9 Steps to Happiness

The Earth travels around the sun at a whopping 67,000 miles per hour, and it's not slowing down. With the days rushing by at such breakneck speed, who has time to squander on "just another day?" The days of the calendar are limited. That's why I felt a sense of urgency when I entered Ms. Wonder's sanctum—for I have promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep.

"Wonder," I said, "the glad new year has gotten off to a great start, don't you think?"

"Not bad," she said, leaving me wishing she'd be more attentive. I realized she was on the clock—focused on her upcoming solo photography exhibition in New York. But still... you know how it is.

"Not bad?" I said. "I might go as far as to call it a perfect beginning. We were up before the sun, whispers in the air, as the poet would have it, and we've completed four of the nine steps already."

"Nine steps?" She looked up briefly. "Are you talking about that article I asked you to read in Vanity Fair?"

"Vanity Fair if it suits you," I said. "It might have been Vanity Fair, or it could have been one of those forever ads that pop up on YouTube from time to time."

"Forever ads?" she said, already turning back to her screen.

"Yeah, the ones that go on and on, page after page, promising to share the secrets to a happy life. You scroll for what feels like hours while some life coach tells you about their transformative journey. You know the ones I mean."

"Have we completed three of the steps already?" Her words were in the correct order, but she didn't ask the question with any real interest. She seemed engrossed in something on her computer screen—probably something far more practical than my spiritual accounting.

"Four," I said. "The first step was to Wake Up, which we did without effort. And then the day came..."

"What are you talking about? Ooooh," she asked, "it’s that poem, isn't it? I don't have time for poetry this morning, so don't try me. And waking up doesn't sound like a step to bring about change."

"I disagree, Wonder. I believe waking up is a brilliant first step. You open your eyes to a new day and immediately feel a sense of accomplishment. It's basically a participation trophy for consciousness. What could be better?"

"Fine," she said with the resignation of someone who knows resistance is futile. "Go with it if it makes you happy."

"The second step in the list is Morning Walk, and I think you'll agree we did that."

"Hmm, mmm," she said, clearly not paying attention.

"The third step," I continued undaunted, "is Breakfast, which we've finished. After that comes Meditation, followed by Lunch, and then Exercise. We haven't gotten to those yet, but number seven on the list is Socialize, and I took care of that on my trip to the grocery store."

"Grocery shopping doesn't count as socializing," she said without looking up.

“Alright, now that's out of the way, it's time for the big reveal. Wonder, I've had one of those serendipitous experiences."

"Oh, well, why didn't you say that in the first place? Spill it and keep in mind, I can only spare three minutes for this."

I took a breath and launched in. "As I walked past the dairy case in the Food Lion, I noticed an elderly lady having a heated conversation with her shopping cart."

"You don't see that every day."

"Right?" I said. "I've learned to pay close attention to such rare events because something interesting often happens. This was one of those occasions. The lady had a certain look about her. She seemed the type whose favorite cookie is oatmeal raisin and who might be called Ethel by her friends."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because she wore her hair in a style that hasn't been seen since the first half of the last century—I'm talking Truman administration vintage. She reminded me of a great-aunt who answered to the name mentioned. My aunt and her sister Molly lived in Shady Grove and watched Days of Our Lives every afternoon while eating said oatmeal raisin cookies."

"Alright, I get it. What was she discussing with her cart?"

"She explained that the cart seemed to have a mind of its own. It's not true, of course. While I have no doubt that her cart's mental state differs significantly from hers, most neuroscientists would argue that a shopping cart does not possess free will."

"I can relate," she said dryly. "Even now, listening to you tell this story, I'm questioning mental states and minds."

It always lifts my spirits to know that I've caught her interest. There's nothing I enjoy more than giving her something to think about. So, with renewed vigor, I pressed on.

"I asked Ethel if the wheels squeaked too. My cart’s wheels did, but she explained that no, while she could abide the cart moving in directions she didn't intend—a reasonable enough inconvenience—squeaky wheels would be crossing the line. She has her standards."

"Hmmm," said Wonder, and turned back to her computer.

We Genomes are quick to take a hint, and we don't need to be told twice. We live by the adage that Life comes fast and hard, and it pays to be ready for anything. Whoever knocks at the door, meet them laughing and invite them in. I read that somewhere. It might have been Vanity Fair.

I decided to drive into Wilmawood and see what was happening at Bodega Coffee Cafe. Something exciting is always brewing there—both literally and figuratively. And remember, the Earth is traveling around the sun at 67,000 miles an hour, so there's no time to waste on people who won't appreciate your grocery store epiphanies.

Four steps down, five to go. I'd call that progress.

Loving the Dark

The Fate Sisters had set me up for one disappointment after another when it came to finding a readable contemporary author. I was desperate to find a magic-fantastic world to escape into on long winter nights. Unfortunately, with Tolkien sleeping among the stars and George R. R. Martin presumably living on a private island in the Turks and Caicos (I assume, anyway—it would explain a lot about the wait for the next book), the odds of finding salvation seemed microscopic.

Get it here: The Purple 

Then I stumbled upon The Purple Orb" by G. K. Bishop. Oh, holy Axtah!

Step aside, George Martin, you've been bettered. And please, J.R.R. Tolkien, worry no longer from your celestial perch about the lack of creative contemporary fantasy authors. Bishop is here, and she's brought sardonic wit and a vocabulary that would make a lexicographer weep with joy.

"The Purple Orb: A Gladdis of Rowenswood Tale" takes us into a world of ancient magic and hidden kingdoms, but Bishop is not just another author churning out elves, dwarves, and the occasional dragon with commitment issues. No, her wit is often sardonic enough to strip paint, and her use of language is so masterful it makes other fantasy authors look like they're working with crayons.

Bishop's prose is like music—and I don't mean the kind you hear in a dentist's waiting room. It's melodic in its pleasing sequence of scenes, harmonic in the way disparate plot threads combine into something greater than their parts, lyrical in its expressive  poetry, and dynamic in its varying intensity, which adds remarkable depth to the narrative. 

It's the kind of writing that makes you stop, reread a sentence, and think, "Damn, I wish I'd written that."

G. K. Bishop has opened the portal. Don't wait another minute; escape the mundane! Dive into "The Purple Orb" before the Fate Sisters decide you've had enough happiness for one day.

El'Zabet, Empyress of All the Realms, is only thirteen yet wise beyond her years—which is fortunate because being an Empyress at thirteen without wisdom would be a disaster rivaling my own life choices. She dreams of a young woman imprisoned by a filthy beast of a man, crying out for help. Can El'Zabet find the woman from her dreams before it's too late? Is her power great enough to seize the Purple Orb without destroying herself?

This is high fantasy where language itself becomes a character—and not a minor one, either. We're talking major speaking role here.

Enter Gladdis, a Dark Witch and Priestess of Kalidha-Axtah the Destroyer, who takes an interest in Empyress El'Zabet's quest. Gladdis has no patience for fools, which makes her my new literary hero. She's the kind of character who would take one look at most people's life decisions and simply set them on fire. Metaphorically. Probably.

Let me offer just one little whiff of Bishop's work to give you an idea of the novelty, the unexpected, the sheer audacity:

"Though feelings were quickly shielded, there remained a faint odor of shame in the chamber, which bears a resemblance to that of an inadvertent nether toot."

I mean, come on. This is fantasy literature describing emotional atmospheres in a brilliant sentence that makes you laugh out loud and then immediately text your friends about it.

And then there's this gem:

"The firebricks also retained warmth when the fire was low. Their cat was very impressed by this bit of human sorcery and granted unconditional approval to the responsible party. The rest of the winter, Gladdis had only to show her face at the door for the cat to begin purring loudly."

Bishop understands that winning a cat's approval is basically achieving god-tier status. This is the kind of detail that elevates fantasy from "sword goes clink" to fully formed believable beings. 

When I began this review, I intended to say good things about an extremely well-written story with engaging characters and a thoroughly entertaining storyline. But that simply isn't enough for a book like this one. It's like describing a supernova as "quite bright" or the Grand Canyon as "a decent-sized hole." Mere words do NOT do G. Kay's writing justice.

In closing, the Fate Sisters may have dealt me a rough hand—and by rough, I mean they've been playing chess with my life while drunk and possibly blindfolded—but they delivered "The Purple Orb" as compensation. It's like getting mugged and then having the mugger hand you a winning lottery ticket out of guilt.

I recommend you hurry over to Amazon and order a copy right now. I don't merely recommend it—I recommend it like the Dickens himself! Like every literary ghost who ever lived is collectively haunting you until you click "Add to Cart."

Get it here: The Purple Orb

Do it. The Dark Witch demands it. And you don't want to disappoint a Dark Witch. Trust me on this one.

Love: The Causal Factor

I’m many people in many parts, entangled in countless ways. My heart is bound in the quantum dimension of my past, and this morning opened with a reminder of that.

Somewhere in that dimension—far across the Rainbow Bridge—the stop sign on the Big Yellow School Bus retracted, causing the wave function to collapse, and instantaneously, through the morphic resonance of my mind, a voice said, “Uma is Aurora.”

My eyes flew open as if released by a tightly wound torsion spring. Had you been in the room, you might have felt the wind from the flutter of my eyelashes.

I sprang from bed and hurried to the window, raised the shade, and offered my morning salutations. A pale glow brightened yesterday’s snow, and when I lifted my gaze, an Abbie Moon was looking down on me.

The voice spoke again: “Pluto is Atlantis.” I moved quickly to my sanctum, where I write words, drink caffeine, and honor memories. And really, what else could I do? I made coffee and began to write. This post is the result.

If you grasp even a fraction of what follows, then you’re a regular here and partly responsible for the viral spread of The Circular Journey that began in late 2025. I’m deeply grateful for your support.

If none of this post makes sense, then you’re a newcomer—and I welcome you to the Journey, where we have only one goal: to spread goodness and light to everyone.

This post isn’t typical of what you’ll find here. But if you’ve stayed with me this far, I’m confident you’ll enjoy what’s ahead—not necessarily what comes next in this post, but certainly in the posts to come.

As you know, we’re all many personalities wrapped into one package, and we’re entangled in countless ways. My heart is entangled in a quantum dimension that lies across the Rainbow Bridge of my past, and in that dimension, the entanglement involves a big yellow school bus and a small cat—Uma Maya.

Aurora is a name that the childhood version of me associated with Atlantis, and Pluto is the first “best friend” that young boy ever had. There you have the explanation: “Uma is Aurora, and Pluto is Atlantis.”

As I mentioned above, this blog went viral toward the end of last year, largely thanks to my Mindfleet Academy series. You can find those posts by searching for “Mindfleet Academy” and “Captain’s Log” (The name I used throughout 2025).

The Circular Journey’s mission is to explore mental health and neurodivergent life through philosophical musings and creative nonfiction. Join us on this journey toward acceptance, humor, and growth.

Best Songs of the 80s: Part 2

Here’s the second half of the countdown, rewritten to match our "Circular Journey" vibe. I’ve leaned into that blend of critical confusion and the inevitable triumph of a good synthesizer.

Synthesizers, Staring Contests, and Critical Confusion: Rolling Stone’s Top ’80s Hits Part 2

Welcome back to the bridge of the GMS Coastal Voyager. Earlier, we saw how the "pros" almost talked Michael Jackson out of his best bassline. Now, we’re diving into the rest of the Top 10, where the critics faced off against New Wave, big hair, and the daunting task of figuring out what Kate Bush was actually doing on that hill.

Let’s pick up where we left off—with more evidence that time is a much better judge than a man with a deadline and a bad mood.

6. Whitney Houston - "How Will I Know" (1985)

Critics called it "pure pop of the highest pedigree" and "nigh untouchable," with Whitney demonstrating raw vocal power done right. Billboard ranked it among the greatest pop songs of all time, and it became her second number-one hit.

Dave Rimmer of Smash Hits was savage, calling it "this dreary bit of disco" that was nowhere near as good as her other work, adding it "sounds positively snooze worthy, in fact." 

Another critic complained about the "annoyingly bouncy" production and "clunky, thudding drum sounds" that were "as unmistakably Eighties as Joan Collins' Dynasty wardrobe." 

The song that was originally intended for Janet Jackson (who passed on it) became Whitney's breakthrough hit and won Best Female Video at the MTV Video Music Awards. Janet's loss was Whitney's gain.

Calling Whitney Houston's vocals "dreary disco" is like calling the Atlantic Ocean "a nice ditch"—technically words, but wildly missing the point.

7. The Go-Go’s – "Our Lips Are Sealed" (1981)

Critics loved the "shimmering pop" and the fact that a group of women was actually playing their own instruments (imagine the shock!). It was hailed as the perfect summer anthem.

Some reviewers dismissed it as "bubblegum fluff." One particularly grumpy critic called it "an exercise in vacuity," basically suggesting the song had the intellectual depth of a puddle.

That "vacuity" has kept us humming along for over four decades. It wasn't just fluff; it was a blueprint for indie-pop. The Go-Go's proved that you can be catchy as a cold and still be a legitimate rock band.

The only song on this list that was so undeniably perfect, critics had to wait 23 years and a Hilary Duff cover to find something to complain about.

8. Duran Duran – "Hungry Like the Wolf" (1982)

The "New Romantics" were finally taken seriously for their sleek, cinematic production. Critics called it "the ultimate MTV track"—a song built for the visual age.

Oh, the visual age was exactly the problem for some. Critics accused the band of being "style over substance," focusing more on their expensive hair products and exotic music videos than the music. One reviewer called the lyrics "nonsensical animal metaphors."

Maybe it is a bit nonsensical, but have you heard that bassline? It doesn’t matter if the metaphors are fuzzy when the groove is that sharp. Duran Duran didn’t just bring the hair; they brought the hooks. 

When your song is called "lifeless" in 1982 but wins the first-ever Grammy for Best Music Video, clearly someone's pulse-checking skills need work.

9. Kate Bush – "Running Up That Hill" (1985)

This was hailed as a "sonic masterpiece." Critics marveled at the Fairlight CMI synthesizer work and Kate’s ability to turn a deal with God into a Top 40 hit.

At the time, some critics found it "too experimental" or "impenetrable." They struggled with her vocal delivery, which—to be fair—is an acquired taste if you’re used to standard-issue pop. One critic wondered if it was "too weird for American radio."

Fast forward to 2022, and thanks to a certain show about Upside Down monsters, a whole new generation discovered that "too weird" is exactly what we needed. Kate Bush didn’t just run up that hill; she built a house on top of it and waited for the rest of us to catch up. 

Being called "precocious, dated, and dull" in 1985 only to become the oldest woman with a UK number-one hit in 2022 is the ultimate long game.

10. The Smiths – "There Is a Light That Never Goes Out" (1986) 

This was the "indie-rock national anthem." Critics praised Morrissey’s dry wit and Johnny Marr’s jangly, perfect guitar work. It captured that specific '80s feeling of being romantic and miserable at the exact same time.

Some critics couldn't get past the "morbid" lyrics. I mean, singing about a ten-ton truck crashing into you isn't exactly "Good Morning" energy. They called it "self-indulgent gloom."

Self-indulgence never sounded so good. It’s a song for anyone who’s ever felt like a bit of an outsider—or a carpenter woodpecker with technical difficulties. It remains a masterpiece of the "unoptimized" life. 

Refusing to release your best song as a single while the band is together is the most Smiths thing The Smiths ever did, and somehow it worked anyway.

The Final Lesson 

Looking back at these ten tracks (Parts 1 and 2), a theme emerges: The critics were almost always wrong about the "weird" stuff. They wanted efficiency and standard protocols, but the artists wanted to slap the back of the SUV and see what happened. 

I think I’ll stick with the music and let time do the reviewing.

What about you? Which '80s song did you initially hate, only to realize later it was a masterpiece? Drop a comment—unless you’re a cardinal or a bailiff, in which case, keep it down. 

Best Songs of the 80s: Part 1

Well, hello again! I’ve taken a look at the "Rolling Stone" rankings, and some of these critical takes are more baffling than a dream about woodland creatures in footwear.

Tripping Over Their Headsets: Rolling Stone’s Top ’80s Hits Part 1

The 1980s gave us shoulder pads, hair that defied the laws of gravity, and some of the most enduring music ever pressed to vinyl. But here’s the funny thing about "iconic" tracks: at the time, even the professional critics couldn’t decide if they were hearing a revolutionary masterpiece or a total dumpster fire in a neon suit.

This is my deep dive into the love-hate relationship between music critics and the songs that defined a generation. Think of this as the follow-up to my look at the "Worst Songs of the 80s"—only this time, we’re celebrating the good stuff and wondering what the reviewers were drinking.

Before we get to the heavy hitters, let’s set the stage. The '80s were a wild neural network of genres. You had the Superstars (MJ, Madonna, Prince), the Hip-Hop Pioneers (N.W.A., Public Enemy), and the New Wave brooding types (The Smiths, The Cure). It was a decade where synth-pop and gritty rap somehow shared the same radio dial without the universe imploding.

Buckle up, because we’re counting down Rolling Stone’s top five. Let’s go!

1. Prince – "Kiss" (1986)

Most critics loved how Prince stripped everything away. Just a guitar, a few keys, and that voice. It was minimalism at its peak.

One reviewer apparently woke up with an attitude that morning, declaring the song "overrated" and Prince’s signature falsetto "annoying as all hell." They even suggested this song was the "beginning of the end" for the Purple One.

Calling that falsetto annoying is like complaining that the sun is too bright. It’s Prince! 

Turns out the falsetto that made critics cover their ears in 1986 is now the sound we all try (and fail) to hit in the shower.

2. Madonna – "Like a Prayer" (1989)

Rolling Stone called it "as close to art as pop gets." Which feels like a backhanded compliment to me, but they went on to praise her evolution from pop princess to a serious artist.

The Vatican wasn't a fan, and Pepsi pulled a $5 million ad campaign. Some critics complained the video was "vague." Honestly, with all that fuss, you’d think she’d tried to jaywalk behind a sheriff's SUV.

Controversy is just free PR in a short skirt. Madonna kept Pepsi’s millions after all when the song hit Number One, and getting condemned by the Vatican is basically the ultimate badge of honor for a pop star. 

Nothing says "I've made it!" quite like getting condemned by the Vatican and keeping Pepsi's money.

3. Grandmaster Flash & The Furious Five – "The Message" (1982)

It was as close to pure consensus as it ever gets. Critics hailed it as a searing protest and a brilliant funk track. It was like they’d finally discovered that rap had a soul.

The surprise for music fans is that Grandmaster Flash himself didn’t want to do it! He was worried about moving away from "party rap." Imagine being skeptical of your own legendary contribution to history.

The song is now in the National Recording Registry. Flash was eventually convinced, proving that even the artist can occasionally misread the map on the Circular Journey. 

When even the artist thinks it's a bad idea but 75% of critics put it in their top five, maybe trust the critics just this once.

4. Michael Jackson – "Billie Jean" (1982)

Another song met with universal acclaim. Sleek, post-soul pop that turned Jackson into a Gen-X Elvis.

This time, the surprise floors me: the legendary Quincy Jones actually wanted to cut that 29-second bassline intro. He thought it was too long. Michael had to fight for it, saying, "That’s what makes me want to dance."

When the King of Pop tells you it's what makes him dance, you listen. If Quincy had won that round, we’d be missing one of the most iconic openings in history. 

Always trust your gut (in this case, your feet) over the producer’s stopwatch.

5. Public Enemy – "Bring the Noise" (1987)

This song is credited with validating rap as a "legitimate" art form for the rock-and-roll crowd. It was like getting the HOA to admit your river tour boat actually adds that certain something that makes the Riverwalk a classic destination.

A few listeners did find the sound "abrasive" or "scary." But isn't that the point? If your art doesn't make someone a little uncomfortable, are you even trying?

The song clocks in at a blistering 109 beats per minute and changed rhythm forever. It paved the way for metal-rap collaborations and proved that "noise" is often just music the critics haven't learned to dance to yet. 

Who knew that making metal fans and hip-hop heads finally get along would start with a song some thought "should've been left off the LP"?

The Pattern Emerges

The moral of the story? Critics in the ’80s had plenty of opinions and access to a word processor, but time had the last laugh.

The songs that aged the best are the ones that took the biggest risks. The critics who aged the best were the ones who were willing to admit, "Hey, I might have missed the boat on this one."

Forty years later, we’re still listening to these tracks regardless of what the critics wrote in the music magazines. That’s the ultimate review: the one written by time itself.

Watch for Part 2 of this report, where we’ll tackle the New Wave revolution and find out why critics had stronger opinions about synthesizers than I do about my choice of coffee shops.