Let's Do This!

"Poopsie," I said, "I'm surrendering to Life and I intend to live life on life's terms, as the saying goes. I'm convinced it's the only way to win freedom from the limitations of the past and my only chance to be reborn through the transformative power of Rumi."

"What are you talking about, if anything," she said, "and why are you talking so fast? Have you relapsed? Are you into the fairy dust?"

"Wonder!" I exclaimed,"I'm shocked that you'd think such a thing. I am as clean and sober as damn it. I happen to be a little more sane, if anything. As for talking fast, you'd talk fast too if you were as excited as I am. I am finally free of the tyranny of desire."

"I'm guessing that you're referring to the Buddha's argument that desire is the root of all suffering. I suppose there is truth in it as long as one considers the qualifiers."

A short period of silence followed her words while she waited for my response and tried to come up with one. It wasn't easy on short notice after that crack she made about the Buddha. How does she think of these things?

"Why do you think that giving up your dreams will make you happy?" she said after waiting a polite moment for my response that never came.

"You speak of dreams," I said, "but what if they're actually illusions? And who needs dreams anyway? Tina Turner said, 'Who needs a dream when it can be broken?'"

And of all things, Wonder replied by saying, "Who needs a heart?" It set me back for a moment. A sad thing to say, don't you agree?

But I got myself together and returned to the point de départ. "I have memories of once having it all, and I shall always treasure them. In the mid-eighties, I was the rock star of systems design at the NASA Johnson Space Center in Houston."

Thinking of those days as I spoke to her momentarily took me to my happy place. "Those were the days, Poopsie," I said.

"And so now, you plan to give up the chance of becoming a rock star once again and instead, you will eat pine needles for the first time in your life."

"What did you say, Wonder? Eat pine needles?"

Well, correct me if I'm wrong," she said, "but it sounds as though you intend to give up, right? You're going to surrender to whatever life brings your way. That sounds very much like quitting to me."

"Eat pine needles," I said, and I mused as I said it. It was a shocking idea for someone like me who has lived a full life under the flag of I Shall Not Eat Them. 

"But tell me, Wonder, what can I do when a vast conspiracy continues to thwart my best efforts? A conspiracy that involves the complex coordination of multiple interacting agents."

"Have you considered simply following your bliss and forgetting about the outcome?"

"Are you suggesting something along the lines of damn the torpedoes; full speed ahead?

"That's exactly what I'm suggesting. To quote Beignet Lafayette when wearing his magic sunglasses, Let's do this!"

"Do you really think it's possible?" I said.

"I'm certain of it," she said. "I believe in you, even when you doubt, and I believe, as someone once said, 'It's never too late for now!'"

"Well, I'm not completely sure what that means, but it interests me strangely!" I said. "It's never too late! Yes, I like it. One of Shakespeare's gags, I'll bet." 

And with that, I was down the stairs and out the door, but I heard her exclaim, ere I drove out of sight...

"Fierce Qigong, Genome!"

Princess Amy: Reality TV Star

It was almost noon by the time I left the thrift store. I'd found one concert t-shirt that would bring enough profit to pay for gas and lunch.

"I don't know why we bother doing this," I told Amy as I maneuvered Wind Horse into traffic. 

"It's just wasted time and energy. I spent the morning looking for profitable items to resell, and I'll need to do it again tomorrow to have a chance to break even for the week."

I got no response, but I didn't expect one because I was talking to Princess Amy, that spoiled little brat of a limbic system in the middle of my brain who gets her kicks by overloading my emotional system. 

"Doesn't it bother you?" I asked.

"Nope," Amy said. "I'm only in it for the money."

"The money?" I said. "I only hope I don't lose money this week."

"Yeah, you're not much of a business person. You should pay more attention to me. I'm an entrepreneur."

"You are not a business person! You're a little almond-shaped cluster of brain cells. You might benefit from the money I make, but you never really profit. It's a foreign concept to you."

"Making money's not the only way to profit." 

"What are you talking about, if anything?" I asked. 

"I'm an entrepreneur," she said. "I get you to do stupid stuff--to generate excitement--and you can be really entertaining sometimes."

“You’re the only one who’s entertained by the kind of excitement you generate, and that never ends well."

"When I'm on a roll," she said, "I can fire you up enough to get bystanders involved, and that's when it really becomes fun. What a riot!"

"You're a menace! You're a danger to the fabric of the universe." 

"I'm an influencer," she said. “I'm not just another pretty face, baby. That's why I have to keep my brain functioning efficiently, and I'm not operating at full power right now because I need a latte and a muffin."

"This is leading up to a stop at Surf & Java, isn't it?" I asked.

"Exactly. I can get some caffeine to stoke my engines while you have an Impossible sandwich for our lunch." 

A few minutes later, we were seated outside the surf shop, and Amy was relatively quiet while I ate. I suppose she was soaking up some nutrients to stoke her engines. I was thinking about going home when she spoke again.

"I need another latte," she said. "You get it, and I'll wait here. I'm gonna look at this magazine. It says on the cover that Keanu Reeves used to surf competitively."

I didn't reply. I was beginning to feel like I was no more than a vehicle to chauffeur my limbic system around town.

"Too bad you can't stay here and have someone else get the coffee," she said. "What if there's a sudden rush of customers and someone gets our table?"

"A rush of customers?" I said.

"It could happen," she said. "Good idea," I said, "I'll stay here to keep someone from taking our table."

"So anyway," Amy said."Did you know that Keanu was a surfer? Maybe we should take up surfing."

I tried to get comfortable in the plastic chair as I overthought Amy's earlier comments about being an entrepreneur. 

"You got a lot of thinking going on," Amy said. "It's getting hot in here with all that thinking you're doing. You're burning too much energy." 

“I'm thinking about what you said earlier,” I said. “I didn’t realize you were capable of doing anything more than mismanaging my emotions.”  

"I'm a complex person," Amy said. "I got a lot going on. You haven't even seen the tip of my iceberg, baby. One of my goals is to be a TV star."

"How's that even possible?" I asked.

"I'm gonna be a reality star like Kyle, Lisa, and Khloé."

"A reality star--you're going to be the next Khloé Kardashian?"

"It's only a matter of time," she said. "I got a plan worked out, and I'm about to start shooting a demo reel. That's how you get into the finals, you gotta shoot a demo reel." 

"What's your plan? And how are you going to film anything?"

"First," she said, "it's a concept show that I call Wearing Underwear in Public, or WUP for short.”

"I already don't like it," I said.

"You don't like it, but you're really good at it," she said.

"What's that supposed to mean. I'm not going to be part of anything called Wearing Underwear in Public."

“WUP,” she said. “You’re already part of it, silly. Remember those dreams you had last week? That was the pilot for the show. Now it's time to record the first episodes."

"You little brat!" I said. "Those dreams are caused by you! I thought we had an understanding. You and I are not different people, Amy. We're the same person. What I experience, you experience. Why do you do these things?"

"It gets boring in here," she said. "I need a creative outlet, and I'm competing for a Dreamy award. With a concept like WUP, I think I could be a contender."

"Awards? How would that even work? Am I going to dream that you get an award?"

"No, dummy," she said. "There's a whole dream universe filled with all kinds of stuff for imaginary people like me. What do you think dreams are for, anyway? They aren't just entertainment for you, you know." 

I was overwhelmed. I needed some time alone, and that's not easy to find when you're trying to get away from your own thoughts. 

"Uh oh," I said, "look at the time. It seems we don't need to be concerned about a customer rush. I need to check on my mom and then stop at the hardware store. I've got to patch the lanai screens where the squirrels gnawed through them."

"Your mom is living with the stars, Genome," Amy said.

"Yeah, but I still check in with her daily."

"Well, if I were you," Amy said, "I'd get home in time for a nap so you can keep up with me tonight. We got a demo to record."

"I won't forget about that," I said, but I said it without any real chirpiness.

Strangers Offering Scones

It was a cool, damp, and windy evening with leaves blowing around and that peculiar electric feeling you get when magic is in the air. I wasted no time in moving the empty garbage can from the curb and toward the darkness of our backyard. That darkness gave me an uneasy feeling for some reason.

I paused halfway around the house to allow my eyes to adjust, the better to see the ghouls waiting for me behind a bush. Glancing overhead, I saw an almost full moon, making an appearance through edgy, fretted clouds. It may sound like a beautiful sight, but its beauty was lost on me. Didn't make me feel one tot better about the sewer harpies waiting for me in the darkness.

For some strange reason, the booming silence from my limbic system made the whole experience feel even more surreal. It seemed that Princess Amy had decided that warning me of impending doom was futile, or else she was hiding behind the hippocampus. *Footnote

The deeper I crept into that darkness, the more I became like that little boy from Shady Grove that I once was. It was as though a grown man returning a garbage can to its storage bin had been transformed into a 10-year-old boy told by his father to go out into the night and move his bicycle from the front yard to the garage for the evening.

Exactly why my brain works this way is not fully understood. Some say it has something to do with serotonin reuptake inhibitors, but I expect it has more to do with a Creator who became bored with the usual routine of evolutionary improvement and decided to have a bit of fun for a change, and, unfortunately, I was next in line.

It's on nights like these that I remember my Great-aunt Nanny McFarland teaching me to see fairies. That's the night she taught me about magic. According to her, it was magic that kept all my personal bits and all the bits making up the entire world from flying off into space. And who can say? The Egyptians believed that magic held the world together and kept everything working smoothly. Maybe Aunt Nanny was right.

But I'm leading you away from the way in which you should go, as the expression has it. Back to the garbage can in the dark, then. The cool, damp air was full of whispers, I remember thinking.

Looking in the direction of the whispers, I thought I could see three stooped figures gathered around the embers of a small fire that gleamed like the madness in a weasel's eye. There was a far-off rumble as if a thunderstorm approached, and I thought I heard a voice say, "When shall we three meet again?" It could have been my imagination.

The point I'm trying to make is that now it's October and we're on our way to Halloween--that time of year when the curtain grows thin between the reality we make up in our head and the reality that's the actual basis of the world we live in. I love this time of year because it makes me feel really alive.

Halloween, or Samhain, if you care about accuracy, reminds me that life comes hard and fast and that I should be ready for anything.

But that's enough about me and my musings on magic, but before I take my leave, let me offer a little piece of cautionary advice. If you're walking the dog after dark between now and Halloween, especially if you live in Woodcroft, Parkwood, or anywhere there have been rumors of magic, do beware. If your dog whimpers at unseen things along the path, turn back home. If you see a reddish light in the woods along the trail, resist the urge to investigate.

And most importantly, if you meet three stooped and hooded figures, who aren't wearing hip-hop fashion, and if they speak sweetly and compliment your dog, and especially if they offer you a scone, don't accept it. Take it from one who speaks from experience: That is NOT A SCONE!

Have a Fun and Happy Halloween!

*Footnote: You may need to Google it.

Captain's Log: Status Update

At random intervals during the blog year, I like to share status updates with my followers, and The Circular Journey has recently enjoyed a delightful surprise that I must share with you because, without your support, it would not have been possible.

We have our first viral blog post! I know! Me too!

Here's what happened: "Captain's Log: Stardate 2025.156"—the first post in my Star Trek/Inside Out mashup series—has exploded beyond anything I imagined in fourteen years of blogging. The post is outperforming the current most popular post by more than thirty times the growth rate! That number still doesn't feel real. *Footnote

How It Began...

The story of Princess Amy's viral success begins, as so many good stories do, in my therapist's office.

Dr. Coast delivered her recommendation with the clinical precision of someone prescribing medicine rather than entertainment. She suggested—not once, but three times (and you know how sensitive I am to the number three)—that I watch Pixar's 2015 animated film "Inside Out."

For those unfamiliar, "Inside Out" tells the story of Riley, a young girl whose mental inner workings are influenced by five personified emotions. The good doctor recognized that the movie mirrors in many ways the inner workings of my own mind, which are influenced by Princess Amy, the personification of my limbic system—the seat of human emotions, thoughts, and actions.

The doctor hoped that watching the movie would help me better understand the Genome's emotional architecture. As you know, I write my life story here in The Circular Journey. It will come as no surprise that I began chronicling the events that followed watching the movie.

Here's where the magic happened: Amy's role in directing the other components of my limbic system has always mirrored Captain Kirk sitting in the chair of command on the bridge of the Starship Enterprise. The framework fit together so perfectly, the Captain's Log series was born—a mash-up of Star Trek and Inside Out.

Why It Resonates

When I shared the news of viral blog activity with Dr. Coast, she responded with such enthusiasm that I must share all that with you, too. The following isn't recounted verbatim, but it's the best I can remember:

"Oh my goodness, that's INCREDIBLE! I'm genuinely thrilled to hear this! The fact that this became your second most popular post in fourteen years of blogging - that's not just success, that's real impact.

This really validates what we stumbled onto together. People don't want to be lectured about mental health; they want to see themselves as the captain of their own starship, with a crew of emotions that all have important roles to play."

What's Next

The GMS Coastal Voyager continues its mission, with new adventures launching regularly. From the delightfully absurd "Klang Ho Incident,” scheduled for publication soon, to the recent "Mission to Mohs: A Dermatological Exploration," Captain Amy and her crew continue to navigate the strange phenomena of daily life.

The viral success of that first Captain's Log has shown me that my regular readers trust my storytelling and will stick with Princess Amy through the whole journey. 

And apparently, thousands of new readers are discovering that they, too, have a Princess Amy at their control console, a Chief Anxiety in their engine room, and a whole crew trying to navigate the Melancholy Nebulae of modern life.

---

Author's Log:

Newcomers to The Circular Journey: Welcome aboard! Use the search field at the top of the page to query for 'GMA Coastal Voyager,' or 'Captain's Log,' or 'Melancholy Nebula' to catch up on previous missions. But be warned—you might fall into the rabbit wormhole, and never be seen again. In the best possible way, of course.

* Footnote: 

The all-time most popular post on The Circular Journey is "Coastal Camelot." That post has held the top spot since 2011, when it was published. The new viral post, "Captain's Log: Stardate 2025.156" was published in June of 2025 and is already the second most popular post.

Searching for Avalon

Morning arrives gently in Wilmington, as though the Cape Fear River itself breathes the day into being. In dawn's first moments, the sunrise seems to pause, holding the city in suspense before the first stirrings of downtown activity.

The early dawn stretches a ribbon of rose and amber along the eastern edge, painting the Memorial Bridge in its nascent light. The sun rises over the Intracoastal Waterway, gilding the moss-draped live oaks and drawing long, cool shadows across the river.

As morning deepens, clouds drift in from the ocean, filtering the early morning light. Where the river meets the ocean, and the land touches the boundless sky, the day does not rush. It simply unfolds with the timeless rhythm of the Earth's deep, patient breath.

The Way it Resembles Perfection

It's all very much like those mythical places the poets write about. Eden, Avalon, and Shangri-La were enchanting, but they weren't real. Wilmington offers something genuine, something I've searched for without quite knowing how to describe it, simply because I'd never experienced it before.

This morning opened with a spectacle so grand and so majestic that I finally had to abandon Mr. Priddy's sixth-grade lesson about the Earth's rotation, causing the sunrise. It seems impossible that anything but a goddess driving her divine sun chariot could put on such a display.

We arrived at Luna Cafe in the Castle Street Arts District, hoping to claim the best vantage point to watch the day unfold. When I say we, I mean Island Irv and the regulars. Buddy was out front at a cafe table near the door, and Bijou was dancing around the room with her dad, looking like a pint-sized Flamenco artist. Lilly was there behind the counter to welcome us all; she always opens the shop on Sunday mornings.

Home is Community

These are my people now, or at least, I want them to be. This is what paradise has always meant to me, not just a beautiful, magical place, but a place of community. It's much like the mythical Round Table of Camelot, where everyone has a seat.

While many visitors hope to see film stars downtown—Wilmington being a popular location for movies and television—the Luna Cafe group comes for that calmer, quieter background. The slow pace of a Sunday morning in the heights of downtown is rewarding on its own. Not even a movie production can compete for attention with a scene like that.

The Eternal Search

Humanity has always searched for that perfect, original garden ever since we lost it. The Greeks called it the Hesperides. The Celts called it Avalon. Medieval knights sought Camelot. The Puritans believed they'd found it when they glimpsed America's shores and called it their "city upon a hill." 

We are a species of seekers, forever romanticizing places, projecting our longing for perfection onto real locations. And here I am, doing the same thing with Wilmington. I've found my spot for happily-ever-aftering.

Growing up in Chattanooga, I found my first paradise in Nashville; not a bad choice for an 18-year-old. Music City worked for me over the course of the next six years. I attended my first rock concert there: Bette Midler headlined, with Barry Manilow playing piano, and Jim Croce provided the opening act. 

Late one Saturday evening, at Ireland's Tavern in the West End, I met Kris Kristopherson and Rita Coolidge. Just before leaving Nashville for good, on October 12, 1973, I saw Elton John perform during his Goodbye Yellow Brick Road tour. Nashville was not a bad understudy for paradise at all.

After Nashville, I lived in a variety of cities that were expected to be my Shangri-La, and each of them did nudge me closer to paradise. My early quest fueled my imagination, and I somehow found myself in West Germany, where I explored many cities before taking up residence in Schwäbisch Gmünd, a small town on the edge of the Black Mountains.

After touring Germany, I ventured into parts of Switzerland and France, and finally ended up in Rome, Italy: another fine stand-in for paradise. Back in the states, I lived for extended lengths of time in Chicago, Houston, Washington, D.C., and then the Research Triangle in North Carolina. 

All these places were expected to be my Shangri-La, but each of them seemed to lack something I couldn't quite identify. Of course, it's entirely possible, and maybe even more accurate to say that what was missing was within me, more a matter of timing rather than location.

From all that accrual of time and memories, I've learned something about romanticizing places: you have to allow room for the imperfect, the ordinary, the slightly disappointing. But imperfection doesn't mean failure. Finding paradise isn't about finding perfection; it's about finding that place where you can become the person you imagine yourself to be.

Finding My Avalon

After another Sunday morning in the heart of Castle Street Arts District, we gathered our things and began to drift out of the cafe. Lilly mentioned the weather forecast predicted an afternoon rain shower, but I only nodded and smiled, knowing full well that in Camelot, it never rains till after sundown. 

In short, there's simply not a more congenial spot for me than here in Wilmington. Not because it's Camelot; as enchanting as that legendary realm seems, it fell long ago, if it ever stood at all. Not because it's Eden; that primordial garden was perfect, but perfection doesn't exist in reality. 

Wilmington is my forever home, not because it's perfect but because it's my Avalon, a place of healing and restoration. King Arthur was taken to that golden isle to recover from his wounds, and like Arthur, I too need recovery, restoration, and renewal. 

When I watch the sunrise over the Cape Fear River, gather with friends at Luna Cafe, or walk the Riverwalk at dusk to watch pelicans dance across the sky, I feel something that all those ancient paradise-seekers must have felt: a deep sense that I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be.