Author: Fallton Havenstonne

It’s better to get an early start hiking in the morning rather than in the afternoon. The main reason is that the weather is cooler, and the air isn’t so humid. In the morning, the trail isn’t as busy either.

When I went hiking yesterday, people hiked in groups of 2, 3 or more. I would see them on the trail every few minutes, and when I reached the overlook, a few people sat on the rocks, peering over the cliff at the river, forest, and town. I sat and rested for a few minutes, sipping on my water bottle, taking a much needed break. I was exhausted, and my legs were sore from the continuous upward trek.

The morning breeze swept by, cooling the rocks, rustling the leaves and the dirt. It felt relaxing, better than A/C, better than a fan running at top speed on a hot summer day. The reward of reaching my destination, coupled with the cool morning weather, made it feel like a much deserved victory.

Later that day, as I was driving back home, the temperature skyrocketed. It felt like 90 to a 100 degrees Fahrenheit by the time I got home. The humidity was dreadful as well. I knew it would’ve been ten times more taxing to hike up the trail if I had waited in the afternoon, instead of starting in the morning.

When we go through phases, we invest our time and energy into something that we think will last for years, but in actuality, only last for a short period of time. Even though we could invest days and weeks in this phase (i.e., a sport, a hobby, etc.), sooner or later, we find out that it wasn’t worth pursuing in the long run.

Even though it was temporary, the phase honed new skills, tapped into new areas of creativity, and opened our eyes to a world that we didn’t know existed. The phase might not even be a hobby or a sport. It could be a specific interest or activity, such as learning a musical instrument, learning about the outdoors, studying an academic field (i.e., history, science, etc.) or reading books by a particular author.

At some point, we lose interest. The enthusiasm has run out. But the knowledge and or skills we acquired has broadened our understanding and awareness of what is out there. Even though a phase lasts for only a season, they’re sprinkled throughout our lives, enriching our experience of the world.

When we lose our patience, we make rash decisions that can leave us shaking our heads in hindsight.

This can happen with projects that we’ve been working on (i.e., rushing to finish it), or when we’re buying something. Of course, we make decisions out of necessity too. Sometimes things cannot wait, and we have to make an immediate decision. But in cases where we have time and there’s no urgency, a rash decision can lead to a regret later on.

I remember making rash decisions when buying something that I later found cheaper somewhere else. Most of the time when this happens, it’s because I’m in a store and I don’t want to spend time searching for it elsewhere (or for it to be shipped if its a product online).

But it could be argued that impatience can be a reward. There was an occasion when I was buying something online, and because it was on sale, I bought it instead of waiting for the price to go down. Albeit, it went down a little bit a day later, the price jumped up dramatically some days after that. Sure, I could’ve saved a little bit of money if I waited a day or so, but if I had waited longer than that, I would’ve had to pay a lot more. And in some cases, an item might be sold out if the opportunity isn’t taken to buy it.

So I think there is something to be said of both patience and impatience. We often praise patience because it’s associated with prudence. Of course, there are many things we shouldn’t be hasty about, especially major purchases or life-changing decisions. But quick decisions can be necessary when patience causes us to miss out on opportunities. And if we just wait and wait and wait, we end up not making any decision at all.

The weather can have a huge impact on our mood and motivation for the day. When I wake up in the morning and the weather is nice, it motivates me to travel, to explore, to exercise. It encourages me to be outside, to enjoy the breeze, and the warm temperature.

But when it’s really hot outside, say, in the 90s (Fahrenheit), it can be draining, exhausting. Although, visually, the sky can look as perfect as a painting, the discomfort and constant perspiration makes me want to retreat to anywhere with A/C.

When it’s rainy or overcast, it’s as if the weather is calling me to stay indoors, to utilize the time to write, to read, and to be productive. Sure, I can go outside if I need to, run a few errands, but it’s not the most ideal condition to do so.

The one exception is when it’s foggy. For some reason, I enjoy being outside in the fog–to see how it obscures light and creates an atmosphere of mystery. I certainly don’t like driving in the fog, and avoid it when I can, but to go outside and walk in the fog, feels like something magical–dreamlike.

When we attain something that is missing from our lives, it feels great for awhile. Sooner or later, however, that feeling of elation begins to fade. We seek something else, something to replace that feeling of incompleteness and dissatisfaction.

This can apply to anything such as something we want to buy, or a goal that we’ve been pursuing. Once we get what we want, there will be something else in the future that we want. Something that drives us to pursue it.

Perhaps there is some good in this. As a writer, I’m never satisfied with just writing one story or one blog post. Likewise, there is no definitive goal where I can say after I write this epic book, I’m calling it quits with writing. On the contrary, writing is a lifelong pursuit, one that takes practice and dedication.

There’s always something to write about: a world to create, an idea to communicate. I could always think of something that I haven’t written about before. There’s no end to the topics and ideas that I could address.

But the negative in this endless pursuit of things/goals is when we pursue beyond our means, beyond what we’re able to attain to the point of exhaustion, weariness–until we’re burnt out. When our pursuit becomes detrimental to us, we know that something is wrong. There must be a limit. And once we’ve reached it, we know that it is time to take a break, to take a step back and look at what we’ve accomplished–what we have.

We all have blindspots. We can’t see and know everything no matter how much we try. Our faculties equip us to discern and understand what we need, but not everything.

When we drive, a blindspot is that area that we can’t see even if we use our mirrors. We have to turn and see if there are any cars in that blindspot. The same is true when we create or study anything. No matter what resources or tools we use, there will be areas that we’ll be blind to. Not because we didn’t know better, but because we didn’t know something was there to begin with. We might have to ask someone for help, or do some extra research to discover what we didn’t know before.

Because we have blindspots, there’s always something new to learn, something we can improve upon. If we knew everything, we wouldn’t have any blindspots. But we only have two eyes, two hands, etc. It’s inevitable that our point of view won’t give us a complete picture of anything. We have to shed light on the blindspots.

When we drive on a route that is familiar to us, we don’t have to think about the turns we have to take. It’s like we’re driving on autopilot, and we’re so familiar with the path that we can estimate how long it’ll take and what shortcuts we could take if necessary.

But if we’re driving to a new location, missing a turn could cost us valuable time. We could end up spending minutes looking for a place to turn around at. And if we missed an exit on a highway, we’d have to keep driving until we got off the next exit, then get back onto the highway to find that exit we missed.

All because of one missing turn. One that made us late or got us lost.

Even if we made every turn but one, that one is enough to cause considerable headache and frustration. We could get back on track, of course, but it’s the time and energy that is lost that annoys us the most.

We might say to ourselves: “Why does this happen? Why did I miss that turn?”

Perhaps missing a turn will inevitably happen at some point. Any place that is unfamiliar and new to us will disrupt our normal way of seeing things. It will cause a rift in our schematic pattern, force us to adapt. Perhaps missing a turn isn’t merely an inconvenience. It can be an opportunity to explore and learn.

When we go on a hiatus from a project, it can be one of two reasons. One is that we get busy with other things, and the other is that we’re exhausted and we need a break. A hiatus, nonetheless, can help give us perspective, allow us to analyze and reflect on our goals and the things that have occupied us.

When we continue to work on something without a break, we believe that that is all there is. It becomes our world, and we spend so much time there that we fail to see that it is just a microcosm of something that is much larger. We don’t see it in relation to the grand scheme of things, but as if it was the grand scheme itself.

As we begin our hiatus, we distance ourselves from the microcosm that became our world. That microcosm could be finances, work, or whatever worries we have. After some distance from it, we realize that its importance and value was really a matter of perspective.

Writing out what we think can be a revelatory process. It’s kind of like seeing what we hear in our mind, becoming aware of where our train of thought is going. When we see what it looks like on paper (or the computer), it reveals the subtle and delicate nature of our subconscious. Writing out our thoughts can also capture the random things we say to ourselves. Things that if we said them out loud, would seem like a different person to us.

It’s like listening to a bantering debate about the latest thing in the news. Or it can be about problems we’re trying to solve, or the plans we’re working on for the future. Regardless of what it’s about, however, writing them down helps us remember them, to become aware of them, as if we’re a third party listening to our inner voice.

When we make mental notes with the intention of remembering things, how often do we remember them? Do we not forget the key ideas we’ve brainstormed, or forget what was next in line on the itinerary? Our mind can only do so much in the process of thinking things through and remembering. Sometimes things are forgotten in the process.

Thus, whether we write out our thoughts on a napkin, notepad, or in a cellphone or on the computer, we record the transitory nature of our mind, which, like water, flows and changes each second. And the more we write down, the more we see into our own mind.