Essentialism (VIII): Essence Of The Essentialist: Choose

McKeown starts this section of the book with a story.

He found himself - at some point years before in his graduate career - at an unexpected crossroads.  Enrolled in law school, he found that he was not really engaged in it.  He was going through the motions, but it did not engage him in any way - it was a "safe" option he was told, that gave him other options upon graduating.

Traveling to the U.S. for a friend's wedding, he found himself stunned by a conversation with a non-profit executive, who made the passing statement "If you decide to stay in America, you should come and join us on the consultation committee."

This comment stuck in McKeown's brain.  It stuck because, as McKeown relates, "he (the executive) saw the choice (to stay) as a real option".  This in turn got him to thinking, which led to him writing out the question "If you could do only one thing with your life right now, what would it be?" Upon finishing, he noted that "law school" appeared nowhere on the paper.

A few weeks later, he quit law school and moved to the US to pursue writing and teaching.

Often, says McKeown, we think of choice as a thing.  But choice, he points out, is an action.  It is a thing we do:  "This experience brought me to the liberating realization that while we may not always have control over our options, we always have control over how we choose among them."

But he - and we - often feel conflicted. "I cannot do this" we say, "but have to do that".  And so, day by day, bit by bit, we give up our power to choose, until all our choices become dictated by something or someone else.

"For too long we have overemphasized the external aspect of choices (our options) and underemphasized our internal ability to choose (our actions).  Options are things which can be taken away, but our ability to choose (free will) cannot."

So how do we lose our ability to choose?

McKeown relates an experiment by Martin Seligman and Steve Maier, which demonstrated that the phenomena of "learned helplessness" exists.  In short, it could be demonstrated that when the power of our ability to affect our environment is lost or forgotten, we simply learn to accept whatever comes our way.  We feel we have no choice in the matter.

How does this manifest itself?

"When people believe that their efforts at work don't matter, they tend to respond in one of two ways.  Sometimes they check out and stop trying, like the mathematically challenged child.  The other response is less obvious at first.  They do the opposite.  They become hyperactive.  The accept every opportunity presented.  They throw themselves into every assignment.  The tackle every challenge with gusto...These people don't believe they have a choice in what opportunity, assignment, or challenged to take on.  They believe they "have to do it all".

Choices, points out McKeown, are hard - especially in a world where there are so many.  But the Essentialist not only remembers they can choose, they cultivate a heightened sense of their ability to choose.

The alternative?  "When we forget our ability to choose, we learn to be helpless.  Drip by drip we allow our power to be taken away until we end up becoming a function of other people's choices.  In turn, we surrender our power to choose.  That is the path of the Nonessentialist."

The Essentialist, says McKeown, celebrates the power of choice, knowing that when the right to choose is surrendered, it "gives not only the power but explicit permission to choose for us."

Application:

The lesson of learned helpless, especially in the work environment, was an eerie reflection of how I approach every job I have had for the last 15 years at least:  I feel like I have to do everything.  It is often, more often than I care to admit, true of the rest of my life as well.  Too often I feel I have no choice, when in point of fact I have simply surrendered any power of choice to everyone else.

"Options are things.  Choice is an action."  That struck me as a powerful thought.  A choice is not just a thing.  Things can be taken away.  But one should never lose one's free will.  Perhaps in this sense, Essentialism is not only teaching ourselves to focus on the important things, it is training us in the exercise (and preservation) of our own free will. 

The Collapse CLXXXI: After Judgment

15 October 20XX +1

My Dear Lucilius:

Cataline, his wife, and indeed all of the trailer park inhabitants are gone.

The day after the trial was, as you might imagine, a bit tense. I half expected some kind of event to occur. You know, the old “stone through the window” or “shot through the window” or even “shot through my head” scenario. None of that manifested, of course – partially, as it turns out, due to a watch set by Xerxes and The Colonel to make sure nothing of that nature occurred (and without my knowledge, of course).

I followed up by going to the trailer park. Here, too, a guard had been set, both by Young Xerxes and the inhabitants themselves. I passed through the guard without incident, receiving a series of head nods on the way. I saw neither Cataline nor his wife; another of the inhabitants brought me a bag with what I was assured were all the items remaining from Terentia’s husband. I did not bother to open the bag; likely any arguments at this point could neither be proven one way or the other nor could they results in anything good.

Armed with the bag in one hand and the wheat in a bucket – older wheat from my stores set aside long ago – and with guards yet again, I walked to the other side of town.

I was met far before the house by The Fashionable Woman and a group which I could only assume were relatives and friends of Terentia. The looks were hard – but not so hard that they did not take both the bag and the bucket and stalk off.

The rest of the day passed in relative obscurity and silence. Once again, Pompeia Paulina and I made calculations with the loss of the wheat. We were still fine, she assured me; there were still supplies at the house of Statiera and Young Xerxes which we could use. We would be tight, but fine – I had better increase my appreciation of gruel as it was going to become more common.

The next morning when I awoke and started to go out to check the greenhouse, a note fell out of the door where it had been thrust. It was simply addressed to “The Judge”.

The handwriting was of a quality that I had not seen in long years, the sort of thing that makes one long for the days when penmanship was an art and an indicator of an individual. It was written by Cataline’s wife, thanking me for a judgment that was as fair as it could have been.

They were leaving, the note said. Even with my admonition that the matter was “settled” they believed – probably rightly – that the matter was very much not settled. And so, that night, they were taking the last precious fuel they had saved and they – the entire encampment and even the owners – where heading six miles up the road to Kentucky City.

They had been extended an offer from The Colonel, it seemed. He did not particularly care about backgrounds; what he passionately cared about were live bodies to help with food gathering and with defense. He had places for all of them; they needed only come.

Out of curiosity, later that day I went to the RV park. Sure enough, there was no-one there, only a series of spaces where the RVs had been. Even the main building, with its bar and restaurant, looked darker and colder than usual. “Closed for Good” said the sign on the door. I did not bother to go in; I assumed that anything of value had gone with them.

On the one hand Lucilius, this indirectly solves a great many problems. There can be no feud where there is no-one to feud with. And while the aggrieved party of Terentia could be offended, they took the settlement without argument.

On the other hand, we are now down another 20% of the inhabitants of this small burg. And beyond that, the burg itself is slowly separating into two halves, with most people on one side and a few people – ourselves included – on the other. Kentucky City has grown at our expense.

It was Young Xerxes, later that day, that let me know from the little he had heard, the general opinion was that the judgment was the best that could be done, given the circumstances. And no-one he had heard from seemed to support any kind of movement against Cataline – or indeed, me. No-one could say I had not been willing to put my money where my judgment was.

Which, to be fair, was the whole point.

Your Obedient Servant, Seneca

Gone Traveling 2025: Cambodia And Vietnam

 Dear Friends:

As you are reading this, I am likely in the air with The Ravishing Mrs. TB on my way to Southeast Asia.

I know what you are thinking:  "TB, where you not somewhere else in the world not two weeks ago?"  Technically that is correct and believe me, I had not intended on traveling so much in February when this trip originally came up over a year ago.  The difficulty with these sorts of trips is that once you put the money down, you lose it if you do not go.

And so, we are going - even though by my count, for this month of February I will have spent less time in the United States than out of it.

The flight there, if you are wondering, is a little long:  1 hour from New Home 2.0 to the US departure point,  17.5 hours to Singapore, and then 2.5 hours from Singapore to Phnom Penh in Cambodia (yes, we end up completely losing the 27th of February).  The flight back is marginally better:  4 hours from Hanoi to Seoul (South Korea), 10.5 hours from Seoul to the U.S., and then another 1 hour flight from port of entry to New Home 2.0.

We will have a total of 4 days in Cambodia and 10 days in Vietnam.

(Source)

(Source)

What do I expect? I have almost no idea.  This area is one that I am almost completely unfamiliar with with the exception of The Vietnam War and The Khmer Rouge (vaguely).  I have read a short history of each country and there seems to be a lot more there to explore (especially history).

As is now the custom, I have left a series of posts in my absence and once again beg your ever kind generosity in the delay in responses - while not quite as far ahead as in Japan, it is almost as much.

I remain Your Obedient (and apparently increasingly Far Traveled) Servant,

Toirdhealbheach Beucail

2024 Turkey: Atatürk’s Tomb (I)

Mustafa Kemal Atatürk occupies a rather complicated position in Turkey, at least to an outsider like me.

Born under the Ottoman Regime and originally known as Mustafa Kemal, he was a member of the movement known as The Young Turks.  A war hero due to his leadership in the Gallipoli Campaign (1915), he became a leader in the post-war movement (known as the Turkish War of Independence, 1919-1923) which ultimately saw the end of the Ottoman Sultanate and Caliphate and the establishment of the Turkish Republic in 1923.

His sobriquet, "Atatürk", means "Father of the Turks".  It is largely (or at least perceived largely) through his efforts that the modern Turkish state was established.  Beyond the winning of Independence, it was through his leadership that the State of Turkey became both a republic with elections (as opposed to the Ottoman Rulers) and secular (with the total secularization of society; as you might recall, it was due to him that the Derivsh order was - and is - outlawed in Turkey).  He moved from the Arabic Script to the Latin alphabet, established full equality of the sexes including voting rights, required the adoption of Turkish surnames both on those that never had them and those that were not Turkish in origin, and initiated a series of industrial and economic reforms to bring Turkey into the modern industrial age.

By the time of his death in 1938, the Turkish Republic was firmly established as a modern, secular state (although over 90% of Turkey remains Muslim).

After his death in 1938, he was honored with a state funeral.  This mausoleum, Anıtkabir, was completed in 1953 after 9 years of construction.  Using all local materials, it mixes images of the various civilizations that have inhabited Anatolia.

Security into the Mausoleum is a bit beyond what we as Americans are used to - not so much the now-ubiquitous metal scanner as much as the fact that no national or religious symbols are allowed to be displayed - beyond the Turkish Flag of course; Anıtkabir is apparently well known as focal point of protest by display of flags by the Turkish People.

Atatürk is a bit of a puzzle for an American like myself.  He is a combination of multiple founding fathers and national leaders in a single person.  His image is everywhere - in schools, in hotels, on banners.  In that sense there is almost something a bit "Big Brotherish" about him.  From what I heard, at least from our tour guide, it is not seen this way by the Turks themselves.

Beyond the mausoleum itself, there are two wings which hold a history of Atatürk as well as a history of the Turkish War of Independence.  As you might imagine from any such sort of display, there is a particular point of view.

The tomb of Atatürk. The actual sarcophagus is located on the floor below:

The inscription in the tomb.  It reads:

"To The Great Turkish Nation

The mortal body of the Great Atatürk has been taken to his place of rest on elaborate arms of his beloved nation to the service of which he devoted himself.

In fact, he rests on the heroic and loyal chest of the Turkish nation full of love and pride for him.

The incomparable hero Atatürk, the founder of our state, and the most loyal, faithful servant of our nation,  the lover and distinguished figure of the ideal of mankind, the fatherland is greatly indebted to you.

We bow with reverence in your presence together with the Turkish nation to the service of which you devoted yourself.

You rendered us vigour from the fire in your soul in your whole life.  Rest assured that your blessed memory will always keep our souls zealous and vigilant, as an ever-flaming torch.

21 November 1938"

A Brief Stop At The Ranch, February 2025

I spent most of Saturday at The Ranch.

Visits have continued to get longer between times and shorter times while there.  Part of this is due to the fact that life simply gets busier and it is harder to get away.  Part of it is that I am a slave to the airline schedule, which sometimes is with me and sometimes against me - regardless, I scarcely get more than 36 hours total on the ground.

This visit - after giving Uisdean Ruadh a hand with moving the last bits out of his storage locker along with The Director, a lunch with the both of them, checking in with The Cowboy and The Young Cowboy, and dinner with family - was a mere 26 hours from arrival to departure.  That left enough for a quick swing of the house and cleaning the toilets (my number one visiting task).

Am I sad that I am not spending as much time there?  I am not sure I can even answer that question.  On the one hand yes, it is still as beautiful as ever.  On the other hand, 30 hours is scarcely enough to think about any one location for any length of time.

The timing is not likely to change, at least not for the foreseeable future:  my current job is very much an on site, 5 day a week sort of thing.  Occasionally I could probably work remotely - people do - but even then with the ending of InterWeb access there, I could not work from there if I wanted to. 

So I do what I can.

It is a little jarring to go from 1 week a month somewhere for the last four years to a day (more or less) every month to two months.  But that is reality now.

Life changes.  And we do the best we can.

A Year Of Humility (VIII): Humility Towards All

I suspect that one of the things that often confuses me about humility is that I struggle to realize that humility is a thing to be practiced in every one of my relationships.

Too often I suspect that I have sought to "show" humility in one of two directions.  The first is being humble towards God - something that clearly Scripture clearly speaks to multiple times.  The second is being humble towards other people, which seems to create a sort of underlying resentment in my life.

Underlying resentment?  I wonder, as I think through it, if it is caused by something as humanly silly as I do not want to be humble "in all directions".

I think I would argue that I, and most Christians have no problem being humble before God (at least in theory).  Even the most lackluster of theologians gets the great distance between the Creator and the created, and in our minds we can somehow justify that we should "humble" ourselves before the Someone that is greater.

At least for me, humbling myself before others - not infrequently, but rather on a daily basis - seems, frankly, like an inconvenience that has been put on me.

Sure, if I manage to claw my way through my own pride and towering self confidence, I can "generously" see my way clear to being humble in the presence of those that are more educated or know more than I.  But being humble to everyone?  That often seems like a bridge too far.

And yet, I wonder if God's true measure of our humility is how humble we are to the lowliest person in our lives.

It is easy to be humble to someone we consider our superior in some form or fashion, and most can rally the effort to humble themselves (at times) to those whom they consider their equals.  But to those who in some way are "below" us?  Those who have nothing to offer us? Those who clearly struggle through things that we hardly think about it?  How often I struggle to be humble towards those folks as well.

But the command to be humble is not a ranked one in Scripture; it is not as if God said "Be humble to this group - but no need to worry about these folks over here.  Them, you can just act as you please."  No, He simply said "Be humble".  The implication, of course is, "to everyone".

I wonder what my life would look like if, for one week, I made a significant effort to truly humble myself towards every person that came into my life.

I suspect it, like many things, would be an example of the saying by G.K. Chesterton that "The Christian ideal has not been tried and found wanting.  It has been found difficult; and left untried."

New Home 2.0: The Final Arrival

 In the midst of last week - Thursday, to be precise - The Ravishing Mrs. TB made her "final" arrival in New Home 2.0

I say "Final" as this was the final relocation, as paid for by my company, the last of the relocation benefits (excluding her job search benefits, of course):  a paid flight with two covered pieces of luggage and a meal voucher to boot.  The suitcases were filled with clothes and non-perishables from the store of Produce (A)Isle; the meal voucher was used for a belated Valentine's Day Dinner.

Final arrival, of course, is still a sliding scale thing; there are still a number of trips planned between now and June, including one to pick up her car and get it here.  But the final packing of the house in New Home is done, the repairs made.  It is a place where we may own a house and even visit, but we no longer live.

It strikes me that this has been one of the longest "relocations" I can think of as this is approximately 11 months after I officially moved here. On the whole that is a thing to be thankful for; I cannot imagine having to do everything we have done in the very short period of time that most people get.  And while the period of time may have not been ideal - I suppose in that sense I am lucky that I am pretty good at effectively living on my own - it did enable The Ravishing Mrs. TB to tie up a number of loose ends in a way that a shorter period of time might not have.

Thankfully, that is all done.  And now, we are here.

Essentialism (VII): Essence Of The Essentialist

To understand Essentialism, suggests McKeown, is to understand that it is not merely a way of doing one thing differently, but that it is a different way to do everything.  But it is not a neutral challenge, he suggests:  there are certain ideas and those that support those ideas that present Nonessentialism as logical.

The assumptions of the Nonessentialist?

1)  "I have to."

2)  "It's all important."

3)  "I can do both."

These are seductive, because they appeal to the way that most of us have come to believe the world works.

In contrast, the Essentialist requires that these three assumptions be replaced with the three core truths of Essentialism:

1)  "I choose to." (Choose)

2)  "Only a few things really matter." (Discern)

3) "I can do anything but everything." (Trade Off)

As we accept these truths, suggests McKeown, we can pursue what really matters and be enabled us to live in order to give our highest contribution.  As we do this more and more, the way of Essentialism becomes "natural and instinctive" - a thing we are, not a thing we do.

The Collapse CLXXX: Judgment

13 October 20XX+1

My Dear Lucilius:

For reasons unknown to anyone but God, the sunrise was gloriously clear and cloud free this morning. Perfect weather for everyone to be able to make a trip into town for a judgment.

I can seldom think of a time that a breakfast has been less welcome to me. Pompeia Paulina did her best to dress it up with huckleberries in the oatmeal and even a precious cup of coffee (which was, to be fair delicious – how I miss the stuff), but darkness of the day overhung the meal.

I dressed in a formality I had likely not dressed in for over a decade; if I was to render a judgment, best to look as good as I could. Besides, after I rendered judgment, who knew what would happen after that.

It is best to dress for any occasion, even your own funeral.

Young Xerxes was there with his escort, seemingly beefed up from the previous two days before. The weapons were readily apparent this time, with no hint of hiding or concealing them. They made the walk from The Cabin to the makeshift courtroom as much ceremonial as they did protective.

The courtroom was packed, even more so than the previous two days. This was a big doing, likely the biggest in some time and I would swear to you that even outlying farms and ranches had sent a representative to watch. Not surprising I suppose; what happened here – like it or not – would define what we understood justice to be for the coming time.

The courtroom was packed with more guards as well – and to my surprise, I saw The Colonel and The Leftenant and Ox and half a dozen I knew by face only. How Young Xerxes had managed to pull this off was beyond me (although he did wear a smug smile when he realized I had seen them).

A great many things might happen just now. But wholesale murder now seemed much less likely.

“All Rise for the Honourable Judge Seneca” boomed Ox in a voice that defied restraint, pulling people out of their seats by its sheer force and rumble. They stood, all of them – the crowd in the back, Terentia and The Fashionable Woman and Cataline and The Advocate in front, as I passed with Pompeia Paulina on one side and Young Xerxes on the other – through them to the chair and table that served as my bench. Pompeia Paulina gave my hand a squeeze as she peeled off to her chair while Young Xerxes came behind me.

The gavel dropped twice. “Be seated” I spoke in a word almost two thirds less the volume of Ox.

The alacrity with which everyone dropped into their seat alarmed me.

“We are here today” I started “to determine the judgment of Cataline, accused of murder. I remind both sides that it was agreed to that this would be the format and venue agreeable to both; the expectation is that this judgment stands. To be clear, given the circumstances there is no appeal, no second judgment, no further actions. And certainly” I said, looking carefully from one side to the other, “no retribution”.

I shifted a bit in my seat – formal clothes, while looking nice, were never quite as comfortable as jeans. “I will start with the facts of the case. There was a killing. Cataline confesses to it. However, the facts reveal is that the killing was done in response to prevent a killing, that of Cataline by husband of Terentia. Had that happened, we would still be here to discuss a killing. Which seemingly is a problem in and of itself: no matter what, there apparently would have been a death.

We hold that a person has the right to protect themselves from act of being killed – Good Heavens, four months ago people in this room, myself included, walked out to prevent this very thing by people who were quite intent on stealing our things and taking our lives. No-one protested this, no-one said this was wrong. The intent to kill then by those that invaded was quite clear.

And in this case, the need to defend was not even the fault of the defendant: the intent to kill him – by Terentia’s husband – was to cover a self perceived loose end, a link to an self-embarrassing episode that was rooted in his own power and evil deeds. If an invader were to force us to surrender food or body for survival we would be offended and angry; it is even worse when it is done by one’s neighbor simply because that neighbor has the power to do so.”

I shifted again in my seat. “And yet, we have the fact of a death and the fact that now, every death has impact. Terentia’s husband, no matter his moral stature” – here I got an angry look from Terentia – “had value as a contributing member of this town, this social unit. His family has suffered a loss – ultimately self-inflicted by him, but impacting them as well.”

I sat up, ramrod straight. This was the moment I had been both dreading and preparing for.

“It is my judgment that in the case of the killing of Terentia’s husband by Cataline, it is determined to be self defense and there will be no further punishment. It is clear the man is punished enough by himself, and I cannot overlook the facts that brought him to the defense of his own life and that of his wife. I have never rewarded the exercise of power of the strong over the weak before and will not do so now.” The sob from the room could have only come from Cataline’s wife.

“But I recognize there is harm in the loss of Terentia’s husband” I continued. “It is therefore my judgment that beyond returning any and all goods that they may have given to them by Terentia’s husband, there be a payment on the value of his life. Given the circumstances that we live in and the acknowledged reason for the initial “gifts” given by Terentia’s husband was food, the assessment is 5 lbs of wheat.”

I slightly cleared my throat. “As the defendant likely cannot offer up this payment, I offer it up in his stead.” With that, I slammed the gavel down.

The room froze for a moment, then erupted into noise.

I cannot clearly tell you what happened next. The noise – angry shouting, the sound of Terentia’s voice rising above all – was in my ears. My view as blocked by Young Xerxes and a cordon of guards he had thrown around me as soon as the gavel hit. I tried to get up but he pushed me back in my chair. The circle only parted to allow Pompeia Paulina in, who simply grabbed my hand and hugged me in place.

I had, obviously, not discussed any of this with her. “It will be fine” she said in my ear in a voice that was strangely audible despite the shouting. “We can make do”.

By the time I was finally allowed to stand up, the courtroom had largely cleared. The Colonel and The Leftenant were gone along with the faces I had recognized – “to escort Cataline home” as Ox told me. Terentia and The Fashionable Woman were gone, having apparently stormed off. A few stragglers were there, perhaps hoping for some kind of last minute climax which was not to come.

I started to leave, then picked up the gavel and took it with me. Likely given this experience, no-one was going to ever ask me to adjudicate anything again, but one never knows.

I must confess, Lucilius, that the walk home was far different than I expected. I had thought I would be weighed down with sorrow. Instead, I felt a certain lightness in my soul. I had done the best I could, given the circumstances.

That is all that can really be asked of us.

Your Obedient Servant, Seneca

2024 Turkey: Food Catch-Up

 I will be honest that - especially with my more recent travel - I had not really thought about the role that cuisine plays in my travels.  But in every trip, even in my most recent ones to Japan and Europe, I find that I am taking a picture at almost every meal.  Whether it is because of the novelty or the true differences I find (probably both), the food (and the pictures) have become a strong part of my memories.

As I mentioned before, most of the places we ate were buffets connected with the hotels we stopped at. On the whole they quite good (I cannot think of one that was not) and almost every one featured local specialties.

Dinner, with the ever present baklava:

Breakfast.  I have to admit greens and cheese was very easy to adjust to:

Cheesy mushrooms (it sounds better in Turkish):

More desserts:

I am guessing breakfast based on the coffee?

Gummy bears in Turkish.  A universal food.

Lunch:

2024 Turkey: From Kapadokya to Ankara

 After our time in Kapadokya (the second longest place we "stayed" after Istanbul), it was time to head out to our next destination, Ankara.  

A final rest stop with what I have come to associate with typical Kapadokyan rocks and views:

Once we left the region, the area turned to the flat plains surrounded by mountains we had seen on our trip to Kapadokya:

Not many scenic stops, but plenty of great scenery.

Snow Day

 This past Thursday and Friday we had snow.

The concern about snow was a bit of a real issue for me; my flight from Chicago to New Home 2.0 was delayed due to snow in Chicago by almost three hours.  The inclement weather was scheduled to hit around 0400 on Thursday; as the flight delay continued I became more and more concerned.  As it turned out, I made it home at 0100, almost 3 hours before the storm was scheduled to hit.

My experience with snow, even at my age, remains that of a child.  Having never had to live in the constant doldrums of feet of snow (and the associated snow removal), I continue to enjoy the sort of relationship that I had when I was younger:  sitting by the radio in the early morning, patiently waiting for the local AM station to call out a school closure so that I could run out and play in it.

That has not really changed in all these years. Instead of waiting for an announcement on the radio I now carefully watch the flickering screen of my computer for the e-mail announcing "all but critical personnel" should remain at home.  I remain shocked at the fact that, no matter what weather regularly happens in a place, people still forget how to drive from year to year.

A pair of different tire tracks in the snow; the second round fell Thursday night leaving an unspoiled (or almost so) world to explore Friday morning.

There is something about a world in fresh snowfall, something that drives me out in the early morning before anyone else can get to it.  There is a softness, a quiet, that remains unique to snow and post-snow weather.  It is rare - and given where I have lived in the past, rare enough that I will seek it out whenever I get the chance.

Even being the first one out, there are still places that I will not walk.  Other people should enjoy the right to be the first to make a trail as much as I do.

To those that toil in the regular grip of snow,  in the feet and feet that require regular management, my fascination likely seems quaint and child-like.  I get that; a couple of inches does not compare with feet, nor does my one or two day slight interruption compare with living with snow for weeks at a time.  In this, perhaps, snow reflects much of my own life: skating over the harsh realities with a sort of naïve joy.

I can live with that, I suppose: So often now we seem called - indeed, almost herded - by the modern world to only see the grimness and suffering in everything.  That strikes me as a bit odd:  we fail to seek out the beauty before us in life and then are surprised when the world bemoans the fact that there is no more beauty.  Given that choice, I will walk in the snow, taking joy in the simple fact that such a thing exists no matter the coldness of my feet or the inconvenience of my day.

There is a story here, one that I could not fully discern:  A sled?  A cardboard box being dragged?  It happened after the previous car drove through; snow leaves ephemeral mysteries that disappear with the sun.

By the end of the weekend, of course, the snow was largely gone, a victim of rising temperatures and rain that melted it.  In this, too, there remains a certain beauty, even as I bemoan the mud that now appears everywhere.  After all, without such moisture, how could this are be so green?

Magic still exists; we need only open our eyes to find it.