Looking for the Light

I recently found myself back in a very familiar place. It's a place we've talked about here before—more than once in fact. I'm struggling with coming to terms with the direction I want to take The Circular Journey. 

Inspiration often strikes when I'm not actively searching for it. Sometimes the best approach is to get quiet and let my mind wander. I believe that my authentic voice and local perspective make The Circular Journey unique, so I trust that ideas will come with little effort on my part.

It is for me a fascinating aspect of creativity! When I say inspiration often comes when I'm not actively searching for it, I'm talking about how my mind often works best in the background.

When I deliberately try to force creativity, I can end up with a kind of mental gridlock—staring at a blank screen and feeling increasing pressure to come up with something brilliant. But my best ideas usually emerge during moments of mental relaxation or when we're engaged in something entirely different:

• During a shower or bath
• While taking a walk
• Just before falling asleep or right after waking
• When doing routine tasks like driving familiar routes
• During exercise when my mind can wander

When I'm not deeply engaged in problem-solving, my brain shifts into default mode. This network helps make unexpected connections between various ideas and experiences stored in my memory. It's why one of my best blog posts occurred to me while grocery shopping!

The default mode is also filled with a majority of negative thoughts so it's wise to be continuously vigilant, especially if you have a mood disorder like me. Need I say that seldom do I get truly worthwhile ideas when Amy is stirred up?

Success usually comes when I put aside the pressure to create and let my observations about local culture, my experiences with film productions, and my conversations with people like Ms. Wonder, Island Irv and yes, even Princess Amy, naturally coalesce into fresh perspectives.

My most reliable approach seems to be planting the seeds of what I'm interested in writing about, then deliberately turning my attention to something else and letting my subconscious work its magic. When I return to my blog, I'm sometimes surprised by the ideas that bubbled up while I wasn't paying attention.

And that's what I'm doing now and I'll keep on doing until it something interesting turns up. Until then, enjoy my latest burst of creativity and, as always, leave a comment or two. I love hearing from you.

Dance Like a Bee

I recently received a comment from a self-proclaimed regular follower who suggested that The Circular Journey should have a recognizable theme. Without one, he said, the blog feels like “a random collection of stories and essays about nothing in particular.”

To which I mentally replied, and with great flair: Exactly!

I genuinely enjoy hearing from readers. It shows they're paying attention and they care. That alone feels like a win to me. And to be fair, the reader isn't wrong. I’m not a life coach and I’m not a mental health expert. 

I write this blog mainly to laugh at the absurdities of my personal life. My goal is for readers to be amused, entertained, or at minimum, mildly confused but curious to read more. 

I aim to build a community of like-minded souls—people who understand that a squirrel on the windowsill might be a sign from the universe, or maybe just a squirrel making prolonged eye contact. I believe I’ve achieved my goal.

Many blogs indeed have themes. And I admire those who can say 'yes' to one and leave the others behind. I really do. Did you ever have to do that? Make a decision I mean. Give the nod to one and let the others ride?

The Circular Journey is deliberately about nothing in particular. It's like free-form jazz or interpretive dance. In that sense, it's like my favorite form of late-night entertainment—The Circular Journey is the podcast of blogs.

Take SmartLess or Conan O’Brien Needs a Friend—two of my favorite podcasts. They meander. They digress. They are, frankly, all over the place. And they are wildly successful. I'm also a big fan of StarTalk and Mindscape, which are science-themed but still manage to wander off-topic with humor and charm.

I’ve mentioned before that The Circular Journey owes a creative debt to Seinfeld, the beloved sitcom famously described as “a show about nothing.” It became one of the most popular TV shows of all time. Coincidence? Accident? I think not. 

I'm proud of my wayward little blog. And I hope you like it too. It doesn't have a theme and, perhaps even more surprising, it has an imaginary princess on its advisory board. And what's the upshot of that? It has a vibrant heartbeat, a lively spirit, and a distinct personality, and that's enough for me.

The Circular Journey is to nothing in particular, what Muhammad Ali was to boxing, what Michael Jackson was to choreography, and what your favorite Hawaiian shirt is to an otherwise respectable outfit: unexpected, unnecessary, but absolutely essential. 

And so I say, float like a butterfly, dance like a bee, and always circle back home.

Essentially Prepared

We've become a society of pack animals, though I suspect donkeys would file complaints with their union if asked to carry as much as we do. Everywhere I go I see people hauling bags of "essentials" that would make a wilderness survivalist feel unprepared.

Car keys, credit cards, hand lotion, face lotion, tissues to wipe off the lotions (apparently we're concerned about leaving a moisturizing trail), breath mints, medications, and nail clippers; these are only a few of the items we need with us when meeting friends for lunch. 

My imaginary critic—known to regulars as Princess Amy—insists that "these aren't unnecessary items; they're preparation for life's uncertainties." Amy rides shotgun in my brain, my resident Minister of Doom, always ready with unhelpful observations like, "You'll regret not having tweezers when you get a splinter in line at the post office."

Specialized Essentials

The list of essential items grows exponentially depending on personal concerns. The truly prepared among us—and I'm not judging, merely observing—insist on carrying umbrellas, all-in-one tools, a toothbrush, or wordle books in case of an attack of boredom. Heaven forbid we take an elevator without wi-fi and no puzzle book handy.

I have a friend who behaves as though civilization may collapse during her trip to the grocery store. This isn't theoretical; I've witnessed her unpack her bag to find a bandage for a paper cut, producing enough supplies to stock a modest field hospital.

This compulsion to be perpetually prepared creates a secondary problem: The psychological burden of carrying a smartphone that contains all our banking information and pay apps.

And it doesn’t end there. We need something to carry all these things. Hence the proliferation of backpacks, messenger bags, duffels, satchels, and totes. Some purses now rival carry-on luggage in size and capacity. I've seen people nearly topple over from the gravitational pull of their own accessories.

Rather than simplifying, we've literally added weight to our daily existence. The physical burden is evident in hunched shoulders and strained expressions of passersby. We're "essentially" turtles, carrying everything we need with us; but our shells are made of canvas and contain hand sanitizer.

My Downsizing Experience

I attempted to solve this problem for myself by minimizing it—simply tucking my credit card and driver's license into my front pocket and deciding to carry a cross-shoulder bag for my other necessities.

Immediately, I felt unburdened, lighter, and more agile—ready to leap into action should any emergency arise while purchasing stamps or shopping for fiber supplements. Amy remained suspiciously quiet during this experiment, which should have been my first warning.

Practicality quickly took over when I nearly lost the credit card between the pharmacy and the coffee shop. I calculated the probability distribution of where I might have dropped it ultimately decided to simply retrace my steps.

If not for honest strangers—a concept Princess Amy finds statistically improbable—my simplification experiment might have proved costly. 

Recently, I decided to compromise with reality. I calculated through sophisticated algorithms (counting on fingers) that the traditional leather back-pocket wallet must go, replaced by one of those thin, streamlined wallets with just enough compartments to hold actual necessities.

It's a bright idea—but finding one thin enough is more complicated than I imagined. Apparently, the age of thin and streamlined is over. Plus-sized is in vogue today.

Need I say that this wallet-hunting expedition has become its own circular journey? I keep looking for the solution but, so far, nada. I'm still contemplating my next move. Do I give up? Do I design my own minimal wallet? Does the determined minimalist ever give up? Of course not.

I haven't completely given up on finding the perfect item. Something a little larger than a credit card, driver's license, and medical insurance card. If you have any suggestions please leave them in the comments. Until then, I'll wear shirts with button-down pockets and keep my goods there.

The Accidental Chronicler

How We Stumbled into Wilmington's Spotlight 

Against my better judgment, I became an entertainment writer. But the path to this questionable distinction wasn't mapped out with Hollywood stars on the sidewalk.

Until a few years ago, Ms. Wonder and I were happy to contribute stories and photographs to travel magazines. We strived to make a name for ourselves in the best magazines, which meant something in the world of journalism until the mid-2000s. In those days people actually flipped physical pages instead of swiping screens.

We believed the job was important—a sort of public service— introducing readers to people and places they may not have known about and perhaps had no way to visit. 

Our stories made a small splash in a large pond, and even though the ripples didn't last long, that didn't bother us. By the time an article appeared in print, we were already caught up in something new, eagerly chasing the next feature with the enthusiasm of Island Irv pursuing happy hour specials.

Our work was most often featured in regional magazines like Mid-Atlantic Travel, Our State, Country Magazine, South Carolina Magazine, Pee Dee, and EZ Street Magazine. We also appeared in many newspapers across the south from the Raleigh News & Observer to the Austin American-Statesman.

It was the best job in the magazine business and it still is. Or was. Past tense becomes necessary when discussing print media these days, doesn't it?

Eventually, the internet began taking advertising revenue from print magazines with the systematic efficiency of a digital grim reaper. The big fish magazines ate the small ones, probably laughing about it in boardrooms and secretly fearing the day they would be eaten.

Generic stories off the wire replaced the tailored freelance ones. When original pieces were published, they were written by NY Times bestselling authors. People didn't buy the current issue for the travel destinations. They bought it for the name of the writer.

In our target region of the Carolinas, it was people like Pat Conroy, Nicholas Sparks, Leigh Ann Henion, and Sue Monk Kidd who sold magazine subscriptions and as a result, advertising copy. On the upside, this historical fact gave me an excellent excuse to explain why our bylines don't appear in Condé Nast Traveler.

Came the day we relocated to Wilmington. Nothing to do with writing, we simply wanted to be near the coast and the vibrant artist community in the city by the sea. What better place to heal my wounded journalistic pride than with the salt air and the occasional overpriced coffee from places like The Circular Journey Cafe?

Wonder quickly discovered that art connoisseurs on the Silver Coast couldn't get enough of her abstract photography, which showcases life along the Cape Fear River. For me, the big news came when MovieMaker magazine named Wilmington the Number 2 city for living and working as a moviemaker. It was like discovering spring flowers after a particularly chilly winter.

And that, dear readers, is how I ended up chasing film schedules around Wilmington instead of exotic destinations around the globe. The pay is worse, the coffee is better, and the stories? Well, let's just say Hollywood East—or "Musicwood" as Jack is desperately trying to rebrand it—never fails to deliver material.

It's not exactly the glamorous transition I had in mind while attending creative writing classes in Winston-Salem. However, my biggest supporters tell me I have an opportunity to boost my writing to the level of three out of five Goldblums on The Jeff Goldblum Scale™ of writing excellence.

As for Ms. Wonder, she's well on her way to the photographic art retrospective in New York that her biographers will refer to as her Blue Period, just as her biggest supporter predicted.

Hit the Right Notes S2 E9

Against my better judgment, I accepted an invitation from Jack to visit the Circular Journey Cafe on the promise that he would provide the actual film schedule for Jonas Pate’s upcoming television series, The Runarounds. But curiosity—and the lure of a decent flat-white—got the better of me.

I arrived to find not just Jack but the entire coffee shop crew: Lupe was intently Googling something that she'd probably use to cause severe shock to some unsuspecting bystander. Island Irv was wearing dark sunglasses indoors, which was strangely disturbing. Claudia was examining the coffee menu with the intensity of someone decoding the Rosetta Stone. Knowing her, she was probably near comatose with boredom.

"There he is!" Jack announced with the enthusiasm of a game show host. "Wilmington's premier entertainment blogger—the man, the myth, the legend!”

I raised an eyebrow. Wouldn't you? I gave him my patented scoffer's look, leaving no room for misunderstanding.

"Someone's in a mood," Claudia observed, stirring her coffee with surgical precision.

"I'm not in a mood," I countered, sliding into a chair. "I'm simply wary of Jack's overwrought enthusiasm. It typically leads to a request for a favor..." I paused for theatrical effect, raised an accusing eyebrow, "or sharing dubious information from Barbary Coast Bar.”

"No Jamaican rum involved this time," Jack assured me, raising his hands defensively. "This is legitimate intel about 'The Runarounds.’"

That caught my attention. "Jonas Pate's new Amazon series? The one about the Wilmington high school band who decided to make a run for musical stardom rather than attend college?”

"Not just any high school band," Lupe chimed in, looking up from her laptop, "A band that Jonas auditioned for 'Outer Banks' and then decided to build a whole television series around.”

"Lupe," I said a bit too defensively. "I may have missed filming at Flaming Amy's, and I botched the 'Driver's Ed' schedule pretty badly, but I do read the trades.”

"And by 'the trades,' he means the Wilmawood Gazette entertainment section," Jack stage-whispered to Irv, who chuckled in response.

I ignored them both. "They've been filming all over town, from the South Front District to Reggie's 42nd Street Tavern, to Greenfield Lake Amphitheater. I've been meaning to check it out but was trying to squeeze in Driver's Ed.”

"Meaning to check it out?" Lupe repeated, her eyebrows disappearing beneath her bangs. "It's the biggest thing to hit Wilmington's music scene since... well, ever! This show could put our local bands on the national radar.”

"That's exactly what I was going to write about in my next blog post," I lied, reaching for my phone to make notes. "The transformative potential of 'The Runarounds' on Wilmington's music ecosystem.”

Jack snorted. "You were going to write about how you couldn't find the set again. You don't have the schedule--yet. But that's all in the past, Bucko, I have the filming schedule for next week right here.” He placed his hand over his jacket pocket.

That perked me up considerably. "The real schedule? Not the fake one they post online to throw off rabid fans?”

"The genuine article," Jack confirmed as he took a folded paper from his pocket and slid it across the table. "We agreed to work together to track down the secrets behind their production plans, and I followed through. Not sure what you were doing but here it is. They're filming at The Rusty Nail on Wednesday. The scene features the band getting their first gig.”

"I've been suffering from pollen allergies," I said to explain why I hadn't been in touch. While that was true, the real reason I hadn't texted him was that I expected him to dredge more of the rum-fueled nonsense from Barbary Coast.

I wasn’t entirely convinced that what Jack presented was the real goods. I wavered as I reviewed the schedule, but I needed a win like this to restore my reputation as an entertainment journalist. I remembered my father saying: Take the risk only when the potential reward outweighs the potential loss. With that in mind, I decided to act on Jack's info.

Even if it turned out to be bogus, it was a small price to pay for the possibility of being on the inside track of the latest and hottest film project in town.

Jack must have read my mind, “It didn't come from Barbary Coast," he said. "This is the goods."

"How did you get it?” I ask scanning the single page of notes.

"Let's just say I know someone who knows someone who delivers coffee to the production office," Jack replied with a mysterious air that did nothing to inspire more confidence.

"And you're just... giving this to me?" I asked, suspicious. "What's the catch?”

"No catch," he said. "Didn't we agree to dig up the hidden plans of the production company? Well, I've been out doing just that. And why are you so suspicious? You've got The Circular Journey's reviews into the yellow zone lately, right?”

I narrowed my eyes and looked around the table to see how the others reacted to this news. "Who told you about my traffic metrics?”

"You did," Claudia interjected. "Last week, right here in this cafe, after your third espresso.”

"Right," I mumbled, vaguely recalling a caffeine-fueled rant about SEO strategies.

"Look," Island Irv said, finally joining the conversation, "you've got two options. You can sit here questioning Jack's motives, or you can use that schedule to get a decent scoop on The Runarounds. If you're lucky, you might write something that hits three Goldblums on your weird rating scale.”

"The Jeff Goldblum Scale™ is not weird. It's an elegant system for measuring journalistic excellence.”

"Whatever," Irv waved dismissively. "The point is, this show could be huge for Wilmington. Not just Hollywood East anymore—Musicwood, too.”

"Musicwood?" I repeated. "That's a terrible moniker. Please don't repeat it, we don't want that to catch on.”

"Too late," Jack grinned. "Already mentioned it to Harvey at the Gazette.”

Wouldn’t you know it? Just when you think you’ve struck gold, you learn that someone else has already staked their claim. It’s just as Shakespeare said, “When you believe everything is finally going your way, Fate is lurking in the shadows, ready to throw a punch.