It’s 7:30 in the morning. I have a cup of coffee, the fire is cranking away, the sun is slowly rising over another day in Carmel Valley, and the weird Buddha statue remains where it always is, out on the porch surveying the scene. The cabin is slowly warming up, which is nice, because this place tends to be an icebox.
For some reason I have never, ever been able to put my finger on, despite decades of trying, I have never been able to pull off, or perhaps never wanted to, the life I’m allegedly supposed to be living at this point. I don’t have an office. I don’t have a wife. I run a business that fits into a backpack, and cannot, for some reason, settle down very well. But I can write, and for me, at least, that’s way more than enough.
I hope your morning is going well, also.