MIDNIGHT
The fireworks went off about a minute and a half into a YouTube video titled- What to do when your RV’s generator goes out? I could hear them reverberating all throughout Desert Hot Springs as the clock struck midnight. Meanwhile, I was playing electrician on a camper we had rented for the evening.
It was a humorously anticlimactic way to end what had been an extremely eventful decade. Like an epic TV show ending with the most mundane finale. We were spending New Years Day in Joshua Tree a half hour away. The camper we rented seemed like a good deal, but the faulty electricity would end up making it the worst Airbnb I’ve ever rented.
While fireworks continued to go off, I flipped the switch to the breaker again, hoping I could get the camper to stay powered longer than twenty minutes. It would be pretty cold in that camper if we couldn’t use the heater.
In the end, my efforts were never successful for very long. The power would go out again and we wound up using every blanket we could find for warmth and my laptop screen’s brightness for light.
At two months old, Rhys took this all like a champ. His parents, on the other hand, had a rough time with this arrangement.
We weren’t the most rested the next day as we drove into Joshua Tree National Park. But I did feel my energy reignite once we made it through the entryway.
Snow blanketed the large open desertscapes. It managed to make the usually dusty, dry area feel cleansed. The stretches of sky, the towering rocks, and the piles of pristine snow made the park feel just like the year- an open, clean slate.
TIME PASSING
The 2020s sound so futuristic, right? Then again, every year has felt that way since 2000.
The passage of time– days into weeks, then years into decades, has always been something I’ve been extra-sensitive to. I’ve always felt like it seems faster to me than it does to most people. I’ve also always had a pretty strong sense of my mortality. Like, I know this doesn’t last forever.
I frequently think about how my time is limited. And I know that this might sound like a burden, or a curse, but I think in a lot of other ways, it’s been one of my biggest blessings.
I think I’ve been able to live life with a stronger sense of urgency than most. And I think that sense of urgency is what’s propelled me towards some of my biggest adventures and accomplishments thus far.
Every day is an opportunity. When you live with urgency, you avoid wasting your time on things that don’t really matter.
One of my biggest missions in life is trying not to let ideas, dreams, ambitions, hopes, or adventures go to the grave with me. It’s why I write and create videos and share thoughts as often as I do. It’s why I say yes to invitations to other countries and invite others along often. It’s why I wanted a career that would allow me to combine my creative itches, my desire to help people, and my love of other cultures.
Life is just a little too fragile to run the risk of not saying what you need to say, not going where you want to go, or not trying to figure out a way to do what you love.
WHAT’S NEXT?
On the way in to Joshua Tree, we stopped by the visitors center to get ourselves an annual National Parks pass. Seems like there’s no better time to pick one up than the 1st of January. The sun turned everything a bright white while we waited in line.
The blank white page is an artist’s biggest invitation, but it can also be an intimidating sight. The pressure to put something beautiful on it. The pressure not to mess up. A new year feels like that too, except the work of art is your life.
At the start of the last decade, I approached that blank slate with a sense of urgency. I knew a few things I wanted: a good relationship, a creative outlet, a career in helping others, and a chance to see the world. Like, a lot of the world. I gave myself goals like writing a book, going to grad school, and visiting new countries every year. And then I did those things.
Now, the 2010s will be a tough act for me to follow. I know at some point late in life, I’ll look back on that decade so fondly. I mean, I already look back on it fondly. In the 2010s, I lived a variety of places, from Oregon to South Africa, Santa Barbara to Italy, Argentina to San Diego, Bakersfield to a van that took me everywhere. I ran two half marathons. I visited three dozen countries and every state except Alaska. I wrote a book and launched a podcast. I took a photo every single day. I finished two bachelor’s and two master’s degrees. I fought for human rights in North Korea, environmental justice in rural villages, and better education in South African slums and Thailand’s refugee camps. I got married, adopted a dog, and had a kid. I landed my dream job of doing creative work for a nonprofit focused on international sustainability.
Please forgive me if that sounds boastful. I just needed to highlight what a big and eventful decade it’s been. Also- this is why the idea of trying to make the next decade even better seems like a tall order. Does it even need to be better? That act of comparison does seem like a recipe for disappointment, doesn’t it.
Well, I really don’t like the thought that my best days might be behind me. I want to know that there are more adventures ahead. When I hear the words the best is yet to come I really want them to be true.
So many of my dreams have come true, by the decade. I turn 30 this year and except for small bits like getting a tattoo or visiting Alaska, I do have just about everything I hoped for at this point in life. Family. Career. Experiences. At the same time, new dreams come into focus. And those dreams remind me that there is still room to level up. I can surprise myself all over again.
THE PROCESS
Last year, I became a dad. Three years ago, I got my dream job- telling stories about global sustainability for Plant With Purpose. I’ve gotten to travel, to create, to contribute to causes I care about. I’m thankful for all of this. One of the things I’ve learned in life is that setting goals and dreaming dreams is worth it. They give direction. And I’m happy I still have plenty more dreams to pursue.
I want to see our family grow. Both in size and in intimacy. I want to be able to provide a secure childhood for Rhys and the best memories of adventures. I’d love for our family to extend warmth and generosity and hope to others.
I want to keep doing creative work for Plant With Purpose that captures people’s imagination. I want to make videos and online content and podcasts that leave people unable to sit still. I want to surprise people with how much they really care about sustainability.
I want to grow as a voice and as resource meant to help other nonprofits and do-gooders tell better stories. I want people to learn how to promote their cause effectively. Ethically. To be invited to speak and consult and share what I’ve learned by doing so. It’s easy for me to feel like I’m still a long way from this, at times.
My current challenge, however, is to be less focused on goals and more focused on the process.
Something James Clear says struck a chord with me: achieving a goal only changes your life for the moment. Setting up good systems, habits, or processes changes the way you do things, which actually leads to consistent and lasting results. And for me, I think that would look like truly showing up and being totally locked in to the moment in front of me. As a dad. As a storyteller. As an advocate. And I can’t help but think that would lead to some of my best work.
When I sit down to write, I want to truly enjoy the thought that goes into each word. I want to care less about meeting my quota of articles written that week. When I spend time with Rhys and Deanna, I want them to know they have all of me. When I’m in front of another person, I want them to feel like they’re all that matters at the moment. Building this habit as a default way of doing things will take some getting used to, but I think building habits like these is ultimately how you get to where you want to go.
YOUNG FAMILY
Joshua Tree is beautiful. The Mojave Desert is a different place altogether in the winter time. The wide open stretches of land are worthy of attention. We caught sight of a red kestrel perched atop one of the Joshua Trees themselves. It was perfect.
The first sunset of the decade was appropriately mesmerizing. The sky hummed a gentle purple and orange, somewhat muted by the faded colors of the Mojave landscape.
Rhys’ first time in a National Park was everything I would have hoped for. We of course didn’t do any more extensive hikes. Most of the trails within the park were closed, anyhow. Not to mention, we had our dog with us, which severely limits where one can go in a National Park. But no matter. The day was beautiful and free and open anyways.
This does feel like the most appropriate way I could be starting this decade. Exploring a National Park with my young family. My two-month old son. I want him to see me live out my values of creativity, sustainability, and adventure. I don’t want him to just pay witness to it as a spectator, but as a direct recipient. I want my life at home to be the primary spot where I put those things into practice.
I’m ready. I believe this decade holds good things in store. I believe it contains missions and projects and quests and adventures and relationships and peaks and valleys like I never would’ve anticipated. But I don’t want to turbo through it in an effort to check stuff off a list. I want to savor each day of it.
I want each day to contain moments that feel timeless. I want to be less divided. I’m ready for the years ahead to stretch like endless acres of public land. Most of all, I want to love the process.