October 21st. It is 4 am. I'm standing outside, pajama pants tucked into my Blundstones, two different hoodies packed on over each other, standing stock still, head craned straight back at the night sky.

It's a hot day in late August.

I'm kneeling in the shallow end of the community pool with my arms stretched way out in front of me. Straight and steady. Just under the surface of the water.

On August 1st I celebrated my 44th birthday. The following morning we packed up the car and drove seven hours to a lake in the Adirondacks.

I normally mark my birthday by sharing some bit of wisdom I’ve picked up along the way. This year I just wanted to leave.

This is a sheet of paper, not empty, but filled with space. Space that hasn't been optimized or generated. In a world filled with noise, and lights, and signals, this space is expansive and filled with quiet.