Back.

It has been six years since I’ve posted. For a while now, I’ve been feeling the desire to log the things that I enjoy, discover, miss, feel, think – the things that pique my curiosity and catalyze delves into my unknown. A topic for another day is why I don’t feel “safe” doing so on the main social media platforms, but as I considered just where to house this stuff for myself, this blog came to mind. I tried to log in, but I had forgotten the password. The usual few digital steps later, I was in.

I scrolled a little, expecting to cringe at the cliché fauxriginality, but honestly, there were some phrases I was pretty impressed by. That idiot had the cognizance to say that? Not bad, Nick. Not bad. More and more, I’ve found compassion for that person – that kid – who was sifting through the absurd amidst the terrifying twenties of his life. The twenties of our century, well, that may prove to be a same-same-but-different flavor of terrifying, but I am reminded that hope is a choice. “It” is not yet over, but we all have this growing confirmation that “it” is indeed heading for “that” ending. How soon? How can it possibly be okay, given that “that” is how “it” will end? These are themes that bothered that kid, and they bother this man (when did I become comfortable labeling myself as such?). But, with what time I have left – what time we have left – I want to reasonably commit to sharing, exploring, building, changing, learning, paying homage, and yes, fucking emoting when appropriate.

I hope this finds you well. And good. In the coming spring and summer months here in America, I intend to go into the depths. Given the ongoing health crisis and potential effects of its mishandling here in the richest nation in the history of the world, we can delay no longer. It may be too late to save what might have been, but one day soon it will be too late to find the others. To try to do that without diving to the depths seems akin to hunting for treasure without any map. Clear the table; heat the ink. Bring me my tankard and quill.

No one can tell what goes on in between the person you were and the person you become. No one can chart that blue and lonely section of Hell. There are no maps of the change. You just come out the other side – or you don’t.

– Stephen King