2019: no gentler than expected

This year, I stopped…

writing letters.
reading books.
writing stories.
going dancing.

I stopped.

But here are some things I did do:

I took the intensive one-week training known simply as Leader Week.
I took a summer leadership course.
I passed the Wilderness First Responder training.
I juggled a long-distance writing internship and a full semester’s class load.

And, friends, despite all they’d have you believe of knights and dragons, I set out on an adventure with Crusader, sword-and-flame side by side.

I’m still here. Still not sleeping. Still not giving up.

For Want of Wonder

“The world will never starve for want of wonders; but only for want of wonder.” – G. K. Chesterton, Tremendous Trifles.

Reader be warned, this is not quite a essay on wonder and joy in daily life, and not quite a book-review for Tremendous Trifles; it seems to have become an odd and long amalgam of both.

Some kind onlooker from above must have been nudging me today, for it was absolutely by chance that I stumbled on a trove of free Chesterton books on Gutenberg and picked up Tremendous Trifles. Barely an essay or two into Chesterton’s delightful ramblings, and he’d made it clear to me exactly what idea of small joys had been tugging at the fringes of my brain for a week now, a reflection that I’d been longing to write without knowing quite what I meant to say.

“We may, by fixing our attention almost fiercely on the facts actually before us, force them to turn into adventures; force them to give up their meaning and fulfill their mysterious purpose.”

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keep breathing

A point is that which has no part, a line is breadthless length. There is a theoretical thought where parallel lines meet, and the angle of a circle to the perpendicular of its diameter is less than a right angle and greater than everything else. Nature is an intrinsic principle of motion, and luck an accidental cause. Gilgamesh is the first epic story we have record of, and mankind was already grappling with glory and death, already keenly aware that we are and are not something more than dust on the wind. God wrote the world word by shining word but every step we make is mortal choice.

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Beware the Nuthatches

“Beware of the nuthatches,” my roommate says seriously.

“Oh no.”

“But there’s only three,” she adds, reassuringly. “This is a nuthatch behind me.” Apparently one of the museum-quality oil paintings hanging over her bed, all painted herself, has been one of this deceitful and alarming race of nuthatches the entire time.

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