A Quiet Day

The weekend arrived with a change in the weather. Rain, cooler air, just enough cold to consider a light jumper. Winter is edging closer. It will test my thin, tropical blood.

Before drifting too far into thoughts of what’s coming, it feels better to stay with what’s here. Today feels like a gift in its own right.

The plan is simple. Breakfast. A little work. Then a trip into town with no real agenda. Coffee, cake, and the quiet pleasure of photographing a small project that doesn’t need to mean anything to anyone else. Just the act of making it feels enough.

As life continues to simplify, it’s teaching me how to enjoy the moments as they come — and the things already within reach. Nothing is perfect, but it’s hard to deny that things are more than good.

Over the past month, I’ve noticed myself smiling more than I remember. Not the kind of smile that signals success or arrival, but a smaller one. The kind that quietly confirms that the path I’m on is the right one for me.

Today feels like it will pass in that same way. A series of ordinary moments, drifting by one after another, leaving little trace behind. And that feels right.

Lately, I’ve been sensing how important it is to let those moments go. In the past, I held onto experiences and memories, turning them into anchors for an identity I felt I needed to present. A persona that no longer fits — and perhaps never really did.

I spent a long time believing that being interesting meant balancing on the edge of acceptance. Normal enough to belong. Different enough to stand out. Looking back, it feels like a strange performance — a collection of small distortions, none of them fully convincing.

A lot of time has passed since then. Plenty of water under the bridge. Still, I sometimes wonder what life might have been like if I’d learned to accept myself earlier. Whether things would have unfolded differently, or simply more honestly.

I catch myself questioning even that thought. Is this sense of difference real, or just another story I tell myself to stay slightly apart? I don’t have an answer.

Today doesn’t seem to ask for one. It feels like a day to move through quietly, as an unremarkable man, open to whatever shows up. Knowing that none of it will last, and none of it needs to matter.

There’s a strange comfort in that.
Maybe it’s just the way things are.

Time and space feel like good companions for now.