“First we make our habits, then our habits make us.” Charles C. Nobel This week is the one year anniversary of beginning this weekly blog, Searching Daylight. Having that deadline every week, the structure and accountability of it, has been a good thing for me. Full disclosure - developing and nurturing positive habits hasn't always been my strong point. I've spent at least as much time in my life pursuing unconstructive habits as healthy ones. But maybe I'm being a little hard on myself. As old Will Shakespeare wrote, "But that was in another country, and besides..." Anyway, this discipline of writing consistently and regularly has added some purpose to my days. And the days turn into weeks, the weeks to months, and now to a year. Maybe not much in the grand scheme of things, but still, for me, progress. And that's what we all hope for right? Progress. Something life affirming. Something worthwhile to share. I've thought a lot over the past year about the habits that lead to progress. Trying to look a little deeper at my own life. The good, the bad, and the ugly. And the minutiae of positive gravity, tugging me along. As with much good information, would have been productive to know it sooner. Still, I'll take it... Habits, not goals, make otherwise difficult things easy. Studies have shown that brains can confuse goal setting with achievement. The effect is more pronounced when people inform others of their goals. This is probably one reason Ernest Hemingway resisted talking about his writing when he was at work on a project. In short, he felt talking too much about the work relieved him of some of the need to actually do it. Some truth there. Human nature. Goals can be intimidating, but habits are easy to complete. Once we develop a habit, our brains actually change to make the habitual behavior easier. After about thirty days of practice, executing a habit becomes easier than not doing so.  And with consistency, Read more [...]

Who doesn’t love a library? Well, some people for sure, but for me libraries have always been a sanctuary, a quiet place to read, research, and think. Surrounded by thousands of books and even more like church than, well, church. Before Google there were card catalogs, and you learned how to use them. It was the only way to get the job, the learning, the reading, done. If a person was interested in that sort of thing. During the Great Depression, one of the more unique projects of Roosevelt’s New Deal were the packhorse librarians, as they came to be known. Started in eastern Kentucky, these librarians carried books to the remote poor farming and coal mining families of the Appalachian mountains. The work was tough and was done mainly by women, traveling by horse or mule with their load of books. Because of the 60% unemployment rate in eastern Kentucky, women were often the only breadwinners in families hobbled by poverty. Sometimes there were no roads, and the women would ride dry creek beds, animal trails, or fence lines to get to their destinations and deliver the precious books. If saddlebags weren’t available, books were carried in old pillowcases. If a librarian didn’t have a horse or a mule, one could be rented from a local farmer for fifty cents a week. But that came out of her pay, a dollar a day. One librarian's mule died, and she walked her route all winter until she could afford another. By far the most popular title was The Bible, followed by Alice in Wonderland, Treasure Island, and The Adventures of Robin Hood. But it wasn’t just books. Periodicals were also popular, National Geographic, Popular Mechanics, and even fashion magazines. Everyone, I think, aspires to something more, and even if a woman in the remote mountains of Kentucky could never afford it, just knowing what was being worn in New York and Paris was a thing of interest. And why not. Regardless of income levels, social strata, or geography, every parent wants more Read more [...]

On a mild-weathered week in October we make plans to ride motorcycles on the Blue Ridge Parkway. Me, my brother Wall, and our friend Carsten, a software developer turned Episcopal priest. The two of them left a day ahead of me, so I set off alone toward our rendezvous point, Wild Woody’s Campground and Amazing Antiques near Wilkesboro, North Carolina.  I always enjoy these group motorcycle outings, the comaraderie, but there's also a special pleasure in traveling solo on a loaded bike. For one, anybody will talk to you. It always starts with them, usually a man, moving closer to get a better view of the bike, in my case a blue Triumph Tiger. They kind of square up and take in the whole rig.  Comparing it, I think, to some picture in their mind. “Where’re you heading,” they ask. “Blue Ridge Parkway,” “Oh, I’ve heard it’s beautiful. Always wanted to go.” “It is beautiful,” I reply. “You should drive up and have a look.” “I plan to. Once the kids are through college, and I can get some time off work. Like your Triumph. Had a Bonneville when I was young. Wish I’d never sold it.” And so it goes. I usually get the distinct impression I’m doing something they always wanted to do, always imagined they’d do. And now the decades have flown by, stuff happened, and they just never got around to it… Riding up through western North Carolina toward Wilkesboro is beautiful. Tidy mountain farms growing cattle, corn, and Fraser Fir Christmas trees. I’ve always been fond of this area. Doc Watson and his son Merle were from here, two of my favorite bluegrass and country folk musicians back in the day. Doc was completely blind from an eye infection in second grade but went on to become one of the premier guitar and banjo players of his generation. At fifteen his son Merle began playing professionally with him, and himself became known as one of the finest flatpicking acoustic guitar players on the planet. Merle Read more [...]