A quick update on things: Yes indeed, “The Crafty Huntsman” is still coming along. However, I’m going to be gone for a week or more, so updates are going to resume after I get back.
Also, if you want to support my work but don’t want to commit to a subscription, you can pick up something cool and give a small donation in the process: either my modern version of one of the oldest Robin Hood ballads or my photo zine documenting the end of an era for journalism. No obligation, though. I’m just glad you’re here, enjoying what you find. Anyway, on with this week’s story.
Friday
It was getting to be too much again.
The talk at work was about summer vacation restaurants to check out—which overpriced coastal tourist trap had the most enticing selection of neon-colored alcohol that presumably looks good on Instagram. Downtown, a handful of kids sat in the shade, immersed in their phones and oblivious to any reality that might exist beyond them. Closer to home, one of my neighbors started complaining about the neighborhood cats and bragged about the number of times he’s called animal control.
Later, while trying to find a message from a few weeks, ago, I sifted through company emails I never remember signing up for. They were telling me how to optimize my life with their new 3-6-9 productivity journal. How to grow my business with AI Enhance. That I shouldn’t forget to have a refreshing summer with their cold-foam lattes. I thumbed through hundreds of opportunities to build, be, do, thrive, and celebrate.
I hit my limit at the grocery store.
In the parking garage, I saw several empty packages of protein-infused, antioxidant-packed potato chips, made from organic and sustainably sourced farms, strewn about a shopping cart that was two feet from an empty trash can.
I don’t want to deal with any of this shit, I thought. I need to do something else.
My wife and daughter would be out of town for the weekend. I’m going to trace the peninsula.
Friday night
I had this vague idea a few weeks back—spend a day of perambulation around the entire peninsula, taking my camera and doing whatever there is to do, wherever I happened to go. No map, no directions or advice articles and for crying out loud, never, ever using my phone for anything. My digital albatross would be deliberately placed in the void between the driver’s seat and the cupholders—still in the car but impossible to access. Following my intuition and talking to people in physical reality would be my only to-do list items. There would be no need for productivity journaling.
I charged up my camera batteries and waited for morning.
Saturday
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