Reminded this eve of that familiar paradox: playing it safe is often the most dangerous thing you can do. Because our best chance of success is to fully commit to something, to go all out. But that’s scary, right? So instead we take half measures, don’t put ourselves out there, stick to the safe and familiar… and go to the grave with our song unsung.
A farm was handed down from father to son for generations. At the latest handover, the father told the son what had once been told to him. You do not own this land, he said. You are simply a custodian. You take good care of it and pass the land along better than received. I hear this story as we walk along a country road, past a broken old farm.
The best thing about spending the winter is in Amsterdam is being in Amsterdam. The city remains magical, just a bit colder and less leaves on the trees. Cycling around this evening the sky was all lit up pink and orange and reflected in old canal-side windows. I passed a girl walking and smiling to herself and I was grateful for whatever inspired that smile.
I walk into a bright room and see clothes strewn about the floor. Black boots, black pants, black shirt, a tie. In the corner there’s a woman moving like a breeze. She’s blonde and she’s beautiful. She looks at me as she removes her bra, an intense look, and I try to stand strong and return it but we both know she has all the power.
Reading words from Malcolm X. He writes about that deep-rooted racism he grew up with, whites looking at him like he was a pet rather than a human being. They weren’t bad people necessarily; they just didn’t realize how fucked up their beliefs were. Makes me wonder: what fucked up beliefs of my own am I oblivious to? And what about you?