Turned out to be a beautiful day to visit a local farmer’s market. Nice to be in the community, in a historic part of town, and smell the delicious smell of green chile roasting. A little bit of all my favorite things.

I’ve had a blog in some form or other since 2005. I’ve run the gamut starting with a Yahoo-based community, to an independent self-hosted Wordpress site, to Twitter, Tumblr, and beyond. Somewhere along the way, social media took hold, and the time I used to spend writing was shifted elsewhere. I rallied a few years back, decided that self-hosting was becoming too time-consuming, and switched to Squarespace. It was easy enough to design a site on there, but had a higher barrier to clear for posting.

This, of course, is not the fault of the platform (or any platform), so much as my own circumstance. Managing life and work meant I had less time to tinker, so Wordpress became less optimal. Similarly, the challenges posed with navigating Squaresapce to be able to post were enough that I didn’t find it simple, convenient, or enjoyable to do so. And honestly, when I think of the process to do so, what I think was that the barrier to entry and post for other platforms, especially social media platforms, was so low, that anything beyond that felt cumbersome.

Recently, I restructured a business I’ve run for several years, and needed to shift the Squarespace site to that, which left me without a place for my personal website and writing. I figured, with Gutenberg, the time would be ripe to return to Wordpress and I’d happily shift gears. Turns out, I was wrong. Much as I used to love blogging through Wordpress, in its current form it feels far more overwhelming than it once did. Many themes are now frameworks, and suggest anywhere from one to four (for less complex themes) additional plug-ins in order work “ideally”. For a hobbyist like me, the last couple of weeks I’ve found myself fiddling with themes, plug-ins, deleting everything and re-installing it, and more, only to find it’s just not pleasant for me to use. Writing online was once my favorite thing to do online, and the limitations, it seem now, was part of the fun of it.

I’d heard of other blogging systems which were static, and appealing for that simplicity. Jekyll is a better-known one, but the barrier to entry is higher given that I’m not a programmer. I learned about newer CMS systems called “flat file CMS”, which seem to blend traditional CMS systems with static systems, opting for folder-based architectures. Of the ones I tried, my favorite was Grav, in part because of the nice graphical admin panel you can install. This week, to further explore, I tried out Netlify with some one-click installs to Github of both Hugo and Gatsby on their NetlifyCMS platform.

I like the idea of all these platforms, but as someone who is neither a programmer nor a web developer, they felt overwhelming to me. After a while, I remember backing Micro.blog on kickstarter, and while I started my account after it funded, I really didn’t make much effort to use it. It felt abstract, and I spent most of my time away from the Internet anyway. I logged back in, re-read some of the intro documentation, and realized that it hits that sweet spot that I’ve been looking for. It’s light-weight, designed for writing, and allows me to own all my writing, so I can keep export it at will whenever I need. It’s great for short status updates, but capable of long-form writing too. I even love how it handles photos. And the best part? The hosting is handled directly, and it has excellent iOS integration, so it’s easy for me to write from my iPad Pro, which is my favorite device for writing.

A while back, I was musing, very briefly, how to make use of my site here. I didn’t make much effort beyond that to try, but I think now I have a good idea.

There’s never enough hours in the day, I tell myself. I’ve bit off more than I can chew. I’m exceptionally busy and always tired. I’m late to bed and early to rise. I promise to get together with friends and then never seem to be able to find the time. Where does it all go?

In thinking about my life of late, I’ve realized I work a lot, and when I’m not working, I don’t quite know what to do with myself. It’s like I’ve forgotten what I used to enjoy doing for fun. I was once an avid reader, and an equally avid writer. I write for work a great deal, I remind myself, so that gets in the way of writing for pleasure.

But does it?

I’ve come across two timely texts which have me thinking otherwise. One was this podcast interview with neuroscientist Dr. Matthew Walker (caveat: I’m not a regular listener of Joe Rogan, and won’t become one; that said, this was a fascinating conversation) who discussed his book Why We Sleep. I’ve gone longer than I’m comfortable with averaging 6-7 hours of sleep and am actively working on changing that.

The second text is Digital Minimalism, and I’ve been fascinated by the concept of solitude deprivation. I’ve noticed that when I’m bored, I don’t know what to do with myself, but picking up my phone is easy. I don’t post to social media these days, but I certainly do my share of lurking. It’s not a productive use of time, and in monitoring my habits over the past week or so, it’s been instructive to realize just how many micro-interruptions I actively seek out while I should be focused. Today, a leisure day, shows I’ve picked up my phone 84 times, approximately 6 times per hour. That’s a staggering amount of time for a day which held no obligation, but less than my average of 118 pickups per day, according to my iPhone. I like to assume I use my phone less than average, with these kinds of numbers I have my doubts about that.

I suspect what I’m learning about myself is almost certainly a combination of the two ideas above: lack of sleep reduces focus (and therefore inhibitions) and increases my need for stimulation, and solitude deprivation has me seeking out stimulation when I don’t quite know what to do with time I’ve been trying to set aside for quiet and leisure rather than simply more work.

What’s also interesting is that, in starting to read Digital Minimalism, I briefly thought about pulling up GoodReads and marking it as “currently reading”. I’ve been using GoodReads to encourage myself to read more, and appreciate its annual goal of reading a certain number of books. Of course, there’s a bit of pressure and stress if I don’t read those books, and Amazon (who bought GoodReads a few years back, perhaps to prevent a competitor from selling books but also to get access to lots of sweet, sweet user data) likely takes the information about my reading preferences and habits and finds new ways to serve me ads for additional sales.

I’ve followed Austin Kleon for some time, and I like how he simply blogs about books he’s reading and then tags them with the year. This allows him to write about certain ideas that inspire different lines of thought not as they relate to the book itself, but to what he’s thinking about on any given day. It makes for much more interesting reading for others, I find, and reminds you that the time you read a book in your life can be just as impactful as the words in the book.

If I take the time to read, and then write and reflect on what I’m reading and experiencing, who knows what I’ll be able to learn about life, and myself, in the process.

And maybe, or perhaps probably, I’ll find that ever-elusive time to get to know myself once again.

Leading up to this vacation, it was all I could do to talk about how I wanted to try paddle boarding. “It’ll be great,” I said, “a chance to literally work on centering myself and enjoying the water at the same time.” This was true in many ways.

What’s fascinating about paddle boarding is that it looks deceptively easy. When you watch experienced boarders, they stand smoothly atop the board, looking out at the water and gliding gently along. The reality of riding for the first time was much different for me. I fell off the board within a minute of climbing on, and spent the next hour or so doing the same. Climb atop the board, center myself, climb to my knees, align myself upright on my knees, lean forward to place hands on the board, steady the board, try to climb up to my feet, and then fall unceremoniously back into the water.

After about 30 minutes, I managed to stand upright, and following a few tip from a leathery-looking older gentleman who passed smoothly toward me and then visited for a few minutes, I was finally able to stand up completely, being sure to keep my knees bent and allowing them to move as needed to navigate the waves. It’s incredibly challenging and requires a great deal of concentration (including on breathing, as I found myself holding my breath half the time in anticipation).

Where kayaking is something I have a history with, which allows my mind to wander, paddle boarding required my full, undivided attention. Fall enough times and at least the surprise element of hitting the water becomes less frantic, but it’s clear that this is going to take additional, dedicated practice in order to get the hang of it.

Part of this trip for me was about taking time to relax, reconnect with myself, and enjoy. Another part of this trip has been about trying new things, especially things I’d never even considered in the past. Paddle boarding is one such thing, and I’m looking forward to giving it ago once again.

The last time I rode in a kayak was nearly 13 years ago. I remember loving how I was so close to the water that I felt a part of it, and could reach in and feel it at any time. Going out in a kayak on a nice calm lake invited a sense of peace like nothing I’d experienced in my life until I spent a few summers on a lake, and it’s stuck with me as a favorite way to disconnect with the world outside of me, and reconnect with myself.

Riding a kayak is one of those things where the repetition of the task allows your mind to wander, something I seem to have less and less space for nowadays. Kayaking requires a certain amount of focus on your surroundings, the direction of the wind, and how far you can ride before you only have enough energy to get back. It also allows for a chance to take in nature, and appreciate it exactly as it is.

Today I broke that 13 year span and finally hopped into a kayak again. A different place this time, and even a new style kayak, but the moment I was seated and had paddle in hand, I was right back to that sense of calm I’ve long loved about it.

I opted to leave all manner of technology behind on the shore. I love photography, and didn’t bring my phone or my camera (in this case, my phone is acting as my only camera on this trip). I enjoy taking photos of what I’m up to, either to share with others or to reflect on myself later. I was an early adopter of social media and one who used to laugh and share pictures of random things with the caption “current status”. I joked with others who understood that what a shared picture of lunch wasn’t just about that, it was about connecting with others. The Internet brought a bunch of strangers together who had one thing in common: we all loved the Internet and we all used its varying means of publication to express ourselves.

Fast forward a bit and it’s clear that some companies recognized a way to make money off this fervent sense of connection. If they knew what we liked to do, where we liked to go, what we liked to eat, and more, they could sell advertising to places to market directly to us. Our silly sense of sharing was exploited for someone else’s gain, and those large companies sought more and more of our attention, our time, and then our pictures and our words. “Just post it here,” they’d beckon. No need to post anywhere else, we’ll handle everything for you. And slowly but surely, our every thought, photo, conversation, and quip came to be shared in those places.

Bloggers have given way to “influencers” and social media stars, who wield extreme numbers of followers and whose every move can be scrutinized and whose following count is taken a sign of how trustworthy they might be. More followers? They must have their finger on the pulse.

On this beautiful day, I had no camera, and no phone on which to document my journey through the bay. Nothing to capture the ducks floating nearby, the mansions along the beach, or the sailboats cruising by, their vibrant colored sails majestic against the gray marine layer above. No way to take a video to show the movement of the water or show off how far I went. No selfie on the kayak to prove that I was there and that I had a delightful time.

Instead, I had a kayak to myself on a cloudy day. I rode where I felt like riding, stretched back and let the tide rock me, and let a sense of calm overcome me. It’s been quite some time since I’ve had a moment to feel such peace. In a world that feels ever more frenzied, ever more scary, ever more intense, it’s these moments which matter more than ever. We can do something about it. Find yourself a kayak, walk a trail outside, ride a bike, read a book. Lose yourself in the moment and let it take you somewhere you didn’t expect to go.

I pre-ordered Austin Kleon’s latest book, Keep Going, and it arrived this week. True to the other two books, it’s an easy and deceptively thought-provoking read. It’s a nice reminder to find ways to reconnect with yourself, and even to try new things.

When I started writing online, I had a 12-inch iBook G4 and TextEdit, the built-in text editor for Mac. It was on that little laptop that I started to develop a voice with my writing, and where I first came to realize I like to write at all.

I’ve written here before how graduate school, life, and work sapped me of energy to write here, and to let my thoughts just flow where they wanted to. I didn’t realize it at the time, but social media certainly impacted that, too.

Lately, I’ve been craving a return to a simpler way of life. Less moving parts, less small bites of many things, and more time to explore my own thoughts, interests, and enjoyments.

In keeping with thoughts of work, I recently read Atul Gawande’s excellent piece on why doctors hate their computers. While thinking about it today, I also was thinking about Austin Kleon’s frequent use of blackout poetry to visualize and reframe what he’s writing about.

Having never done one before, I decided to give it a try, and the above piece is the result, using the text from Atul Gawande’s piece.

I’ve been thinking recently about how much we’re asked to have an opinion about something. It’s an interesting concept to consider for a blogger, who has for years, off and on, written my opinion about things. Lately, though, my thoughts have turned to the many small opinions being requested of us on increasingly constant basis.

Rate your experience with your meal.

Rate the effectiveness of your customer service representative.

Rate and write a review of an app.

Rate how likely you are to recommend us to a friend.

What did we do well?

What could we do better?

Rate this book, this movie, this podcast.

In our frenzy for data, we’ve practically removed enjoyment for enjoyment’s sake.

When everything is compared to everything else (and then to itself), what’s left to just sit back and say, “I enjoyed this”?

It doesn’t have to be the best, it just has to be enjoyed in the moment. And if it’s enjoyed, I daresay it was probably worthwhile.

My good friend Jana Pochop has a Kickstarter campaign to help her produce her fourth solo album. She and I go back quite a ways, introduced because I was friends with one of her roommates in college. I’ve long been a fan of music, and played my share of it over the years, and I used to love hearing Jana play and sing in random places around campus. She’s always been a talented songwriter, and she keeps getting better. Her folk rap anthem Money and Heart is a definite favorite, even if some bias might be at play here, since I used to frequent those coffee shops to hang out with her and watch her play.

Check out her music on iTunes and support a great indie musician, or on Spotify if that’s your jam. Austin Kleon has recently been reminding the world why we need artists now more than ever. I’m grateful for Jana’s friendship and love her music. I’m happy to support her making more of it.