Mr. Rushmore, in South Dakota—a place I honestly never expected to see for myself.

Kara and I are in South Dakota, near Hot Springs. Yesterday we took a little drive to Rapid City, and even managed to swing by Mt. Rushmore. We didn’t spend much time there, and we’ll be going back, but the drive in and out was amazing and inspiring. Look for more about this… I can’t help but write about it!

As of today, I’m trying something new. Each morning I write “3 Pieces of Wisdom” in my little pocket notebook, and I share them with a hashtag on Twitter. Awhile back, I started writing a thread with each post, just free-writing my thoughts on this or that. I’ve thought about making those a daily blog post, and I’m finally pulling the trigger on it.

So I hope you enjoy this. The format may or may not change as I go, but I think this is pretty much “it.” Take a read of it, and feel free to leave a comment and let me know your own thoughts. I’d love to hear them!

#3PiecesOfWisdom 01 October 2020:

Imagination is your reality starter kit.
Where you are is just as important as where you are going.
Any advice or wisdom you have, give it to yourself first.

Probably my favorite photo of me and Kara to date.

Spent Ink and Empty Notebooks

I had to replace the ink cartridge in my pen, before writing today’s journal entry. The event always seems holy and precious to me. The retirement of one cartridge, the initiation of a new one—it’s a rite of passage.

I get kind of nostalgic, thinking about all the words written.

The same sort of thing happens when I write the final page in one of my Moleskine notebooks. Jotting down that last idea, that last lesson learned, I have a sense of pride and accomplishment. Also a sense of sadness. Something good is ending.

But then I open up a new Moleskine, crack open that fresh notebook to a crisp, new, empty page, and that’s when I have the excitement of a new beginning. I dream and wonder over what I’ll write, in the 200 or so pages ahead.

It’s old wisdom: Every ending is a new beginning.

Journaling is something I’ve done most of my life, although a lot of it was sporadic, lots of starts and stops. Thanks, twenties.

But I’ve kept it up enough to have mountains of notebooks. Mostly pocket Moleskines.

And some entries are awful, by the way. Angry. Poorly written. Angst-filled and melodramatic. At times I’ve written awful things about people I love. Or about myself.

But then I’ve written wonderful things. Kind and loving. Inspired and inspirational. Wise, even.

I’ve always had a hang up about claiming my own wisdom. I still do. It feels immodest, and in addition there’s the whole Dunning-Krueger thing. I may not know as much as I think I know.

Ah, well.

You can be wise and arrogant, or clueless, or over-confident. Wisdom is sneaky.

Wisdom is a treasure that hides in plain sight, and can be found and expressed by literally anyone. We hear wise things come from the mouths of children we love, and from people we despise. We can even hear it from ourselves... maybe in old journals.

Sneaky, sneaky.

So the point there is to listen, never discount someone as a fool, not worth paying attention to. You’ll sometimes need to use discernment to find the wisdom, to sift it from the chaff of idiocy. But it’s probably there.

We’ll talk about discernment some other time, if you like.