The Digital Homestead Blog

Day #10: Playrooms of the Soul

Of all the rooms in our houses, library rooms were my favourites these days. It used to be the playrooms where the kids spent their best time learning, falling, running, playing. Now, the libraries felt like playrooms for our older souls.

We made them ambitious and independent so they left home in their twenties, like we did. Not because they had to prove something to us but because they had to prove something to themselves. It felt like an achievement. The “reward”? It was that the big houses were now empty and we were constantly and secretly waiting for that call or unexpected visit from them and the grandkids.

We could spend countless hours in the library, quietly, and then all of a sudden gasping or laughing or murmuring in contemplation because of something we had just read. We were, in a way, still learning, falling, running, playing. We kept ourselves young and entertaining. The trick of a good grandparent is to have lots of stories and answers to unasked questions.

One day, they will read our notes, make their own annotations and maybe connect with us even after we’ll be long gone.
Isn’t it what we do whenever we read anything from the great writers?
Books, especially the physical ones, with their marks, stains, smells, notes, missing pages were certainly one of my most precious possessions.

Day #11: Peak Pursuits

We kept going up, approaching the highest tops, looking for the hardest pathways, maybe even the unbeaten ones.
The spice, adrenaline, must flow together with its cousin: dopamine for better results.
Anything that would put us in danger would be a banger. Our millions of followers loved it.
Well, they just tap a button on their phones. True love and appreciation are far more complex.
We felt rewarded and so we kept doing it until we blew up.

It wasn’t the money, the sponsorships, getting free stuff or being recognised even in the most random places.
Posting our adventures for others to notice was probably the most gratifying experience.
Short lived and feeling like a high with its natural comedown right afterwards.

“We are still riding the wave!”

“We are getting closer to the shore!”

Eventually, we noticed that nobody was coming back from this ski-lift.
All the seats were empty. Were we the coolest or the suckers at this game?
What were we really climbing? Where were we going?

Day #12: Chasing Northern Lights

“I am sorry you missed this. Please make sure you come to visit this place; don’t hold a grudge against it because of me,” I texted her as a caption for the short video I sent her on WhatsApp. It was our first contact since we broke up. I had left things awkwardly -or I should say cowardly- but honestly, I didn’t know how to explain my reasoning without making things worse.

Her last message was clear and stung with truth: “I don’t understand what’s so hard to explain. Just be honest and say there’s someone else… Anyway, as you wish…”

As I continued to observe in awe the natural spectacle before my eyes, I reflected on our past. I was supposed to be there with her, but I had chosen to end our relationship, which was otherwise going well. We had booked the trip together; it would have been our second. The first was fun, and our bond had strengthened. I refunded her share because I still wanted to go, and I had already taken time off work.

The pattern was all too familiar. The same story as with the other women. She had been too upfront and too early when she brought up the topic of “having kids.” I felt cornered, unready. Moreover, she wanted to spend more time with me than I was comfortable with. It felt like she was chasing me, becoming clingy, and it felt uncomfortable.

I grew up believing that the man is supposed to chase the woman. My early relationships had ended painfully — I was the “very nice guy,” the romcom type.

Disaster.

Over time, I had transformed into a self-aware and confident man, sometimes bordering on arrogant. Yet, I still clung to flawed beliefs whenever I became exclusive with someone.

I felt guilty for desiring other women, blaming them for not being enough to make me forget the others. I danced back and forth in this mating ritual, but whenever they asked for my weekends, my “inventory” took precedence. There was no real exclusivity. My love life was like a career — getting promoted, interviewing for the next position, all while juggling multiple offers.

Maybe I was fighting my own nature, pondering whether men are not built for exclusivity. What if monogamy is a choice against nature, akin to a vegan refusing steak, despite salivating at the mere thought like a St. Bernard?

The closer she got, the more affection and genuine care she showed, the more I withdrew. I had hurt her -a lot-and I didn’t want to lead her on, even though I was enchanted by her presence in my life. I cared about her; I wanted her to be happy. Yet, I couldn’t see myself giving her the life, stability, and the children she deserved. I wasn’t ready to choose her, and I wasn’t ready to bid farewell to the irresponsible man I had become. He was my ally and my adversary, my hero and my greatest disappointment.

Her reply came after a few minutes, laced with a mix of understanding and resolution: “Thank you, I will certainly visit. No grudges; you’ve been kind despite how things turned out. I will never forgive, sorry, I mean forget. ;) Never change, but maybe grow up a bit! Bad timing. FYI, I’m seeing someone, and we might be on the same page, so let’s not spoil that. Enjoy the trip that wasn’t meant to be. Take care. xx”

I smiled, glanced at her profile picture once more, one last time, and deleted her number. “Goodbye,” I whispered.

Bittersweet.

The Northern Lights continued their dance a few minutes longer before clouds, heavy with snow, approached swiftly, their message clear: it was time to head back to my room. I had planned a different date for each day of my stay in Iceland, some chosen last minute over others for superficial reasons, “hotness” mostly, whatever that meant. I wondered, would the pattern repeat even with those I fancied a bit more?

Each broken heart was a reminder that perhaps I should have spent some time alone. This solo trip should have been a journey of self-discovery rather than a conquest. Boasting of my “achievements” in a group chat with friends wasn’t amusing anymore. It was just sad. It had always been sad. I was just realising it.

Maybe I was beginning to mature, just as she had suggested.

Timing is everything. We all ripen at different speeds and for different reasons, but ultimately, we all face decay.

Carpe diem.

In the realm of investing, spreading bets into small bets increases the odds of success, particularly when starting early. Over time, as you discern what works and what doesn’t, the strategy becomes less about diversification and more about commitment -until one day, you find yourself wholly invested in something significant.

A lifestyle business. A family.

Day #6: Ray of life

I emerged from Sol, brought into existence without the involvement of any organism. It was the essence of pure creation.

For the sake of simplicity, you can call me “Photon.” Fundamental, yet infinitely complex, I am devoid of reason, yet somewhere, someone or something might imagine the tales of my odyssey.

In the act of pure creation, I was hurled from a nuclear reaction into the vast expanse known as space. With endless paths before me, my trajectory seems preordained by unknown forces. Another facet of pure creation. Evading Mercury, then Venus, I near the planet some of us term “the cursed one”. Cursed, perhaps, for life blossomed there by sheer chance, at the perfect distance from Sol, amid a delicate balance of elements.

In the dance of pure creation, I collide with a water molecule, imparting my energy and transforming. Do I cease to be Photon, or does my essence endure? The molecule ascends as vapor, forms clouds, and returns as rain, traversing the planet’s face before joining the ocean’s embrace.

My kin, the photons, maybe taking credit from other entities or what you might simply call “radiations”, propel all these dynamics: the winds, the atmospheric pressure shifts, the magnetic fields born from planetary rotation and celestial interplay. Complex, yet elemental. An infinite tapestry woven by compounded forces, all manifesting the marvels of pure creation.

As you gaze upon the sea, recognise it as pure creation in motion. Look then to Sol, your shadow, your hands…everywhere, creation is at play.
So, create. Leave a legacy, a mark to be remembered. For in some form, even beyond what’s called death, your essence will remain. A piece of the perpetual creation that will inspire someone, something, somewhere to create what was never creation but transformation, elevation, transcendence.

Day #7: American Dream

We are disciples of the exponential; we are incapable of growing anything linearly. Apart, maybe, for regrets, excuses and lies we tell ourselves.
Time is limited, and as we consume it, the pressure to make something out of it mounts.

Everything inflates while the time at your disposal deflates.

That pressure can make or break you. Alternatively, you could be so unaware of it that you lead a happy life.
I chose violence, or violence chose me, what is the difference anyway?

They say the mind is our own worst enemy. You can live in the moment and enjoy yourself, or you can dwell on what you should or shouldn’t have done, drowning in the “what-ifs” and pondering all the Sliding Doors that lead to your Final Destination.

If you married your high school sweetheart, you might find yourself seeking a lover. If you’ve been a considerate saver and investor, you might indulge in a sports car, perhaps a vintage one, or both.
The same applies to organisations and countries; ultimately, they are composed of humans with herd-like behaviour.

Boom and bust cycles may be a feature, not a bug.

The virtuous are punished and tortured until they are rewarded. Most perish, but those who withstand will rebuild in the aftermath of the bust.
Yes, because we need the fittest. We cannot rely on those whom nature has selected for elimination.
The old lady knows. Yes, she’s a she and proud of it, you can just tell. Look around yourself and smell some flowers.

Pain is just a signal until it becomes noise.

You can be the turkey, or you can be the cockroach. You can enjoy the steak in the Matrix or the watered-down porridge in real life.
Like it or not, even if you consume the metaphorical steak, you still need to eat in the real world. Keep that in mind, and keep your soul strong and your mind stronger.

Beneath the dust, you’ll find beauty. Don’t be buried under it.
It’s always brightest before sunset.

By the way. Nice rides. They scream of opportunities, dreams, and “hell yeah!”.
The American dream. What happened to it?