I got banned yesterday. And then again today. Yesterday's sentence was 12 hours, but today? Seven days. If you’re reading this, it’s definitely not because I shared it on my social media—I can’t. If you liked this article and shared it while tagging me, thank you. Just know that while I can see your post, I can’t interact with it in any way.

Free speech is an interesting thing to contemplate when you’re in x jail for it.

Why Was I Banned?

Let’s get this out of the way: I’m not a crusader for free speech. You’re probably wondering what I did to land in X jail. The first ban came from a response I posted under François Chollet’s tweet (found here).

Unfortunately, like a bad journalist, I forgot to screenshot my post, but my reply was this:

no kys

listen to Chollet

Here’s the thing: the “No kys” wasn’t written as a disagreement with François—it was more in the spirit of “No Woman, No Cry.” It was shorthand for saying, “Don’t harm yourself, listen to this guy.” Context mattered a lot in what I meant, but clearly not in how it was interpreted.

Turns out, using “kys” (short for “kill yourself”)—even in a non-threatening context—is a big no-no in the so-called free speech utopia. For what it’s worth, I wasn’t telling anyone to harm themselves. I was saying the opposite.

I’ve seen plenty of users say “kys” and worse without facing consequences. Just like there are users who can change their profile pictures and instantly get their blue checks restored while others sit in limbo. The system isn’t fair, but honestly, that’s fine. I mean that sincerely. I’ve always been of the opinion that platforms are private spaces. If Jack Dorsey wanted to ban users under his rules, so be it. If Elon Musk wants to enforce his version of moderation, that’s his prerogative. It’s his site, his rules.

The 12-hour ban didn’t really bother me. I laughed about it, mostly because I got banned for doing the exact opposite of what the moderation system thought.

Enter: The Seven-Day Sentence

When my 12 hours were up, I returned to X and asked my followers what I’d missed. Naturally, people wanted to know why I was banned. I explained, being extra careful not to come across as threatening, that I was banned for using “k y s” in a post (spacing it out specifically to avoid triggering another ban).

Ironically, this explanation got me a seven-day suspension.

This one stings a little more. Not just because of the length, but because of the absurdity of the situation. One week off a platform I pay to use, for explaining why I was previously banned, while using words I’ve seen others post without issue. It seems an AI moderator flagged my explanation as another violation, failing to recognize context.

Am I frustrated? Sure. Will I probably have an unexpectedly productive week off X? Definitely. But this is my first personal brush with “getting canceled,” and I’m genuinely surprised it happened on the platform of the self-proclaimed savior of free speech.

The Bigger Picture

There are lessons to be learned here, though none of them are particularly new.

1. Don’t Rely on One Distribution Network
   Platforms like X can feel central to sharing ideas, but relying on them as your sole channel is a mistake. If I couldn’t write elsewhere, this post wouldn’t exist. Diversify where you share your content.

2. AI Moderation Has Limits
   Automated systems struggle with nuance. They can’t differentiate between a violent threat and a harmless explanation. They apply rules rigidly, often leading to inconsistent and frustrating outcomes.

These points have been made before, and I won’t belabor them further. But it’s worth reflecting on how even in “free speech utopia,” the rules can feel arbitrary—and how we’re all subject to the whims of imperfect systems.

Take what you will from this story, but if you’re ever in X jail yourself, remember: it’s not personal. It’s just a machine, making very human mistakes.

This is a cheat day post. The idea was never meant to be more than a personal journal entry, but here we are. It’s 11:09 PM, and in the spirit of keeping a perfect streak of writing and publishing, I’m calling this one in. Cheat day posts will happen from time to time, so let’s aim for 10% of the total this year. That makes this 1 out of 36. If this isn’t your thing, feel free to explore the backlog. I’ve written some good stuff lately. Now, let’s talk mornings.

I’ve always been a morning person. The kind of person who doesn’t need an alarm clock to wake up before the sun. There’s something magical about early mornings: the quiet streets, the crisp air, and the feeling that the entire day is a blank canvas. In those moments, it feels like anything is possible. There’s time to get it all done, to think clearly, and to just be before the demands of the day take over.

One of my favorite things about mornings is the solitude. It’s not loneliness; it’s a calm, intentional time to center myself. Sometimes that means sitting with a cup of coffee and letting my thoughts wander. Other times, it’s going for a walk, hearing nothing but the sound of my footsteps and the occasional bird. It’s not flashy or exciting, and that’s the point. Mornings remind me to slow down, to appreciate the start of something new.

But being a morning person comes with its quirks. For example, if I happen to sleep in, even just a little, it’s like my whole day is off balance. Sleeping past 9 AM feels like I’ve already lost the battle. It’s irrational, I know. Nobody’s grading my productivity, and there’s no universal law that says “early” is better. Still, it stings. That weird little trade-off is part of the package deal for morning lovers like me.

When you think about it, mornings are full of small gifts we often overlook. The pink-orange glow of a sunrise, the cool breeze before the heat sets in, or the quiet hum of the world waking up. It’s easy to take these things for granted, but they’re what make mornings so special.

This post is a celebration of mornings, and maybe a little bit of a love letter to them. They are the reset button, the fresh start, the promise of another day to get things right (or at least try to). Even on days that don’t feel great, mornings remind me that there’s always a chance to begin again.

Here’s to mornings, and here’s to cheat days. Let’s call this one a win.

What will you do when you get what you want? Have you ever stopped to ask yourself this question?

I haven’t. Not really. Probably because answering it requires first defining what it is you want, and that’s a question I’ve danced around most of my life. Outside of wanting a family, I’ve never had a crystal-clear vision. Even with that, I didn’t spend much time thinking about what I’d do once I had it. When I finally got there, some answers emerged, but new questions quickly followed.

Lately, I’ve been reflecting more on life’s goals and choices. It brings me back to that core question: What will I do when I catch the things I said I wanted?

Catching the Car

There are countless stories of people who "caught the car," reaching the pinnacle of success. They come in every flavor, enough to confirm any bias you have about what it means to get there.

You’ve got the walk-away-at-the-top stories, like Bill Gates stepping back from Microsoft to focus on philanthropy or Oprah Winfrey building a media empire before shifting to more personal, meaningful projects. Then there are the cautionary tales, like Nikola Tesla, who died penniless despite transforming the world, or Amy Winehouse, whose incredible talent came at the cost of her well-being.

And of course, there are those who get to the top and deeply regret what it cost them, like the countless CEOs who later reflect on the time they lost with their families or the mental toll of relentless ambition. Jim Carrey famously said, "I think everybody should get rich and famous and do everything they ever dreamed of so they can see that it’s not the answer."

The point is, success isn’t a one-size-fits-all outcome. You can find examples to justify almost any perspective. But what about your story? If you took the time to really think about what you’d do when you "caught your car," how would that shift the choices you make today?

Barking at Every Car

I’m the dog that barks at every car and chases down most of them.

It’s had some surprising benefits. I often find myself in situations I’m wildly unqualified for, discussing big ideas with people who are probably wasting their time on me. It’s uncomfortable, sure, but it’s opened doors I never would’ve knocked on otherwise.

On the flip side, this scattershot approach means I’ve likely let more meaningful cars pass by. I’ve been so busy chasing a car that I didn’t stop to notice if it was a Pinto while Ferraris rolled by.

And that’s the thing: without a clear idea of what I’m after, I’ve spent years zigzagging between opportunities, never fully committing to any of them.

Learning to Be Selective

Now, as I approach 40, I’m starting to see the value in picking my cars more carefully. It’s a humbling realization. Some people figure this out early in life, but I’m not one of them.

Looking back, I see whispers of what I’ve always wanted. Those dreams were often muffled by fear—fear of catching the car, fear of the unexpected outcomes, and fear of facing the reality that dreams are never as neat as the idea of them.

But now, I’m learning to be more deliberate. Writing every day, streaming consistently, and diving deeper into coding are all part of that commitment. They’re not just random goals. They’re things I’ve wanted for years but kept letting distractions derail.

Funny enough, the more I lean into what I really want, the less I notice the other distractions zooming by. The noise fades.

And yes, I can almost hear the collective groan of 20-somethings rolling their eyes. “Obviously, man. How are you just figuring this out now?” To which I can only reply: I don’t know. I wasn’t ready then, but I am now. So, eff off, you young brats.

Why Thinking About the Finish Line Matters

Here’s what I’m starting to realize: taking the time to think about what you’ll do when you catch the car is just as important as understanding why you’re chasing it in the first place.

Sometimes, we fixate so much on the pursuit itself that we forget to plan for what comes next. When you catch the car, will it take you where you want to go? Will it add value to your life, or will you find yourself stuck with something you didn’t really want after all?

Thinking about what happens after can bring surprising clarity to the choices you make now. It’s not just about knowing why you’re chasing something. It’s about picturing the life you’re building once you get there.

Because here’s the thing: catching the car is never the end of the story. It’s the beginning of what comes next.

Have you ever stopped to think about how love has shaped your life? The quiet moments, the loud declarations, the tiny acts that echo through time. Regardless of how many times you've been hurt, love, given freely and openly, has a way of guiding you to a better path. I believe this with every fiber of my being. A life lived with love at its center is a life filled with extraordinary moments.

Love comes in many forms. Aristotle famously said, "Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies." But to me, that feels limiting, focused solely on romantic love. Love is much more expansive than that. There's the love between friends, pets, parents, siblings, children, even strangers. The empathetic love you feel in fleeting moments for people enduring hardship. All of this love is real. All of it matters.

The more you open your heart to love in all its forms, the fuller and richer your life becomes.

When I became a parent, my understanding of love transformed. Falling in love with my partner had felt like my heart was completely full, as if there was no room for more. Then we had our first child, and everything changed. My heart didn’t just make room, it expanded. Suddenly, what felt like a zero-sum game became an infinite, ever-growing capacity for love.

And it didn’t stop there. When our second child arrived, my heart grew again. If only batteries could expand their capacity the way love does, we’d solve the world’s energy problems! Love, in its truest form, isn’t finite. The more you give, the stronger it becomes.

This infinite nature of love means you don’t need to wait for your soulmate to lead a life filled with it. Love your neighbor. Love your friend. Love yourself. These aren’t placeholders for romantic love—they’re the foundation of a life well-lived. Even if you find your soulmate, your love for others doesn’t diminish. There’s always room for more.

I don’t know why this hit me today, but after finishing a work call, I stumbled across a post by Yacine on X about watching his child grow in real time, a phenomenon deserving its own blog post! It made me think of my wife and the countless photos she’s taken of our kids over the years. Moments she captured when I was too tired, too stressed, or too distracted to notice their significance.

Scrolling through those photos now is like stepping into a time machine. They bring me back to moments I might have forgotten if not for her quiet insistence on pausing to preserve them. I started crying. Crying because I realized I don’t thank her enough for the love she’s given me, through the lens of the memories she’s gifted our family.

That reflection led me here, to this post about love. It took real strength not to shy away from my true feelings on love because it would sound too cheesy. But love deserves more than jokes to soften its edges. It’s a noble pursuit, a force that binds us, heals us, and reminds us of what truly matters.

So, I hope you have love in your life. I hope this post makes you think about the people who fill your heart. But most of all, I hope it reminds you that your capacity to love has no limits. Don’t hold it back. Share it freely, generously, and without reservation.

Because love isn’t something you run out of. It’s something you create.

I love you, anon.

We live in a very interesting time. Nope, not talking about AI this time. I’m talking about the expansion of king (or queen) makers.

What was once a small group of Upper East Side elites or Hollywood gatekeepers has been somewhat democratized, thanks to the growing power of influencers on social media. However, this expansion of power has led to some interesting dynamics. Because the allure of being “made” by one of these influencers feels within reach for more people, we now have swaths of folks throwing themselves at power, hoping to be plucked from the crowd for a moment of fame.

It happens all the time.

Some of the bigger examples, like Hawk Tuah girl, show just how quickly this can happen. A random street interview turns into a meteoric rise, driven by the power of influencers. But depending on who you talk to, that rise was followed by an (un)timely fall from grace. Smaller examples might not make waves for the masses, but when someone with digital power shines a spotlight on you, it can create lifelong changes.

It’s absolutely wild to watch. One post on X (formerly twitter), gets reshared by a few big names, and suddenly, your account is blowing up. And if you manage to collect a few influencers like Pokémon, your account can blow up.

It’s not just people, either. Products get this influencer bump all the time. I’m not telling you anything new here, the influencer market is worth over $10 billion. If your product ends up on the good side of the right influencers? Relax, king, you’ve made it.

So, is this a good or bad thing?

Honestly, I think it’s great. It’s amazing to see the reins of power spread to more people. When more wealth and influence are shared across a wider group, that’s a win for humanity. But let’s not ignore the second-order effects.

The pursuit of influence is alluring, but it's impossible for everyone to make it. I mean, I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a part of me that hopes my writing or streaming takes me to full-time content creator status. I know I’ll probably never be a kingmaker, but being able to make this my full focus? That’d be amazing.

And honestly, it’s good for society when more people enter the conversation through their chosen forms of expression.

I know I said I wasn’t going to talk about AI, but we have to. Just a little.

The Dead Internet Theory isn’t something I really came across until after reading Neal Stephenson’s Fall; or, Dodge in Hell, where he talks about the Miasma. If you’re unfamiliar, the Miasma is this ever-present, invisible digital haze. A fog of noise, spam, misinformation, and automated junk that makes it harder to find anything real online.

And I can't help but shake the feeling we are heading straight for it.

Generative AI makes it ridiculously easy to produce and publish content. And right now, there are huge incentives to flood the internet with it. Ad revenue, creator revenue shares, you name it, it’s all pushing us toward a denser fog.

As that fog descends, the value of people who can pluck authenticity from the noise and raise it above the haze becomes even more critical.

I have no doubt that influencers with taste are going to become even more powerful. They’ll continue to be elevated in status, income, and a stronger influence over the masses.

We’re living in a time where it’s never been easier to create content, but it’s also never been harder to cut through the noise. And who else but the king (and queen) makers of society to set the tone and conversation for the next batch of humanity?

You Jealous, Bro?

We’re going to commit a mortal sin of our own right off the bat because I really wanted to start this post this way. But the truth is, when people ask this question, they’re wrong. It should be, “You envious, bro?” But that just sucks, doesn't it? So we are going to move forward using the right term, envy. Sorry for baiting you.

It’s funny how that question can hit a nerve when you’re absolutely not envious, right? I mean, the audacity of someone to even suggest it! It’s not like you’re secretly harboring envious thoughts because this person is more attractive, successful, or fit than you. Of course not. That would make you envious, and you’ve clearly risen above all that. You’re living your life in purity and peace, right?

Envy is one of the most insidious emotions out there. It’s not loud. It’s sneaky. It hides behind a mask of righteousness so well that you can actually convince yourself the person you’re envious of is the problem, not you. It’s a shocking amount of delusion and projection.

Of course I get envious of other people. It happens at least a few times a day. I have convinced myself it’s because I surround myself with people who are better than me because that’s the best way I know to grow and improve. But during that rebuilding phase, where you’re tearing apart the pieces of yourself that hold you back, it’s dangerously easy to let envy creep in.

“Oh, you just got another promotion? Wow, that’s amazing! Good for you. I’m sure they didn’t even bother looking at outside candidates.”

“You make how much? Must be nice to have connections, huh?”

Peak Envy Energy

One of the best depictions of envy in modern cinema is the dynamic between Mark Zuckerberg and Eduardo Saverin in The Social Network. I cannot imagine you are finding my writing or social media and have not seen it, so I'll spare the deep dive, but for those who have, let’s talk about Mark’s constant jabs and backhanded comments about Eduardo’s shot at getting into the Porcellian Club.

Mark’s bitterness wasn’t about Eduardo doing anything wrong. It was about Eduardo having a shot at something Mark didn’t. Classic envy move. It starts as insecurity and quickly becomes resentment, which then leads to some truly questionable behavior—like, I don’t know, diluting your co-founder’s shares to almost nothing. If anyone at early facebook is reading this and silently screaming to themselves that this isn't how it happened, please don't ruin a good story.

If envy just stayed in your head, it wouldn’t be so bad. But when it worms its way into your beliefs about people, when you start deciding that someone else’s success is inherently unfair or undeserved, it becomes toxic.

Here’s the thing about envy. It’s not just about wanting what someone else has. It’s about convincing yourself they don’t deserve it.

The sneaky part? Envy is happy to weaponize someone’s mistakes to reinforce your narrative. That celebrity you envy for their perfect life posts something dumb on social media? “See, they’re an idiot. I knew they didn’t deserve all that success.” That coworker who got the promotion stumbles in a meeting? “Ha! Called it. Total fraud.”

And envy doesn’t stop at just you. It loves company. It thrives in groups of people who share the same resentment and feed off each other’s negativity. That collective reinforcement makes it even harder to pull yourself out of the spiral.

So how do you beat it? Let me just say, I’m still figuring it out. But you watch enough people in your life and you start picking up a few themes.

First, focus on yourself. A lot of envy is rooted in fear. Fear that if you put yourself out there, you’ll fail. Fear that you’re not good enough. You are good enough. Maybe not good enough to succeed, but you are good enough to try. And yes, you’re going to fail. But failure isn’t proof you shouldn’t try. It’s proof you’re actually doing the work.

Second, just start doing the things you want to do. The internet is full of, “you can just do things,” posts and they're right. You can. Want to write? Start writing. Want to build a robot? Beep boop mother fucker. The breeding ground for envy is idleness, so get busy doing the stuff you’ve been putting off.

Third, practice gratitude. When you actively remind yourself of what you do have, it’s harder to fixate on what you don’t.

You’re never going to completely rid yourself of envy. None of us are. But you can make sure it doesn’t take root and turn you into a cynical wannabe.

Think about one thing you’ve been putting off. Something you’ve let envy or fear hold you back from. Stop waiting. Go take a shot at it. Doesn’t matter if it’s perfect or messy. Just get moving and see what happens. Good luck. You've got this.

I remember reading Disrupted by Dan Lyons a few years ago and found myself nodding along. Yes, the HubSpot cult is ridiculous. Yes, startup culture is toxic. They tricked young people into burning out for shareholder value and somehow made them thank them for the privilege. I swore I’d never drink the kool-aid. But here’s the thing: by perpetually abstaining, you risk missing out.

Maybe it’s Google or the latest pop star’s new hit track. Maybe you despise professional sports and think it’s just meatheads bashing each other into early retirement. And maybe you’re right. Maybe some people are sheep, blindly following the herd. But have you considered that, for some, drinking the kool-aid isn’t about conformity? Maybe it’s about finding connection, even joy, in a sea of loneliness. Is it at all possible that you’re wrong? That the wisdom of the crowd sometimes prevails, and your anti-establishment stance is just a shield? Maybe you’re afraid of looking foolish if you let yourself enjoy something other people also enjoy.

It’s not as though you need to drink from every punch bowl you come across, but it’s important to understand, on a deeper level, why any group of people might feel enthusiastic about something. This is especially true when it’s a topic you don’t understand.

The last time I tested this theory was at a fashion show with my cousin-in-law. I am absolutely not a fashion person. If you know me, I don’t need to tell you this. If you follow me online and have seen my pictures, I don’t need to tell you this. I’ve spent many conversations tearing into how ridiculous fashion is, how it makes no sense, and how it’s a silly waste of money. To paint the picture of how hypocritical and selfish that thought process is, let me describe my current setup. I’m writing this on an 8BitDo Retro Mechanical Keyboard, using a Samsung 49-inch widescreen monitor, with a Keychron K3 optical mouse that has adjustable speed settings, for crying out loud. Just because I’m into these things doesn’t make them better than someone else’s passions. Sidebar: Feels like I’m leaving money on the table by not Amazon-affiliating all those product mentions, doesn’t it?

To remind myself that my enjoyment isn’t better than someone else’s, I went to the fashion show. And you’re not going to believe it, but it was actually great. It was great because I decided to drink the kool-aid before I went. I immersed myself in it. As it turns out, science has a lot to say about the idea that immersing yourself in something can actually make it more enjoyable.

A study published in the Journal of Marketing found that generating content during an experience, like taking photos at an event or writing about it, can increase feelings of immersion. This immersion makes time feel like it passes more quickly, which in turn enhances enjoyment. In short, the act of engaging deeply with an activity doesn’t just pass the time; it amplifies how much fun you have while doing it.

This idea isn’t limited to things you already enjoy. Another study published in Frontiers in Psychology explored how immersive environments, such as virtual reality, enhance the enjoyment of learning experiences. The researchers found that the deeper the sense of presence, the more engaging and enjoyable the activity became. Although this study focused on art education, it reinforces the broader idea that diving in with an open mind and being fully present in an experience leads to greater satisfaction.

So the next time you find yourself watching other people enjoy something that doesn’t feel highbrow enough for you, maybe try it out. Take a sip, and who knows? You might like it. Just don’t finish the whole punch bowl. Society still needs people who question the kool-aid, even while sipping it.

While rushing from my kid’s ballet class to their soccer class, a thought struck me that I can’t shake. What happened to lingering?

As a kid, whenever we visited my grandparents, we’d go to church. I wasn’t particularly religious growing up, so it was a little like visiting a zoo. I got to watch how people interacted, observing their rituals and routines. Every single time, it was the same scene, with my grandparents operating at completely opposite ends of the lingering spectrum.

My grandfather, always on a mission, would shake hands as quickly as possible, throw on his jacket, and beeline it for the car. He’d sit there, waiting patiently for my grandma to make her way out of the church. My grandma, though, was a natural-born lingerer. A quiet woman with a fiery spirit and a heart of gold, she turned church into her Olympics—a place to catch up with friends and soak in all the gossip. It was her third space, and she thrived there.

Lingering feels like a lost art form.

I never linger. I am my grandfather’s and father’s son, always in a rush with nowhere particularly important to go. When the event is over, I’m already halfway to the next thing, whatever that might be. It’s a given that we’re late, and chit-chat will only put us further behind. No time for catching up. No time for lingering.

I think there are still lingerers among us, but today, when I took a rare chance to linger for just a minute, I didn’t see many people pausing to chat. Conversations were already had during the soccer game. Why continue them? There’s always another event to get to, a house that needs attention, or a group of “real” friends to meet up with—not the other random parents standing around at soccer practice.

When I think back to my grandparents at church, the people my grandma lingered with weren’t folks she’d necessarily choose to spend time with anywhere else. Lingering after the event was the moment and space to connect. She didn’t care about the time. She didn’t check her watch while someone rambled about a family member she’d never met. She was all in, standing among people, being present. Now, thinking back on it, I’m in awe of how peaceful it all seemed.

After soccer, we don’t linger to chat. We swap cleats for shoes or boots and make a straight shot for the door. We have a pizza dinner with grandma and grandpa to get to. You see, it’s indoor soccer, and there’s only one way out of the inflatable dome. If we don’t move fast, we’ll get stuck in line. And then we’d be lingering. And we can’t have that.

Maybe I’m the only one feeling nostalgic for lingering. The kind of lingering where you’re not tapping your foot or glancing at your phone because there’s somewhere else to be. The kind of lingering that lets everyone know you’re here to talk, to banter, to connect.

I think the loss of lingering is tied to the rise of tribalism. Sure, we can blame social media, but offline, we’re rushing from place to place, avoiding time spent in shared spaces with the people around us. We move from open spaces to closed ones, surrounding ourselves with people we agree with and like. There’s nothing inherently wrong with that, but when you’re always surrounded by the same views, they start to feel like the only views that matter. That’s when the real problems begin.

Hopefully, we can find more time for the people who happen to be around us. For the ones who linger.

A few years ago, a bunch of very online people decided to plant an artificial intelligence garden. It wasn’t exactly pretty. The plants that sprouted had strange artifacts like extra appendages, the signs scattered around were completely illegible, and there was this weird, constant hum in the air. But it was fascinating enough that the new gardeners kept adding to it. Before long, the garden started growing faster than anyone expected, spreading far beyond its original plot.

At first, there was a fence—built from words, no less. It kept the garden in check, making sure only those who really understood how to care for it could step inside. But when the gardeners upgraded their tools, the fence wasn’t much use anymore. What used to take knowledge and effort became as easy as typing into a text box. Suddenly, people were flooding into the garden, stomping over whatever gates had been left standing, and the plants started growing wild. The gardeners tried to reassure everyone that what was growing inside would be useful, that it could enhance what they were already doing. But the cracks in the fence were beyond repair.

Then the garden crept onto the manicured lawn where artists had carefully tended their work. The gardeners promised this new growth would only enhance the lawn, not ruin it. But the garden didn’t stop. The signs it had grown—awkward proportions, strange details—started disappearing. What remained wasn’t natural, wasn’t crafted by the artists’ hands, but it was hard to tell the difference. The lawn was swallowed up.

Finally, the garden reached the shed where it all started. The very tools that had planted the first seeds were now being consumed by the garden itself. The gardeners who had once marveled at their creation found themselves surrounded. Some called for the garden to be burned down, others begged for it to be contained. But the same promises came again: the things the garden produced weren’t a threat. They could still be useful. They could turn everyone into a gardener.

But what happens when the garden doesn’t need gardeners? When it grows, prunes, and consumes on its own? When the only ones who benefit are the few standing outside, harvesting the fruit while the rest of us watch from the thicket?

There’s no certainty in the future shape of this AI garden. No guarantees that what we build today won’t outgrow our best intentions tomorrow. But here’s the thing—I can’t help but believe in the potential. The garden might be wild and unpredictable, but it’s also bursting with possibility. If we can guide its growth, there’s a chance it could offer more abundance than we’ve ever imagined. The walls are gone, the boundaries don’t exist, and the garden is just getting started.

Never forget why you choose to do something. Apathy is not an option. Every decision we make—to act, to refrain, or to care—shapes who we are and what we bring to the table. Whether it is a hobby, a business venture, or a romantic partnership, anchoring yourself to your "why" is crucial. It is easy to look back and assign meaning to past choices, but making a conscious effort beforehand to define why you are walking a particular path, especially one you are not obligated to walk, is a feat worth discussing.

There is a saying: starting things is easy. As a generalist who enjoys picking up new interests, this resonates deeply with me. For much of my life, I did not consider why I was making certain choices. Part of it stemmed from avoiding things I was not ready to face, but another large part was the allure of apathy. In my youth, not caring was considered cool. I cannot pinpoint when it started, but indifference became a badge of honor, and I wore it proudly. It was trendy to not care, to dismiss consequences, and to overlook the reasons behind others’ hard work. Now, looking back, I am grateful for the shift in my perspective. It is heartening to see people give a damn.

What I did not realize then was that apathy, while appearing effortless, is limiting. It is easy to find passion for things you already love, but discovering passion in your "why" for even the mundane can be transformative. Your reasons do not have to be elaborate—a single "why" can guide many choices. For me, my guiding principle is improving the lives of my wife and kids.

Take tonight, for example. It is 11:30 p.m., and I am rushing to jot down these thoughts before midnight to maintain a daily writing streak. Why? Because I believe that discipline will improve their lives. If I can stay committed to writing, coding, drawing, and streaming—all things I have enjoyed but never stuck with—I can create a better future for my family.

Of course, there is no guarantee that this approach will work. It might fail. But for the first time, I care deeply about the outcome. I do not want to look back with regret, knowing I did not give it everything I had.

Your "why" is the reason you keep going when you do not feel like it. When you are exhausted and have hit your limits, it can be the spark that keeps you moving forward.

For the sake of transparency, I will admit that while my primary "why" is my family, my secondary one is more selfish: I want to make an impact. I want to be remembered for doing something meaningful—not because I crave monuments in my honor (though, to be fair, I would not mind)—but because I want my kids to be proud of me for more than just being a great dad.

This was something apathetic, younger me would not have allowed himself to feel. What if it fails? Imagine the embarrassment. But here is the truth: failure is not trying. Failure is not showing my kids that effort matters, even when success is not guaranteed. A true north star, your reason "why," makes even the risk of failure worthwhile.

Do not lose sight of your "why." Care deeply about it, and let it drive you.

My emotions are bubbling over, turning simple tasks into Herculean challenges. But here I am, writing through the frustration because, for me, writing is cathartic.

Ever get so mad at someone that you try to write your feelings out, only to end up crafting an argument that’s… not great? You’re just mad. Upset because you feel trapped in an overwhelming situation, looking for a way out.

Adrenaline kicks in, prepping you for that fight-or-flight response. But this isn’t a survival scenario—it’s an argument with your manager, Steve. And while it’s tempting, you can’t flee, and you definitely can’t kill him. Pretty sure that’s still against some moral or legal code.

Even though… let’s be honest. Fuck Steve, right?

For the record, there is no Steve. My father-in-law is a Stephen, but he’s a saint (he’s babysitting my kids right now and treated us to dinner last night). Steve with a v is just the perfect name to direct your rage at.

The real culprit here is a combination of lack of sleep and excitement at new things. I’ve been loving streaming, writing, and creating, but the last two nights, I stayed up past 2 a.m. which for a dad who needs to be up at 5am for morning prep work, that's a huge deal.

And sleep? Sleep is everything. Just ask the conqueror of death, Bryan Johnson, who once said in response to a comment about valuing sleep and a healthy lifestyle over grinding for success:

"I wish I'd had someone in my life to teach me that you don't need to sacrifice your health to achieve success"

https://x.com/bryan_johnson/status/1875281087938883853

He was talking about business success, but it applies to emotions, too. Sleep deprivation is like handing your emotions the wheel and saying, “Go wild.”

So here I am, tired, frustrated, and typing through the noise in my head to find clarity.

And guess what? Writing works.

When I started this post, I was ready to burn the world down. Now, I’m calm enough to admit I overreacted. The person who set me off didn’t mean to—I just took it too personally. Sleep deprivation, emotional dysregulation… it was a perfect storm.

Before I wrote this, I tried writing about three other topics. But nothing felt genuine. I couldn’t write about goals or purpose while feeling this annoyed. My words felt hollow.

Now? I’m ready to go back, apologize, and move on. If this post had a heart rate monitor, you’d see a steady decline from chaos to calm.

Frustration, anger, and that boiling-over feeling are natural responses. They happen to all of us.

But if you take a step back—write your thoughts out, process them—you’ll see the situation for what it is. You’ll realize you’re not as angry as you thought, and that argument you were crafting? It probably wasn’t worth the fight.

Calming down and gaining clarity is the win. Congrats, King!

We are not going to argue about the value of AI. If you aren't using AI, you're falling behind. It's just the truth, and you need to start using it to help yourself out. This entire article will end up being edited by AI, not written by AI, but edited. Edited for spelling, grammar, and flow. But I will make sure it keeps my tone and voice. I want the article to be me, just with the things I normally miss cleaned up.

And this first attempt at the written word, the draft that comes from me and no one else, is the thing I fear will get taken away without much of a fight as AI adoption continues to grow. Now that we've gotten the important bit of "you should be using it" out of the way, let me fight for the first attempt. The lowly attempt we forget about after we've reached our goal. The thing we look back on with disdain for how bad we were at doing the thing. But the first attempt is critical in our growth.

A first attempt at something is supposed to be bad. The first time you tried to say a word as a baby, you sounded like an adorable idiot. That's okay. And then you struggled for weeks, months, maybe years, to finally force that first word out. As a parent, we remember the struggle of those first words. We remember the first attempts. The change in how a baby approaches the world once it realizes passing air through vibrating vocal cords can create sounds more specific to what they are thinking about.

The first attempt is painful. You don't know what you're doing. You don't know what you don't know about what you're doing. And yet, there's a pull inside of you to work through it. Sometimes it's exciting; most often, it's frustrating. But without the first attempt, you never get to mastery. So, how does this relate to AI? Because with AI, the first attempt is getting easier, and I fear that at some point, it will be so easy we forget what it's like to try and fail at something.

Maybe this won't be a big deal. Maybe it will just be a launchpad for human thought. But like a bicep that requires tearing to grow stronger, I think the brain needs these painful first attempts in order to grow stronger. The more first attempts you're willing to take on, the stronger your brain rebuilds itself. I'm not a neurologist. Please do not take what I'm saying in any way as scientific fact. These are just the thoughts of a random stranger who wants to make sure we don't inflict societal atrophy in pursuit of more productivity.

You are going to hear a lot about streaming in my articles going forward. Streaming has become something I truly enjoy doing and while streaming I've been learning to code. This is a mega combo of first attempts. One is learning to stream and get myself on camera and of course the other is to code. Below is a video from me trying to figure out a fairly simple coding challenge that I just could not get to click.

The struggle was real. But I persevered and then I got it! It was an amazing feeling of elation to work through it. There is absolutely no doubt in the world that I could have used AI and just got the answer. I could have easily figured out the solution, the challenge wasn't in the solution, it was against myself. Could I do this? Could I figure it out? And I did. And I know that I learned more about factorials and coding in Python than I would have if I just used AI for the answer or looked at the solution. The first attempt, the struggle through it, is what made it a learning moment. Had I shortcutted to the answer, I would have lost out on that attempt and the lessons that come with it.

Well then, what do we do? Just do things. And when you're trying them for the first time, don't reach for the crutch, build the muscle. Use AI as a tool, not a replacement for your efforts. Leverage its strengths to improve and refine, but don't skip the crucial steps of learning and doing on your own first.

This balance is where AI can truly shine. It can complement our growth by enhancing what we already know, helping us avoid avoidable mistakes, and teaching us to recognize patterns. But it can never replicate the value of our struggle, the lessons from our mistakes, or the pride in what we've achieved through sheer effort. That pride, the one that comes from a job done well after you’ve wrestled with the process, is something AI cannot give you.

Oh no! I just realized that writing this is validating my calculus teacher's words about why I should learn things without a calculator first. You were right, Ms. Childs. I'm sorry for giving you such a hard time.

The first attempt, as messy as it is, deserves to be celebrated. It is not just the start of the process; it is where we grow, learn, and begin to shape our mastery. So, go make your first attempt. Embrace the failure, and let AI be your partner in the process, not the one doing the work for you.

First of all, Happy New Year! This is the time of reflection and hope, the season where the air feels crisp and the winds of change sweep through our lives. The person we’ve always wanted to be suddenly feels just on the horizon. I’m not immune to the joy and excitement this season brings. There’s something valuable in the change inspired by an event beyond our control—even if that event is something as arbitrary as the flip of a calendar page.

You’re reading this because of that catalytic event. It’s a tradition I know well—the urge to write, the desire to create things that others might enjoy. Right now, that creative drive is at its peak. But I also know that, without commitment, it will fade. This could easily become just another well-intentioned attempt in a long line of false starts. The words could end up empty. And yet—because I am, admittedly, delusionally optimistic—I have hope that this time might be different.

I stopped drinking last year. It wasn’t a decision born of careful thought or deep reflection. No, it was impulsive. One morning, after a visit with family, I woke up feeling low. It was a familiar feeling, one I’d grown so used to that I never thought to blame the alcohol. Or, more specifically: I never blamed it on the a-a-a-a-alcohol (shoutout to my 2000s rap crew). But after just a few months, something shifted. Now, even the idea of having a drink brings guilt—the kind of guilt that whispers, “If you do this, you’ll betray a version of yourself you’ve come to like.” And I really do like this version of me.

I’ve also come to terms with being…well, kind of a laid-back, mid-energy guy. I’m not someone who operates with a constant sense of urgency. My motivation comes in waves, and, honestly, this particular burst is likely tied to that wave of “new year, new me” energy. Maybe my birthday being so close to the new year has something to do with it. This time of year forces me into self-reflection, I can’t help but look at myself and wonder, “What more can I do?”

But as the year ended, I started doing things differently. I let go of the need for grand declarations. Gone are the “I will do this every day and be a good boy” resolutions. Instead, I’ve embraced a love for the process. A love for the sporadic, messy nature of who I am. I’ve started accepting who I am.

And yet, here comes the hypocrisy, this shift has sparked some thing new. The more disciplined I’ve become in doing what I want to do, the more motivated I’ve felt to push myself further. I've had the scariest realization yet, I’m not built for the mundane. I crave greatness. I crave recognition. I want to make people feel something from what I create. I want you to feel something when you engage with something I’ve poured myself into.

None of us were put here for mediocrity. We were put here for greatness...all of us. You deserve to be great. Not because you’re some flawless ideal, but because you care. Because you give a damn about creating something beautiful, something meaningful, for the people around you. We all deserve to be admired for our hearts, for the way we share who we really are.

This might very well be the only post I write this year. My discipline has improved, but I’m too wise now to make promises I can’t keep. I won’t vow to write every day, every week, or even every month. But I will make one promise to you and to myself: I will pour my soul into the things I create, and I will share that with you regardless of polish or pedigree.

Get caught up on previous chapters:

Or jump back into the action below:

Matthew quietly shut the door behind him, like he’d done every morning since he was twelve years old and started training for the cross country team. He had never been a strong athlete, but after being badgered by his father to join some extracurricular activity, he settled on running. Not because it appealed to him; because it satisfied his fathers requirement while still making him angry, a skill Matthew had become quite adept. What he didn’t expect was how much he’d fall in love with the sport. Running became an escape and then a springboard into university, and finally, a tranquil moment when his family responsibilities became too much. I’m not going to be like him he thought as the deadbolt sprang back into the door frame.

This morning he came back a little later than normal and the patter of little feet were already echoing from the kitchen. Matthew snuck down to the basement to get cleaned up before anyone could realize he’d gotten home. He bagged his clothes and put them next to the workbench in the boiler room. Those would need to be dealt with later.

He took his time in the shower. Careful to remove every bit of blood. You never get used the coverage. No matter how much you try to keep yourself clean, the fingernails, behind the ears, the tips of your hair, always try to give you away. His routine was thorough and methodical but he didn’t have as much time as normal. There was no doubt a nosey toddler would eventually make their way into the basement and things needed to look kid-friendly.

As Matthew turned off the water he was greeted with a smiling, tiny face at the door. Tessa had made her way down, as expected. Close call he thought to himself as he pulled the towel down from the warmer and stepped out of the shower

“Daddy!” Tessa squealed with excitement as she ran and leaped into her Dad’s arms. Matthew lifted her high above his head and just like he’d always done brought her nose down to his and wiggled. She laughed and screamed out, “Again! Again!” as the process repeated itself a few more times.

“Okay sweetheart. Back upstairs and get ready for school.” She didn’t want to leave, but with an extra kiss on the forehead and a helpful turn of the shoulders, she was off. Matthew finished drying himself off, grabbed a new set of clothes from the dryer and headed upstairs. He walked into the kitchen, the family was preparing some breakfast.

“Hi honey.” he said as he leaned over his wife’s shoulder and gave a quick peck on the cheek.

“You’re home later than usual?”

“I know.” Matthew began. “I couldn’t get this work problem figured out so took a longer route.” Lying about where he was had become second nature. And Allison never questioned it. He was a good provider, an attentive husband, and a great father. She never had reason to believe he’d be lying to her.

“Well you made it back in time for breakfast, so grab a seat and get some while it’s hot.” Matthew knew better than to try skimp out before eating so he dutifully sat at the table even while his mind was thinking about his next move. It was a just another normal day.

As the sun broke through the fog, Matthew finished up his breakfast, kissed his family goodbye and headed out the door. He hadn’t slept, but this wasn’t anything new. With last nights task out of the way he felt as though the rest of the week was going to simple enough. He drove a little slower than normal, recognizing that his reactions were slightly slowed. Before getting to the office, his first stop was the mailbox.

In his hand was an envelope. He’d be making a few mailbox drops this morning but this was the first. He parked a couple blocks away and walked to the drop off. Matthew kept his head down, avoiding small talk and eye contact with anyone on the street. He didn’t mind being in the open, but he wasn’t looking to get recognized any time soon.

One down four to go.

He headed for the next mailbox across town. The second mailbox was close to the marina a perfect location for a quick view of what was going on. It wouldn’t take him long to get there although traffic was starting to grow.

Matthew expected the marina to be busy. No doubt word of what had happened would have started to spread. Rumours travelled quickly amongst the sea-faring crowd as they loved a good story, truthfulness be damned. But what he didn’t expect to see was the CSI van parked at the clubhouse. How did they get here so quick? he wondered. It had only been a few hours and Matthew had thought his handy work would keep the body from washing ashore this quickly. He stared a little bit longer before heading off to the next mailbox. No time for admiration of his work or to watch the confounded faces of SFPD’s best and brightest. His job was just beginning.

Or dive straight in to the action below:

The phone vibrated against the bed post it had snuggled up next to after falling unceremoniously from sleeping hands at the conclusion of a late night doom-scrolling session. Caleb silently pleaded to his subconscious for a few more minutes, concocting stories of why the noise was not a call to consciousness that would only make sense in a dreamland. It was no use.

Caleb clumsily fumbled around the bed sheets, unaware of the journey his phone had taken in the early morning hours. “Where the f…” he began to mutter as his eyes, freshly adjusted to the dark room were hit with the relentless bright screen. Without leaving the bed, he reached down and answered the phone and began to sit up, his body tense, sensing what was about to come.

This wasn’t the first time he’d been woken up by his phone and Caleb knew exactly what it meant; his day was about to begin.

“I’ll be right there.” Caleb said instinctually, barely processing anything said. He sat, feet on the floor, broad shoulders hunched over, head hung so far over his knees that a gentle breeze could have knocked him to the floor. Looking down he realized he was still wearing pants from the night before. He hadn’t been on a case for a couple days and the lack of routine meant his life slowly fell into disarray. Cases kept him on track. Cases kept him away from his thoughts.

After finding a shirt on the ground, Caleb quickly brushed his teeth before heading down from his walk-up apartment on the third floor. The building had once been home to some soon-to-be famous writer’s and actors but like a fading Hollywood career, the attempts to rejuvenate the building after years of neglect, left the building feeling fake and hollow. At least it was close to the station.

The rain must have come and gone in the witching hours because the city was left with a thin coating that caused the lights to shimmer as they provided their beacons to those who thrived at night. Caleb’s street was always bustling with the type of people he’d often come across on the wrong side of an investigation. But the city provided a never ending stream of future work. Luckily for everyone he passed, tonight was not their night.

As he stepped foot in the station, he was flagged down by the voice on the other end of his morning wake-up call. Sergeant Maurice Stoller was an intimidating figure any day of the week, but nothing made him more aggressive than a recent homicide. It was though he took each and every one personally. As if they were an affront to his well-being and the only cure was ensuring the perpetrators were put behind bars. But when Caleb entered the Sergeants office there was no sense of righteous indignation.

“What’s going on Stoller? And don’t fuck with me.”

“It’s a case, as I’m sure you figured out, but…” Stoller trailed off as his hands grazed the manilla envelope holding the case file. “but this one’s not something I’ve seen before.”

“Oh come on,” Caleb snapped. What could that even mean? “We work for the San Francisco Police Department, we’ve seen it all.”

“I know, I know. But this is…” he trailed off again, “just take a look”. He pushed the envelope across the desk. Caleb started opening it. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Stoller added while looking out the window behind his desk. Caleb paused. Unsure what was happening, he shook it off and opened the case file. “Holy shit.” Caleb muttered. Almost inaudibly, but the Sergeant quickly swivelled back around and slammed his hands on the desk. “We’ve got to figure this out quickly, before word starts getting around.”

Caleb was transfixed on the images in front of him. What had happened to this Captain was not just a murder, it was a message. The question wasn’t who did this, but who was the message for? Because no one would do that to a body who didn’t want to ensure the person receiving this message got it loud and clear.

There wasn’t another word spoken as Caleb left the room, still staring at the file. The Sergeant was still talking, but the words weren’t penetrating Caleb’s focus on his new case. He caught the address of the marina where the Captain kept his ship, and decided he’d head there first to see what he could figure out. The CSI team would already be there taking samples and gathering whatever they could. He did not envy the team on duty for this job. The marina was about thirty minutes away so Caleb could get there just as the day was breaking. He grabbed a cup of stale coffee from the machine, and hit the road.

I’ll cut to the chase, I decided very late to do NaNoWriMo this year. I don’t really have a solid idea of what I want to write or how it’s going to pan out, but it will hopefully be fun. So to keep the regular newsletter space clean in case I ever go back to writing on any sort of regular basis, I started this section to house NaNoWriMo and any future fiction stories that may come tumbling out of my head.

Please feel free to criticize these words as you read them. The goal is to get them down on a page so it will likely be quite free flowing. Leave comments about how you’d like see the story play out. And most of all enjoy!

Beyond the horizon, past where the lighthouse beacon could no longer overpower the thick coastal fog, sat a dilapidated vessel, bobbing in the unusually warm fall air. The ship was barely twenty feet long, barely noticeable in the vast ocean on a sunny day, but in the fog with it’s lights turned off it was all but invisible. The gentle creak of shifting boards as the captain of the vessel paced from bow to stern were drowned out by the lapping of the waves against the side of the boat.

He’d been there for far too long now. Staring at the hour hand on his watch push past 2:00am he continued to pace the ship. He knew he should have been docked before the fog had gotten so thick, but he was also aware that he couldn’t leave. The captain double checked his coordinates to make sure he hadn’t drifted too far as the hours had grown long.

“They should be here by now,” he said to the wind. As the fog grew thicker so did his impatience. He fumbled with the boat keys in his pocket, letting the key slip between his fingers as he contemplated the repercussions of starting the engine and getting the hell out of there. His hand began to pull the key out when a faint light and the murmur of an engine filled his oceanic void. The approaching boat was drenched in shadow as the tiny bow light flickered with every bump of the water as though at any moment a big enough wave would knock the bulb from it’s socket and leave both vessels engulfed in darkness.

Finally, as the boat turned into position to board the captain’s vessel, the light pushed beyond the ship and the shadowed figures began to take shape. Without a word the boat threw rope to the captain which he dutifully tied, connecting the two ships together while they carried out their business.

As the captain pulled the final knot, the hairs on his neck stood up. Something was different. He looked at the boat he’d just anchored to his own, and while expecting two other men to be staring back, only one pair of eyes gazed down the barrel of the 9mm now pointed in his direction.

which then got me thinking about how it was actually time for this exact post. Now, here it is.

It will be different this time. It’s a promise that I can barely even believe I intend to keep as I put it to page. My continuing problem in life isn’t a lack of direction, it’s having temporary directions that I drive towards full speed ahead without understanding my starting or stopping point. I’ve started and stopped writing blogs so many times because I’m never confident on the direction or that it will last. I’m still not, but not working towards a writing goal leaves me constantly on the precipice when I’m trying to get down the hill.

As the rumblings of motivation starting bubbling up last week, I did a little internal digging into what things interest me and where I want to go. Here’s the list:

Become a better writer:

• Write every day

• Publish 1 article per week

Become a better coder:

• Code every day

• Release a project or PR to open source every quarter

Become a better artist:

• Draw every day

• Release a new artwork every week

Become more knowledgeable:

• Read every day

• Reflect and journal daily

Become a better husband:

• Plan and be responsible for more date nights

• Find time every day to be together without distractions

Become a better dad:

• Ensure 1 full hour of together time a day with no distractions

• Plan more educational outings with the family

Become a better friend:

• Plan a hangout with friends at least once a month

Yes, these are basic. and if you see this list you’re probably like, ya that is literally super simple stuff and it’s ridiculous you aren’t doing those things already. And the answer is, I know.

But the reason I write them down is because I very quickly and very easily get distracted by the world and forget the basics. I get lost in my own world only to look up and realize that my wife has planned all our dates and vacations, that I haven’t seen my friends in years, and that even though I start strong on my creative pursuits, they fizzled randomly and when I get distracted by something else. The world of TikTok and Instagram reels would lead me to believe this is classic ADHD and while I figure out if that’s the case, the important part, regardless of diagnosis, is that it’s my daily reality so I might as well do things to make it more manageable.

And if you are worried, is this entire Substack going to become a never-ending stream of, “I’m going to stick to it” posts? Hopefully not. These posts work as a mental cleanse and clean slate for me. They feel like markers where the curiosity has won the day over the anxiety of the unknown.

My secondary big issue with sticking things out boils down to this:

This is a real problem. Even writing this post I felt a need to finish it in a single sitting. I believe it stems from the inability to hold on to the rush of a task long enough to get back to it after taking a break. Getting back to something requires overcoming inertia and because I struggle with that, it’s always easier to work through the whole process in a single sitting than it is to start and stop. Maybe this applies to everyone and you all are just better at getting back into it, but not me, and it’s why my goals push for doing a little bit each day.

Getting back to this post and editing it will be tough but I’m going to intentionally do it after the next paragraph. I want to force myself to come back to it. Force myself to read what I’ve written and then continue. This won’t be every piece obviously, but I want to break the cycle of anxiety around finishing a project by removing the imaginary constraint of getting it done in a single sitting.

So here we are. Writing a blog post full of hope and optimism that this time it will be different. Only time will tell of course if anything has changed. For you, reader, the one thing you will definitely get is a spurt of excited creation for a short duration. However, if all goes well, I’ll get to look back fondly at this post as the moment that things changed for the better.

UPDATE: I did not come back the next day. In fact, the anxiety of rereading what I’d written and starting again forced me to start a new piece which has legs. Just like every project that I start. They all have legs. They all are interesting. And they all get to 80% complete before I grow tired of them. The hardest part is to finish and it’s also the least rewarding for me.

There’s a really great twitter thread about ADHD and dopamine (that I cannot find now and am worried about the rabbit hole diversion if I start looking for it). The main point was how most people get their dopamine release upon completing a project whereas people with ADHD get their dopamine from exploring curiosity. Maybe this is just a story that fits perfectly into a life of 80% projects, but it definitely fits. Curiosity abounds at any project that begins but once I’ve satiated my curiosity, the inertial desire to come back and eek out those final tasks is excruciatingly painful to overcome.

I honestly barely even re-read this before I started writing it again. And as I’m writing, I wish I could explain how loud the noise inside my head is of the battle between, “just publish it anyways, you won’t want to come back again” and “but you should reread it and make sure it makes sense”. These internal battles happen for every task, all day every day. It’s exhausting.

UPDATE 2: Now that I came back and wrote that update, after doing so I re-read the whole piece and made some updates which led to a final thought on single sitting paralysis.

The biggest problem with this mental model is that it guarantees I’ll never personally take on projects that are bigger than me. Work projects have the built in incentive of a job and making money doing them, but if I can’t write a novel or paint a picture in a single sitting it’s nearly impossible for me to do it.

And that means all of creative pursuits lack in scale and polish. The few projects that I have been able to avoid this line of thinking and complete them over days, weeks, or months do end up being those that I’m most proud of and more willing to share. It’s also a reminder of how long it took me to finish that last 20%. When I coded my first pico8 game, Lemonade Stand, I put it down and didn’t work on it for months after finishing that first 80%. The struggle was real, but the payoff was wonderfully fulfilling. A good reminder when the curiosity of writing temporarily wanes to stick with it!

There’s no beating around the bush (oh I went there). I hate yard work. I’ve hated it since the moment it became a responsibility of mine. I’ve spent the past few years attempting to convince my partner that living in a small apartment is better for bringing our family together, just to avoid having to do yard-work ever again.

Which is why it infuriates me that doing yard-work is making me a better human being. Here's why.

Sisyphus

I have two problems that coalesce into a wonderful paralysis when it comes to taking on big tasks. The first is that I’m quite terrible at starting a task, stopping that task, and then picking it up again. If I am unable to finish a given task in a single sitting, whether that’s five minutes or five hours, then it becomes excruciatingly painful for me to restart said task. The second issue is that any task where finishing it is never really attainable, i.e. yard work, the idea of beginning a Sisyphean pursuit is enough to leave me curled up in the corner.

Tending to a yard is never done. Regardless of how many times you pick up the sticks, rake the leaves, pull the weeds, or cut the grass, you will never finish. The best you can do is delay the inevitable; let the grass grow a little longer in hopes a snowfall will end your punishment. But until that white powder frees you from the tyranny of pollen you must continue to push that boulder up the hill. Yard-work is a child you never intended to have and have now realized that your free time is no longer free, your weekends are non-existent, and all in the hopes you won’t get a call from a nosey neighbour or HOA enthusiast.

The Lesson

Now for the infuriating part. The other day I took the kids out to pick up sticks from the backyard. Doing yard-work with kids definitely makes things a little more enjoyable, but it’s still yard-work and I’d rather be dealing with both of them during a meltdown in a very public place. However, as we were clearing an area that we’d cleared out just last week, something hit me that I had not expected. Though the task was never-ending, everything task adjacent was enjoyable.

• Being outside in the fresh air. Fantastic.

• Spending time with my kids. Wonderful.

• Getting a little exercise. Needed.

However, the most valuable realization has proven very powerful in conquering my action paralysis cocktail. Even though it seems like you are doing the same task every time, each moment spent within the task is new one and therefore presents an opportunity to exist in a new moment. Sure, it feels like I’m just out picking up sticks and leaves for the hundredth time, but I’m actually picking up new sticks and new leaves that, like me, have gone through a whole different life cycle than the ones before.

Instead of fighting the inherent nature of yard-work, which insists on being in a perpetual state of incomplete, I accepted the task for what it was, a new moment in an everlasting journey. This seemingly simple thought switched my attitude towards yard-work being a task to complete into an experience. An experience that can be enjoyed. By releasing the pressure of getting to the finish line, yard-work has exited the realm of to-do list item and entered the realm of pleasure.

The truly despicable part of all this relates to how it can change your viewpoint on almost anything you do throughout your day. So many of our daily chores are new opportunities to experience a new moment if we allow ourselves the opportunity to keep ourselves from looking at them as a burden and embrace them.

Stop and Smell the Roses

When we label something as a task, it becomes something to be completed. A box to be checked. But so few things in our lives are ever actually done. So few that I’m hard pressed to actually name anything we ever complete. We can tell ourselves we’ve done enough on any given thing in order to move on to something else, but while attempting to accomplish anything we are constantly flowing through various stages. None of which have a finale.

Up until I was standing in the garden, watching my kids chase each other around as they grabbed sticks and pinecones to be hauled off by the shadowy figures we call garbage collectors, I hadn’t realized how much more enjoyable, how much calmer, and how much more aware you can be when you stop rushing to get things done off your checklist. I often let to-do list items build up to the point that abandoning the list felt like the only logical step, because there was no way I could finish these tasks in a reasonable amount of time and the corner was still warm from the last time I ended up there.

But this new perspective has proven itself incredibly valuable immediately. In fact, this blog was started a few days ago and I’m actually finishing it, which is a big feat for me when past me likely would have just started a new post next week and pretended this never existed.

If all of this is obvious to you then congratulations. I applaud your understanding of the universe. But if any of you are reading this before heading out to handle your lawn or any other ad infinitum task, take a moment and look beyond the to-do list box waiting to be checked off and see the opportunity to enjoy a moment sitting in front of you.

I'm a huge fan of Mario, Nintendo, and the whole ecosystem of kid-friendly fun they've built over the years. So when the trailer for the movie was released, I was thrilled. My kids have started playing Mario games with me, and they even own a few Mario-themed t-shirts (much to the chagrin of my partner). We have a collection of stuffed Mario characters that get played with in the toy room. Basically, my kids have engaged with the Mario universe enough to recognize the characters, so when they saw the trailer, they asked to go immediately. This was a very exciting win for me. We booked the tickets as soon as we could and then proceeded to answer the question, "Is it time for the Mario movie yet?" on a near-daily basis. But, as of last night, the time had finally arrived. We all put on our Mario garb and hit the theater with high hopes.

And it was the most fun I've had at the movies in a very long time.

I'm not writing this for a movie review, and I won't spoil anything. The movie was very enjoyable. But, honestly, any movie could have been playing last night, and I still would have walked away with the biggest smile on my face. That's because for large parts of the movie, I wasn't paying attention to the cartoon action on the screen, but the smiles and excitement on my kids' faces.

Throughout the film, I kept finding myself looking sideways, watching their eyes dart across the screen, soaking up as much action as possible while they sat bathed in the movie screen glow and nearly falling off their seats. Giving them gentle "whisper" reminders as they proudly proclaimed the name while pointing at a new character coming on screen for the first time. They wanted to make sure I knew that they knew.

I wanted to be at the movie to watch it because I was excited, but I left full of wonder and excitement because of my kids and not the fantasy on the screen. We've taken my kids to see movies before, watched plenty of movies at home, but this experience was beyond any other for me. Maybe it's because Mario holds a special place in my childhood (and let's be honest, my adult life too), or maybe it's because I've never seen them engrossed in a film as much as they were last night. Whatever the reason, it was the best time in a movie theater I've had in many years, and I will definitely be bringing my kids to the movies again soon.

I'll do my best to keep them from yelling with excitement for too much of it.

P.S. Go see the movie and take your kids if you have them. It really was a ton of fun for Mario fans like me, and partners of Mario fans like my wife.

Being on video is terrifying to me.

There is no medium that raises my anxiety like the idea of being in front of the camera. Despite that, I have always thought it would be so much fun to make YouTube videos or stream on Twitch.

So, at the end of March, I decided that I'm going to stream every day (except maybe weekends because I have a family I enjoy hanging out with) for the month of April. The goal is to remove some of this fear.

The first stream was on April 3, and I have to admit, I loved it. No one came to watch, but I just got to talk to myself while working on a project. Weirdly, the commitment to doing the stream gave me the sense of having a gym buddy, keeping me on task. Because I was on video and it was being recorded, the only way to stop working on the project was to completely bail on the video.

We are now on Day 3 of 30, and I'm starting to look forward to each stream. After the April 4th stream, where I completely bungled trying to add a jump animation to a sprite, I realized I wanted to be a little more prepared. You will hopefully get this newsletter before I stream today (which I'm doing at https://twitch.tv/thoughtlesslabs and usually at 12pm EST), so feel free to drop on by and see me complete the animation. I know I can do it because knowing I was going to stream today made me want to prepare, though I cannot guarantee this preparation trend will continue. That's really new ground for me.

Short story even shorter: I can't wait to do it for the rest of the month. I have no longer-term plans for this, but even after the first one, I got a whole lot more comfortable with being on camera, and that is a solid place to start.

Hope to see you there!

BONUS:

I wanted to see what would happen if I asked ChatGPT to rewrite this blog post and try to preserve my writing style. Below is the exchange. Let me know who wrote it better in the comments.

Facing the camera freaks me out!

But hey, there's something exciting about the idea of making YouTube videos or streaming on Twitch, right? So I thought, why not give it a shot?

And that's how I decided to stream every day in April (well, maybe not weekends – gotta spend time with the fam). The plan? Conquer my camera-shyness once and for all.

My first stream was on April 3, and guess what? I had a blast! Sure, nobody showed up, but I got to chat with myself while working on a project. Oddly enough, it felt like having a gym buddy to keep me focused. I mean, I had to keep going or totally ditch the video. No pressure, right?

Fast forward to Day 3 of 30, and I'm actually looking forward to each stream. After my April 4th stream – a hilarious attempt at adding jump animation to a sprite – I knew I needed to come prepared. If you're reading this before my next stream (catch me at https://twitch.tv/thoughtlesslabs, usually at 12pm EST), drop by and watch me master that animation! Streaming today gave me the motivation to prep, but let's see if I can keep up this trend. Fingers crossed!

Long story short: I can't wait to see what the rest of the month brings. No big plans for the future, but one thing's for sure – I'm already feeling more at ease on camera, and that's a great start.

Hope to see you on the stream!