you’re reading this, the open bar was a great idea). My partner joined and this was the first time that we attended a wedding where she was my plus one at an event full of friends and associates from my high school. People who I had mentioned often, but for who (whomst?) she had never met. Friends and parents of friends came up to us to catch up, shake hands and exchange pleasantries and reflect on the last couple of years and make new introductions. After the bride and groom left in their car, dressed in streaks of ribbon and holy matrimony, a dozen of so left behind decided to continue the party at Sasha's on Shaw, a wine bar. We had the pleasure of joining them, and as we sat there, drunk on wine and nostalgia, surrounded by friends, I felt an overwhelming sense of happiness and gratitude for my life. Whether it becomes a memory I cherish at 80, only time will tell, but in that moment, I was fully alive, deep in a feverish joy of simply being alive. <p>If a year has a beginning and end, I imagine it has a life cycle of sorts as well.</p> <p>Therefore, November has always been the end of the year in my mind. I’m sure it has to do with where I’m from, with Missouri gaining favor from all four seasons and their presentation turned up to an 11. This is the case with Winter as well—people huddled in houses, under blankets, isolated and separated from one another.</p> <p>December is the death of a year, with it’s passing surrounded with loved ones coming together to witness it’s farewell just to be surrounded by loved ones at the eruption of a new year.</p> <p>A rebirth.</p> <p>We measure ourselves by what’s contained in a year, reflecting—much like we do in life—at the end. Let’s chat about that a little…</p> <p>When people ask me what I am most afraid of, I say “Looking back when I’m 80 and realized I lived a wasted life”. I felt confident enough in this answer for quite a while until a little before the death of last year.</p> <p>What even was a wasted life? What does wasting life look like? I’m only 23 but have I done enough to be satisfied if I died tomorrow?</p> <p>A lot of these questions wandered through, tracking in mud and caking my mind with doubts.</p> <p>It might not be typical for a recent college graduate to face an existential crisis, but I’ve been captivated by the concept of death since I was a boy (which probably warrants some reflection itself). This fascination seasoned when I watched The Twilight Zone episode Nothing in the Dark. In it, an elderly woman hides from the personification of death, only to discover [spoiler alert for a 62-year-old episode] that death is the kind policeman she has been caring for after he was shot on her doorstep. Ultimately, Harold persuades Wanda to leave the land of the living and follow him:</p> <p>Harold Beldon: [still gently, smiling] The running&#39;s over! It&#39;s time to rest. Give me your hand.</p> <p>Wanda Dunn: But I don&#39;t want to die!</p> <p>Harold Beldon: [holding out his hand] Trust me.</p> <p>Wanda Dunn: [backing away] No. No.</p> <p>Harold Beldon: Mother. Give me your hand.</p> <p>[crying, Wanda slowly puts her hand in his]</p> <p>Harold Beldon: [laughing softly] You see? No shock. No... engulfment. No tearing asunder. What you feared would come like an explosion, is like a whisper. What you thought was the end, the beginning.</p> <p>Wanda Dunn: [with hushed excitement] When will it happen? When will we go?</p> <p>Harold Beldon: Go? Look.</p> <p>[He glances to the side; following his gaze, Wanda sees her body on the bed, peaceful in its final repose]</p> <p>Harold Beldon: We have already begun.</p> <p>[Both smiling now, he takes her arm in his and escorts her into the light]</p> <p>While yes, Harold did have to trick Wanda into letting him into her house, I found incredible solace in his pleading to Wanda—that death was a whisper and the beginning of something new. I was young when I read this, and it’s always been near when I think about the culmination of my years on earth.</p> <p>I’ve always had a fear of not being in control of things, death in particular. Especially in regards to natural disasters and freak accidents. The thought that I could live my life crossing my T’s and dotting my I’s and be crushed by a random passerby infuriated and feared me. In partial response to this, it’s been a motto of my life to live in things fully.</p> <p>To enjoy every last drop of life before I relinquish it at 80.</p> <p>This fear of losing control shaped much of how I approach life, especially in how I try to combat the chaos with structure. My tool of choice? Notion and Notion Calendar. I schedule everything—from deadlines to personal goals and even reminders to pause and reflect (I don’t juggle two blogs, full time job, graduate school, and a social life with a sweet smile).</p> <p>It might sound excessive, but the act of planning gives me a semblance of authority and control over my time. It’s a framework for living intentionally rather than letting life sweep me along without purpose. Structure gave me the ability to even try to create more than I ingest, to act with purpose, and to look back at the end of this year with a sense of accomplishment rather than regret. It’s not about perfection but progress.</p> <p>Even with the best intentions, fear still rears its head. That’s why I’ve committed to doing things scared. If I waited until I felt ready or fearless, I’d never start anything meaningful. Whether it’s a new project, meeting someone for the first time, or confronting a personal weakness, I’ve learned to embrace the discomfort. Fear doesn’t mean stop—it means go, with a little extra courage in your pocket (extra courage is also the engraving on the back of my flask).</p> <p>Try to genuinely enjoy the things you enjoy. Don’t feel compelled to put on a show of enjoying them (unless showmanship itself brings you joy—then by all means, revel in it!). Seek out moments of quiet pleasure, indulging in good food or something just for you when circumstances allow. Cherish those little secrets you keep to yourself, turning them into a playful, private game that makes life feel uniquely yours. These hidden joys are yours.</p> <p>I’ve found that listening—really listening is a way of grounding myself and realizing what’s important. It’s not enough to hear someone; I want to understand them, to connect. I want to lean over to a person I have never spoken to before, crack a joke, and make a friend.</p> <p>It’s a simple practice, but it pulls me out of my own head and into the lives of others. Listening, in a way, feels like an antidote to that fear of a wasted life; it ensures that my time isn’t just about me but about the connections I create.</p> <p>Overall, plan it out, do it scared, create more and enjoy it while you can, and listen deeply.</p> <p>…</p> <p>I went to a wedding last weekend to celebrate the union of two friends (If you’re reading this, the open bar was a great idea). My partner joined and this was the first time that we attended a wedding where she was my plus one at an event full of friends and associates from my high school. People who I had mentioned often, but for who (whomst?) she had never met.</p> <p>Friends and parents of friends came up to us to catch up, shake hands and exchange pleasantries and reflect on the last couple of years and make new introductions. After the bride and groom left in their car, dressed in streaks of ribbon and holy matrimony, a dozen of so left behind decided to continue the party at Sasha&#39;s on Shaw, a wine bar.</p> <p>We had the pleasure of joining them, and as we sat there, drunk on wine and nostalgia, surrounded by friends, I felt an overwhelming sense of happiness and gratitude for my life. Whether it becomes a memory I cherish at 80, only time will tell, but in that moment, I was fully alive, deep in a feverish joy of simply being alive.</p> Tue, 03 Dec 2024 04:17:54 GMT https://blue.feedland.org/?item=787709 https://blue.feedland.org/?item=787709 If a year has a beginning and end, I imagine it has a life cycle of sorts as well. Therefore, November has always been the end of the year in my mind. I’m sure it has to do with where I’m from, with Missouri gaining favor from all four seasons and their presentation turned up to an 11. This is the case with Winter as well—people huddled in houses, under blankets, isolated and separated from one another. December is the death of a year, with it’s passing surrounded with loved ones coming together to witness it’s farewell just to be surrounded by loved ones at the eruption of a new year. A rebirth. We measure ourselves by what’s contained in a year, reflecting—much like we do in life—at the end. Let’s chat about that a little… When people ask me what I am most afraid of, I say “Looking back when I’m 80 and realized I lived a wasted life”. I felt confident enough in this answer for quite a while until a little before the death of last year. What even was a wasted life? What does wasting life look like? I’m only 23 but have I done enough to be satisfied if I died tomorrow? A lot of these questions wandered through, tracking in mud and caking my mind with doubts. It might not be typical for a recent college graduate to face an existential crisis, but I’ve been captivated by the concept of death since I was a boy (which probably warrants some reflection itself). This fascination seasoned when I watched The Twilight Zone episode Nothing in the Dark. In it, an elderly woman hides from the personification of death, only to discover \[spoiler alert for a 62-year-old episode\] that death is the kind policeman she has been caring for after he was shot on her doorstep. Ultimately, Harold persuades Wanda to leave the land of the living and follow him: Harold Beldon: \[still gently, smiling\] The running's over! It's time to rest. Give me your hand. Wanda Dunn: But I don't want to die! Harold Beldon: \[holding out his hand\] Trust me. Wanda Dunn: \[backing away\] No. No. Harold Beldon: Mother. Give me your hand. \[crying, Wanda slowly puts her hand in his\] Harold Beldon: \[laughing softly\] You see? No shock. No... engulfment. No tearing asunder. What you feared would come like an explosion, is like a whisper. What you thought was the end, the beginning. Wanda Dunn: \[with hushed excitement\] When will it happen? When will we go? Harold Beldon: Go? Look. \[He glances to the side; following his gaze, Wanda sees her body on the bed, peaceful in its final repose\] Harold Beldon: We have already begun. \[Both smiling now, he takes her arm in his and escorts her into the light\] While yes, Harold did have to trick Wanda into letting him into her house, I found incredible solace in his pleading to Wanda—that death was a whisper and the beginning of something new. I was young when I read this, and it’s always been near when I think about the culmination of my years on earth. I’ve always had a fear of not being in control of things, death in particular. Especially in regards to natural disasters and freak accidents. The thought that I could live my life crossing my T’s and dotting my I’s and be crushed by a random passerby infuriated and feared me. In partial response to this, it’s been a motto of my life to live in things fully. To enjoy every last drop of life before I relinquish it at 80. This fear of losing control shaped much of how I approach life, especially in how I try to combat the chaos with structure. My tool of choice? Notion and Notion Calendar. I schedule everything—from deadlines to personal goals and even reminders to pause and reflect (I don’t juggle two blogs, full time job, graduate school, and a social life with a sweet smile). It might sound excessive, but the act of planning gives me a semblance of authority and control over my time. It’s a framework for living intentionally rather than letting life sweep me along without purpose. Structure gave me the ability to even try to create more than I ingest, to act with purpose, and to look back at the end of this year with a sense of accomplishment rather than regret. It’s not about perfection but progress. Even with the best intentions, fear still rears its head. That’s why I’ve committed to doing things scared. If I waited until I felt ready or fearless, I’d never start anything meaningful. Whether it’s a new project, meeting someone for the first time, or confronting a personal weakness, I’ve learned to embrace the discomfort. Fear doesn’t mean stop—it means go, with a little extra courage in your pocket (extra courage is also the engraving on the back of my flask). Try to genuinely enjoy the things you enjoy. Don’t feel compelled to put on a show of enjoying them (unless showmanship itself brings you joy—then by all means, revel in it!). Seek out moments of quiet pleasure, indulging in good food or something just for you when circumstances allow. Cherish those little secrets you keep to yourself, turning them into a playful, private game that makes life feel uniquely yours. These hidden joys are yours. I’ve found that listening—really listening is a way of grounding myself and realizing what’s important. It’s not enough to hear someone; I want to understand them, to connect. I want to lean over to a person I have never spoken to before, crack a joke, and make a friend. It’s a simple practice, but it pulls me out of my own head and into the lives of others. Listening, in a way, feels like an antidote to that fear of a wasted life; it ensures that my time isn’t just about me but about the connections I create. Overall, plan it out, do it scared, create more and enjoy it while you can, and listen deeply. … I went to a wedding last weekend to celebrate the union of two friends (If you’re reading this, the open bar was a great idea). My partner joined and this was the first time that we attended a wedding where she was my plus one at an event full of friends and associates from my high school. People who I had mentioned often, but for who (whomst?) she had never met. Friends and parents of friends came up to us to catch up, shake hands and exchange pleasantries and reflect on the last couple of years and make new introductions. After the bride and groom left in their car, dressed in streaks of ribbon and holy matrimony, a dozen of so left behind decided to continue the party at Sasha's on Shaw, a wine bar. We had the pleasure of joining them, and as we sat there, drunk on wine and nostalgia, surrounded by friends, I felt an overwhelming sense of happiness and gratitude for my life. Whether it becomes a memory I cherish at 80, only time will tell, but in that moment, I was fully alive, deep in a feverish joy of simply being alive. <p>If a year has a beginning and end, I imagine it has a life cycle of sorts as well.</p> <p>Therefore, November has always been the end of the year in my mind. I’m sure it has to do with where I’m from, with Missouri gaining favor from all four seasons and their presentation turned up to an 11. This is the case with Winter as well—people huddled in houses, under blankets, isolated and separated from one another.</p> <p>December is the death of a year, with it’s passing surrounded with loved ones coming together to witness it’s farewell just to be surrounded by loved ones at the eruption of a new year.</p> <p>A rebirth.</p> <p>We measure ourselves by what’s contained in a year, reflecting—much like we do in life—at the end. Let’s chat about that a little…</p> <p>When people ask me what I am most afraid of, I say “Looking back when I’m 80 and realized I lived a wasted life”. I felt confident enough in this answer for quite a while until a little before the death of last year.</p> <p>What even was a wasted life? What does wasting life look like? I’m only 23 but have I done enough to be satisfied if I died tomorrow?</p> <p>A lot of these questions wandered through, tracking in mud and caking my mind with doubts.</p> <p>It might not be typical for a recent college graduate to face an existential crisis, but I’ve been captivated by the concept of death since I was a boy (which probably warrants some reflection itself). This fascination seasoned when I watched The Twilight Zone episode Nothing in the Dark. In it, an elderly woman hides from the personification of death, only to discover [spoiler alert for a 62-year-old episode] that death is the kind policeman she has been caring for after he was shot on her doorstep. Ultimately, Harold persuades Wanda to leave the land of the living and follow him:</p> <p>Harold Beldon: [still gently, smiling] The running&#39;s over! It&#39;s time to rest. Give me your hand.</p> <p>Wanda Dunn: But I don&#39;t want to die!</p> <p>Harold Beldon: [holding out his hand] Trust me.</p> <p>Wanda Dunn: [backing away] No. No.</p> <p>Harold Beldon: Mother. Give me your hand.</p> <p>[crying, Wanda slowly puts her hand in his]</p> <p>Harold Beldon: [laughing softly] You see? No shock. No... engulfment. No tearing asunder. What you feared would come like an explosion, is like a whisper. What you thought was the end, the beginning.</p> <p>Wanda Dunn: [with hushed excitement] When will it happen? When will we go?</p> <p>Harold Beldon: Go? Look.</p> <p>[He glances to the side; following his gaze, Wanda sees her body on the bed, peaceful in its final repose]</p> <p>Harold Beldon: We have already begun.</p> <p>[Both smiling now, he takes her arm in his and escorts her into the light]</p> <p>While yes, Harold did have to trick Wanda into letting him into her house, I found incredible solace in his pleading to Wanda—that death was a whisper and the beginning of something new. I was young when I read this, and it’s always been near when I think about the culmination of my years on earth.</p> <p>I’ve always had a fear of not being in control of things, death in particular. Especially in regards to natural disasters and freak accidents. The thought that I could live my life crossing my T’s and dotting my I’s and be crushed by a random passerby infuriated and feared me. In partial response to this, it’s been a motto of my life to live in things fully.</p> <p>To enjoy every last drop of life before I relinquish it at 80.</p> <p>This fear of losing control shaped much of how I approach life, especially in how I try to combat the chaos with structure. My tool of choice? Notion and Notion Calendar. I schedule everything—from deadlines to personal goals and even reminders to pause and reflect (I don’t juggle two blogs, full time job, graduate school, and a social life with a sweet smile).</p> <p>It might sound excessive, but the act of planning gives me a semblance of authority and control over my time. It’s a framework for living intentionally rather than letting life sweep me along without purpose. Structure gave me the ability to even try to create more than I ingest, to act with purpose, and to look back at the end of this year with a sense of accomplishment rather than regret. It’s not about perfection but progress.</p> <p>Even with the best intentions, fear still rears its head. That’s why I’ve committed to doing things scared. If I waited until I felt ready or fearless, I’d never start anything meaningful. Whether it’s a new project, meeting someone for the first time, or confronting a personal weakness, I’ve learned to embrace the discomfort. Fear doesn’t mean stop—it means go, with a little extra courage in your pocket (extra courage is also the engraving on the back of my flask).</p> <p>Try to genuinely enjoy the things you enjoy. Don’t feel compelled to put on a show of enjoying them (unless showmanship itself brings you joy—then by all means, revel in it!). Seek out moments of quiet pleasure, indulging in good food or something just for you when circumstances allow. Cherish those little secrets you keep to yourself, turning them into a playful, private game that makes life feel uniquely yours. These hidden joys are yours.</p> <p>I’ve found that listening—really listening is a way of grounding myself and realizing what’s important. It’s not enough to hear someone; I want to understand them, to connect. I want to lean over to a person I have never spoken to before, crack a joke, and make a friend.</p> <p>It’s a simple practice, but it pulls me out of my own head and into the lives of others. Listening, in a way, feels like an antidote to that fear of a wasted life; it ensures that my time isn’t just about me but about the connections I create.</p> <p>Overall, plan it out, do it scared, create more and enjoy it while you can, and listen deeply.</p> <p>…</p> <p>I went to a wedding last weekend to celebrate the union of two friends (If you’re reading this, the open bar was a great idea). My partner joined and this was the first time that we attended a wedding where she was my plus one at an event full of friends and associates from my high school. People who I had mentioned often, but for who (whomst?) she had never met.</p> <p>Friends and parents of friends came up to us to catch up, shake hands and exchange pleasantries and reflect on the last couple of years and make new introductions. After the bride and groom left in their car, dressed in streaks of ribbon and holy matrimony, a dozen of so left behind decided to continue the party at Sasha&#39;s on Shaw, a wine bar.</p> <p>We had the pleasure of joining them, and as we sat there, drunk on wine and nostalgia, surrounded by friends, I felt an overwhelming sense of happiness and gratitude for my life. Whether it becomes a memory I cherish at 80, only time will tell, but in that moment, I was fully alive, deep in a feverish joy of simply being alive.</p> Tue, 03 Dec 2024 04:16:34 GMT https://blue.feedland.org/?item=787708 https://blue.feedland.org/?item=787708 If a year has a beginning and end, I imagine it has a life cycle of sorts as well. Therefore, November has always been the end of the year in my mind. I’m sure it has to do with where I’m from, with Missouri gaining favor from all four seasons and their presentation turned up to an 11. This is the case with Winter as well—people huddled in houses, under blankets, isolated and separated from one another. December is the death of a year, with it’s passing surrounded with loved ones coming together to witness it’s farewell just to be surrounded by loved ones at the eruption of a new year. A rebirth. We measure ourselves by what’s contained in a year, reflecting—much like we do in life—at the end. Let’s chat about that a little… When people ask me what I am most afraid of, I say “Looking back when I’m 80 and realized I lived a wasted life”. I felt confident enough in this answer for quite a while until a little before the death of last year. What even was a wasted life? What does wasting life look like? I’m only 23 but have I done enough to be satisfied if I died tomorrow? A lot of these questions wandered through, tracking in mud and caking my mind with doubts. It might not be typical for a recent college graduate to face an existential crisis, but I’ve been captivated by the concept of death since I was a boy (which probably warrants some reflection itself). This fascination seasoned when I watched The Twilight Zone episode Nothing in the Dark. In it, an elderly woman hides from the personification of death, only to discover \[spoiler alert for a 62-year-old episode\] that death is the kind policeman she has been caring for after he was shot on her doorstep. Ultimately, Harold persuades Wanda to leave the land of the living and follow him: Harold Beldon: \[still gently, smiling\] The running's over! It's time to rest. Give me your hand. Wanda Dunn: But I don't want to die! Harold Beldon: \[holding out his hand\] Trust me. Wanda Dunn: \[backing away\] No. No. Harold Beldon: Mother. Give me your hand. \[crying, Wanda slowly puts her hand in his\] Harold Beldon: \[laughing softly\] You see? No shock. No... engulfment. No tearing asunder. What you feared would come like an explosion, is like a whisper. What you thought was the end, the beginning. Wanda Dunn: \[with hushed excitement\] When will it happen? When will we go? Harold Beldon: Go? Look. \[He glances to the side; following his gaze, Wanda sees her body on the bed, peaceful in its final repose\] Harold Beldon: We have already begun. \[Both smiling now, he takes her arm in his and escorts her into the light\] While yes, Harold did have to trick Wanda into letting him into her house, I found incredible solace in his pleading to Wanda—that death was a whisper and the beginning of something new. I was young when I read this, and it’s always been near when I think about the culmination of my years on earth. I’ve always had a fear of not being in control of things, death in particular. Especially in regards to natural disasters and freak accidents. The thought that I could live my life crossing my T’s and dotting my I’s and be crushed by a random passerby infuriated and feared me. In partial response to this, it’s been a motto of my life to live in things fully. To enjoy every last drop of life before I relinquish it at 80. This fear of losing control shaped much of how I approach life, especially in how I try to combat the chaos with structure. My tool of choice? Notion and Notion Calendar. I schedule everything—from deadlines to personal goals and even reminders to pause and reflect (I don’t juggle two blogs, full time job, graduate school, and a social life with a sweet smile). It might sound excessive, but the act of planning gives me a semblance of authority and control over my time. It’s a framework for living intentionally rather than letting life sweep me along without purpose. Structure gave me the ability to even try to create more than I ingest, to act with purpose, and to look back at the end of this year with a sense of accomplishment rather than regret. It’s not about perfection but progress. Even with the best intentions, fear still rears its head. That’s why I’ve committed to doing things scared. If I waited until I felt ready or fearless, I’d never start anything meaningful. Whether it’s a new project, meeting someone for the first time, or confronting a personal weakness, I’ve learned to embrace the discomfort. Fear doesn’t mean stop—it means go, with a little extra courage in your pocket (extra courage is also the engraving on the back of my flask). Try to genuinely enjoy the things you enjoy. Don’t feel compelled to put on a show of enjoying them (unless showmanship itself brings you joy—then by all means, revel in it!). Seek out moments of quiet pleasure, indulging in good food or something just for you when circumstances allow. Cherish those little secrets you keep to yourself, turning them into a playful, private game that makes life feel uniquely yours. These hidden joys are yours. I’ve found that listening—really listening is a way of grounding myself and realizing what’s important. It’s not enough to hear someone; I want to understand them, to connect. I want to lean over to a person I have never spoken to before, crack a joke, and make a friend. It’s a simple practice, but it pulls me out of my own head and into the lives of others. Listening, in a way, feels like an antidote to that fear of a wasted life; it ensures that my time isn’t just about me but about the connections I create. Overall, plan it out, do it scared, create more and enjoy it while you can, and listen deeply. … I went to a wedding last weekend to celebrate the union of two friends (If you’re reading this, the open bar was a great idea). My partner joined and this was the first time that we attended a wedding where she was my plus one at an event full of friends and associates from my high school. People who I had mentioned often, but for who (whomst?) she had never met. Friends and parents of friends came up to us to catch up, shake hands and exchange pleasantries and reflect on the last couple of years and make new introductions. After the bride and groom left in their car, dressed in streaks of ribbon and holy matrimony, a dozen of so left behind decided to continue the party at Sasha's on Shaw, a wine bar. We had the pleasure of joining them, and as we sat there, drunk on wine and nostalgia, surrounded by friends, I felt an overwhelming sense of happiness and gratitude for my life. Whether it becomes a memory I cherish at 80, only time will tell, but in that moment, I was fully alive, deep in a feverish joy of simply being alive. <p>If a year has a beginning and end, I imagine it has a life cycle of sorts as well.</p> <p>Therefore, November has always been the end of the year in my mind. I’m sure it has to do with where I’m from, with Missouri gaining favor from all four seasons and their presentation turned up to an 11. This is the case with Winter as well—people huddled in houses, under blankets, isolated and separated from one another.</p> <p>December is the death of a year, with it’s passing surrounded with loved ones coming together to witness it’s farewell just to be surrounded by loved ones at the eruption of a new year.</p> <p>A rebirth.</p> <p>We measure ourselves by what’s contained in a year, reflecting—much like we do in life—at the end. Let’s chat about that a little…</p> <p>When people ask me what I am most afraid of, I say “Looking back when I’m 80 and realized I lived a wasted life”. I felt confident enough in this answer for quite a while until a little before the death of last year.</p> <p>What even was a wasted life? What does wasting life look like? I’m only 23 but have I done enough to be satisfied if I died tomorrow?</p> <p>A lot of these questions wandered through, tracking in mud and caking my mind with doubts.</p> <p>It might not be typical for a recent college graduate to face an existential crisis, but I’ve been captivated by the concept of death since I was a boy (which probably warrants some reflection itself). This fascination seasoned when I watched The Twilight Zone episode Nothing in the Dark. In it, an elderly woman hides from the personification of death, only to discover [spoiler alert for a 62-year-old episode] that death is the kind policeman she has been caring for after he was shot on her doorstep. Ultimately, Harold persuades Wanda to leave the land of the living and follow him:</p> <p>Harold Beldon: [still gently, smiling] The running&#39;s over! It&#39;s time to rest. Give me your hand.</p> <p>Wanda Dunn: But I don&#39;t want to die!</p> <p>Harold Beldon: [holding out his hand] Trust me.</p> <p>Wanda Dunn: [backing away] No. No.</p> <p>Harold Beldon: Mother. Give me your hand.</p> <p>[crying, Wanda slowly puts her hand in his]</p> <p>Harold Beldon: [laughing softly] You see? No shock. No... engulfment. No tearing asunder. What you feared would come like an explosion, is like a whisper. What you thought was the end, the beginning.</p> <p>Wanda Dunn: [with hushed excitement] When will it happen? When will we go?</p> <p>Harold Beldon: Go? Look.</p> <p>[He glances to the side; following his gaze, Wanda sees her body on the bed, peaceful in its final repose]</p> <p>Harold Beldon: We have already begun.</p> <p>[Both smiling now, he takes her arm in his and escorts her into the light]</p> <p>While yes, Harold did have to trick Wanda into letting him into her house, I found incredible solace in his pleading to Wanda—that death was a whisper and the beginning of something new. I was young when I read this, and it’s always been near when I think about the culmination of my years on earth.</p> <p>I’ve always had a fear of not being in control of things, death in particular. Especially in regards to natural disasters and freak accidents. The thought that I could live my life crossing my T’s and dotting my I’s and be crushed by a random passerby infuriated and feared me. In partial response to this, it’s been a motto of my life to live in things fully.</p> <p>To enjoy every last drop of life before I relinquish it at 80.</p> <p>This fear of losing control shaped much of how I approach life, especially in how I try to combat the chaos with structure. My tool of choice? Notion and Notion Calendar. I schedule everything—from deadlines to personal goals and even reminders to pause and reflect (I don’t juggle two blogs, full time job, graduate school, and a social life with a sweet smile).</p> <p>It might sound excessive, but the act of planning gives me a semblance of authority and control over my time. It’s a framework for living intentionally rather than letting life sweep me along without purpose. Structure gave me the ability to even try to create more than I ingest, to act with purpose, and to look back at the end of this year with a sense of accomplishment rather than regret. It’s not about perfection but progress.</p> <p>Even with the best intentions, fear still rears its head. That’s why I’ve committed to doing things scared. If I waited until I felt ready or fearless, I’d never start anything meaningful. Whether it’s a new project, meeting someone for the first time, or confronting a personal weakness, I’ve learned to embrace the discomfort. Fear doesn’t mean stop—it means go, with a little extra courage in your pocket (extra courage is also the engraving on the back of my flask).</p> <p>Try to genuinely enjoy the things you enjoy. Don’t feel compelled to put on a show of enjoying them (unless showmanship itself brings you joy—then by all means, revel in it!). Seek out moments of quiet pleasure, indulging in good food or something just for you when circumstances allow. Cherish those little secrets you keep to yourself, turning them into a playful, private game that makes life feel uniquely yours. These hidden joys are yours.</p> <p>I’ve found that listening—really listening is a way of grounding myself and realizing what’s important. It’s not enough to hear someone; I want to understand them, to connect. I want to lean over to a person I have never spoken to before, crack a joke, and make a friend.</p> <p>It’s a simple practice, but it pulls me out of my own head and into the lives of others. Listening, in a way, feels like an antidote to that fear of a wasted life; it ensures that my time isn’t just about me but about the connections I create.</p> <p>Overall, plan it out, do it scared, create more and enjoy it while you can, and listen deeply.</p> <p>…</p> <p>I went to a wedding last weekend to celebrate the union of two friends (If you’re reading this, the open bar was a great idea). My partner joined and this was the first time that we attended a wedding where she was my plus one at an event full of friends and associates from my high school. People who I had mentioned often, but for who (whomst?) she had never met.</p> <p>Friends and parents of friends came up to us to catch up, shake hands and exchange pleasantries and reflect on the last couple of years and make new introductions. After the bride and groom left in their car, dressed in streaks of ribbon and holy matrimony, a dozen of so left behind decided to continue the party at Sasha&#39;s on Shaw, a wine bar.</p> <p>We had the pleasure of joining them, and as we sat there, drunk on wine and nostalgia, surrounded by friends, I felt an overwhelming sense of happiness and gratitude for my life. Whether it becomes a memory I cherish at 80, only time will tell, but in that moment, I was fully alive, deep in a feverish joy of simply being alive.</p> Tue, 03 Dec 2024 04:15:06 GMT https://blue.feedland.org/?item=787707 https://blue.feedland.org/?item=787707 If a year has a beginning and end, I imagine it has a life cycle of sorts as well. Therefore, November has always been the end of the year in my mind. I’m sure it has to do with where I’m from, with Missouri gaining favor from all four seasons and their presentation turned up to an 11. This is the case with Winter as well—people huddled in houses, under blankets, isolated and separated from one another. December is the death of a year, with it’s passing surrounded with loved ones coming together to witness it’s farewell just to be surrounded by loved ones at the eruption of a new year. A rebirth. We measure ourselves by what’s contained in a year, reflecting—much like we do in life—at the end. Let’s chat about that a little… When people ask me what I am most afraid of, I say “Looking back when I’m 80 and realized I lived a wasted life”. I felt confident enough in this answer for quite a while until a little before the death of last year. What even was a wasted life? What does wasting life look like? I’m only 23 but have I done enough to be satisfied if I died tomorrow? A lot of these questions wandered through, tracking in mud and caking my mind with doubts. It might not be typical for a recent college graduate to face an existential crisis, but I’ve been captivated by the concept of death since I was a boy (which probably warrants some reflection itself). This fascination seasoned when I watched The Twilight Zone episode Nothing in the Dark. In it, an elderly woman hides from the personification of death, only to discover \[spoiler alert for a 62-year-old episode\] that death is the kind policeman she has been caring for after he was shot on her doorstep. Ultimately, Harold persuades Wanda to leave the land of the living and follow him: Harold Beldon: \[still gently, smiling\] The running's over! It's time to rest. Give me your hand. Wanda Dunn: But I don't want to die! Harold Beldon: \[holding out his hand\] Trust me. Wanda Dunn: \[backing away\] No. No. Harold Beldon: Mother. Give me your hand. \[crying, Wanda slowly puts her hand in his\] Harold Beldon: \[laughing softly\] You see? No shock. No... engulfment. No tearing asunder. What you feared would come like an explosion, is like a whisper. What you thought was the end, the beginning. Wanda Dunn: \[with hushed excitement\] When will it happen? When will we go? Harold Beldon: Go? Look. \[He glances to the side; following his gaze, Wanda sees her body on the bed, peaceful in its final repose\] Harold Beldon: We have already begun. \[Both smiling now, he takes her arm in his and escorts her into the light\] While yes, Harold did have to trick Wanda into letting him into her house, I found incredible solace in his pleading to Wanda—that death was a whisper and the beginning of something new. I was young when I read this, and it’s always been near when I think about the culmination of my years on earth. I’ve always had a fear of not being in control of things, death in particular. Especially in regards to natural disasters and freak accidents. The thought that I could live my life crossing my T’s and dotting my I’s and be crushed by a random passerby infuriated and feared me. In partial response to this, it’s been a motto of my life to live in things fully. To enjoy every last drop of life before I relinquish it at 80. This fear of losing control shaped much of how I approach life, especially in how I try to combat the chaos with structure. My tool of choice? Notion and Notion Calendar. I schedule everything—from deadlines to personal goals and even reminders to pause and reflect (I don’t juggle two blogs, full time job, graduate school, and a social life with a sweet smile). It might sound excessive, but the act of planning gives me a semblance of authority and control over my time. It’s a framework for living intentionally rather than letting life sweep me along without purpose. Structure gave me the ability to even try to create more than I ingest, to act with purpose, and to look back at the end of this year with a sense of accomplishment rather than regret. It’s not about perfection but progress. Even with the best intentions, fear still rears its head. That’s why I’ve committed to doing things scared. If I waited until I felt ready or fearless, I’d never start anything meaningful. Whether it’s a new project, meeting someone for the first time, or confronting a personal weakness, I’ve learned to embrace the discomfort. Fear doesn’t mean stop—it means go, with a little extra courage in your pocket (extra courage is also the engraving on the back of my flask). Try to genuinely enjoy the things you enjoy. Don’t feel compelled to put on a show of enjoying them (unless showmanship itself brings you joy—then by all means, revel in it!). Seek out moments of quiet pleasure, indulging in good food or something just for you when circumstances allow. Cherish those little secrets you keep to yourself, turning them into a playful, private game that makes life feel uniquely yours. These hidden joys are yours. I’ve found that listening—really listening is a way of grounding myself and realizing what’s important. It’s not enough to hear someone; I want to understand them, to connect. I want to lean over to a person I have never spoken to before, crack a joke, and make a friend. It’s a simple practice, but it pulls me out of my own head and into the lives of others. Listening, in a way, feels like an antidote to that fear of a wasted life; it ensures that my time isn’t just about me but about the connections I create. Overall, plan it out, do it scared, create more and enjoy it while you can, and listen deeply. … I went to a wedding last weekend to celebrate the union of two friends (If you’re reading this, the open bar was a great idea). My partner joined and this was the first time that we attended a wedding where she was my plus one at an event full of friends and associates from my high school. People who I had mentioned often, but for who (whomst?) she had never met. Friends and parents of friends came up to us to catch up, shake hands and exchange pleasantries and reflect on the last couple of years and make new introductions. After the bride and groom left in their car, dressed in streaks of ribbon and holy matrimony, a dozen of so left behind decided to continue the party at Sasha's on Shaw, a wine bar. We had the pleasure of joining them, and as we sat there, drunk on wine and nostalgia, surrounded by friends, I felt an overwhelming sense of happiness and gratitude for my life. Whether it becomes a memory I cherish at 80, only time will tell, but in that moment, I was fully alive, deep in a feverish joy of simply being alive. <p>If a year has a beginning and end, I imagine it has a life cycle of sorts as well.</p> <p>Therefore, November has always been the end of the year in my mind. I’m sure it has to do with where I’m from, with Missouri gaining favor from all four seasons and their presentation turned up to an 11. This is the case with Winter as well—people huddled in houses, under blankets, isolated and separated from one another.</p> <p>December is the death of a year, with it’s passing surrounded with loved ones coming together to witness it’s farewell just to be surrounded by loved ones at the eruption of a new year.</p> <p>A rebirth.</p> <p>We measure ourselves by what’s contained in a year, reflecting—much like we do in life—at the end. Let’s chat about that a little…</p> <p>When people ask me what I am most afraid of, I say “Looking back when I’m 80 and realized I lived a wasted life”. I felt confident enough in this answer for quite a while until a little before the death of last year.</p> <p>What even was a wasted life? What does wasting life look like? I’m only 23 but have I done enough to be satisfied if I died tomorrow?</p> <p>A lot of these questions wandered through, tracking in mud and caking my mind with doubts.</p> <p>It might not be typical for a recent college graduate to face an existential crisis, but I’ve been captivated by the concept of death since I was a boy (which probably warrants some reflection itself). This fascination seasoned when I watched The Twilight Zone episode Nothing in the Dark. In it, an elderly woman hides from the personification of death, only to discover [spoiler alert for a 62-year-old episode] that death is the kind policeman she has been caring for after he was shot on her doorstep. Ultimately, Harold persuades Wanda to leave the land of the living and follow him:</p> <p>Harold Beldon: [still gently, smiling] The running&#39;s over! It&#39;s time to rest. Give me your hand.</p> <p>Wanda Dunn: But I don&#39;t want to die!</p> <p>Harold Beldon: [holding out his hand] Trust me.</p> <p>Wanda Dunn: [backing away] No. No.</p> <p>Harold Beldon: Mother. Give me your hand.</p> <p>[crying, Wanda slowly puts her hand in his]</p> <p>Harold Beldon: [laughing softly] You see? No shock. No... engulfment. No tearing asunder. What you feared would come like an explosion, is like a whisper. What you thought was the end, the beginning.</p> <p>Wanda Dunn: [with hushed excitement] When will it happen? When will we go?</p> <p>Harold Beldon: Go? Look.</p> <p>[He glances to the side; following his gaze, Wanda sees her body on the bed, peaceful in its final repose]</p> <p>Harold Beldon: We have already begun.</p> <p>[Both smiling now, he takes her arm in his and escorts her into the light]</p> <p>While yes, Harold did have to trick Wanda into letting him into her house, I found incredible solace in his pleading to Wanda—that death was a whisper and the beginning of something new. I was young when I read this, and it’s always been near when I think about the culmination of my years on earth.</p> <p>I’ve always had a fear of not being in control of things, death in particular. Especially in regards to natural disasters and freak accidents. The thought that I could live my life crossing my T’s and dotting my I’s and be crushed by a random passerby infuriated and feared me. In partial response to this, it’s been a motto of my life to live in things fully.</p> <p>To enjoy every last drop of life before I relinquish it at 80.</p> <p>This fear of losing control shaped much of how I approach life, especially in how I try to combat the chaos with structure. My tool of choice? Notion and Notion Calendar. I schedule everything—from deadlines to personal goals and even reminders to pause and reflect (I don’t juggle two blogs, full time job, graduate school, and a social life with a sweet smile).</p> <p>It might sound excessive, but the act of planning gives me a semblance of authority and control over my time. It’s a framework for living intentionally rather than letting life sweep me along without purpose. Structure gave me the ability to even try to create more than I ingest, to act with purpose, and to look back at the end of this year with a sense of accomplishment rather than regret. It’s not about perfection but progress.</p> <p>Even with the best intentions, fear still rears its head. That’s why I’ve committed to doing things scared. If I waited until I felt ready or fearless, I’d never start anything meaningful. Whether it’s a new project, meeting someone for the first time, or confronting a personal weakness, I’ve learned to embrace the discomfort. Fear doesn’t mean stop—it means go, with a little extra courage in your pocket (extra courage is also the engraving on the back of my flask).</p> <p>Try to genuinely enjoy the things you enjoy. Don’t feel compelled to put on a show of enjoying them (unless showmanship itself brings you joy—then by all means, revel in it!). Seek out moments of quiet pleasure, indulging in good food or something just for you when circumstances allow. Cherish those little secrets you keep to yourself, turning them into a playful, private game that makes life feel uniquely yours. These hidden joys are yours.</p> <p>I’ve found that listening—really listening is a way of grounding myself and realizing what’s important. It’s not enough to hear someone; I want to understand them, to connect. I want to lean over to a person I have never spoken to before, crack a joke, and make a friend.</p> <p>It’s a simple practice, but it pulls me out of my own head and into the lives of others. Listening, in a way, feels like an antidote to that fear of a wasted life; it ensures that my time isn’t just about me but about the connections I create.</p> <p>Overall, plan it out, do it scared, create more and enjoy it while you can, and listen deeply.</p> <p>…</p> <p>I went to a wedding last weekend to celebrate the union of two friends (If you’re reading this, the open bar was a great idea). My partner joined and this was the first time that we attended a wedding where she was my plus one at an event full of friends and associates from my high school. People who I had mentioned often, but for who (whomst?) she had never met.</p> <p>Friends and parents of friends came up to us to catch up, shake hands and exchange pleasantries and reflect on the last couple of years and make new introductions. After the bride and groom left in their car, dressed in streaks of ribbon and holy matrimony, a dozen of so left behind decided to continue the party at Sasha&#39;s on Shaw, a wine bar.</p> <p>We had the pleasure of joining them, and as we sat there, drunk on wine and nostalgia, surrounded by friends, I felt an overwhelming sense of happiness and gratitude for my life. Whether it becomes a memory I cherish at 80, only time will tell, but in that moment, I was fully alive, deep in a feverish joy of simply being alive.</p> Tue, 03 Dec 2024 04:10:43 GMT https://blue.feedland.org/?item=787706 https://blue.feedland.org/?item=787706 If a year has a beginning and end, I imagine it has a life cycle of sorts as well. Therefore, November has always been the end of the year in my mind. I’m sure it has to do with where I’m from, with Missouri gaining favor from all four seasons and their presentation turned up to an 11. This is the case with Winter as well—people huddled in houses, under blankets, isolated and separated from one another. December is the death of a year, with it’s passing surrounded with loved ones coming together to witness it’s farewell just to be surrounded by loved ones at the eruption of a new year. A rebirth. We measure ourselves by what’s contained in a year, reflecting—much like we do in life—at the end. Let’s chat about that a little… When people ask me what I am most afraid of, I say “Looking back when I’m 80 and realized I lived a wasted life”. I felt confident enough in this answer for quite a while until a little before the death of last year. What even was a wasted life? What does wasting life look like? I’m only 23 but have I done enough to be satisfied if I died tomorrow? A lot of these questions wandered through, tracking in mud and caking my mind with doubts. It might not be typical for a recent college graduate to face an existential crisis, but I’ve been captivated by the concept of death since I was a boy (which probably warrants some reflection itself). This fascination seasoned when I watched The Twilight Zone episode Nothing in the Dark. In it, an elderly woman hides from the personification of death, only to discover \[spoiler alert for a 62-year-old episode\] that death is the kind policeman she has been caring for after he was shot on her doorstep. Ultimately, Harold persuades Wanda to leave the land of the living and follow him: Harold Beldon: \[still gently, smiling\] The running's over! It's time to rest. Give me your hand. Wanda Dunn: But I don't want to die! Harold Beldon: \[holding out his hand\] Trust me. Wanda Dunn: \[backing away\] No. No. Harold Beldon: Mother. Give me your hand. \[crying, Wanda slowly puts her hand in his\] Harold Beldon: \[laughing softly\] You see? No shock. No... engulfment. No tearing asunder. What you feared would come like an explosion, is like a whisper. What you thought was the end, the beginning. Wanda Dunn: \[with hushed excitement\] When will it happen? When will we go? Harold Beldon: Go? Look. \[He glances to the side; following his gaze, Wanda sees her body on the bed, peaceful in its final repose\] Harold Beldon: We have already begun. \[Both smiling now, he takes her arm in his and escorts her into the light\] While yes, Harold did have to trick Wanda into letting him into her house, I found incredible solace in his pleading to Wanda—that death was a whisper and the beginning of something new. I was young when I read this, and it’s always been near when I think about the culmination of my years on earth. I’ve always had a fear of not being in control of things, death in particular. Especially in regards to natural disasters and freak accidents. The thought that I could live my life crossing my T’s and dotting my I’s and be crushed by a random passerby infuriated and feared me. In partial response to this, it’s been a motto of my life to live in things fully. To enjoy every last drop of life before I relinquish it at 80. This fear of losing control shaped much of how I approach life, especially in how I try to combat the chaos with structure. My tool of choice? Notion and Notion Calendar. I schedule everything—from deadlines to personal goals and even reminders to pause and reflect (I don’t juggle two blogs, full time job, graduate school, and a social life with a sweet smile). It might sound excessive, but the act of planning gives me a semblance of authority and control over my time. It’s a framework for living intentionally rather than letting life sweep me along without purpose. Structure gave me the ability to even try to create more than I ingest, to act with purpose, and to look back at the end of this year with a sense of accomplishment rather than regret. It’s not about perfection but progress. Even with the best intentions, fear still rears its head. That’s why I’ve committed to doing things scared. If I waited until I felt ready or fearless, I’d never start anything meaningful. Whether it’s a new project, meeting someone for the first time, or confronting a personal weakness, I’ve learned to embrace the discomfort. Fear doesn’t mean stop—it means go, with a little extra courage in your pocket (extra courage is also the engraving on the back of my flask). Try to genuinely enjoy the things you enjoy. Don’t feel compelled to put on a show of enjoying them (unless showmanship itself brings you joy—then by all means, revel in it!). Seek out moments of quiet pleasure, indulging in good food or something just for you when circumstances allow. Cherish those little secrets you keep to yourself, turning them into a playful, private game that makes life feel uniquely yours. These hidden joys are yours. I’ve found that listening—really listening is a way of grounding myself and realizing what’s important. It’s not enough to hear someone; I want to understand them, to connect. I want to lean over to a person I have never spoken to before, crack a joke, and make a friend. It’s a simple practice, but it pulls me out of my own head and into the lives of others. Listening, in a way, feels like an antidote to that fear of a wasted life; it ensures that my time isn’t just about me but about the connections I create. Overall, plan it out, do it scared, create more and enjoy it while you can, and listen deeply. … I went to a wedding last weekend to celebrate the union of two friends (If you’re reading this, the open bar was a great idea). My partner joined and this was the first time that we attended a wedding where she was my plus one at an event full of friends and associates from my high school. People who I had mentioned often, but for who (whomst?) she had never met. Friends and parents of friends came up to us to catch up, shake hands and exchange pleasantries and reflect on the last couple of years and make new introductions. After the bride and groom left in their car, dressed in streaks of ribbon and holy matrimony, a dozen of so left behind decided to continue the party at Sasha's on Shaw, a wine bar. We had the pleasure of joining them, and as we sat there, drunk on wine and nostalgia, surrounded by friends, I felt an overwhelming sense of happiness and gratitude for my life. Whether it becomes a memory I cherish at 80, only time will tell, but in that moment, I was fully alive, deep in a feverish joy of simply being alive. <p>If a year has a beginning and end, I imagine it has a life cycle of sorts as well.</p> <p>Therefore, November has always been the end of the year in my mind. I’m sure it has to do with where I’m from, with Missouri gaining favor from all four seasons and their presentation turned up to an 11. This is the case with Winter as well—people huddled in houses, under blankets, isolated and separated from one another.</p> <p>December is the death of a year, with it’s passing surrounded with loved ones coming together to witness it’s farewell just to be surrounded by loved ones at the eruption of a new year.</p> <p>A rebirth.</p> <p>We measure ourselves by what’s contained in a year, reflecting—much like we do in life—at the end. Let’s chat about that a little…</p> <p>When people ask me what I am most afraid of, I say “Looking back when I’m 80 and realized I lived a wasted life”. I felt confident enough in this answer for quite a while until a little before the death of last year.</p> <p>What even was a wasted life? What does wasting life look like? I’m only 23 but have I done enough to be satisfied if I died tomorrow?</p> <p>A lot of these questions wandered through, tracking in mud and caking my mind with doubts.</p> <p>It might not be typical for a recent college graduate to face an existential crisis, but I’ve been captivated by the concept of death since I was a boy (which probably warrants some reflection itself). This fascination seasoned when I watched The Twilight Zone episode Nothing in the Dark. In it, an elderly woman hides from the personification of death, only to discover [spoiler alert for a 62-year-old episode] that death is the kind policeman she has been caring for after he was shot on her doorstep. Ultimately, Harold persuades Wanda to leave the land of the living and follow him:</p> <p>Harold Beldon: [still gently, smiling] The running&#39;s over! It&#39;s time to rest. Give me your hand.</p> <p>Wanda Dunn: But I don&#39;t want to die!</p> <p>Harold Beldon: [holding out his hand] Trust me.</p> <p>Wanda Dunn: [backing away] No. No.</p> <p>Harold Beldon: Mother. Give me your hand.</p> <p>[crying, Wanda slowly puts her hand in his]</p> <p>Harold Beldon: [laughing softly] You see? No shock. No... engulfment. No tearing asunder. What you feared would come like an explosion, is like a whisper. What you thought was the end, the beginning.</p> <p>Wanda Dunn: [with hushed excitement] When will it happen? When will we go?</p> <p>Harold Beldon: Go? Look.</p> <p>[He glances to the side; following his gaze, Wanda sees her body on the bed, peaceful in its final repose]</p> <p>Harold Beldon: We have already begun.</p> <p>[Both smiling now, he takes her arm in his and escorts her into the light]</p> <p>While yes, Harold did have to trick Wanda into letting him into her house, I found incredible solace in his pleading to Wanda—that death was a whisper and the beginning of something new. I was young when I read this, and it’s always been near when I think about the culmination of my years on earth.</p> <p>I’ve always had a fear of not being in control of things, death in particular. Especially in regards to natural disasters and freak accidents. The thought that I could live my life crossing my T’s and dotting my I’s and be crushed by a random passerby infuriated and feared me. In partial response to this, it’s been a motto of my life to live in things fully.</p> <p>To enjoy every last drop of life before I relinquish it at 80.</p> <p>This fear of losing control shaped much of how I approach life, especially in how I try to combat the chaos with structure. My tool of choice? Notion and Notion Calendar. I schedule everything—from deadlines to personal goals and even reminders to pause and reflect (I don’t juggle two blogs, full time job, graduate school, and a social life with a sweet smile).</p> <p>It might sound excessive, but the act of planning gives me a semblance of authority and control over my time. It’s a framework for living intentionally rather than letting life sweep me along without purpose. Structure gave me the ability to even try to create more than I ingest, to act with purpose, and to look back at the end of this year with a sense of accomplishment rather than regret. It’s not about perfection but progress.</p> <p>Even with the best intentions, fear still rears its head. That’s why I’ve committed to doing things scared. If I waited until I felt ready or fearless, I’d never start anything meaningful. Whether it’s a new project, meeting someone for the first time, or confronting a personal weakness, I’ve learned to embrace the discomfort. Fear doesn’t mean stop—it means go, with a little extra courage in your pocket (extra courage is also the engraving on the back of my flask).</p> <p>Try to genuinely enjoy the things you enjoy. Don’t feel compelled to put on a show of enjoying them (unless showmanship itself brings you joy—then by all means, revel in it!). Seek out moments of quiet pleasure, indulging in good food or something just for you when circumstances allow. Cherish those little secrets you keep to yourself, turning them into a playful, private game that makes life feel uniquely yours. These hidden joys are yours.</p> <p>I’ve found that listening—really listening is a way of grounding myself and realizing what’s important. It’s not enough to hear someone; I want to understand them, to connect. I want to lean over to a person I have never spoken to before, crack a joke, and make a friend.</p> <p>It’s a simple practice, but it pulls me out of my own head and into the lives of others. Listening, in a way, feels like an antidote to that fear of a wasted life; it ensures that my time isn’t just about me but about the connections I create.</p> <p>Overall, plan it out, do it scared, create more and enjoy it while you can, and listen deeply.</p> <p>…</p> <p>I went to a wedding last weekend to celebrate the union of two friends (If you’re reading this, the open bar was a great idea). My partner joined and this was the first time that we attended a wedding where she was my plus one at an event full of friends and associates from my high school. People who I had mentioned often, but for who (whomst?) she had never met.</p> <p>Friends and parents of friends came up to us to catch up, shake hands and exchange pleasantries and reflect on the last couple of years and make new introductions. After the bride and groom left in their car, dressed in streaks of ribbon and holy matrimony, a dozen of so left behind decided to continue the party at Sasha&#39;s on Shaw, a wine bar.</p> <p>We had the pleasure of joining them, and as we sat there, drunk on wine and nostalgia, surrounded by friends, I felt an overwhelming sense of happiness and gratitude for my life. Whether it becomes a memory I cherish at 80, only time will tell, but in that moment, I was fully alive, deep in a feverish joy of simply being alive.</p> Tue, 03 Dec 2024 04:10:05 GMT https://blue.feedland.org/?item=787705 https://blue.feedland.org/?item=787705 If a year has a beginning and end, I imagine it has a life cycle of sorts as well. Therefore, November has always been the end of the year in my mind. I’m sure it has to do with where I’m from, with Missouri gaining favor from all four seasons and their presentation turned up to an 11. This is the case with Winter as well—people huddled in houses, under blankets, isolated and separated from one another. December is the death of a year, with it’s passing surrounded with loved ones coming together to witness it’s farewell just to be surrounded by loved ones at the eruption of a new year. A rebirth. We measure ourselves by what’s contained in a year, reflecting—much like we do in life—at the end. Let’s chat about that a little… When people ask me what I am most afraid of, I say “Looking back when I’m 80 and realized I lived a wasted life”. I felt confident enough in this answer for quite a while until a little before the death of last year. What even was a wasted life? What does wasting life look like? I’m only 23 but have I done enough to be satisfied if I died tomorrow? A lot of these questions wandered through, tracking in mud and caking my mind with doubts. It might not be typical for a recent college graduate to face an existential crisis, but I’ve been captivated by the concept of death since I was a boy (which probably warrants some reflection itself). This fascination seasoned when I watched The Twilight Zone episode Nothing in the Dark. In it, an elderly woman hides from the personification of death, only to discover \[spoiler alert for a 62-year-old episode\] that death is the kind policeman she has been caring for after he was shot on her doorstep. Ultimately, Harold persuades Wanda to leave the land of the living and follow him: Harold Beldon: \[still gently, smiling\] The running's over! It's time to rest. Give me your hand. Wanda Dunn: But I don't want to die! Harold Beldon: \[holding out his hand\] Trust me. Wanda Dunn: \[backing away\] No. No. Harold Beldon: Mother. Give me your hand. \[crying, Wanda slowly puts her hand in his\] Harold Beldon: \[laughing softly\] You see? No shock. No... engulfment. No tearing asunder. What you feared would come like an explosion, is like a whisper. What you thought was the end, the beginning. Wanda Dunn: \[with hushed excitement\] When will it happen? When will we go? Harold Beldon: Go? Look. \[He glances to the side; following his gaze, Wanda sees her body on the bed, peaceful in its final repose\] Harold Beldon: We have already begun. \[Both smiling now, he takes her arm in his and escorts her into the light\] While yes, Harold did have to trick Wanda into letting him into her house, I found incredible solace in his pleading to Wanda—that death was a whisper and the beginning of something new. I was young when I read this, and it’s always been near when I think about the culmination of my years on earth. I’ve always had a fear of not being in control of things, death in particular. Especially in regards to natural disasters and freak accidents. The thought that I could live my life crossing my T’s and dotting my I’s and be crushed by a random passerby infuriated and feared me. In partial response to this, it’s been a motto of my life to live in things fully. To enjoy every last drop of life before I relinquish it at 80. This fear of losing control shaped much of how I approach life, especially in how I try to combat the chaos with structure. My tool of choice? Notion and Notion Calendar. I schedule everything—from deadlines to personal goals and even reminders to pause and reflect (I don’t juggle two blogs, full time job, graduate school, and a social life with a sweet smile). It might sound excessive, but the act of planning gives me a semblance of authority and control over my time. It’s a framework for living intentionally rather than letting life sweep me along without purpose. Structure gave me the ability to even try to create more than I ingest, to act with purpose, and to look back at the end of this year with a sense of accomplishment rather than regret. It’s not about perfection but progress. Even with the best intentions, fear still rears its head. That’s why I’ve committed to doing things scared. If I waited until I felt ready or fearless, I’d never start anything meaningful. Whether it’s a new project, meeting someone for the first time, or confronting a personal weakness, I’ve learned to embrace the discomfort. Fear doesn’t mean stop—it means go, with a little extra courage in your pocket (extra courage is also the engraving on the back of my flask). Try to genuinely enjoy the things you enjoy. Don’t feel compelled to put on a show of enjoying them (unless showmanship itself brings you joy—then by all means, revel in it!). Seek out moments of quiet pleasure, indulging in good food or something just for you when circumstances allow. Cherish those little secrets you keep to yourself, turning them into a playful, private game that makes life feel uniquely yours. These hidden joys are yours. I’ve found that listening—really listening is a way of grounding myself and realizing what’s important. It’s not enough to hear someone; I want to understand them, to connect. I want to lean over to a person I have never spoken to before, crack a joke, and make a friend. It’s a simple practice, but it pulls me out of my own head and into the lives of others. Listening, in a way, feels like an antidote to that fear of a wasted life; it ensures that my time isn’t just about me but about the connections I create. Overall, plan it out, do it scared, create more and enjoy it while you can, and listen deeply. … I went to a wedding last weekend to celebrate the union of two friends (If you’re reading this, the open bar was a great idea). My partner joined and this was the first time that we attended a wedding where she was my plus one at an event full of friends and associates from my high school. People who I had mentioned often, but for who (whomst?) she had never met. Friends and parents of friends came up to us to catch up, shake hands and exchange pleasantries and reflect on the last couple of years and make new introductions. After the bride and groom left in their car, dressed in streaks of ribbon and holy matrimony, a dozen of so left behind decided to continue the party at Sasha's on Shaw, a wine bar. We had the pleasure of joining them, and as we sat there, drunk on wine and nostalgia, surrounded by friends, I felt an overwhelming sense of happiness and gratitude for my life. Whether it becomes a memory I cherish at 80, only time will tell, but in that moment, I was fully alive, deep in a feverish joy of simply being alive. <p>If a year has a beginning and end, I imagine it has a life cycle of sorts as well.</p> <p>Therefore, November has always been the end of the year in my mind. I’m sure it has to do with where I’m from, with Missouri gaining favor from all four seasons and their presentation turned up to an 11. This is the case with Winter as well—people huddled in houses, under blankets, isolated and separated from one another.</p> <p>December is the death of a year, with it’s passing surrounded with loved ones coming together to witness it’s farewell just to be surrounded by loved ones at the eruption of a new year.</p> <p>A rebirth.</p> <p>We measure ourselves by what’s contained in a year, reflecting—much like we do in life—at the end. Let’s chat about that a little…</p> <p>When people ask me what I am most afraid of, I say “Looking back when I’m 80 and realized I lived a wasted life”. I felt confident enough in this answer for quite a while until a little before the death of last year.</p> <p>What even was a wasted life? What does wasting life look like? I’m only 23 but have I done enough to be satisfied if I died tomorrow?</p> <p>A lot of these questions wandered through, tracking in mud and caking my mind with doubts.</p> <p>It might not be typical for a recent college graduate to face an existential crisis, but I’ve been captivated by the concept of death since I was a boy (which probably warrants some reflection itself). This fascination seasoned when I watched The Twilight Zone episode Nothing in the Dark. In it, an elderly woman hides from the personification of death, only to discover [spoiler alert for a 62-year-old episode] that death is the kind policeman she has been caring for after he was shot on her doorstep. Ultimately, Harold persuades Wanda to leave the land of the living and follow him:</p> <p>Harold Beldon: [still gently, smiling] The running&#39;s over! It&#39;s time to rest. Give me your hand.</p> <p>Wanda Dunn: But I don&#39;t want to die!</p> <p>Harold Beldon: [holding out his hand] Trust me.</p> <p>Wanda Dunn: [backing away] No. No.</p> <p>Harold Beldon: Mother. Give me your hand.</p> <p>[crying, Wanda slowly puts her hand in his]</p> <p>Harold Beldon: [laughing softly] You see? No shock. No... engulfment. No tearing asunder. What you feared would come like an explosion, is like a whisper. What you thought was the end, the beginning.</p> <p>Wanda Dunn: [with hushed excitement] When will it happen? When will we go?</p> <p>Harold Beldon: Go? Look.</p> <p>[He glances to the side; following his gaze, Wanda sees her body on the bed, peaceful in its final repose]</p> <p>Harold Beldon: We have already begun.</p> <p>[Both smiling now, he takes her arm in his and escorts her into the light]</p> <p>While yes, Harold did have to trick Wanda into letting him into her house, I found incredible solace in his pleading to Wanda—that death was a whisper and the beginning of something new. I was young when I read this, and it’s always been near when I think about the culmination of my years on earth.</p> <p>I’ve always had a fear of not being in control of things, death in particular. Especially in regards to natural disasters and freak accidents. The thought that I could live my life crossing my T’s and dotting my I’s and be crushed by a random passerby infuriated and feared me. In partial response to this, it’s been a motto of my life to live in things fully.</p> <p>To enjoy every last drop of life before I relinquish it at 80.</p> <p>This fear of losing control shaped much of how I approach life, especially in how I try to combat the chaos with structure. My tool of choice? Notion and Notion Calendar. I schedule everything—from deadlines to personal goals and even reminders to pause and reflect (I don’t juggle two blogs, full time job, graduate school, and a social life with a sweet smile).</p> <p>It might sound excessive, but the act of planning gives me a semblance of authority and control over my time. It’s a framework for living intentionally rather than letting life sweep me along without purpose. Structure gave me the ability to even try to create more than I ingest, to act with purpose, and to look back at the end of this year with a sense of accomplishment rather than regret. It’s not about perfection but progress.</p> <p>Even with the best intentions, fear still rears its head. That’s why I’ve committed to doing things scared. If I waited until I felt ready or fearless, I’d never start anything meaningful. Whether it’s a new project, meeting someone for the first time, or confronting a personal weakness, I’ve learned to embrace the discomfort. Fear doesn’t mean stop—it means go, with a little extra courage in your pocket (extra courage is also the engraving on the back of my flask).</p> <p>Try to genuinely enjoy the things you enjoy. Don’t feel compelled to put on a show of enjoying them (unless showmanship itself brings you joy—then by all means, revel in it!). Seek out moments of quiet pleasure, indulging in good food or something just for you when circumstances allow. Cherish those little secrets you keep to yourself, turning them into a playful, private game that makes life feel uniquely yours. These hidden joys are yours.</p> <p>I’ve found that listening—really listening is a way of grounding myself and realizing what’s important. It’s not enough to hear someone; I want to understand them, to connect. I want to lean over to a person I have never spoken to before, crack a joke, and make a friend.</p> <p>It’s a simple practice, but it pulls me out of my own head and into the lives of others. Listening, in a way, feels like an antidote to that fear of a wasted life; it ensures that my time isn’t just about me but about the connections I create.</p> <p>Overall, plan it out, do it scared, create more and enjoy it while you can, and listen deeply.</p> <p>…</p> <p>I went to a wedding last weekend to celebrate the union of two friends (If you’re reading this, the open bar was a great idea). My partner joined and this was the first time that we attended a wedding where she was my plus one at an event full of friends and associates from my high school. People who I had mentioned often, but for who (whomst?) she had never met.</p> <p>Friends and parents of friends came up to us to catch up, shake hands and exchange pleasantries and reflect on the last couple of years and make new introductions. After the bride and groom left in their car, dressed in streaks of ribbon and holy matrimony, a dozen of so left behind decided to continue the party at Sasha&#39;s on Shaw, a wine bar.</p> <p>We had the pleasure of joining them, and as we sat there, drunk on wine and nostalgia, surrounded by friends, I felt an overwhelming sense of happiness and gratitude for my life. Whether it becomes a memory I cherish at 80, only time will tell, but in that moment, I was fully alive, deep in a feverish joy of simply being alive.</p> Tue, 03 Dec 2024 04:09:54 GMT https://blue.feedland.org/?item=787704 https://blue.feedland.org/?item=787704 If a year has a beginning and end, I imagine it has a life cycle of sorts as well. Therefore, November has always been the end of the year in my mind. I’m sure it has to do with where I’m from, with Missouri gaining favor from all four seasons and their presentation turned up to an 11. This is the case with Winter as well—people huddled in houses, under blankets, isolated and separated from one another. December is the death of a year, with it’s passing surrounded with loved ones coming together to witness it’s farewell just to be surrounded by loved ones at the eruption of a new year. A rebirth. We measure ourselves by what’s contained in a year, reflecting—much like we do in life—at the end. Let’s chat about that a little… When people ask me what I am most afraid of, I say “Looking back when I’m 80 and realized I lived a wasted life”. I felt confident enough in this answer for quite a while until a little before the death of last year. What even was a wasted life? What does wasting life look like? I’m only 23 but have I done enough to be satisfied if I died tomorrow? A lot of these questions wandered through, tracking in mud and caking my mind with doubts. It might not be typical for a recent college graduate to face an existential crisis, but I’ve been captivated by the concept of death since I was a boy (which probably warrants some reflection itself). This fascination seasoned when I watched The Twilight Zone episode Nothing in the Dark. In it, an elderly woman hides from the personification of death, only to discover \[spoiler alert for a 62-year-old episode\] that death is the kind policeman she has been caring for after he was shot on her doorstep. Ultimately, Harold persuades Wanda to leave the land of the living and follow him: Harold Beldon: \[still gently, smiling\] The running's over! It's time to rest. Give me your hand. Wanda Dunn: But I don't want to die! Harold Beldon: \[holding out his hand\] Trust me. Wanda Dunn: \[backing away\] No. No. Harold Beldon: Mother. Give me your hand. \[crying, Wanda slowly puts her hand in his\] Harold Beldon: \[laughing softly\] You see? No shock. No... engulfment. No tearing asunder. What you feared would come like an explosion, is like a whisper. What you thought was the end, the beginning. Wanda Dunn: \[with hushed excitement\] When will it happen? When will we go? Harold Beldon: Go? Look. \[He glances to the side; following his gaze, Wanda sees her body on the bed, peaceful in its final repose\] Harold Beldon: We have already begun. \[Both smiling now, he takes her arm in his and escorts her into the light\] While yes, Harold did have to trick Wanda into letting him into her house, I found incredible solace in his pleading to Wanda—that death was a whisper and the beginning of something new. I was young when I read this, and it’s always been near when I think about the culmination of my years on earth. I’ve always had a fear of not being in control of things, death in particular. Especially in regards to natural disasters and freak accidents. The thought that I could live my life crossing my T’s and dotting my I’s and be crushed by a random passerby infuriated and feared me. In partial response to this, it’s been a motto of my life to live in things fully. To enjoy every last drop of life before I relinquish it at 80. This fear of losing control shaped much of how I approach life, especially in how I try to combat the chaos with structure. My tool of choice? Notion and Notion Calendar. I schedule everything—from deadlines to personal goals and even reminders to pause and reflect (I don’t juggle two blogs, full time job, graduate school, and a social life with a sweet smile). It might sound excessive, but the act of planning gives me a semblance of authority and control over my time. It’s a framework for living intentionally rather than letting life sweep me along without purpose. Structure gave me the ability to even try to create more than I ingest, to act with purpose, and to look back at the end of this year with a sense of accomplishment rather than regret. It’s not about perfection but progress. Even with the best intentions, fear still rears its head. That’s why I’ve committed to doing things scared. If I waited until I felt ready or fearless, I’d never start anything meaningful. Whether it’s a new project, meeting someone for the first time, or confronting a personal weakness, I’ve learned to embrace the discomfort. Fear doesn’t mean stop—it means go, with a little extra courage in your pocket (extra courage is also the engraving on the back of my flask). Try to genuinely enjoy the things you enjoy. Don’t feel compelled to put on a show of enjoying them (unless showmanship itself brings you joy—then by all means, revel in it!). Seek out moments of quiet pleasure, indulging in good food or something just for you when circumstances allow. Cherish those little secrets you keep to yourself, turning them into a playful, private game that makes life feel uniquely yours. These hidden joys are yours. I’ve found that listening—really listening is a way of grounding myself and realizing what’s important. It’s not enough to hear someone; I want to understand them, to connect. I want to lean over to a person I have never spoken to before, crack a joke, and make a friend. It’s a simple practice, but it pulls me out of my own head and into the lives of others. Listening, in a way, feels like an antidote to that fear of a wasted life; it ensures that my time isn’t just about me but about the connections I create. Overall, plan it out, do it scared, create more and enjoy it while you can, and listen deeply. … I went to a wedding last weekend to celebrate the union of two friends (If you’re reading this, the open bar was a great idea). My partner joined and this was the first time that we attended a wedding where she was my plus one at an event full of friends and associates from my high school. People who I had mentioned often, but for who (whomst?) she had never met. Friends and parents of friends came up to us to catch up, shake hands and exchange pleasantries and reflect on the last couple of years and make new introductions. After the bride and groom left in their car, dressed in streaks of ribbon and holy matrimony, a dozen of so left behind decided to continue the party at Sasha's on Shaw, a wine bar. We had the pleasure of joining them, and as we sat there, drunk on wine and nostalgia, surrounded by friends, I felt an overwhelming sense of happiness and gratitude for my life. Whether it becomes a memory I cherish at 80, only time will tell, but in that moment, I was fully alive, deep in a feverish joy of simply being alive.