Morning Has Broken

Gray skies pressed against my kitchen window as I scattered sunflower seeds for the backyard wildlife. The squirrels were conspicuously absent—probably huddled in their cozy tree nests, avoiding the morning's damp chill. Just like me, they seemed reluctant to fully embrace another depressing day.

Not a single bluebird sang in the forest and I suddenly felt the need for guidance from a higher power, and so I went indoors to seek advice from my personal oracle of wisdom--that's right, Ms. Wonder.

At the bottom of the stairs, I called out, "I've reviewed the work opportunities you suggested!" All I received in response was silence. Typical. When Wonder is in her photography studio, she can tune out the sounds of the Apocalypse or the onset of Judgment Day, and remain focused on adjusting lens apertures.

I entered her workspace, where organized chaos reigned supreme. Abstract photographs on stretched canvas lay strewn across the floor along with camera bodies and lens cases, creating a landscape of professional creativity. She looked up, one eyebrow arched—and a look that implied, What is it this time?

"I've shortlisted three potential career paths," I explained. "But Princess Amy has... concerns."

Ms. Wonder's lips twitched—the closest she ever comes to actually laughing at my concerns. "Let's hear it," she said.

"Your first suggestion seems promising," I said. "Responding to online surveys is appealing, and ZipRecruiter tells me sharing my opinions could bring in as much as $30 hourly. I like the sound of that."

"But Amy has other ideas?" she said.

"She thinks the surveys are used by the Illuminati to harvest thoughts from unsuspecting participants, and then the data is used for their nefarious porpoises."

"Purposes," Ms. Wonder corrected.

"Tonsils," I muttered. "They got in the way. Sorry."

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath—so deep I worried she'd hyperventilate. "Market research isn't mind control. Those survey rates are likely inflated, but they might provide pocket money while you explore more substantial opportunities."

"That is true," I said. "I'll keep surveys on the shortlist. As for option two, freelance writing, the market shows solid growth and reasonable compensation. But Amy's worried about "word demons."

"Like in Stephen King's 'The Dark Half'?" asked The Wonder and her disbelief filled the room. "Word demons?"

I nodded. "She's convinced they might control my creative thoughts. Of course, she's thinking of the sewer harpies, not word demons. She suggested they might cause me to write trashy romance novels--like bodice-rippers--instead of thoughtful essays."

"Let me get this straight," she said, holding up her hand in a universal gesture indicating don't try me too high. "You're worried about mind control and word demons. Now, let’s complete the triad. What’s your concern about temp work? I know you must have one."

"Amy is really worked up about that one. She says temp agencies are modern fairy courts. Unsuspecting mortals sign contracts for light office work, only to find themselves in eternal servitude to the Seely Court."

Ms. Wonder's reality check was swift and surgical. "Temp agencies are businesses matching workers with short-term opportunities. Not portals to alternate dimensions."

Having methodically dismantled Amy's elaborate conspiracy theories, she posed the critical question: "Which option best matches your skills and schedule?"

The answer, suddenly, was crystal clear. "Freelance writing," I admitted. "I can work from home without risking eternal bondage in service to supernatural entities."

"Excellent," she said, returning to her portfolio. "By the way, if you write trashy romance novels, I expect the first one to be dedicated to me."

I smiled. Ms. Wonder had once again transformed my scattered anxieties into a clear vision of the path forward. A new morning had indeed broken, reminiscent of that first morning we shared in Brookgreen Gardens.

A new chapter opened in my life--one filled with possibility. As for Princess Amy, she remained suspiciously quiet—probably plotting her next conspiracy theory.

Espresso Enlightenment

I'd come to Café Luna in the middle of the afternoon in the middle of the week because being in the Castle Street Arts District always lifts my mood. 

I hoped the artisanal coffee and ambient poetry readings would realign my chakras, or whatever it is that's supposed to happen in places with exposed brick walls. I didn't expect to find anyone I knew at this time of day on this day in the week.

"Wow, Uncle Genome," said an unexpected voice. "You look like something the cat dragged in the morning after the raccoons had their fun with you."

"Lupe!" I said. "I'm surprisingly happy to see you."

"You mean that having me here is a happy surprise for you," she said.

"Do I?" I said. "Oh never mind that. Sit. I have something I'd like to run up your flag pole."

"Is that something like a lead balloon?" she asked, "Because if it is, I don't know what to do with it."

"Lupe, you're looking at a man who's living in the Twilight Zone." 

"I'll bet it's nothing more than quantum fluctuations," she said.

"Can I get you something?" asked a nearby voice. "A double cappuccino, please," said the godniece, with the casual confidence of someone who's been drinking coffee since kindergarten. 

"Sir?" asked the barista. 

"Oh, yes," I said, still processing how a 15-year-old ordered coffee with more authority than I've ever had. "A flat white please."

"You were saying?" said Lupe.

"Lupe, the most unusual things have been happening," I said. "Synchronistic events have been occurring at abnormal frequency."

"There are so many things wrong with what you just said that I don't know where to begin," she said.

"Then don't," I said. "Let me give you just a few examples."

"No need," she said. "I understand well enough that you've experienced almost simultaneous occurrences of events that seem significantly related but have no discernable causal relationship."

I must have taken on an expression of lost in translation because without waiting for a reply she said, "Synchronistic events have been occurring at abnormal frequency."

"Exactly!" I said.

"Well, you're in luck," she said, "because I watched the latest episode of Hack Your Mind on YouTube last night, and the topic was Quantum Consciousness. I've watched one and a half episodes and by now, I must be an expert compared to most people."

"One double cappuccino and one flat white," said the barista placing the cups on the table.

"Excuse me," I said. "Did I ask for oat milk?."

"No you didn't," she said. "I'll remake it for you."

"Are you saying that I don't actually see what I think I see?"

"According to Dr. Mindbender, hallucinations are often the result of stress. Have you tried relaxation techniques like deep breathing for example?"

"I'm taking deep breaths now," I said. "It seems necessary to get through this conversation."

"Good," she said after sipping her cappuccino, "Take three is my suggestion. And then close your eyes and visualize a peaceful beach. Hear the soothing sounds of the surf and the call of seagulls."

"Ok," I said, closing my eyes, "My eyes are closed, and all I see are sandcastles and flying fish."

"Ah," she said, "not a problem. Dr. Dreamweaver teaches us to remain calm in the face of the bizarre and ask the visions to explain the message they have for us."

I closed my eyes again and asked the sandcastles to explain. I got no satisfaction. 

"I asked but only got a request for coffee," I told her. "Speaking of coffee, where's mine?"

"My goodness, you are demanding this morning, aren't you?"

"I'm not demanding this morning, I have this morning. What I'm demanding is caffeine."

"Chillax, I'll get your coffee," she said as she stood and headed for the Order Here spot.

"Thank you, Lupe. I'm so happy you've decided to rally around."

"I'm always looking out for you, you helpless jamoke," she said when she returned to the table. "You just don't always see it."

"Lupe," I said after the first sip from the cup. "Did you ask for chai in this coffee? If I wanted chai, which I don't, I would have requested it."

"What you need to do," she said, speaking with the same authority she used ordering espresso, "is to embrace the absurdity of life's little quirks and stop making a big deal out of every little thing. Now, drink your coffee. The unusual taste is probably the goat milk."

"Not goat," I said, "--oat. Is everyone your age as sassy as you?" 

"We rage against Babylon, Brah," she said, pulling out her phone to TikTok the moment. "And that pays dividends. But only if you pay attention. Want me to explain that again in emoji?"

Not So Secret, Obviously

I'm writing a book about managing the disastrous effects of mood disorders without mood-stabilizing drugs. If you're a veteran of The Circular Journey, you're familiar with many of my techniques—my "power principles." They are the foundations of my recovery program, although they're not so much the "secret" principles as the "obviously desperate."

For example, when feeling blue, I like to go for a little road trip. I lower the windows in my car—Wynd Horse, if you're keeping score (yes, I named my car, and no, I won't apologize for it)—turn the music up to 11, and belt out everything from Jagger to Joel, Diamond to Houston. My neighbors have suggested I stick to humming, but I believe enthusiasm trumps talent.

 Another daily routine is taking a twenty-minute walk in the sunshine. I chose one of the parklike savannahs near my home, where songbirds provide backup vocals for my internal monologue. They're much more forgiving than my neighbors.

I've tried medication, of course, but I'm one of the almost 70% of people for whom the drugs just don't work. Through my own journey to regain control of my life, I have learned that not everyone diagnosed with a mood disorder needs medication to live stable, productive lives.

Just to be clear about living a stable and productive life--it doesn't preclude public appearances while waving the hands, raising the voice, and dancing around like a 4-year-old needing a bathroom break.

Having said that, it's crucial to note that many people do need medication, and we should all follow qualified medical advice. (In the interest of full disclosure, I must state my interpretive dance therapy has not been FDA-approved.)

Now, about writing this book. I'm not new to writing—I've published over 80 non-fiction articles in magazines and newspapers. None about mood disorders, unless you count that one piece where my laptop crashed right before a deadline. 

I know how to organize and present information in short formats, guiding ideas from introduction to summary like a well-behaved tour guide. But stretch that journey beyond 5,000 words, and suddenly I'm a guide who's forgotten the map and is pretending my rambling is an intentional scenic detour.

Thankfully, I found and read Austin Kleon's inspiring book, Show Your Work. Kleon suggests that we share our works-in-progress on social media channels. He believes sharing imperfect work is a valuable part of the creative process. "The act of sharing is one of generosity," he says, and I must assume he's never witnessed my karaoke performances.

The idea frightens me a little. Still, Austin Kleon is someone I consider a winner, so I've decided to follow his advice and start showing what I've got. I should mention this isn't my first rodeo with "putting myself out there." Each previous attempt was like riding a bike using body English to steeer--it never ends well.

All this talk of 'showing my work' and 'putting myself out there' reminds me of a Seinfeld episode where Kramer decides jockey shorts are too confining and boxer shorts are too baggy. 

When Jerry, horrified, says, "Oh no, Kramer! Tell me it isn't so," Kramer responds with, "Oh, it is so, Jerry. I'm out there, and I'm loving every minute of it!"

So here I am, metaphorically going commando with my writing. I'm out there, and I can only hope to love every minute of it—even if I end up in a ditch underneath a bicycle.

Indigo Wonder

It's like this," I said, explaining to Ms. Wonder why I was having trouble keeping up with her photography exhibits. "It's the sewer harpies I mentioned before. They're agents of pure evil, and they seem to be getting stronger. I think it has something to do with my giving up the reselling business."

Princess Amy

She closed her eyes, lifted her chin a couple of inches, and held up a hand, palm open as if to ward off any negative energy I might be emitting.

"If you're going on about soul vessels, Celtic goddesses, and Charlie Asher, just stop now. Your agents of evil are nothing more than Princess Amy. In fact, Amy is simply another term for your dysfunctional limbic system, but I can work with that." 

"But...," she continued, "listen carefully because what I'm about to say is the most important part. You need to understand this—there are no sewer harpies." 

"Mabd is the worst of them," I replied. "I can handle Macha and Nemain, but Mabd is pure evil." 

"Amy is just making all this up," the Wonder said, ignoring my comment. "You're blowing things out of proportion—these are just random events that have Amy worked up, and she tells you it's supernatural."

"I’ve heard all of that before," I said. "I’ve considered it and even believed it, or, if not truly believed it, I accepted it as good enough to get on with. I’ve told you before that it’s not the events themselves but how frequently they keep occurring that bothers me. Like the Demon King."

Once again, I saw eye-rolling, a lifted chin, and a deep breath, followed by an open palm. It reminded me of Arnold Schwarzenegger's famous line, "Talk to the hand."

"Let's get grounded, shall we?" asked the Wonder. She wasn't making a suggestion; she was getting down to business, and I realized paying attention would be in my best interest.

"First," she continued, "we need to address the demon king once and for all. I've told you a hundred times that the Thai water opera demon king you sold on eBay was not authentic. It was just a souvenir sold at the Bangkok airport."

"The solution to your problem," she continued, "is to find humor in the circumstances that trouble you. You're right to turn to The Circular Journey. What it lacks is consistency. My suggestion is to blog every day."

"Wise counsel, Wonder," I replied, and I genuinely meant it. She had touched on a truth that I hold dear but often overlook, as if I have more important things to focus on. "I will post every day."

"You're also doing the right thing by using music to lift your spirits. But you limit your listening to road trips. Why not listen more at home?"

"That's an excellent observation," I said, meaning it wholeheartedly. This piece of wisdom sparked something in me. "Continuous music," I declared.

"And finally," she said, "you're not socializing nearly enough. You seldom go to meetings. Your social life is limited to seeing Lupe and Claudia on random weekdays and Island Irv on Sunday mornings." 

The 'meetings' she referred to are a part of the recovery program for those who have abused alcohol and other substances, like the white powder we used to sprinkle in our hemp doobies.

"There are no lunch-hour meetings here in Waterford," I replied, "so with the Cape Fear bridge closed, I’ll be going to Southport for meetings instead. And just so you know, there are no recovery programs for coffee consumption, so I’ll continue to abuse caffeine--just saying."

"Oh," she said, as if suddenly receiving a jolt of information from the Akashic Record, "exercise and meditation are most important. You have a workout program, but you're not consistent. You need to make it a top priority."

"I refer to those activities as my Power Principles," I replied. "It's something I learned from SuperBetter."

I added that last part because I was beginning to feel like the student, and I much preferred being the teacher. I used to teach. In fact, I used to do a lot of things. Perhaps the core issue was the past tense. I'd feel better being the teacher rather than someone who used to teach.

"It's not important what you call them," she said, "as long as you practice them regularly."

I froze! What was she thinking? Not important what I called them? I watched her lips move as she continued to speak, but I heard nothing she said.

My mind had gone off track, caught in a tangled web of emotions, similar to the time I attempted to turn onto Old Thatcher Road as a teenager while riding my bike with my hands on my head. I don’t need to explain how that ended. 

Yet, my wondrous life partner was offering her wisdom of extraordinary possibilities. If you know me at all, you know that when Wonder speaks, I listen, and not only listen--I act!

First, I checked in with Princess Amy and found her in a good mood. Then, I renewed my commitment to taking sober, rational steps. "Reasonable action" is something we'll need to define as we go along—I don't have much experience with being reasonable. So, stay tuned to The Circular Journey for updates as they unfold.

I have a feeling that I'm onto something big!

Making Waves

You probably remember the story I told in a previous post about how I dove from atop the Armstrong Bridge railings as a rite of passage. The whole thing seems wondrous to me, even after all these years.  

You surely remember I had just turned thirteen, and in Shady Grove, that called for one of our hero labors, similar to those performed by Hercules. If you don’t remember reading that post, for God's sake, don't look for it now. Finish this post first. You can always look for it later. To leave before finishing this post would constitute a lapse in judgment. No offense intended.

You’re probably thinking, But Genome, you’re not the type to go in for platform diving. You’re more inclined to sit-on-the-couch-and-watch-Olympic-diving. And you’re right. I absolutely am. My spirit animal is a housecat stretched out in a sunbeam, batting lazily at life’s demands. But occasionally, life sneaks up behind you, shoves you off the metaphorical (or literal) bridge, and forces you to conform.

In this case, it was my daredevil friend’s birthday. She’d always wanted to outdo the boys, and as a card-carrying member of the Friends Code of Honor, I couldn’t sit on the railing and let her go alone. Who else would hold her hair back when she inevitably puked mid-jump? 

So there I was, standing on the top rail of the bridge, looking down at the water far below. My heart was pounding, my palms were sweaty, and I was 87% sure I’d made a huge mistake.

I’d love to say I faced my fears with grace and poise, but that would be a lie. I forced myself to go through with it, kicking, and screaming on the inside, and making a mental note to edit her out of my will. Still, I saw her giddy face, her uncontainable excitement as I climbed the rail, and I knew—against all my better instincts—I had to do it.

So, I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and leaped. And you know what? It was…unreal. It was like hitting the reset button on my senses. Gravity and adrenaline teamed up to make me feel alive in a way I’d never experienced before. For a brief, glorious moment, I forgot all my worries. Plus, I managed to keep my breakfast down, which I consider a significant win.

Now, platform diving isn’t for everyone. In fact, for most people, it’s a firm no thanks. But the real takeaway here isn’t about flinging yourself off bridges—it’s about those moments in life when you just have to take a leap. Whether it’s diving, bungee jumping, asking for a raise, or admitting to someone you love them, there’s a thrill that comes with stepping out of your comfort zone. Life’s too short to sit back and wonder, What if?

That’s the type of thinking to convince Ms. Wonder and me to name 2025 The Year of Making Waves. We plan to climb up high enough to make a splash and then leap into a renewed way of life holding back nothing.

And let’s be honest: If you decide to plunge into the pool of limitless possibilities, maybe you’ll discover a hidden passion, snag that dream job, or sweep your true love off their feet. Or maybe, just maybe, you’ll find yourself high atop a bridge railing, wondering how you got talked into it, while your best friend screams joyfully beside you. Either way, you’ll have a story. And stories, my friends, are what make this whole wondrous, ridiculous ride worthwhile.

Remember Me

Some days, I wake up feeling like the world has wrapped me in a foggy, melancholy blanket. This particular weekday morning was one of those. Hoping to shake it off, I set off for downtown Wilmington to meet my friend Island Irv, fully expecting coffee and camaraderie to lift my spirits.

Wilmington is a city conveniently situated on the edge of America. On a clear day, from the Memorial Bridge, you can see most of the way to Jamaica. Some may disagree with me, but I'm sure I'm right. I feel it in my heart.

When you cross the Memorial Bridge, the road drops you off right onto the streets of downtown without breaking a sweat. You're immediately embraced by the city's charm, though I’ll admit that the suddenness with which you arrive can leave even the most seasoned traveler blinking and shaking the coconut. 

My downtown excursions are usually reserved for lazy Sunday mornings, not the midweek hustle. But this wasn’t a usual day—I needed a pick-me-up, and Cafe Luna was my go-to.

The plan was simple: grab coffee, caffeinate my mind, slap the Islander on the back, and get Ms. Wonder to Oak Island in time for low tide. On Holden Beach we would join other like-minded treasure hunters scouring the sands for buried bounty, or as Wonder calls it, sea biscuits. But plans, as you are aware, have a way of unraveling.

I arrived at the cafe, and scanned the street for Irv’s car--nothing. Not a trace. My spirits, already teetering, leaned like the famous tower. I entered the cafe and found it buzzing with energy—the hum of conversation, the hiss of espresso machines—but I felt oddly alone. There was no Irv.

What now? Early mornings aren’t my strong suit. My brain doesn’t hit its stride until the late afternoon, so I was at a loss. But some instinct led me through a door at the back of the lobby, and I found myself in a large room dominated by an enormous mural stretching across one wall. Baristas bustled beneath the mural, serving drinks to the caffeinated masses.

I wandered to the counter and unburdened myself to a friendly barista, spilling the whole sorry tale. He nodded sagely and suggested a “quantum leap,” a concoction of his own invention. He assured me it was the kind of drink that could get a rabbit in shape to take on a grizzly bear. 

I dimly remembered hearing that story somewhere else in a faraway time. Perhaps I heard it in another universe. (If you're unfamiliar with the bit of transdimensional skulduggery involving the multiverse, stay tuned; I'll explain in another episode. For now, it's enough to know that the bears in the matchups never make it past three rounds.)

Desperate times call for desperate measures, someone said, and so I ordered a double. The man was not wrong. By the time I finished the second, the fog had lifted, and the scene around me was warm and bright. Outside, the day seemed new. My feeling of being alone and lost was replaced by a buoyant sense of possibility, and I felt braced to take on the day.

Back on the street, I felt infused with the city’s energy. The streets were alive—people bustled as if it were some reasonable hour, tramcars overflowed with commuters, and a palpable buzz filled the air. 

At first, the sheer activity was jarring, but soon it felt invigorating. There’s something about Wilmington—maybe it’s the salt air or the hidden pockets of charm—that makes you feel that anything is possible.

Mick Jagger was spot on when he commented about looking for things. You don't always find what you want but you often find what you need. 

I walked into that cafe looking for a friend and a cure for my low spirits. Irv wasn’t there, but I found something unexpected: a moment of connection with a kind barista, a jolt of caffeine-fueled inspiration, and a reminder that even on the greyest mornings, a little adventure can turn your whole day around.

It reminds me of something we learned from our cats, and I'm speaking of the Chatsford Tribe. Long after they left pawprints on the furniture, their lessons still linger in our hearts and minds. The sweet truth they left with us is this:

Life is better when you embrace it with curiosity and a healthy dose of mischief. And if you ever need help, accept the help that comes to you, no matter its source.

Write Like Shakespeare

"Duck and cover," said a familiar voice as dawn slipped through my bedroom window. My dreams faded as I adjusted to the waking world and I realized that, in about a minute, Ms. Wonder would rise in all her glory and deliver the morning weather report—to prepare me for our morning constitutional.

It was a beautiful morning. After completing our walk, I headed to Castle Street and entered Luna Caffè, hoping for a slow, dreamy Sunday vibe, Lionel Ritchie style. Instead, I spotted them—Lupe and Claudia—seated dead center, radiating chaos. This, I thought, is TNT in late-teenage form.

I've learned that having a compelling topic at the ready makes surprise encounters smoother. It wards off awkward silences and provides an escape if the conversation veers into dangerous waters. I had one—yesterday's coffee crawl in the Brooklyn Arts District. These two would eat it up. I took a deep breath and approached their table.

"Good morning, Kitten," Lupe grinned.

It was as though an invisible DJ scratched the vinyl to bring me to an abrupt stop. How did she know about the mysterious voice that woke me each morning? (If you’re not caught up, search my blog. Top right.)

"How do you know about that?" I asked, rattled.

Lupe smirked. "I read your blog, silly."

"Oh. Right." Of course she did. She followed The Circular Journey—or at least skimmed it.

"You’ve been posting a lot lately," Claudia observed. "You might want to check your coffee consumption."

"Or your blogging compulsion," Lupe added.

"What’s that supposed to mean?"

"Do the math. You’re addicted."

"Get real. I can stop anytime I want."

"That’s what all addicts say," Lupe said.

"And maybe focus on quality over quantity," Claudia suggested.

"Like Shakespeare," Lupe added.

"Don’t talk to me about Shakespeare and quality," I huffed. "The man couldn't even spell his own name."

"Maybe because there was more than one Shakespeare," Claudia said. "Bacon, Marlowe, the Earl of Oxford—"

"Drivel!" I'd heard enough of the theory that Shakespeare was a front for someone else. "He was the Bard of Avon, born April 23, 1564, in Stratford-Upon-Avon."

"But he never left England," Lupe countered. "How’d he know so much about foreign cultures?"

"Please. He just slapped English sensibilities onto exotic backdrops. He knew squat."

"And the theory that his writing reflects his mental state?" Claudia pressed.

"Poppycock," I said.

A woman at a nearby table, watching Ferris Bueller’s Day Off on a VCR, murmured, "Interesting word choice." That’s Luna Caffè for you—a vintage-minded Twee haven where even the furniture has opinions.

"His work is different from mine," I said, "but there are certain passages I wouldn’t mind being attributed to me. Like that bit about life being a walking shadow."

"That struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more," Claudia recited.

"Exactly. Just the right amount of topspin. That alone puts him in the Genome class of writers."

Silence. Maybe time to bring up the coffee crawl? Then inspiration struck.

"Why do critics assume a writer’s work reflects their personal struggles? My own writing is often the opposite of my mental state. 

"Yes," Lupe said, "but given recent evidence, you may want to reconsider that opinion."

She and Claudia exchanged smug looks. I sighed but smiled. This was why I loved meeting up with them. The conversation was always sharp, and they kept me on my toes.

"Fine," I said, raising my mug. "I admit I might be a little enthusiastic about blogging and may underestimate the Bard."

"A little?" Claudia snorted.

"It’s not a problem," I said sweetly.

"Again," Lupe grinned, "that’s what all addicts say."

I rolled my eyes and took a sip of coffee. I was happy. Life needs people who call you out, keep you honest, and save you a seat at the coffee shop every Sunday.

Driving home, This Must Be the Place playing, I reflected on our conversation. Beneath all the teasing lay a serious question. Sure, I was writing a lot—but was I writing well? Was I chasing likes and comments, or was I saying something that mattered?

Shakespeare probably never worried about such things. He just wrote—brilliantly, recklessly, with no concern for how his name was spelled. The lesson? Write because you love it, and surround yourself with people who challenge you but never expect you to write to please them.

Crossing the Memorial Bridge and seeing downtown Wilmington stretched out along the riverfront, I felt a small but distinct surge of joy, and I thought--

Home is where I want to be but, I'm already there. And you (Ms. Wonder) are standing here beside me, sharing the same space for a minute or two. What could be better?

Get Help Too

A damp Monday afternoon last week found me in my usual booth near the window but not too near the door at the café on the corner of Highway 421 and Independence Avenue. My coffee, which aspired to be a blonde roast, had instead slipped into the neighborhood of burnt barbecue. I sipped it with the resignation of a man who has long since stopped expecting life to deliver on its promises.

It was an unremarkable moment, yet suddenly, as if struck by divine inspiration—or perhaps just heartburn caused by the coffee—I remembered a recommendation from Dr. Coast, my therapist. In our last session, she suggested that my life could be vastly improved with one of those artificial intelligence mental health apps. Apparently, they’re all the rage, much like kale smoothies and minimalist furniture.

Now, to be clear, I wasn’t looking for one of those apps that peddle serenity through zen-inspired synthesized music and stock photos of people gazing wistfully at the horizon. No, I needed an app designed to navigate the tangled jungle that Dr. Coast refers to as my mental state. Preferably an app equipped with a machete.

Dr. Coast is quite fascinated by the rise of artificial intelligence. Her recommendation came to her during our last session when she advised me to "Take a deep breath," and I, in the fog of my existential crisis, heard, "Take a deep nap." An easy mistake to make, really, and arguably the superior option.

A quick Google search turned up the very app she'd named. The advert proudly described it as a "breakthrough in the mental health space." It promised "instant clarity and algorithmic wisdom," which, to my caffeine-addled mind, sounded just the ticket.

The tagline, "Instant results with minimal effort," was the clincher. As a modern man, I hold certain principles dear, one of them being that if enlightenment can be achieved without making an effort, all the better. I’m sure you share my sensibilities. After all, you’re a regular here on The Circular Journey, so we’re kindred spirits of sorts.

In the blink of an eye, I downloaded the app, canceled my therapy appointment, and prepared to bask in the glow of my new, algorithmically-enhanced mental clarity.

I won’t spoil the ending, but allow me to provide a touch of foreshadowing: picture a bulldozer in a china shop, wearing a blindfold, and whistling merrily.

One week later, I was back in therapy with Dr. Coast, grateful to be in the presence of someone who did not suggest chanting verbal mudras for serenity or rearranging my bookshelf for emotional realignment. It had been a trying time.

Over the week, I learned that life’s deepest questions cannot be answered by an AI-powered oracle, no matter how many reassuring push notifications it sends. The truth, as it turns out, is far simpler: real conversation, human connection, and the occasional chat with a cat are the true pillars of emotional well-being.

A profound revelation, no doubt. However, when Dr. Coast suggested I delete the app—presumably to avoid being bested by a talking algorithm—I hesitated. That’s right, I demurred. Not because the app had worked wonders (quite the opposite), but because the entire fiasco had led me to an even greater epiphany:

Not all of life’s complexities are solved in therapy. Sometimes, the path to enlightenment involves outdoor escapades, physical challenges, or noble pursuits like learning a new language, documenting local graffiti, or launching a highly questionable AI experiment just to see what happens.

Most importantly, the best approach to mental well-being is rarely a binary choice. It’s a grand, multifaceted adventure. And no matter which path you take, you must include the holy trinity of happiness: a good cup of tea, a hearty laugh, and a friend who doesn’t judge you for occasionally talking to your shoes.

One final thought: While human therapists have the distinct advantage of warm handshakes and sympathetic nods, they do not, regrettably, come with a convenient FAQ section. Apps, for their part, cannot provide the comfort of a reassuring pat on the shoulder or a well-timed "There, there."

There’s a word for that, but it escapes me at the moment. No doubt, Wonder will know.

Ad Blockers

The Great Ad Blocker Paradox

Ad blockers are all the rage on the Internet recently, and frankly, I get it. Search for something simple—like how to get chocolate out of a white carpet—and you might find one helpful article buried under hundreds of ads trying to sell you industrial-grade stain remover or carpet dye. 

And not surprisingly, among all those ads, you’ll find promotions for apps that promise to block ads.

Ads for ad blockers are designed to be like shiny objects--they grab your attention. And I must admit, some of them do sparkle. Admit it, you’ve clicked at least one. And when mild curiosity causes you to click, you're suddenly spiraling down the rabbit hole of pop-ups, testimonials, and big flashing buttons that scream, “Click here for a free trial!” Irony, thy name is digital advertising.

Here's my point and my confession: I don’t use ad blockers. I know, shocking, right? Why wouldn't I want to make life easier by eliminating those annoying ads? But consider for a moment: if I blocked ads, I’d lose easy access to some of the most valuable—and hilariously absurd—content the Internet has to offer. Let me explain.

• Simple, natural cures for every ailment. Did you know a paste made of parsley and moonlight can cure hiccups and probably fix your credit score? Neither did I until an ad told me so.
• True, lasting weight loss without sacrifices. Yes, it’s possible to shed pounds without giving up donuts or breaking a sweat. You just have to buy a $99 eBook called Lose Fat While You Nap!
• Saving hundreds, even thousands, on insurance. I don’t know how switching my car insurance will net me a new yacht, or a swimming pool, or a cruise around the Aegean islands on a luxury liner but the people in the ad were thrilled about it.
• Making a 7-figure income from my phone. And the best part? I can do it in my “spare time.” Apparently, billion-dollar empires can be built between episodes of Emily in Paris. Who knew?

My personal favorites are YouTube videos that promise enlightenment in 30 seconds or less. They're the fortune cookies of the Web. Then there are promises of great achievements with no effort--"Become fluent in French while you sleep." Others tempt you with headlines like, “This discovery changes everything! Learn why doctors don't want you to know!”

Sure, the avalanche of ads can be frustrating, but it’s also endlessly entertaining. It's all about attitude, isn't it? Rather than annoying ads, I think of it as a steady stream of pop-up soap operas. 

Dr. Coast put her finger on the nub when she said, "Think of all you'll miss if you install one of those ad blockers!"

And so, I’ll pass on the ad blockers for now. After all, without that steady stream of advertising soap operas, I'd never have learned about the revolutionary power of Himalayan goat milk to reverse aging.

Emergent Surprises

Emergent behaviors are system properties not present in their lower-level components. They arise when those components interact with each other. The technical name for emergent behavior is “surprises.”

“Ah, I see,” said Ms. Wonder. “Now it becomes clear why you associate emergent behavior with our squirrels--surprises! You got that right. In the good old days, we had seven of them, and their silly antics were fun. You even blogged about them.”

“What you call silly antics,” I said, “is what I call disordered behavior.”

Ms. Wonder had graciously agreed to hear one of the ideas I was considering for my new SubStack blog. I’m thinking about writing on emergent behavior in the context of systems theory and biological organisms. It sounds terribly nerdy, I admit, but my goal is to make it interesting—dare I say, even fun—for the layperson.

But don’t roll your eyes just yet! This new project won’t interfere with The Circular Journey, the blog you’ve come to love and depend on. It’ll continue as it always has—equal parts wisdom and squirrels, with the occasional cameo from Ms. Wonder herself.

“One familiar example of emergent behavior,” I said, “is when a group of starlings flies in synchronized formation in the evening sky. Each bird in the flock merely mimics its nearest neighbors—a fairly simple act that results in a surprisingly complex behavior.”

“Yes, but what does that,” she said, “have to do with our squirrels?”

“Bear with me,” I said. “I’m getting there. When the squirrels moved into our backyard, resources were abundant, and competition was limited. That’s why they chose our yard in the first place.”

“Yes, I see,” she said, nodding. “Makes sense.”

“Those favorable factors allowed them the freedom to reproduce at full capacity.”

“In other words,” she said, “our squirrel neighbors are enjoying an orgy of fruit and nuts, carousing all evening—sex, drugs, and rock and roll about sum it up.”

I thought of many things I could say in response—perhaps too many things—so I let that one slide.

“Chaos theory,” I continued, “you probably remember me mentioning. It tells us that small changes in a system’s initial conditions can trigger drastic changes over time. It’s called the butterfly effect.”

“I've heard about the butterfly effect,” she said, “but what I’d like to know is why Texas. What’s Texas got to do with it?”

“Never mind Texas,” I said. “It’s not germane. Molecular chaos tells us that confined molecules, even in something less than complete disorder, will inevitably move toward greater disorder as they collide.”

“I’m listening,” she said, and I was relieved to finally have her attention. I get a little wound up trying to impress this woman. She’s the family member with the superior cognitive powers, and when she really lets that brain loose, she’s a force to be reckoned with.

“So you see,” I said, “it all boils down to this...”

“Do tell,” she said, leaning forward. “I’m holding my breath.”

The part about holding her breath sailed right past me, but I was buoyed by her attention and pressed on.

“A few squirrel families arrived in our yard and enjoyed abundant food and freedom from predators. Sitting atop the fence day after day, leisurely enjoying a feast of fruit and nuts—they were soon noticed by other squirrels.”

“And crows,” she said. “Don’t forget the crows. They sat in the tall dead tree and announced the feast to all of Waterford. It was like free Dunkin’ coffee and doughnuts.”

Once again, the Dunkin’ motif caught me off guard, but I let it pass.

“The ‘components’ of the squirrel population,” I said, “began to interact exponentially. The more excited they became, the more disorder they achieved, until reaching total chaos.”

Her eyes grew bigger as I approached the punchline. By the time I stopped talking, she was out of her chair.

“The result was inevitable,” she said. “Quantum determinism realized once more. Where we once had seven quiet little tree monkeys playing in our backyard, we now have 20 components interacting in total chaos.”

“In other words,” she added with a smirk, “surprises have emerged!”

Celebrate Your Life

Why Not Celebrate Life?

We’ve embraced bucket lists as a cultural phenomenon—a checklist of adventures and dreams we want to tackle before we kick said bucket. Life Reviews, meanwhile, have crept onto the scene, offering us a way to reflect, recalibrate, and gain clarity about what’s truly important. But there’s one glaring omission in this trio of life milestones: a Life Celebration.

Let’s affirm it--life is good, the world is amazing, and we don't appreciate it enough. Even those of us who truly do appreciate our lot in life, we don't show enough gratitude.

Now, I could regale you with the story of my life, framed as a tragic tale. You’d nod sympathetically as I recounted episodes of depression, anxiety, grief, and attention deficiency, marveling at how I’m still standing. “How do you even function?” you’d ask, wide-eyed. And I’d shrug modestly, accepting your awe.

Or, I could tell you the story of my magical, charmed existence—the serendipitous moments, the inexplicable twists of fortune. You’d lean in, enchanted, and agree that my life has been a delightful mosaic of wonder.

Here’s the kicker: both stories are true. But which one I tell—and how I tell it—is entirely my choice. Neuroscience and psychology have plenty to say about why we’re wired to lean on the tragic tale, but here’s the epiphany: I don’t have to. And neither do you.

From Reviewing Life to Celebrating It

So, where am I going with all this? Just as we create bucket lists to inspire adventure and Life Reviews to help us gain perspective, we should also have Life Celebrations to honor the beauty, meaning, and inexplicable joys of the journey.

I hope you agree that there are inexplicable joys along the way. If you doubt it, then I wish you that joy, and I offer the only advice that I have to give on the subject--you will find inexplicable joy if you look for it.

Life Reviews, by the way, are not just about nostalgia or dredging up regrets. They’re about understanding. Studies suggest that reflecting on life helps us see the threads that connect our experiences, allowing us to learn from the past and make sense of who we are. 

Life Reviews foster gratitude, offer closure for unresolved conflicts, and provide a sense of peace. It’s like taking inventory of your life’s emotional treasures—and realizing how rich you truly are.

But why stop at reflection? Why not move to celebration?

The Case for a Life Celebration

We already celebrate birthdays—milestones marking our journey around the sun. A Life Celebration might be similar, but with significant differences: a formal, ritualized way to honor the life you’ve lived so far. 

Think of it as a personal festival of joy and reflection. Imagine friends and family gathering not for a farewell party or an obligatory anniversary dinner but for a heartfelt celebration of your existence.

Here are a few ideas to kick-start this beautiful tradition:

1. The Story Circle: Invite loved ones to share their favorite stories about you—funny moments, meaningful encounters, or even the quirky things that make you uniquely you. It’s a live highlight reel, reminding you of your impact on others.

2. Ritual of Gratitude: Set aside a moment during the celebration for everyone to express gratitude—not just for you, but for the shared experiences that have shaped your friendship. Pass a candle, write messages on a shared board, or create a gratitude tree.

3. Legacy Keepsakes: Create something tangible during the celebration, like a scrapbook of memories, a video montage, or a quilt made from pieces of your story. It’s a keepsake for you and a treasure for generations to come.

4. Symbolic Ceremonies: Incorporate meaningful rituals—perhaps lighting candles for each decade of your life, planting a tree to symbolize growth, or even creating a "time capsule" filled with mementos and dreams for the future.

5. Your Own ‘Drink Me’ Potion: End the event with a signature drink or dish that reflects your journey—something that’s uniquely “you.” Serve it with a story about why it matters.

Why Not?

Life is beautiful, fleeting, and unpredictable. A Life Celebration isn’t just about looking back—it’s about recognizing the miracle of being here, in this moment. It’s about shifting the narrative from “survival” to “appreciation,” from “I have to” to “I get to.”

So, what do you think? Why not start your own Life Celebration? Why not honor the story you’re living, the connections you’ve made, and the joy of simply being alive?

Why not, indeed? Ms. Wonder would approve.

Mockingbird and Bluejay

The day opened with promises of blue skies and cheerful bluebirds, all day long. How does that song go? "Blue skies smiling at me. Nothing but blue skies do I see. Never saw the sun shining so bright. Never saw things going so right."

It reminded me of something P.G. Wodehouse wrote about glorious mornings and how they flatter mountaintops. I can’t recall the exact words—pretty highbrow stuff—but I couldn’t have put it better myself. Of course, one must always budget for the weather, so the key is to enjoy yourself when you can. You never know when some cocky politician will come along and mess things up.

Armed with birdseed, I headed outside to greet the day—and the birds, who were already busy greeting it themselves.

Mimi, a perky Mockingbird, is my morning companion. She alights on the fence near enough for me to touch, then fixes me with her inquisitive eye. I place the feed atop the fence rail, and she follows me as I move along. She nibbles here and there but seems more interested in watching me.

I chat with her as we go, and she tilts her head, side to side as if wondering why I don’t have a song like hers. Maybe she’s studying my voice, planning to mock me later. Who knows what runs through a bird’s mind?

Eventually, Chester, a jaunty, self-important, and perpetually suspicious Blue Jay—spots us. Chester fancies himself the head of wildlife security and takes it upon himself to monitor all forest activity. He seems to think Mimi is up to something, though what he suspects, I can’t imagine, but security types like Chester don’t need probable cause.

As soon as he sees us, he sounds the alarm, screeching as if the house is on fire. Mimi flees, along with every other bird within earshot. Chester puffs up with pride and perches victoriously on the fence, basking in his success.

It’s better for him to feel satisfied; otherwise, he calls an emergency 'Council of Birds,' which leads to high-decibel accusations and wildly bizarre conspiracy theories. 

The council inevitably disperses once the birds realize Chester’s crisis is just more of his self-important bluster. Unfortunately, birds seem to have short memories because the charade replays every morning like clockwork.

The backyard comes alive again once I finish my chores. Mimi returns, along with Chester (still smug), the squirrel circus, and the Mourning Dove choir—the Sisters of the Order of Brunswick. The doves rarely partake in the goodies, presumably fasting to set an example for the ever-rowdy squirrels.

By evening, as the sun dips below the treetops and casts a golden glow on the backyard, Chester can be seen perched atop the old dead tree at the forest’s edge, surveying his “secured” and "safe" domain. The early evening quiet is unremarkable, but Chester takes pride in it. I imagine him puffing out his chest and muttering, “Better safe than sorry.”

You might think I have an overactive imagination, but if you were here to experience the day with me, I have no doubt you'd agree with my assessment. Bird psychology is just as easy to understand as human psychology. If it looks like a self-important Blue Jay and sounds like a self-important Blue Jay... etc., etc.

Mood Indigo

Art has a unique way of revealing the extraordinary beauty hidden within the ordinary. That belief drives the creative journey of abstract photographer Ms. Wonder.

Her photographs capture the fleeting beauty of shimmering reflections, transforming ordinary surfaces into a canvas of abstract artistry. 

Her latest achievement, selected for the 'Mood Indigo' exhibition at Sunset River Gallery, is a testament to her remarkable ability to transform the mundane into the magnificent."

The Vision Behind the Lens

Wonder explains that Georgia O'Keeffe's influence has taught here that:

 

“When we take time to really notice the everyday, seemingly mundane, we can find a new way of seeing—a way in which the ordinary becomes extraordinary.” 

One of her favorite methods is to capture intimate, detailed images of ships that brave the elements to cross vast oceans. The weathered hulls, with their layer of colors, bear the marks of countless journeys. The abstract forms created by wind, waves, and time come alive in her photographs, inviting viewers to appreciate the beauty that often goes unseen.

The Journey to 'Mood Indigo'

The 'Mood Indigo' exhibition showcases artworks that explore the depth and emotion of the color indigo. Sunset River Gallery, renowned for its exceptional collection of regional art, issued a Call for Art and received far more submissions than could be accommodated for this themed show. Ms. Wonder’s “Celestial Sky Bursts” was among the select few chosen, a recognition that left her both honored and thrilled.

The journey to this moment was as meticulous as her photographic process. First came the image selection: choosing a piece that not only resonated with the theme but also showcased her signature style. 

Her curated photograph, "Celestial Sky Bursts," is a striking example of her artistry. As part of the submission process, she crafted a compelling paragraph to accompany her work:

"Celestial Sky Bursts" invites you to lose yourself in the rich depths of indigo, a color that evokes the infinite wonder of the cosmos. Vertical bursts of white and red streak upward, like distant starfire breaking through the quiet darkness. A notable red line slices the bottom, evoking a planet's surface or the boundary of a faraway world. It’s a moment of stillness and wonder, where the universe speaks in bursts of light."

Preparation and Presentation

Once “Celestial Sky Bursts” was accepted, the countdown to the exhibition began. Art drop-off day on January 30th was marked by careful preparation, ensuring the piece arrived ready to dazzle. Then came the opening night celebration on February 1st, a festive wine reception where artists, collectors, and art enthusiasts gathered to celebrate the new show.

Standing beside her photograph in the gallery, Ms. Wonder reflected on the journey. From capturing the initial image on the Cape Fear River to seeing it displayed alongside other remarkable works, this moment was a culmination of her dedication to the craft and her belief in the power of art to transform the way we see the world.

A New Way of Seeing

Ms. Wonder’s work is deeply inspired by the legacy of Georgia O’Keeffe, whose paintings encouraged viewers to slow down and appreciate the beauty in small, often overlooked details. Through her photography, Ms. Wonder invites us to do the same.

As she puts it, “When I stop trying to understand abstract art and simply allow myself to pay attention, my inner critic fades away, and everything becomes as it should be.” This belief is the philosophy at the heart of her practice and resonates in every image she creates.

Looking Ahead

The 'Mood Indigo' exhibition is just the beginning of an exciting year for Ms. Wonder and her artistic journey. With four additional photographs currently on display at Sunset River Gallery and plans for future projects, she’s poised to continue inspiring viewers to find beauty in the everyday. 

Ms. Wonder’s art is a testament to her belief that beauty truly is all around us—if we take the time to see it.