Category: Mental Meanderings

"Morning Mental Meanderings" is a daily practice of intellectual curiosity, self-examination, and open dialogue, all through the lens of my unique perspective and life experiences. It's an invitation to readers to start their day with a moment of thoughtful consideration and to embrace a lifestyle of creativity, imagination, continuous learning, and questioning.

Pausing to Find Purpose

In the early solitude of the Pencil Pit, my barn converted into a sanctuary for thought, I sit engulfed by a profound existential questioning. The morning light seems to cast longer shadows today, as I grapple with doubts that feel heavier than usual. “Why am I doing this?” The question resonates in the stillness, each word heavy with uncertainty.

Here I am, pencil poised, yet today the motivation to post on my blog eludes me. “Who cares if I post anything?” The thought lingers, unsettling the comfortable rhythm of my daily routine. “What am I achieving except perhaps wasting time?” This query, challenging the very essence of my actions, casts a shadow of doubt over my checklists, the very symbols of my lifelong pursuit of goals and purpose.

The thought of shutting down my website, of stepping away from my usual endeavors, suddenly doesn’t seem so far-fetched. It feels almost liberating – a release from the self-imposed shackles of constant productivity. “Why, why, why?” The question echoes, not seeking immediate answers but inviting a deeper introspection.

In this moment of doubt, I realize that perhaps it’s time for a pause. Creativity isn’t always about producing; sometimes it’s about stepping back, reevaluating, and finding new inspiration. The questions looming over me – “Am I helping anyone? Am I helping myself?” – demand more than a cursory consideration.

So, today, I make a decision that feels both difficult and necessary: to stop posting, at least for today, maybe for a few days, or perhaps forever. This pause is not an admission of defeat but an act of self-reflection, a necessary interlude to reassess my motivations and goals.

Who’s right and who’s wrong in this internal debate is no longer the focus. What matters now is giving myself the space to contemplate, away from the routine of posting and the relentless pursuit of goals. It’s in this space that I hope to find clarity, to rediscover the joy and purpose in my creative endeavors.

As I sit here in the Pencil Pit, I am reminded that creativity is not just a constant outpouring but also an ebb and flow. It requires moments of quiet, of stillness, where one can listen to the whispers of one’s own heart.

Today, and perhaps for some days to come, I will embrace this pause, this moment of stillness. It’s a time to reflect, to question, and to seek the true essence of my creative spirit – a spirit that yearns not just to create, but to understand, to grow, and to find meaning in life’s journey.

"Morning Mental Meanderings" is a daily practice of intellectual curiosity, self-examination, and open dialogue, all through the lens of my unique perspective and life experiences. It's an invitation to readers to start their day with a moment of thoughtful consideration and to embrace a lifestyle of creativity, imagination, continuous learning, and questioning.

Navigating the Labyrinth of Belief and Meaning

As the soft light of dawn filters through the Pencil Pit, my rustic haven of contemplation, my thoughts are still cycling through yesterday’s experiences, both physical and intellectual. The tranquility here contrasts sharply with the whirlwind of ideas and beliefs that I navigated while biking and listening to a thought-provoking podcast.

The debate that captured my attention was a classic one: does human life have intrinsic value, and where does meaning and purpose originate? The Christian guest’s insistence on an ultimate cosmic meaning as a prerequisite for individual purpose stood in stark contrast to the atheist philosopher’s view of a universe devoid of predetermined meaning. This dichotomy echoes my own journey of belief. For 60 years, I embraced the Christian narrative, firmly believing in a divine plan and purpose. Yet, the realization that I had never truly encountered this being led me to a profound shift in perspective.

This morning, I find myself wrestling with the Christian podcast guest’s question. How do we, as individuals, derive meaning and purpose in a universe that an atheist might see as ultimately purposeless? This conundrum is at the heart of my current struggle – reconciling the beliefs that shaped much of my life with my newfound understanding.

The frustration I feel when hearing Christians make unsupported claims is more than just a reaction to differing opinions; it is a reflection of my own journey from certainty to skepticism. It highlights the challenge of navigating a world where beliefs are often deeply entrenched and rarely questioned.

Yet, as I ponder these deep questions, I realize that my quest for truth is not about finding definitive right or wrong answers. It’s about the journey itself – the exploration of ideas, the questioning of long-held beliefs, and the openness to new perspectives. It’s about building a personal framework of meaning, one that doesn’t necessarily rely on an external, ultimate purpose but is rich and fulfilling in its own right.

In this way, my biking journey mirrors my intellectual one – both are about navigating complex paths, exploring new routes, and sometimes, facing challenging terrains. The podcast debate is not just a clash of viewpoints; it’s a reminder of the diverse ways humans grapple with the concept of meaning in life. It underscores the idea that meaning and purpose can be as varied and individual as the paths we choose to bike on.

So, who’s right and who’s wrong? Perhaps that’s not the question to ask. Instead, it might be more fruitful to embrace the diversity of thought, to acknowledge that the search for meaning is a deeply personal endeavor, and to respect the myriad ways people find purpose in their lives.

As I sit here in the Pencil Pit, surrounded by the serenity of my barn, I am reminded that life, much like a long bike ride, is about exploration, endurance, and the discovery of personal landscapes of belief and meaning. It’s about navigating the labyrinth of thought with an open mind and a willing heart.

Cultivating the Mind’s Garden

As the first light of dawn gently spills into the Pencil Pit, my barn-cum-sanctuary, my thoughts meander through the activities of yesterday, finding parallels in the garden of the mind. Jon and I, in our continued effort in garden #2, undertook the task of laying cardboard at the bottom of our newly built wooden garden bed. This simple act, meant to suppress weeds and grass, has sown seeds of reflection in my mind about learning and mental growth.

The act of ‘cardboarding’ our garden bed is, in essence, an exercise in creating a controlled environment for growth. It mirrors the way we prepare our minds when embarking on the journey of learning something new. For instance, when I decide to deepen my understanding of evolution, I am setting a boundary, a frame that says, “Here, within these confines, I shall cultivate my knowledge.”

But what, then, is the cardboard at the bottom of this mental garden bed? In my view, it represents the foundational beliefs and principles that underpin my understanding of a subject. It’s a barrier of sorts, yes, but not one that restricts; rather, it protects. This mental cardboard ensures that the seeds of knowledge I plant are not choked by the weeds of misinformation or the invasive grass of irrelevant facts. It’s a selective filter, allowing only that which nourishes and supports my growth in understanding.

This analogy extends further. Just as in a physical garden, where the quality of soil, sunlight, and water dictates the health of the plants, in the garden of the mind, the quality of information, sources, and context determines the robustness of our knowledge. In both scenarios, regular maintenance is key – weeding out falsehoods, pruning outdated information, and fertilizing with new, enriching insights.

However, there’s a notable dissimilarity. While a garden has physical boundaries, the mind’s garden is boundless. Its cardboard base is permeable, allowing new ideas and perspectives to percolate through, challenging and enriching the existing bed of knowledge. This fluidity is what makes mental cultivation both challenging and exhilarating.

As I sit here, pencil in hand, pondering these connections, I realize the immense power and responsibility we hold as learners and thinkers. Our minds, like gardens, are ours to tend. We must be vigilant gardeners, discerning in what we allow to take root, yet open to the natural evolution that comes with new learning and experiences.

Today, as I continue both in the garden and in my intellectual pursuits, I carry with me this analogy – a reminder of the careful, yet open-minded approach required in cultivating not just plants, but ideas, beliefs, and knowledge. It’s a reaffirmation that the mind, much like a garden, flourishes best with both structure and openness, discipline and curiosity.

The Fabric of Endurance

As I sit in the Pencil Pit, the early light filtering through the barn, my mind weaves through the events of yesterday, each a thread in the complex fabric of endurance and perseverance.

In my morning pages, Project 55 took me on an imagined walk across the ‘back 40’, a journey interspersed with thoughts of my great-grandparents’ arduous trek to these very lands in the late 1900s. I visualized them, all six, journeying in a wagon to 80 acres of untamed wilderness, no house, no barn, just the wild embrace of nature. As I walked, pencil in hand, tracing the echoes of their footsteps, I tried to fathom their hardships, the enormity of starting from nothing but sheer will and hope.

Later, the theme of endurance continued as I accompanied my eldest son to Fort Payne for a new chapter in his truck-driving career. Watching him begin anew, with the unexpected delight of a new Peterbilt, filled me with a mix of pride and contemplation. Driving his pickup truck back, I pondered the challenges he faces – the long hours, the constant vigilance on the road, the solitude of the cab, the disjointed rest at noisy truck stops. His world, so different from mine, yet bound by a common thread of endurance and resilience.

Returning home, Jon and I resumed our work on the wooden garden bed in garden #2. The methodical process of cutting boards, driving stakes, and assembling the frame was a dance of patience and effort. Finishing it, ready to start the filling process, was a testament to our combined persistence. Yet, even this accomplishment seemed to pale in comparison to the pioneering hardships of my great-grandparents or the daily trials my son faces on the road.

This morning, as I ponder these three disparate yet interconnected experiences, I see a pattern emerging – the enduring human spirit. Each story, from my ancestors’ struggle to carve out a life, to my son’s journey in his trucking career, and our efforts in building the garden bed, speaks of the resilience required to face life’s challenges.

What do they share? A relentless pushing against life’s resistances, a determination to overcome, to build, to move forward. What’s dissimilar? The context and the scale, yet, fundamentally, the essence of struggle and triumph remains constant.

These reflections offer a lesson in appreciation and perspective. They remind me of the relative ease of my current endeavors compared to the trials of past generations or the challenges my son faces. They teach me gratitude for the progress made, for the paths paved by those who came before, and for the opportunities available to us today.

As I continue my day, these thoughts linger, shaping my approach to life’s challenges. They remind me to approach each task, no matter how mundane or arduous, with a sense of purpose and a recognition of the larger continuum of effort and resilience that defines not just my family’s history, but the human experience. It’s a reminder that our struggles, past and present, are not just obstacles but opportunities to forge strength, character, and a legacy of perseverance.

Weaving Reality with Imagined Threads

As dawn breaks over the Pencil Pit, my barn sanctuary where imagination and reality often intertwine, I find myself reflecting on the essence of Project 55. This entirely imagined writing assignment from my past – a task to describe Thanksgiving Day at age 69, as envisioned by my 14-year-old self – has become a canvas for creativity and reflection.

Yesterday, I continued this journey through Project 55 during my Morning Pages. Walking across the creek to the ‘back 40’, a place rich in familial history, I was deeply immersed in this fictional narrative. Each step seemed to bridge the gap between my teenage imagination and my current reality, blending the echoes of my great grandfather’s legacy with the whimsical projections of a young mind.

Later in the day, the task of building a new raised bed for the garden with Jon anchored me back to the tangible present. Or did it? The lines began to blur. Was this activity too part of the imagined world of Project 55, or was it a concrete part of my day? This interplay between doing and imagining led me to ponder the nature of our experiences. In what ways do our imaginative projections and our real-life actions intersect and influence each other?

In Project 55, my younger self’s task of predicting the future, particularly imagining marital life, reflects the boundless possibilities of imagination. Fast forward to the present, and the act of constructing a garden bed, seemingly real and practical, might also be tinted with the hues of imagination – a future harvest, a vision of lush growth.

This morning, as I sit pencil in hand, I am struck by how our lives are a constant dance between the tangible and the imagined. Each action, each decision, is layered with both the weight of reality and the lightness of imagined possibilities. The building of the garden bed, whether real or imagined, is not just a physical act but also a symbol of planting seeds for future growth, much like the imagined narratives of Project 55.

So, what do these reflections reveal about life? They underscore the power of our imagination to shape our reality. Even as we engage in the routine tasks of our daily lives, there’s a part of us that is always dreaming, always creating. Our imagined futures and pasts are not just idle fantasies; they are integral to our understanding of ourselves and the world around us.

In the Pencil Pit, surrounded by the tangible remnants of my past and the limitless possibilities of my imagination, I find a profound beauty in this interplay. It’s a reminder that life is not just lived but also imagined, and in this imagination lies the true richness of our existence.

Layers of Imagination and Reality

Here in the Pencil Pit, my fingers warmed by the steady movement of pencil on paper, I find myself unraveling the layered tapestry of yesterday’s experiences. Project 55 and my routine bike ride, both, in their unique ways, brought to the fore the concept of layers – in imagination, in preparation, in life.

Continuing with Project 55 during my Morning Pages, I realized that I had strayed from Mrs. Stamps’ original assignment. Instead of focusing solely on Thanksgiving Day in 2023, I had been oscillating between 1968 and 2023. This realization prompted me to create a more structured outline, strictly adhering to the 2023 scenario. Yet, as imagination would have it, the narrative took a whimsical turn. In a fictional reminisce during the Thanksgiving gathering, I imagined bringing up Project 55, revealing a playful twist where my younger self envisioned marrying Susan, Joanie’s cousin, instead of Joanie – both figments of my imagination, yet humorously at odds with each other. The power of fiction indeed! It’s intriguing how Project 55, initially an assignment from the past, is evolving, taking on a life of its own in the present.

Parallel to this unfolding of layered imagination was my 16-mile bike ride. Unlike the previous day, there was no rain, but the biting cold at 38 degrees was a stark reminder of my need for proper biking attire. It’s funny, isn’t it, how life often mirrors our internal states? Just as I needed to layer my clothing to adapt to the changing weather, my Project 55 required a layering of imagination – a stacking of stories, scenarios, and possibilities, one over the other, to create a coherent narrative.

Sitting here this morning, I’m struck by how these seemingly unrelated events connect. Both are about being prepared – in writing, to adhere to the constraints of an assignment while allowing creativity to flourish; in biking, to equip myself against the elements. They are also about the depth and complexity that layers bring, whether it’s in a story or in shielding oneself against the cold.

In life, we often find ourselves layering – experiences, memories, knowledge. Each layer adds depth, context, and richness to our existence. They protect us, much like clothing against the cold, and they allow us to delve deeper into the realms of imagination, much like a well-crafted narrative.

As I ponder these connections, I realize that life, in many ways, is about finding the right balance in these layers. Too few, and we might find ourselves unprepared or lacking depth. Too many, and we risk losing clarity or becoming burdened.

In the quiet of the barn, surrounded by the remnants of yesterday’s thoughts and today’s revelations, I appreciate this dance of layering. It’s a delicate balance, a continuous adjustment, much like the art of living itself.

The Unpredictability of Preparation

Seated in the Pencil Pit, my sanctuary of creativity and contemplation, I find myself reflecting on the parallels between two seemingly disparate experiences from yesterday – the continuation of Project 55 and a challenging bike ride.

Project 55, a dive into my past, has me revisiting an assignment from Mrs. Stamps, my 9th grade English teacher. Tasked in 1968 with envisioning my life 55 years in the future, I remember how my 14-year-old self struggled to project a life at age 69. Marriage seemed like a distant, foggy concept. I chose a girl from church to be my future wife, not out of affection or foresight, but more as a placeholder, a way to complete the assignment. It was an exercise in uncertainty, a young boy’s attempt to make sense of a future too far to comprehend.

Contrast this with yesterday’s bike ride – a 16-mile journey under a cold, relentless rain. I found myself woefully underprepared, lacking the right clothing for the weather. The struggle wasn’t just physical; it was a mental grappling with my own lack of foresight.

Connecting these two moments, I see a thread of unpreparedness weaving through. As a teenager, I couldn’t prepare for a future I couldn’t envision. As an adult, I sometimes find myself in situations, like the bike ride, where I’m caught off guard, underprepared for the immediate challenges.

Yet, there’s a deeper connection here, one that transcends the mere act of being unprepared. It’s about the inherent unpredictability of life. At 14, how could I have known whom I would marry, or the myriad turns my life would take? Similarly, even with experience and age, can we ever be truly prepared for all that life throws our way?

These reflections lead me to consider the nature of preparation itself. Maybe it’s not always about having all the answers or the right gear. Perhaps it’s more about the ability to adapt, to make the best of what we have in the moment. In Project 55, my young self did just that – I adapted to the task with the limited understanding I had. And on the bike ride, despite being cold and wet, I adapted and persevered through the miles.

As I write this, pencil in hand, in the early light of the barn, I realize that life is a constant balancing act between preparation and adaptation. We plan, we foresee, but often we find ourselves in situations that our preparations didn’t account for. It’s in these moments that our resilience is tested, and our ability to adapt becomes our greatest asset.

So, as I ponder the connection between a school assignment from decades ago and a rainy bike ride, I’m reminded that being unprepared isn’t always a failure; sometimes, it’s just a part of the human experience. And perhaps, in recognizing this, we find a way to be better prepared for the unpredictable journey of life.

Project 55 and the Improbable Touchdown

As I sit in the Pencil Pit, my barn-turned-writing room, the morning light filters through, casting a warm glow over my thoughts. My mind is a blend of past and present, memories and recent experiences weaving together in a curious tapestry.

Yesterday, I embarked on “Project 55” during my Morning Pages routine. It’s a journey back to 1968 when Mrs. Stamps, my 9th-grade English teacher, set us a unique assignment: to describe our Thanksgiving Day 55 years in the future. That future is now, Thanksgiving 2023. As I scribbled down my thoughts, pencil in hand, I couldn’t help but marvel at how time has flown and how the vivid imagination of a 14-year-old now contrasts with the reality of a 69-year-old man’s life.

Later in the day, a different kind of marvel unfolded – the Alabama-Auburn game. The climax of the match was nothing short of what some would call a miracle. Alabama, trailing 20-24, faced a seemingly impossible fourth and goal at the 31-yard line. Yet, in an extraordinary turn of events, quarterback Jalen Milroe connected with Isaiah Bond for a touchdown. It was a moment that defied the odds, a testament to the unpredictability and thrill of sports.

Reflecting on these two disparate moments, I find a peculiar connection. Project 55, spanning over half a century, was an exercise in forecasting the future, in predicting the unpredictable. Similarly, the game’s final play was about defying the odds, about something highly improbable becoming reality. Both instances, in their essence, are about the unforeseen twists of life.

Yet, the touchdown, as miraculous as it seemed, was also a reminder of the natural order of things. In the countless games of football played, moments like these are bound to occur. They are statistical probabilities in the grand scheme of things. This realization grounds the ‘miracle’ in reality, in the realm of possibility where the natural world operates. It’s a reminder that even in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds, there’s always a chance, however slim, for a different outcome.

Project 55 and the touchdown – both are about the passage of time, the dance of chance and probability, and the human penchant for looking ahead, for imagining and striving. As I write in the Pencil Pit, surrounded by the echoes of my past and the presence of my present, I am reminded of the beauty and uncertainty of life. It’s a journey of expectations and surprises, of predictions and outcomes that sometimes align and often don’t.

In these early hours, I ponder over the intersecting lines of time and chance, of memories and present moments, all converging in the quiet of my writing haven. Life, much like football, is unpredictable, and yet, within its unpredictability lies its most profound beauty and excitement.

Dreams, Memories, and the Resilience of Nature

In the stillness of the Pencil Pit, my sanctuary nestled within the barn, I find myself reflecting on the curious blend of dreams and realities that have filled my recent nights and days. The quiet here is a stark contrast to the vibrant, sometimes puzzling narratives that my mind weaves in sleep, and the tangible, earthy tasks of the waking hours.

Last night, the world of dreams took an unexpected turn. I found myself wandering the aisles of Walmart, a mundane setting transformed by the appearance of an old friend who passed away from Covid. There he was, as real as the memories we shared, yet distant, a part of a world I could no longer reach. I awoke before I could ask him about his experience, left only with the echo of his presence and a lingering sense of unfinished conversation. It’s curious how dreams can resurrect the past, blurring the lines between what was and what could have been.

This encounter with a ghost of sorts was in stark contrast to yesterday’s activities. Jon and I tackled the old pine tree that had been lying in the backyard for months. It was the same one that fell mid-summer across our gravel road, which we had to pull with the tractor for half a mile. Cutting it up, piece by piece, felt like dismantling a monument to nature’s unexpected turns. Each slice of the chainsaw through the wood was a reminder of the resilience and impermanence of life.

The day’s work didn’t end there. With our trusty 1975 John Deere tractor, Jon and I reclaimed a 16-foot hog panel, once entangled in vines, from the woods. This panel–with a 4×4 attached lengthwise–which we used to drag behind the disc harrow for garden prep in spring, was a relic of past labors and seasons. Wrestling it from the grasp of nature, which had claimed it as its own, was a testament to the ongoing dance between human endeavor and the wildness of the land.

In these morning hours, as I write, the threads of dreams and the day’s work intertwine. They speak of loss and recovery, of the past re-emerging in unexpected ways, and of the relentless cycle of nature and time. The fallen tree, the reclaimed hog panel, and the dream of my departed friend – each tells a story of change, resilience, and the enduring connections that shape our lives.

Here, in the Pencil Pit, surrounded by the tools of my craft and the quiet of the early day, I find a space to ponder these experiences. It’s a place where dreams can be unraveled, and the day’s work can be understood as part of a larger, ever-unfolding story. As the light filters through the barn windows, casting shadows that dance across the floor, I’m reminded that our lives are a tapestry of the tangible and the ethereal, the physical and the remembered, each strand woven by the hands of time.

I sat in the Pencil Pit, staring at the blank page. The early morning light filtered in through the barn window, illuminating specks of dust floating gently in the air. It was quiet except for the scratching of chickens outside.

Writer’s block had firmly planted itself between me and the page again. I knew I needed to write my regular Morning Mental Meanderings blog post, but no words came. I reread the quote by Charles Bukowski that I had scribbled down last night – “writing about a writer’s block is better than not writing at all.”

With a sigh, I picked up my favorite #2 pencil and began:

I gazed at the empty page, willing words to flow but finding none. Bukowski’s advice rattled around in my head…maybe writing about the block itself would help dislodge it. My mind felt stuffed with cotton, mute and tangled. I longed for the relief that came with a free flowing stretch of typing on my old typewriter, when the words tumble out almost faster than my arthritic fingers can catch them.

But for now, there was only the oppressive blankness glaring back at me. The vast whiteness seemed to mock me. You call yourself a writer? After decades as a small town lawyer, you thought retirement would make you an author overnight? What a joke. I shook my graying head and shifted in the creaky wooden chair. The morning sunlight felt harsh now instead of comforting. The chickens’ cackling sounded more smug by the minute.

With a deep breath, I lowered my eyes to the hateful blank page again. Bukowski was right – just acknowledging the block was better than ignoring it and giving up completely. The words would come again, eventually. I just had to sit with the discomfort and not lose hope.

Dipping my #2 pencil once more, I began drafting a description of the fickle muse’s abandonment. Might as well make use of the empty time by writing ABOUT not writing…