No goals allowed

I have a small stack of journals sitting on my desk. I don’t write in them regularly; they’re mostly for keeping notes while I’m traveling. I’ll often go weeks or months between scrawled, barely-legible entries. In the back of each one, there is a tally of annual nights spent in a sleeping bag (tents, yurts, huts, cabins, hammocks, and truck beds all count). I’m usually in the thirties by mid-May, and, for the last few years, I’ve broken 100 nights by September or October.  Continue reading “No goals allowed”

Sky pilot, revisited

I don’t have much of an explanation for why most of my favorite things are my favorite things. Pizza toppings, colors, how I take my coffee—it mostly comes down to preference, I guess. Aesthetics. I like things because they appeal to me.  Continue reading “Sky pilot, revisited”