This might sound lame to some, but I’m super proud of this: I figured out how to display my photos on my Photos page as a single column on mobile. It readjusts to three columns when in landscape, too.

I’m having a blast.

Edit: I broke it, but then I fixed it. I need a break.

Slept about four hours last night. As I lied in bed, my thoughts wavered between past regrets and future hopes. I have to keep reminding myself that even though my past shaped who I am today, I’m not defined by it. The future is mine, and I just have to seize it.

I’ve spent an inordinate amount of time the last few days learning all I can about web design. From typography and CSS grids, to how Hugo works and how best to use it, I’ve fallen in love with the whole process. I like the idea of openly designing the whole thing, so here we are.

I felt hesitant to go to the park yesterday because I’ve gone so many times before and I didn’t know if I’d find anything I hadn’t shot before. I was wrong. Beauty is everywhere—in the trees, on the ground, in people—and a consistent habit helps reinforce that truism.

Went to the park this morning. It was 20°F/-6°C. Met a man who declared his love to the beauty of our town. Sometimes this place isn’t half bad.

I daydreamed I was learning French again, saying the basics like, je suis and je m’appelle and remembering how intoxicating it is to say je pense que tu es belle. I dream of one day walking the streets of Paris as a pedestrian with new friends and new memories. One day.

In On Photography, Susan Sontag wrote:

All photographs are memento mori. To take a photograph is to participate in another person’s (or thing’s) mortality, vulnerability, mutability. Precisely by slicing out this moment and freezing it, all photographs testify to time’s relentless melt.

In The Obstacle is the Way, Ryan Holiday wrote:

Every culture has its own way of teaching the same lesson: Memento mori, the Romans would remind themselves. Remember you are mortal.

I’ve been thinking a lot about memento mori today, about how little time I have to waste away, how I want to make every moment count. My biggest enemy is myself. I wish I could get out of the way sometimes, to slow down and appreciate the beauty all around me, to actually let the world inside my walls.

One of the benefits of wearing a mask outside is the fact that it hides my face. I’m so scared of vulnerability that I hide so much of myself from the world just to feel safe. But it’s not until I take my mask off that I truly feel like myself. Vulnerability is power.

When I was a wildland firefighter, I loved spending weeks sleeping in my tent with nothing but the essentials. Since retiring, I’ve grown used to superfluity. My dilemma is figuring out if I have the strength to get rid of what I don’t need for a life spent on the road.

I’m thankful for silliness.