My recent creative life has mostly been about catching up with unfinished business, which means reviewing all the things I’ve written in the past month, and planning for where to go from here. Cultivating ideas from the weeds in my unfiltered mind is a reasonable task, but reading my thoughts on mundane, everyday life can be pretty boring. Maybe you can attest to that here.

But isn’t that really the point? If we die, what is there in life that has inherent meaning, and where does that meaning come from?

We may never understand why we are here — and maybe there is no reason. Sometimes I forget the beauty in life is in the awareness and not the execution. That’s because relativity negates all meaning, and it’s why every moment is worth a memory