Insidious Adaptation

"Live each day as it is your last." This.....and moment, gone. "Be mindful of such moments, for this too shall pass." "Do not take for granted what you have now, for someone else would kill for it." Like the ingredients to a cookie, each one a critical element. The eggs, the butter, flour, sugar, baking soda even, a fine chemical equation erupts as heat serves as the catalyst to ignite a reaction. We too have our own ingredients that make the moment what it is. Our personality, our experience, our intricate way of seeing something, all necessary to make the moment, this moment, what it is. No two moments are alike. Just like no moment for me is the same as the moment for you. To analyze and compare the moments, would mean to take my past isolated moment, and your past isolated moment and compare them side by side, and who benefits from that? Considering that moment will never happen again, and that we used future moments to compare past moments...

The  flatter  lands outside of the Black Hills are full of culture. A culture that from my perspective and one that was made aware to me by a client I had years ago, is  ultimately  broken. It wasn’t just the free street dance a family of three eastern Nebraskaners wandered into, it wasn’t just the varying Casinos as soon as we entered the South Dakota border, it wasn’t just the faulty, cardboard cutout front of shiny buildings and what was sold as progress in varying areas, or the large BlackHills Gas building that made me take away something important. I wish I could isolate feelings to a single event. It would be great if life worked that way, just wish for one thing to be undone, and then the isolated problem would go away. Like Marty McFly undoing one thing to result in a happy ending. Only, that isn’t life, that isn’t, how does Drake put it, “God’s Plan?”    Life is more intricate than an isolated event, and even though there is typically a peak out a...

The mist blows from across the lake. The sun's rays sparkling each particle as though the dust of diamonds has been scattered in the air, an abundance of shimmer. The ends of the lake wavering on the beach as though their defined line of wear is a clear boarder. The trees as a backdrop, numerous, a thick plethora of green and brown filling in their own gaps. The brush below is hard to determine where one ends and another begins, all to much to be significant, too picturesque to be identified. The mind makes sense of this nonsense. The mind takes in the scene, it's beauty, and without effort interprets into a feeling. The mind is capable of so much more, so much in fact, that the scene, her landscape, and what she presents through her natural beauty, the accumulation of organisms of all sorts, is mostly a blur, for you might not have noticed the detail if I hadn't brought it into your mind. Instead you might be consumed with a problem at work, or pain in your gut, for th...

On my way home the other day, after a day of interaction, paperwork, daily occurrences that tend to wear a person down, my mind wanting to disconnect from reality, decides to latch on to something extreme. As I was driving past an old, now-abandoned storefront, I noticed something peculiar. I saw a row of 6-7 police SUVs all lined up, some with hoods ajar, others just parked. At first I thought, Huh, wonder why those are there, is that a new police station? After a few more microseconds, my mind, free to do as it wants, went to, With all those SUVs there, isn't that a liability? From here, the fuse was lit, the reflection of sun in my eyes no longer the priority, and quickly I thought of lighting the SUVs on fire! Ah yes, that would stir up some talk around here. For this was an immediate thought post-lighting. Like a mackalov cocktail thrown from across the street at 3AM, igniting one, and like dominos one explodes causing the others to follow.  What a scene this would be. I thi...

This might be the worst, most despicable time of the week. We are just enough in, yet not far enough to see the weekend. For it is the " weekend," that seems to be the ultimate goal to the week, hope a Saturday or Sunday provides, more potential, more freedom; those 48 hours, a sunnier, warmer time. If Monday is cold, Tuesday is luke-warm at best. A bathwater feel as the time lingers on. The day exhausted, yet there is more left, the gas tank has to remain mostly full for there is so much journey ahead.   I try to be mindful and appreciative of all times, for none has to be better than another, however there is this undeniable connection with the weekend that a person appreciates and looks forward to, only to start all over again the next week. Man wants freedom, we want the availability to make our own decisions, outside of the confounds of this desk, this window, these people, this schedule, yet if I had all the time in the world, work would be my escape. I see the...