I am a part of all that I have met; Yet all experience is an arch wherethro’ Gleams that untravell’d world whose margin fades — Alfred Tennyson, Ulysses
There is a call to experience that draws us out into the world. Each experience in turn informs—there is still more awaiting us. The proper answer to the call is to keep going, to keep doing interesting things that expand our horizon. This is the life of discovery and wonder. It is ours for simply taking the bold next step into the unknown. We are a part of all that we have met, yet all that remains extends far beyond our capacity to reach it.
There is a price for all things. To explore the untraveled world means less time in the garden, less time being present in the lives of our close circle, less time in our familiar routine. But less time is the curse of all humans. Every day we wake to a new day we have less time. When we come to accept this we learn to focus on making the most of the shrinking time we have.
Is the siren the call to experience or the call to home? Does it prompt us or haunt us? Are we to be dashed on the rocks chasing the wrong passion, or doomed to wander forever, never reaching home? We cannot live in fear of possibilities, but simply strive to close the gap between where we are and what we dream to do and be and see in the time we have left.
As wave is driven by wave And each, pursued, pursues the wave ahead, So time flies on and follows, flies, and follows, Always, for ever and new. What was before Is left behind; what never was is now; And every passing moment is renewed. — Ovid, Metamorphoses, Book XV
We are forever transformed by what was. If we take this to be true, then it follows that what will be will be realized because of what we do now. Our lives are thus reinvented one day to the next, right to the end of our days. We may choose to do something with each precious moment to ensure tomorrow renews with promise, or concede our agency to fate and the whim of others.
Each week passes by more quickly than the last. Seven days feel like three, four weeks feel like two. So what do the years feel like? Shockingly brief time capsules marking each stage of life before the next wave is upon us. Tempus fugit. Our awareness of this rapid flip through days naturally leaves us feeling like we’re forever behind, trying to grasp the moments as they fly past. To seize what flees, as Seneca put it.
The answer isn’t to try to cram more into our moments, but to savor what we’re doing as it’s happening. Thich Nhat Hanh suggested approaching everything, even something as mundane as washing dishes, with mindfulness, that we may process our time more fully. This is it, such that it is. So what does it feel like? What are we making of it? Where will it take us from here?
It’s easy to meditate in the garden or even while washing the dishes. It’s harder to sit in traffic and accept the minutes turning to hours. Each situation presents an opportunity to be fully aware, fully awake, fully alive. We are all works in progress, wave after wave, surfing through time. What is this moment teaching us about our place in it? What does it offer for the moments to come?
Whenever I tell myself to stop writing this blog and use the time for other things, I’m struck by two thoughts. First, I’m a streak-based creature of habit, and I’m not inclined to break this streak just yet. But more to the point, writing is my particular way of processing each wave, for ever and new. I gently place this post in my timeline and face the next wave as it rises before me. The days and weeks and years fly by, marked thusly, for anyone inclined to follow along (I really wanted to use the word thusly in today’s blog, and there it is).
This post will be longer than the norm. Maybe I just don’t want to say farewell to our moment together. But the next wave is rising, and we each must bring our attention to each passing moment as it renews before us. And here it is! So thank you for this time. We both know just how precious it is.
“The important thing is not to stop questioning. Curiosity has its own reason for existence. One cannot help but be in awe when he contemplates the mysteries of eternity, of life, of the marvelous structure of reality. It is enough if one tries merely to comprehend a little of this mystery each day.” ― Albert Einstein
At this point in the blog, dear reader, you may have realized that I am a collector of quotes. I believe it’s because I’m curious about what other people have to say about this journey through life. We are all somewhere along our timeline from here to there. That ought to mean something now, and it tends to mean something different at each phase of the journey. The takeaway is that it means something.
When we are curious we are prompted to seek out interesting. Imagination sparked, we do still more interesting things, which leads to an expansive life of ever more interesting. Like attracts like, and in this way we surround ourselves with people who want more out of life than to drown it out in an endless doom scroll with something to wash it all down. To find delight in this world is simply choosing awareness over distraction.
Curiosity didn’t kill the cat, it saved the cat from a life of boredom and indifference. What mystery is there for discovery? What will we manifest today though our curiosity and inclination to discover? Our search for meaning begins with having a look around and moving towards interesting. It’s certainly beyond where we’ve been thus far.
“The snow doesn’t give a soft white damn whom it touches.” — E.E. Cummings
Have a look around this winter day. How do you feel about snow? Remember, in answering, what we mean to the snow.
One’s relationship with snow often comes down to what one is prioritizing that particular day. When we focus only on the bleak reality of our day, snow tends to be nothing but a barrier. We want to get from here to there, but for the snow. We want to park there, but for the snow. Et cetera.
Alternatively, we may find all the truth in the universe buried like treasure in snow. When we seek council with it, we hear whispers in its silence. When we get out in the world with it gliding or tromping or rolling in it, we find delight revealed in ordinary. When we grab a handful and sculpt it into something alive in our imagination, we are transformed together into artist and form. Temporary and beautiful in this dance with infinity, before one day being transformed again into something else.
Do you see? Like life itself, snow is neutral and indifferent. It’s people who transform it with meaning. So again I ask, how do you feel about snow?
i thank You God for most this amazing day: for the leaping greenly spirits of trees and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything which is natural which is infinite which is yes
(i who have died am alive again today, and this is the sun’s birthday; this is the birth day of life and of love and wings: and of the gay great happening illimitably earth)
how should tasting touching hearing seeing breathing any—lifted from the no of all nothing—human merely being doubt unimaginable You?
(now the ears of my ears awake and now the eyes of my eyes are opened)
— E. E. Cummings, i thank You God for this amazing
We dwell so often on our limitations; Limited time, limited capacity for learning new things or for being patient with the things in our life that overstay their welcome. We are bound by commitments, with reasons, with a lack of imagination for breaking free from all of that and living an expansive life. We are locked into routine and measure our days incrementally. How are we to grow when we are forever held captive by a lack of audacecréatrice(creative audacity)?
To be unbounded and unlimited is of course a fantasy. We all will die one day (memento mori). Infinite growth is not for mere mortals. And yet we may live a far more expansive life than we mortals usually attempt. We are no more and no less than what we do with our time.
Why worry about all that today when we can simply do what must be done and defer hopes and dreams indefinitely? Because now is all we have. Growing into our possibility begins now. It always has and always will be so. But thinking in terms like “always” is its own trap. Because it lets us off the hook of immediacy. We must steer clear of such traps and simply think of now. For this is the birth day of life and of love and wings. So do begin.
Beauty is twice beautiful and goodness is doubly good when it concerns two wools socks in winter. — Pablo Neruda, Ode To A Pair Of Socks
There are two kinds of people in this world. Those who complain about the weather and those who dress for the weather we’ve been blessed to experience this day. The former tend to shelter in place. The latter tend to step out into it. I don’t judge either camp, but I’m clearly in the latter.
While snowshoeing Saturday morning, I came to a split in the trail. I went to the left that morning, breaking trail and returning with the thrill of having been out in it, doing the work of being fully-alive on a bright clear morning. But all that evening I thought about the path not taken. It remained unbroken and unexplored, and with that, I felt incomplete. Those paths not taken have a way of haunting us, don’t they?
The only thing to do was to go out again Sunday morning to see what was left for me. I silently hoped it would be unbroken still, that I might finish what I started. I saw footprints in the snowshoe tracks I’d laid and thought to myself that the opportunity was lost. But the footprints crossed the bridge and then turned back, indicating someone inclined towards common sense. Why continue on trails without the proper gear?
The thing is, I had the proper gear. And so I kept on walking to that fork in the path and turned right onto a gloriously unbroken trail, blazing a path for any who might follow. There is sheer delight to be found in the cold stillness of a pristine snowy forest, so long as you’re prepared to be out in it and have the tools to make your way back out again no matter what.
Having completed that walk, I doubled down with another, bringing the pup to the beach for a second winter walk. That proved far colder with wind chill cutting through our gear. Cold is one thing, cold wind is something else entirely. Even proper winter gear will let you know when it just isn’t enough. We simply have to listen to what nature is telling us.
The pup loves the beach and could have stayed all day but for the wind. Even clad in a winter coat of her own, she knew when we were having too much of a good thing. Sometimes the best thing to do is to step out into it. And sometimes it’s best to simply turn back with stories to tell. Two stories in fact. Twice beautiful, simply for having ventured out to meet them.
Two paths diverged. Hampstead Conservation Land.Snow on dunes. Hampton Beach State Park.
“I wonder if the snow loves the trees and fields, that it kisses them so gently? And then it covers them up snug, you know, with a white quilt; and perhaps it says, “Go to sleep, darlings, till the summer comes again.” ― Lewis Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland
We are having a proper winter in New Hampshire this season. The cold is unrelenting and the snow consistent. It isn’t inclined to melt away when the days are frigid. Instead we have sublimation of the snowpack, and a sting on the skin. As we step into February, I write of the last day of January 2026, and a walk in the woods I’ll remember as particularly remarkable (so much so that I’m remarking on it).
Almost a week after the region’s big snow, I finally had some time available to head to the local conservation area for a walk in the woods on my snowshoes. I went with trepidation, for I know the damage that can happen to a trail after a week of people and their pets post-holing through deep snow. But the parking lot was surprisingly empty for a Saturday morning, and the trails themselves were relatively clean. Post-holed for sure, but it’s been so cold and the snow so fluffy that it wasn’t the icy hellscape I thought it might be.
I still chose to break trail on pristine snow whenever the opportunity presented itself. Making a bee-line across steep terrain from one broken trail towards another. Some of the drifts were pretty deep, almost 4 feet of powder, but my snowshoes were up to the task. Thankfully, so was I!
Large portions of the conservation land’s trail network were completely unbroken. I smiled to myself at the lucky break and braced myself for the work ahead. Breaking trail on snowshoes is a great workout, and I’d gone out by myself with nobody to share the load. This is where being well-acquainted with working out comes in handy. I’m no Olympian, but I can break a trail for a few miles without passing out from the effort.
The larger trail network required an out and back over a bridge spanning wetland. On the way to it the bridge was untouched by anything but snow. On the return, I captured a picture of the trail I’d made on the out and back. It will be interesting to see what it looks like today, with a broken trail that others may have since walked.
In one section, I revisited a town border marker that someone has since painted white with red lettering to make it more obvious to visitors. A is for Atkinson. There’s an H on the other side for Hampstead. Most of the trail network covers the latter town.
For all my time in nature on this snowshoe walk, I didn’t see much in the way of wildlife (It’s not like I’m sneaking up on anybody marching across the snow). Ironically, when I drove home afterwards, a neighbor excitedly told me he’d had three bald eagles in a tree in his yard not more than 30 minutes before. Now we’ve had a lot of wildlife moving through the neighborhood over the years, but none of us had ever seen a bald eagle, let alone three of them together. I’m sure that they’re hungry, and with the rivers frozen over they are scoping out the local valleys to expand their menu.
The odds were against seeing them still in the area, but I recruited the dog for a walk of the neighborhood to see if one would return. Sure enough, I was blessed with a fly-over by one of them. There’s no mistaking an eagle soaring over the landscape, and it was a thrill to see it. By the time I had my phone out to snap a picture it was already past me gliding towards open fields beyond the woods. It was a great way to cap a Saturday morning in snowy New Hampshire.
Four Seasons fill the measure of the year; There are four seasons in the mind of man: He has his lusty Spring, when fancy clear Takes in all beauty with an easy span: He has his Summer, when luxuriously Spring’s honied cud of youthful thought he loves To ruminate, and by such dreaming high Is nearest unto heaven: quiet coves His soul has in its Autumn, when his wings He furleth close; contented so to look On mists in idleness—to let fair things Pass by unheeded as a threshold brook. He has his Winter too of pale misfeature, Or else he would forego his mortal nature. — John Keats, The Human Seasons
I’ll admit that I don’t often revisit Keats poems, but when I do, it’s usually in the cold, dark winter months. This morning the dog food stored in the garage was frozen (frozen!), so I had to bring it in to thaw so the pup could have a bit of wet food mixed in with her dry. These are first world problems I admit, but on the last day of January 2026, let it be known that I fasted in sympathy with the dog until her food thawed out.
Today is just another day forgoing mortal nature, but there are only so many days. We ought to live like we were dying, as that twangy formulaic song goes. To kick mortality down the curb with a better fitness routine and better choices about what we eat. To read and learn and sharpen the senses while sharpening is still possible. To go and do while going and doing are still in the cards for people in our particular season. Our routine determines the season we find ourselves in as much as the accumulation of years does. We mustn’t get old before our time.
Consider that Keats poem again. The man was frisky! Delighting in lusty Spring and satiated Summer, acknowledging that in Autumn he was more inclined to let the fair things pass without some inappropriate gesture from the aging poet. It’s only in Winter that he calms down, recognizing that growing old and brittle is a trade-off for death’s final embrace. For all our human nature, it’s eternity that we will sleep with forevermore. We just don’t have to be in a hurry to get there.
“Joy is not made to be a crumb.” — Mary Oliver, Don’t Hesitate
It hasn’t been lost on me that I’ve largely ignored the joy in the abundance of snow we’re having this winter while focusing on the chores that come with that abundance of snow. There ought to be more snowshoeing. There ought to be more walks in frozen woods. There ought to be more snowy play dates with the pup, who’s got enough joy to fill a barn. We can learn a lot from joyful souls, whether they’re human or otherwise.
Winter is far from over in this frigid land, and at the risk of making plans, I will find my way back to play. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All play and no work makes Jack a poor boy. But money in and of itself is the pursuit of fools and empty suits. Get out and live before the buffet closes for that long night. Before all that’s left are crumbs and thoughts of what might have been.
“As you get older, the questions come down to about two or three. How long? And what do I do with the time I’ve got left? Aging is an extraordinary process whereby you become the person you always should have been.” — David Bowie
“Only put off until tomorrow what you are willing to die having left undone.” — Pablo Picasso
We are all getting older. I’m within 90 days of a milestone birthday myself, which begs the question, what am I going to do when I finally grow up? But why do we have to grow up anyway? I’m quoting rock stars and artists, which hints at my general attitude about growing up in the first place.
The better question is, what might we become next? Forget about growing up! Focus instead on what we are going to do! Just who are we growing into? Finish what we’ve started and know that we’ve done our best in reaching it. And then? On to the next of course.
What are we okay with leaving undone when we leave this world one day? What leaves us restless with each trip around the sun for not having done it yet? The process of becoming is extraordinary indeed, but so to is arriving at each milestone having done what we promised ourselves we’d do. Each day we dance with productivity and focus, undoing our list of undone and becoming who we might become. The only certainty is that we aren’t here forever—so get to it already.
