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Field Notes

I’ve heard it said that the best musicians are those who must sing or must write music. I guess it follows that I write because I can’t not. It only recently dawned on me that my inner muse demands that I open up a notebook or my phone to capture thoughts. Many are pure musings—slightly self-satisfying and frequently foisted on my wife for her reaction.

All said, perhaps some of the pieces below will contribute to your deeper insight or another way to think about the world. You will find published pieces interspersed with my own regular observations.

And generally, the accompanying images are my own, serendipitously composed while wandering, driving, walking, and more.

Enjoy!

Latest Observation

{#46} Choosing Play Again

A few weeks ago, I was with my family up the canyon, wandering along a shallow creek. Jack had already tried to jump the creek three times before we arrived. His boots were soaked, pants dripping halfway up his waist. The water was cold—mountain-runoff cold. But he wasn’t bothered. He was delighted. He kept talking about the third jump, how close he’d been, how next time he knew he’d make it.

The discomfort didn’t register; the possibility did.

Watching him, something in me stirred—not envy, but recognition. I remember what that felt like.

It made me think about what it means to play—not the structured kind, not hobbies or recreation, but the unfiltered movement and curiosity kids access without hesitation. I see it every time I’m around anyone under twenty. They move freely, as if their bodies and the world are still in active conversation. Their prefrontal cortex is still developing, dopamine still hits like rocket fuel, and risk exists mostly as a concept—not a barrier. They live one step from a flow state.

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{#46} Choosing Play Again

{#46} Choosing Play Again

A few weeks ago, I was with my family up the canyon, wandering along a shallow creek. Jack had already tried to jump the creek three times before we arrived. His boots were soaked, pants dripping halfway up his waist. The water was cold—mountain-runoff cold. But he wasn’t bothered. He was delighted. He kept talking about the third jump, how close he’d been, how next time he knew he’d make it.

The discomfort didn’t register; the possibility did.

Watching him, something in me stirred—not envy, but recognition. I remember what that felt like.

It made me think about what it means to play—not the structured kind, not hobbies or recreation, but the unfiltered movement and curiosity kids access without hesitation. I see it every time I’m around anyone under twenty. They move freely, as if their bodies and the world are still in active conversation. Their prefrontal cortex is still developing, dopamine still hits like rocket fuel, and risk exists mostly as a concept—not a barrier. They live one step from a flow state.

Other Articles

{#12} Orphaned

{#12} Orphaned

I didn’t see it coming – but then I did. The forgotten passwords. Her TV began to go on the blink intermittently, never an explanation....

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{#3} Woodman

{#3} Woodman

I was standing at the grave of Richard Ezra Rapp, my great-grandfather, on Memorial Day 2019 and struck by the inscription on the top of...

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